by James Rosone
“Yes, Sir,” they replied in unison.
Lieutenant Nikolaev grabbed his small pack and his AK-104 and headed off to his observation point. As the other soldiers got the mortar tubes setup and ready, Ivanov ordered one of the sergeants to head back down the dirt road to the entrance of the park. The sergeant dutifully sought out a few bushes where he could hide and observe the road approaching their position. With a high-explosive round in his grenade gun, if someone did manage to find them, he’d be ready to take them out.
Major Artem Ivanov looked at his wristwatch—one minute until showtime. He keyed in his mic. “Viper Two, are you in position?” he asked Lieutenant Nikolaev.
“Viper Six, Viper Two is in position. I’m ready when you guys are,” he responded.
Ivanov pulled a notebook out of his pocket. He had been given a set of exact coordinates for their targets from their GRU handlers, so they had a pretty good idea where the rounds needed to land.
“Drop the first round,” he ordered.
Sergeant Morozov lifted the mortar above his shoulder and held it over the tube for just a second before he dropped the round down the tube. He instinctively moved to the side just as the propellant for the round ignited and launched the mortar into the air. The round flew high and true, over the protective perimeter fence of the RAF base, and landed just short and to the right of the central cluster of radar domes that they needed to take out.
“Viper Six. Adjust fire. Up 100 meters, right 50 meters. Fire for effect,” called Lieutenant Nikolaev.
Morozov made a quick adjustment to the mortar tubes, and the team of Special Forces quickly dropped rounds as fast as they could. In less than three minutes, they had fired all thirty-six rounds. Explosions and sirens both blared off in the distance, a sure sign of their handiwork.
Major Ivanov spoke loudly to the men. “Leave the tubes, and let’s get in the vans and get out of here.”
As the others quickly climbed into the two delivery vans they were using as cover, Sergeant Morozov pulled a pin on each of the three thermite grenades, making sure each of the three tubes was spiked and would destroy any physical or forensic evidence left behind.
While they were making their way down the trail to the park exit, Major Ivanov heard an unwanted sound—the telltale whoomphing of helicopter blades. Thump, thump, thump came the reverberating noise. It was clearly getting closer to their position.
He let out a stream of exceptionally crude Russian vulgarities. “They must have had a direction finder radar set up at the base. How did we not know about that?” thought Ivanov.
He ran through their various options, which were very limited. They didn’t have a MANPAD with them, so shooting the helicopter down with a missile was out of the question. Trying to run away in the van was also not going to work; it was 2100 hours and this far out in the county, there wouldn’t be a lot of traffic. They would be easily found.
Ivanov looked around at the faces in the van, and then he made the only sensible decision he could in this situation. “Listen up,” he said. “There’s a helicopter coming our way. If that chopper discovers us, it’s going to attack us. We do not have a lot of options. If we have to return fire, I want you guys to focus your firepower on the cockpit of the helicopter or its engine. We need to disable it quickly and then do our best to get away and blend back into the population. If we make it out of this and get separated, go to Alternate Plan Charlie and stand by for further instructions. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Sir,” they replied.
Ivanov’s radio crackled to life. “Viper Six, this is Viper Two,” said Lieutenant Nikolaev, who sounded out of breath from running toward the entrance of the park to meet up with the team. “We have a Lynx helicopter inbound to our position…he just flew over me. He’s headed right for you guys!”
Ivanov yelled, “Everyone out! Shoot it down as soon as you see it!” Their vehicle ground to a halt on the dirt trail. Seconds later the doors opened, and everyone spilled out of the van just as the roar of a heavy machine gun pierced the air and bullets ripped through the vehicle.
*******
Royal Air Force Menwith Hill
Captain Ian Pendleton was aggravated. He took a long pull on his cigarette and slowly released the smoke through his nostrils, trying to let out all of his frustrations with it.
“How am I going to get back into the action that’s happening on the Continent?” he wondered.
He had been sidelined for a while. During one of the failed offensives in Ukraine, Pendleton had been on a flying mission when his Lynx had taken heavy enemy fire and had been shot down. While he’d survived with just a bullet wound to the leg, his copilot and two crew members had all perished when the helicopter had caught fire. Ian had barely had enough time to get himself out of the chopper before it had blown up, let alone try and drag all three of the unconscious crew members out of the wreckage.
Pendleton had been plagued since then with the constant cycle of memories from that day. He felt terrible about not having tried harder to see if any of his crew members were alive before he’d fled from the wreckage. All that had run through his mind was that the helicopter was on fire, his leg was bleeding badly, and he knew he needed to get away before he passed out from blood loss.
Following his recovery, Captain Pendleton had been assigned a new helicopter and crew and sent to Menwith Hill to give support to the local RAF bases in case they came under ground attack. It tore him up not being sent back to a frontline combat unit, but even though he wished he were on the front lines, he was slowly trying to accept his new role.
Once a night, Pendleton and his crew would fly around the bases where they were assigned and use their infrared and thermal sights to see if they spotted anything out of the ordinary. Due to a mechanical problem on the earlier shift, they were now two hours behind schedule.
