There was no one else in earshot.
“Take care of yourself out there mate,” Ray offered him his hand.
“You too, and now I’d best get aboard before the grown-ups notice.”
The battalion mounted up and moved out, heading for the forming up point and thence to the start line.
At 0500hrs the artillery opened fire, targeting the Chinese forward positions and at 0530hrs the combined NATO divisions stepped off.
At Albatross Nikki performed the pre-flight inspection on her aircraft as it sat like a brooding bird of prey in its cage of blast walls. It was a D Model, a rare breed these days, and the only one with ‘The Orphans’, the survivors of the Nimitz and Constellation. Nikki was also of course the last survivor of the John F Kennedy, and the last time she had flown an F-14D had been off its deck. This aircraft sported a brand new red star, her twentieth confirmed kill, which made her the navies top serving scorer with a four victories lead on the next nearest contender. Aces of course will still carry out a thorough pre-flight unless scrambled, checking surface condition, panels and fasteners, looking for leaks and misplaced screw drivers, and FOD hazards a tired mechanic could have overlooked. Twenty three headings on the checklist, with sub headings in between, before she signed for it.
Out in the darkness the airfield was very much alive despite the blackout.
British Tornados and Jaguars, Australian and US F/A-18s, and of course the Tomcats. The odd menagerie that had been The Pearce Wing was gone now, and so to had many of its colourful members. Even a skilled pilot is on borrowed time flying elderly F-5s and Hawk trainers against the Sukhois of the Chinese and Russian naval air wings who were their opponents. The half strength wings had been reinforced by new aircraft from China, via Mactan and the tankers based there. That of course had ended with the capture of the airfield and base there.
Over three thousand miles away to the north west the Italian, German and French air forces were operating out of Mactan and Mindanao, where Christians and Muslims had put aside their differences for the time being and ended Chinese occupation with the help of French and British marines. The writing was on the wall for the People’s Republic but saving face seemed more important than suing for peace.
The enemy naval air wings in Australia were the first item of business today for the RAF. The Tornados were bombed up with JP233 runway denial weapons and the Jaguars were the Wild Weasel flak suppressors paying an early morning visit to Illawarra airfield, on the edge of the lake by the same name. It was the last operational airbase in Australia that the Chinese had.
The remainder of ‘The Pearce Wing’, the Orphans and the Aussies, were providing close air support for the ANZACs and British Army ground units along with USAF A-10s out of Jervis Bay, with USAF F-15s and 16s flying CAP out of Canberra International, as were the tankers, AWACS and JSTARS. It was set to be a busy day and a crowded sky.
“Elephant Walk in ten, Commander.” She was hailed by a ground marshal.
“What’s an Elephant Walk, Ma’am?” queried her new RIO.
Nikki couldn’t help it, and smiled as she spoke, despite thinking sadly of the last person to ask that of her.
“About fifty miles a day, lieutenant.”
Rangi Hoana was the first to notice.
Sat on a thunder box he saw that there was no-one in the nearest watchtower. The dim electric lighting was still present along the fence top but the sentries were absent. Weak from dysentery, as was everyone in the camp, he finished his business and hobbled to the end of the line of portaloos to look along the fence and then he hurried, as best he could to the Russians container waking Karl Putchev with the news that the gates were still firmly barred but that the guards had disappeared.
“Do you think they shipped out?” Reg Hollis asked.
“Hardly likely, everything is pretty well blockaded, from what we’ve heard…” the sound of the opening barrage began as a distant rumble, like thunder in the mountains.
“No, I think they have gone off to fight.” Karl Putchev stated. “A maximum effort.”
“Where are the work party from yesterday, did they come back last night? Perhaps they heard something?”
Two hundred prisoners had been loaded up and taken away the day before and a check revealed they had not returned. It wasn’t unusual for them to use the prisoners for work details, even in sensitive areas where the men had returned with titbits’ of information Karl Putchev somehow seemed to be able to pass on.
They waited for an hour, to be completely certain that the guards were not coming back from some urgent task, before forcing the gate to the women’s compound and checking they were still safe and well. Finally they forced open the main gate, and took tentative steps beyond it, wary of a trap. It would be a shame to get shot when liberation was just a few miles distant.
The barracks and administration blocks were empty, as was the food store of course.
“I think we should make a run for it.” Someone said.
“Run where, and why?”
They stayed put, within the confines of their stockade, voluntarily this time, and waited.
The engine start up went without a hitch and they sat there for several minutes waiting for the marshals to light their wands and guide them forwards.
Nikki applied the right brake when the marshal pointed to their starboard gear, turning onto the taxiway.
Her RIO was twisting about in his seat, no doubt gawping at the sudden appearance of so many aircraft in close proximity to one another and all plodding along. Not quite nose to tail, but pretty close. Two replacements, both F-14As, were assigned to ‘Smackdown’ flight and they followed the leader.
Royal Air Force Jaguars of No. 54 Squadron took off first, followed by the flight of three Tornado GR4s from 31 Squadron who were carrying out the runway attack. That was all the Tornados that were left, aside from two damaged aircraft being cannibalised for parts to keep the trio flying. The RAAF F/A-18s followed them, and finally The Orphans.
Climbing to 12,000ft they tanked over the sea with warships of the allied sat below on its mirror-like calm, waiting to be called upon to lend gunfire support also. It was crystal clear with visibility good enough to watch the specks engaged over the airfield. The Jaguars attacked and the first Tornado went in but sheared off without releasing the ordnance.
“Abort, abort…friendlies….” A bright flash cut off the rest of the transmission as the aircraft was brought down by ground fire.
A Jaguar finished the transmission. The two runways, north/south and east/west, had POWs penned near to the runways in concertina wire enclosures. The 30 detonating submunitions would undoubtedly cause fatalities among the prisoners and the British pilot did not find that acceptable.
Illawarra was still operational and the Sukhois were now coming up to meet them.
Baz Cotter and 12 Platoon walked slowly north as the darkness gave way to the first rays of daylight, and as that light increased he beheld with some awe the colossal allied effort, with men and machines moving at a walking pace, as far as the eye could see.
8 Infantry Brigade were in reserve, dogging the steps of the ANZACS. It was never going to end any other way, the Australians were going to be the ones to end the invaders. Everyone else was welcome to come along and watch, but this, today, was their fight, it was personal.