The second aircraft also came in from the direction of the ocean, but a scant hundred feet above the trees, its wings tilting as it followed the lie of the river, the bomb bay doors gaping open.
The same parachute flare dropped by One Eight which had illuminated the submarines also revealed the pale grey shape of Poseidon Zero Four at the moment an object fell from out of the open belly, followed immediately by a second.
Bao’s air sentries were taken by as much surprise as were half of Dai’s.
The sound of the Rolls Royce engines passing above them and the roar of Bao’s and Dai’s 23mm automatic cannon’s made Li flinch but his eyes did not leave the two falling objects, blunt nosed depth charges, not tumbling but semi stabilised, oscillating at the finned tails as they fell at an angle towards their target.
Tracer chased the Atlantique, spent 23mm shell cases rattled and rang against the metal deck of the submarines bridge.
The first depth charge crashed into the trees near the south bank of the river some fifty metres beyond the stationary Bao but the second struck the Kilo’s forward casing.
It sounded a lot like two cars colliding, without the desperate last moment screech of brakes. Black acoustic tiles flew aloft like crows startled at the sound of a shotgun, and the depth charge bounced, spinning end over end now, the tail section stabilisers parting company in the impact, flying off into the darkness.
The dented casing grew larger in Li’s sight, like a dustbin flung by a petulant giant it arced up and towards the Juliett.
The air sentry on Dai’s bow fired, engulfing the conning tower in white exhaust gases as the slim missile left the launch tube. The smoke robbed Li of his view of the approached object.
The depth charge on the river bank blew with a blinding flash, its 200kg warhead felling two trees and sending wickedly barbed wooden splinters outwards in all directions, the detonation echoing for miles around.
The Strela’s success went almost unheard in comparison. It flew straight and true for the greatest heat source, striking the starboard engine exhaust. The effect of the small 1.7kg warhead and a secondary charge detonating the missiles remaining fuel was visual, rather than audible. A small flash followed by much smoke.
Poseidon Zero Four instantly lost altitude, the starboard wing dropped, the wingtip clipping a tree top and it seemed to be all over bar the shouting for the aircraft and crew.
The port engine roared as its throttle was pushed through the gate in an effort by the captain and co-pilot to compensate, to ward off a threatening departure from controlled flight.
They clawed for height, the tree tops so close, waiting snares to drag them from the air to a fiery end in the jungle but the prey won the battle as its remaining ordnance load was jettisoned. Zero Four bounded up and clear of the tree tops, disappearing into the night towards the west.
Li coughed and waved a hand ineffectually as if warding off unwanted cigarette smoke. He stood upright to peer through the missiles exhaust fumes, to see where the charge would land, and so the deluge of filthy brown river water, heavily laden with mud struck him from behind. Bouncing clear over the Dai the depth charge had plunged into the river beyond to lodge in the silted bottom where it went off.
Declaring an emergency Poseidon Zero Four shuddered in flight, a vibration increasing by the moment.
It was missing three feet off its starboard wingtip, and the propeller was continuing to spin despite the engine now being shut down and denied fuel. Refusing to be feathered, the rogue propeller spun on, and at a higher rate than that of the still functional port engine. The reduction gearbox had been damaged and the blades could not be turned into wind to reduce drag.
Fire retardant compound was pumped onto the engine but as the propellers RPM spun ever higher, the propeller nosecone glowed red, and the vibration worsened.
A flicker of flame necessitated the fire handle being pulled again and all the while the aircraft was in a gentle sweeping turn so as not to overstress the damaged wing.
The captain aimed to bring them back to Cayenne, it was after all the closest airport with a runway long enough to accommodate them.
Ten minutes on and the propeller was rotating at 120 % of the maximum recommended RPM, and again the fire handle had to be pulled to extinguish flames.
They were dumping fuel from the port wing and transferring fuel from the starboard. The risk of the flames reaching the fuel tanks in the damaged wing was very real indeed.
Over the ocean now and continuing their left turn, lining up for an approach to runway 26. The captain gave due consideration to the options available, to attempt a landing or to ditch?
By day the Cayenne fishing fleet could be seen at its moorings due to the scarcity of fish. There were no civilian boats abroad that could come to their assistance and the nearest navy vessel was laid up, the rest were rushing north to do battle.
A ditching rarely had a happy ending anyway, so he announced to the crew that he was committed to a landing at Cayenne. They buckled up and a few peered out and down at the dark ocean. However, it was too dark to see anything unaided. Obligingly the starboard engine provided some, and the flicker became a tail that could not be extinguished now, the fire retardant compound having been completely expended.
The second Atlantique, One Eight, could be heard stooging around up above the clouds, and the Legion’s two helicopters could be heard also, as they raced low towards the town of Kourou, dropping the two mortar teams at Pont Les Roches, the mouth of the estuary that the Chinese raiders must pass on their way back to the ocean.
The Bao and the Dai were underway again, backing down the river to the estuary where they could at last find room to turn and face their tormentors.
“Radar, one sweep only.”
Above them the Atlantiques threat warnings sounded as the Dai’s radar swept across them in return.
“Capitaine… I would advise chaff right about now…but.”
“But…we have no chaff…”
Unwrapping a stick of spearmint gum, popped it in his mouth the pilot unlatched the side window, ejecting the gums silver wrapper.
“That will have to do.” He muttered to himself, resigned to fate.
Severe vibration was shaking Zero Four, severe enough to throw off her captain’s voice, giving him an induced stammering which at another time would sound a little comical.
“Fifteen degrees flap…gear down.”
Had the circumstances been different he would have overflown the runway in order that the control tower confirm the right gear was fully down, but the nose and left gear had green lights.
The starboard engine was aflame, consuming itself, the flames streaming behind.
Ahead of them the tarmac was lit up, and emergency vehicles were sat off to one side, well clear of the runway but awaiting their arrival.
Zero Four crossed the outer marker, the approach lights whipped below them and suddenly there was the threshold.
He missed the touchdown zone, holding off as he allowed the left gear to touch first, sweeping along with the nosewheel and right gear just clear of the tarmac. There was no chance of going around again, no chance of reaching the ocean for a ditching now either, too late to change his mind. The right gear touched and the nose settled, he chopped the throttle and held the aircraft to the centre line. All there was to do now was stop the damn thing before they ran out of runway.