Captain Pendleton finished his cigarette break just before the crew chief, Staff Sergeant Linda Faux, gave him the signal that she had just finished her systems check of his new Lynx.
Suddenly, there was an odd thump in the distance. Then the noise disappeared.
“Did you hear that, Chief?” asked Pendleton as he quickly jumped to his feet.
A second later, they heard the unmistakable whistling sound of the mortar flying in. Bam! The round exploded next to one of the radar domes.
“Everyone in the helicopter now!” yelled Captain Pendleton. “We need to get airborne and find where that’s coming from!” He quickly ran to his own helicopter and jumped in. Before the next round could land, Ian skipped 99% of his preflight checks as he immediately turned the engine over and got the blades going. His copilot jumped into his seat and grabbed for his helmet. The other two crew members hastily did the same.
“Sergeant Faux, make sure the machine gun is ready. When we find out who’s firing those mortars at the base, you need to light them up! Understood?” He shouted to be heard over the now rapidly spinning blades.
Before she could respond, explosions suddenly rocked the base. Multiple mortar rounds landed among the radar domes that dominated the southern half of the base. It was clear by looking at where the explosions were cropping up that the attackers were targeting the early-warning radar systems and not the actual members who manned them.
After a few tense moments, Pendleton took the Lynx off the ground. At first, they skidded and slid along the grassy field, and then they rose a little. Finally, they gained more altitude as their power ramped up. Once in the air, everyone scanned the nearby area, trying to see where the mortars were coming from.
“Over there, three o’clock!” shouted Sergeant Faux as she spotted three more mortars lifting off from behind a cluster of trees.
Ian scanned that area, and while he could not see the exact launch point, he did catch a glimpse of the mortar rounds as they reached their zenith point and fell back to earth. He turned the helicopter in that direction and applied some speed.
Lieutenant Samantha Corbyn, his co
pilot, turned the infrared on and scanned the area. Not seeing anything pop up, she switched over to thermals. Immediately, she and Pendleton saw a cluster of people doing something in the trees and then piling into two vehicles. One person appeared to have lit off some sort of thermite grenade, because whatever he dropped in the glowing hot mortar tubes flared up with almost instant heat.
“That’s them. Call it in, Corbyn!” Pendleton directed. He angled the Lynx to come in for a better attack run. With two machine guns fitted next to the side doors, he was going to angle the helicopter to come in with a slight bank to the left so Sergeant Faux would have a good angle to attack them from.
“I see them. Engaging now!” shouted Faux as she depressed the butterfly trigger on her machine gun. Her weapon chattered, spitting out rounds at a high rate in the direction of the lead vehicle. She saw the red tracers hitting just in front of the vehicle, with one or two slamming directly into it. Adjusting her fire, she depressed the trigger again and let out another burst of machine-gun fire. Then she walked the fire back to the second vehicle as Captain Pendleton veered the helicopter to the left and slowed them down.
As she was adjusting her weapon to open fire again, she saw half a dozen muzzle flashes. One of the weapons was using green tracers, which quickly whipped through the air in their direction. The helicopter jolted, and Linda felt bullets hitting the side of it. She fired back at the attackers, desperately trying to silence them before they got lucky and shot them down. One of the vehicles caught fire and summarily exploded, engulfing at least two of the attackers.
“We’re taking fire!” Corbyn yelled to Pendleton as he jinked the helicopter hard to one side, giving the chopper additional throttle as he tried to gain altitude. Thwap, thwap, crunch. The helicopter continued taking hits.
Alarm bells blared in Pendleton’s helmet. He and Corbyn continued to try and pull them up higher to get them out of range of the ground fire. “Is everyone OK?” he shouted over the intercom, hoping no one had been hit.
Sergeant Faux turned to look at her partner-in-crime, who gave her a thumbs-up sign that she was fine. “We’re OK back here,” Faux replied. “How about you guys in front?”
“We’re good,” answered Pendleton. “I’m pulling us up and out of their range. I’ll come around again from higher altitude. See if you can keep them pinned down while we wait for additional help to arrive.”
The Lynx banked hard to the right as they settled into a high-altitude circle racetrack that would allow them to loiter over the area and continue to shoot at them with their machine guns until reinforcements could arrive. Corbyn had already called in the quick reaction force, who was currently en route to their position. They just needed to keep the soldiers on the ground pinned down while they waited for help.
*******
Major Ivanov cursed as the helicopter continued to loiter above them, firing at them. “We need to find a way to get out of here before their reinforcements arrive or we’re through,” he realized.
Reading the major’s mind, Sergeant Morozov unzipped the rifle case he had grabbed from the van during their hasty retreat. He quickly pulled the OSV-96 sniper rifle out of the case and unfolded it. Locking the rifle in place, he slapped the five-round magazine of 12.7×108mm AP rounds into place. Lifting the rifle to his shoulder, he took aim at the helicopter that was circling around them, looking to kill more of his comrades.
Sighting in the engine compartment of the helicopter, he took aim at it and squeezed the trigger. The rifle barked loudly as the armor-piercing round flew out of the barrel at 920 meters per second. As soon as the next round cycled into his rifle, he saw a small spark on the engine compartment of the helicopter, followed by a small flame. The helicopter listed a bit to one side.
