The Admiral smiled at the memory and looked out once again at the rolling deck and black, ugly seas, letting a shiver run through him. The tannoy crackled.
“Air raid warning, air raid warning… close all hatch’s and bulkhead doors… damage control crews, close up!” The Marine on duty saluted as the Admiral hurried off the bridge, heading to the CIC.
Nikki selected targets for her two AIM-54s and as soon as they closed to 120km she pickled them both off, as did her wingman. She thought it had bought them some time, the tracks on her screen jinked to break the Phoenix’s locks as soon as they detected them. At thirty miles they loosed the AMRAAMs and she called up the remaining pair of Tomcats that were making a beeline for them from the ships. “Get your asses in the game as fast as you can boys, we are not going to hold them long on our own.” Two minutes later and they were completely engaged with four Mig-31s, whilst the remaining nineteen continued on, clearing the way for the Backfires that were five minutes behind them.
Closer to the edge of the storm as they were, Sandy Cummings saw the first hint of dawn appear as a dirty grey haze whilst looking over his shoulder for the last pair of Tomcats, and he wondered how cold it was in the angry water below. His threat warning brought him back to the present, screaming at him that there were missiles locked onto him. He could not see anything ahead, to the west all was blackness. He ejected chaff and flares whilst pulling back into a vertical jink before rolling over into a split S, by which time Mig-31s were passing him by with the exception of two that peeled off, turning hard to get into firing position behind him. In the dark neither Russian could see what aircraft it was that they were up against, and both assumed it was a Tomcat or a Hornet. It was for that very reason that they overshot the Sea Harrier, which had come to an almost dead stop in mid-air. Sandy heard the growl of his Sparrows seeker heads acquiring the Russian advanced fighters and pickled one off, waited to a count of three and fired a second heat seeker. He cancelled the vectored thrust and closed the speed brakes, allowing the aircraft to travel earthwards as he again picked up flying speed before he turned back toward the west. He could see a thick cluster of new tracks appearing at the edge of his screen.
“There’s never a witness around when you need one!” he said to himself. No one would believe the ease… or fluke, with which he had downed the two Russian machines. He had two missiles left and wanted to avoid the jumbled dogfights ahead, in order to get in amongst the Backfires. They were travelling at supersonic speed so he would only have a chance with a head on engagement.
Nikki had accounted for one Mig-31 since the furball had started, but her wingman had mid-aired with a Russian so she was having a touch of déjà vu right now, mixing it on her own with two enemies. On the last occasion the pilots had been experienced, in an air force that allowed its pilots to fly and train every day, unlike her present foes that thought twice a month was extravagant. After two minutes she got tone on one, and blew his ass away with a deflection shot using guns. His buddy lost his nerve and broke away, diving to the west. As tempting as it was to waste the little fucker with a missile as he ran away, her business was keeping away airframes that could kill ships and that didn’t mean fighters.
In the John F Kennedy’s CIC the staff were casting apprehensive glances at the plot to westward, where the Russian were coming from. The foul weather and high seas had caused the first three aircraft attempting to land to bolter, they were all short on fuel and they needed to get down, refuel and load up air to air ordnance asap. That wasn’t going to happen though, Admiral Dalton knew it and so did everyone else in CIC. It was going to come down to his ships air defence systems alone that would either pass or fail the task of keeping away the ship killers.
Sandy glanced at his fuel gauges and did his mental arithmetic, he had been aloft for an hour before the first enemy aircraft had appeared and he’d used a frightening amount since then. He did the sum twice and both times the answer was that he was going swimming. He counted twenty-five aircraft approaching as he set up his missile shots, once they were away he switched to guns. A fireball in the sky ahead told him that one of his missiles had scored, then he got tone on his guns without being able to see the fast approaching bomber. He touched his finger to the guns and held it down, he was still doing so when the vertical tail fin of a Backfire took off the last six feet of his left wing and the Sea Harrier began a sickening roll to the left. At 12,000’ Sandy was inverted as he ejected from the stricken aircraft, blacking out as the seat shot him clear.
“We’re losing oil pressure on the right engine Nikki; something must have come loose back there.” Chubby informed her. They were in burner, closing in fast on the bombers. She checked her gauges but didn’t let up on the throttle as she bore on westwards. Somehow the smaller Sea Harrier had overtaken them when they had been knife-fighting with the Migs; they did not know which of their friends was flying the one ahead of them.
“Bye, fella.” Chubby put his hand on the radar screen and whispered when they saw its track merge with an oncoming bomber, both tracks faded out within seconds after that.
They had two AMRAAMs left and punched them both off at optimum range. Behind her, Chubby punched the air as both scored and then she got off a sustained burst of cannon before killing the afterburner and sweeping the wings forward to grab air. Pulling around in a six-G turn that had their flight suits inflating uncomfortably, squeezing legs and stomach in an effort to keep blood from draining from their brains. Despite this her vision dimmed, became tunnel like and her biceps knotted in order to retain her grip on the stick as they turned in behind the bombers.
The Backfires now had the first ships on radar and they dived toward the sea, splitting up as they did so to make the defenders jobs that much more difficult.
Nikki and Chubby had lost airspeed and ground in their turn, and Nikki swept the wings back and shoved the throttles to their stops. If it had not been for the storm the enemy would have stood out against the rising sun, as it was the east was only a slight shade lighter than the west and they could see nothing with the naked eye.
On radar the nearest Backfire was five miles ahead as Nikki double checked she was on guns and put the nose down, closing on the Russian who sat 100 feet above the waves. The oil warning light for the right engine was a harsh red glow as the engine temperature grew but she kept right on going. The heads up display gun reticule turned to green, at the same time as the right engine, fire warning light lit, but Nikki walked the tracer from one Backfires left wing tip to its right before pulling back to avoid flying debris. Only then did she shut the engine down and engage the fire extinguisher, by which time they had rolled out of the top of a half loop, heading west once more. They still had a few gun rounds remaining but with only one engine they could never catch the Russian bombers again in order to expend them.
“Oh shit, oh shit… is it out, please tell me it is out!” Chubby was ashen faced in the back as he struggled to see if flames were licking out behind them. Once satisfied that they weren’t going to be barbecued he turned back, slumped in his seat.
“Fuck me… cheated death again… jeez I’m good!”
“What about the driver?” Nikki prompted.
“What?… Oh her!..I guess she qualifies as suitable to bear me many warrior sons.”
They discussed what to do next, they couldn’t head back to the John F Kennedy while an air raid was in process, they were likely to be targeted by their own sides missiles. So they elected to orbit where they were until they got the all clear from the carrier to come on home.