The pilot keyed his mike. “Runway, Two-One.”
In the control tower of Leuchers RAF base, a Squadron Leader looked through the glass of the 360-degree tower window and clicked on his mike.
“Bravo-Two-One, Bravo-Two-Two. You are clear for take-off. Wind two-twenty at fourteen knots.”
“Roger. Two-One rolling now.”
“Two-Two, rolling.”
The engines flared as the pilot pushed forward on the levers, the thrust forcing the aircraft ever faster down the runway. Two surges of hot flame were emanating from the rear by the tailplane, the distinctive pulse-like pattern, vibrant with heat and energy surged out, the acceleration forcing the pilot and navigator back into their seats. Eighty knots, 100 knots, 120 knots. The wheels of the first Phantom Interceptor left the runway as the pilot rotated the aircraft, closely followed by his wing man.
“Two-One. Bravo-Two-One. Airborne.”
“Two-One. Bravo-Two-Two. Airborne.”
“Roger. Steer zero-eight-zero.”
“Two-one Roger.”
“Two-two Roger.”
The pilot of the lead aircraft spoke into his face mask, an internal message for his navigator. “Wheels up.”
Both aircraft climbed up through the cloud layer before turning north in search of their target.
The RAF base at Buchan, the home of an Air Defence Radar Unit, was located some two and a half kilometres south-west of Boddam. Responsible for coordinating all aspects of Britain’s air defence in the northern sector of the country, it would now take over control of directing the Interceptors in their quest to clear the skies of enemy aircraft.
The radar operator, deep down in the R3 underground operations block, studied his radar screen, fed from the TPS-34 radar system above and the GL-161 computer system. The faint green background of the circular scope was lit with bright green flickering points of light, numerals and letters tracking aircraft in its region of control. Twice, they had received a visit from Soviet bombers from Murmansk. The first wave of bombers were hit hard; first by aircraft from Iceland, then by Britain’s air defence forces, and again from Iceland on their return. The second wave was more successful and managed to score some strikes on the base, but failed to hit any critical installations. For the sergeant staring at the screen, it had been a nerve-racking experience. Seeing the enemy aircraft on the radar getting closer and closer to their target and hearing the eventual explosions above had brought home the reality of the situation.
“Bravo-Two-One and Bravo-Two-Two. This is Juliet-One.”
“Juliet-One, Bravo-Two-One.”
“Bravo-Two-Two. Go ahead.”
“Bravo-Two-One, Two-Two. Standby.”
“Roger.”
“Roger.”
“Punch, Punch, target bearing zero-two-zero, angels two-zero.”
“Roger. Looking level on radar. Nothing yet.”
“I have target heading one-eight-zero, two-thousand.”
“Roger Juliet-One.”
“Whiskey-One has track and will talk you in.”
“Understood.”
The pilot of the lead Phantom looked right and gave his wing man the thumbs up. His fellow pilot reciprocated. Then, looking out and down through his cockpit, he could see a carpet of white cloud laid out below, appearing solid enough to walk on. Above, the skies were clear and a pale blue.
“Juliet-One, permission to intercept.”
“Two-One. Jinx starboard ten.”
“Roger.”
“Intercept and identify.”
“Roger.”
“Whiskey-One, this is Bravo-Two-One. You have some business for us?”
“Yes, yes. Probable Bravo-Echo-Alpha-Romeo.”
“Roger. Steer us in.”
“Turn one-zero-four left; take three-one-zero.”
“Roger.”
“Good hunting.”
The pilot talked with his navigator, then his wing man, and then the aircraft banked left ten degrees, additional fuel was injected into the jet pipe downstream of the turbine, and the afterburners provided significantly increased thrust, taking it from its cruising speed of 900 kilometres per hour to Mach 2.2, twice the speed of sound. Below, those on the ground would have heard the two supersonic booms as the two fighters shot through the sound barrier. Within a matter of minutes, the large silvery Soviet Bear aircraft came into view in the crystal-clear air of the now cloudless skies.
The Bear aircraft, its eight-bladed propellers clawing it through the skies, was impressive and dominating. On the ground, it stood at least to the height of four average men. In the air, its length of forty-six metres and wingspan of fifty metres was impressive as it started to climb higher, its maximum ceiling being nearly 14,000 metres. The Bear’s four engines, powering the four contra-rotating propellers, left four white vapour trails in the freezing atmosphere as it climbed at a rate of ten metres per second. Its distinctive wings were swept back at a thirty-five-degree angle. The large bulge beneath the front of the nose of the aircraft, which housed the aircraft radar, helped to confirm it as a TU-95T, a maritime surveillance, intelligence gatherer and targeting aircraft, known to NATO as a Bear-D. Its sister aircraft, the TU-95, was even more sinister, able to carry and drop the AN-602 Tsar Bomba, the world’s largest and most powerful nuclear bomb available.
“Juliet-One, I have a contact at one-zero left.”
“Juliet-One. Roger.”
“Juliet-One, Two-One. We have Zombie identification. One, Bear-Romeo-Tango.”
“Juliet-One. Roger. Any sign of an escort?”
“Negative.”
“Two-One, Whiskey-One. Two Zombies, five miles west, inbound to you.”
“Roger that. Permission to engage Bear.”
“Weapons free.”
“Two-One. Roger.”
“Bravo-Two-Two, Bravo-Two-One. Take top cover.”
“Roger.”
Bravo-Two-Two, the wing man, pulled up, into a steep climb, ready to protect his fellow pilot while he went in for an attack.
It wouldn’t be difficult. So long as the pilot avoided the gun in the Bear’s tail, it would be a simple takedown.
Two air-to-air missiles fired by Bravo-Two-One, soon despatched the large Soviet Bear, the aircraft spinning out of control as a shattered wing dragged it round. At least two chutes were seen leaving the stricken plane. The two aircraft then turned to face the first of many fighters that the RAF would come up against that day.
“Juliet-One, Whiskey-One. Zombies identified. One hundred miles out. Estimate two-four, over.”
“Roger that. Out to you. Leuchers, launch all available Phantoms. Mission number, two-nine. Vector zero-three-zero. Climb three-four-zero. Scramble. Scramble. Scramble.”
“Juliet-One, Whiskey-One. Zombies identified. Second flight. Estimate Three-four. Expected target, your location. Batten down. Out.”
Chapter 9