Morozov took aim at the cockpit of the helicopter as it continued to struggle to stay airborne and fired another round. This time, the helicopter veered hard. The pilot was clearly trying to put some more distance between them as their chopper fell from the sky. A few minutes later, they heard the helicopter crash, though they didn’t see an explosion.
“Everyone, get in the van. We need to get out of here!” yelled Major Ivanov as the remaining members piled into the only working vehicle. He was angry that they had lost another three members of their team during this last skirmish.
As soon as everyone was inside, the driver immediately gave the van gas, accelerating quickly down the dirt road. In no time at all, they had reached the country road, which they all hoped will lead them to safety. They raced down the back road toward the A61. From there, it should be easier to put some distance between themselves and the scene of the attack.
Five minutes went by as continued racing toward the highway. Then they spotted the first signs of trouble. A small cluster of police cars blocked the road that led to the A61. Ivanov saw the driver look in his side mirrors.
“Sir, we have a police car chasing us and a road block in front of us,” he reported nervously. “I have nowhere to turn off right now. We’re going to have to engage the roadblock and hope the vehicle survives or steal another ride.”
“OK, everyone, here’s what we’re going to do,” declared Major Ivanov. “When the van comes to a stop, I need everyone to focus your fire on the police at the roadblock—use suppressive fire and charge them. We need to take them out and then split up. Try to steal one of their squad cars or another car in the village if you can on the way out. Take separate routes to the alternate location, and I’ll see you there.” Ivanov readied his weapon for what was certain to be a brief and violent shoot-out with the police.
Approaching the roadblock at high speed, the driver suddenly slammed on the brakes as the police officers began to shoot at them with their pistols. In less than a second, the Spetsnaz soldiers jumped out of the vehicle and immediately emptied their magazines at the two police cars and the four officers manning the roadblock.
While Ivanov’s men were attacking the police in front of them, he went around the other side of the van to face the police car giving them chase. He leveled the 40mm grenade gun at them and pulled the trigger. He watched the round fly toward the vehicle and impact on the front hood, sending shrapnel into the front of the vehicle and either killing or severely wounding the officer driving the vehicle. The car veered off the road and hit a tree; flames burst out from the hood.
Ivanov carefully moved around to look at the carnage at the roadblock. He saw two of his soldiers laying down suppressive fire while two more of his men charged the police. In seconds, all four of the police officers lay dead on the ground from multiple gunshots. As quickly as the engagement had happened, it ended. All five of the Spetsnaz soldiers survived.
They were all in the process of moving to find getaway vehicles when they heard the thumping of another helicopter coming toward them. Turning to look over his shoulder, Ivanov spotted the nose gun of the Apache attack helicopter blink a couple of times before his brain registered that his body was being torn apart by the 30mm chain gun. In seconds, all five remaining members of the Spetsnaz team were wiped out in spectacular fashion.
*******
Norwegian Sea
40 Meters Above the Water
Skimming just above the water, the Russian Tu-160 Blackjack bomber was closing in on their firing point. Colonel Petr Orlov was perspiring profusely as he fought to keep his plane just above the sea. This was probably the most nervous he had been on a combat mission since the surprise attack on the first day of the war, and it was also his longest mission. To avoid detection, Colonel Orlov had his flight of four bombers top off their fuel tanks over the Barents Sea before dropping in altitude to just above the wavetops for the remainder of their flight.
At precisely 2110 hours local time, they would rise up to 500 meters, fire off their twelve Kh-101 long-range cruise missiles and then drop back down to the wave tops. If all went well, they would successfully strike several key industrial and government buildings in Aberdeen, Birmingham, Liverpool, and London.
The British had an exceptional antimissile picket system along their coast. To date, they had succeeded in intercepting every cruise missile attack the Russians had tried. During their preflight briefing, they had been informed that a Spetsnaz team was going to handle the early-warning system at RAF Menwith Hill. If that came to fruition, then chances were a lot of their cruise missiles might just hit their targets this time.
As Orlov’s bomber neared the launch time, he moved his left hand to wipe the beads of sweat that were now running down his face as the aircraft sped above the water at 960 kilometers per hour.
His radio crackled. “We’re two minutes away from launch,” announced his bombardier.
“Copy that. Rising. Stand by for weapons release,” Orlov replied. He pulled back on the controls, keeping an eye on the altimeter until he saw he was at the launch height and leveled out. If there were an enemy ship or aircraft operating in the area, he would suddenly appear on their radar. He was exposed now.
Listening in on the radio net, he could hear his fellow bombers releasing their cruise missiles. Then his bombardier came over the intercom. “Weapons release,” came the order.
“Releasing weapons,” Orlov answered. One after another of his twelve cruise missiles dropped from his internal weapons bay, igniting and speeding off to their preprogrammed targets.
Just as the last missile dropped free of the weapons bay and sped off, the defensive systems officer jumped on the intercom. “We have a search radar painting us. I’m working on jamming it now. It appears to be from a ship in the area,” he explained.