Exclusion Zone

by Exclusion Zone (retail) (epub)

‘He’s four miles out, eleven o’clock,’ Jane said, scanning her radar screen. ‘Now three miles, turn zero-two-zero. Got him yet?’

  ‘Wait… yes. Visual.’ I spotted the dark shape of the aircraft against the clouds. I swung the jet into a tight turn that brought us into formation, line astern, and about one mile – seven seconds – separated.

  ‘Follow me in, Sean. I’ll take the left targets, you take the right.’

  We barrelled in towards the airfield again. Ahead I could see a drifting line of smoke. Beyond it ground fire seared upwards towards Noel’s jet. His guns flashed in response as he strafed the enemy positions. Then he was past the target, climbing steeply upwards and banking for another run as we began our own attack.

  I held the jet in its shallow dive, saw the tracer slicing towards us and then squeezed the firing button. There was a thunderous rattle as the guns spat out high-explosive shells at two thousand rounds a minute. The muzzle flashes lit up the cockpit as if the aircraft were on fire and the smell of cordite filled my nostrils. I could feel the jet slowing under the force of the recoil from the guns.

  A line of explosions tore across the ground. I eased the stick up and left a fraction, walking the line of fire on to the target. Then I released the button and the sound died, leaving my ears ringing, as the last of the empty shell cases clattered into the bay beneath the floor of the cockpit.

  Three more times we were called in to strafe targets, then the enemy lines broke. Most pulled back in an orderly withdrawal, a few turned and ran, pursued by skirmishing parties of Marines.

  ‘Falcon Three to Fortress, we’re low on fuel, are we clear to land?’

  ‘Runway clear, Falcon Three, perimeter secure, you’re okay to land.’

  I released the radio button, looking down on the airfield as we circled for our approach. Flames still flickered from a score of fires and pillars of grey-black smoke rose into the air, but the surface of the runway appeared to be virtually unmarked. ‘I can’t understand why they didn’t crater the runway while they had the chance. We’d have been in deep shit.’

  ‘They must be planning to use it themselves.’ Jane voiced the thought that had been nagging at me. We both fell silent.

  ‘Best we get these jets turned round and ready to go again as fast as maybe,’ she said.

  Rees’ jet went in first as we circled, still alert for ground fire or a missile launch. They touched down and braked under reverse thrust. Before they had reached the end of the runway, we were beginning our own approach.

  We landed safely and sped through to the QRA area. As I spun the jet round on the apron, another Tempest blasted down the runway and took off, spewing out flares to decoy any SAMs. It banked away to the north and a couple of minutes later I saw the flash of an explosion lighting up the lower slope of Mount Pleasant.

  A tractor pushed our jet back into the shack, its concrete walls pockmarked with bullet holes. As I killed the engines, the ground crew swarmed over the jet, almost unrecognisable under the cam cream still smeared on their faces. Avgas began pumping through the hoses and the armourers hurried to fix new missile pods and rearm the aircraft.

  I had to hold fatigue at bay while we ran through the exhaustive checks to get the jet primed and ready to go again. Finally we were finished. I took off my helmet, leaving it on the seat, still connected to the communications cables, and clambered down.

  In the distance I could still see and hear sporadic bursts of fire. The push out by the Marines seemed to have faltered. The lines of tracer etched against the black mass of the mountains suggested that the Argentinians had pulled back only as far as defensive positions on the higher ground. There was every chance that they would regroup and then return to the attack.

  The remnants of my adrenalin-fuelled elation faded as my gaze took in the ruins of the Q shed and the bodies laid out in a row on the edge of the apron. I tried not to look down at the ground in front of the Tempest shack, but my eyes were drawn to a pool of congealing blood, still marked by the tracks of the Tempest’s tyres. A dark, irregular trail showed where Taff’s body had been dragged away across the concrete.

  Troops were still clustered in defensive firing positions around each of the remaining shacks. Their commander, a white-faced and very young troop officer, pointed us towards the Reserve Forces building. ‘It’s only lightly damaged, we’re using it as an emergency Q shed.’ I could see his fingers trembling as he stretched out his hand.

  Shark, Jimmy and a few other aircrew sat, stood or paced around a large wooden table inside the shed. There should have been twenty men there, the eight on QRA, plus the dozen reserve aircrew. Including the two still airborne, I counted only ten. I looked around the circle of faces, noting the absentees. I could only hope they were casualties not fatalities, but I didn’t ask what had happened; I didn’t want to know the answer.

  They glanced up as we came in, but nobody spoke. Their faces were pale, grimy and lined with fatigue, and they flinched at the distant gunshots. Rees sat alone, his head in his hands. He looked to have aged years in the space of one evening, and even Noel’s normally florid complexion had a sallow look. ‘The Boss is just collating the casualty and battle damage reports. As soon as we have a more complete picture of what jets and shacks are still usable, there’ll be a sit-rep and briefing.’ The effort of speaking was almost too much for him. ‘But we’ll keep one jet airborne continuously until first light, or until we get the all-clear.’

  The building was a mirror image of the Q shed, but even more sparsely furnished. I slumped on a hard wooden chair by the wall, too tired even to think about washing off some of the sweat and dirt. There were a few murmurs of conversation, but most people sat silent, staring at the walls.

  Jane sat down next to me, leaned across and squeezed my arm. ‘All right?’

  ‘Not really,’

  ‘You did a good job there.’

  I shook my head. ‘I shouldn’t have had to. It was my fault. What happened to Taff and—’

  ‘Don’t be stupid.’ A couple of heads turned. She flushed and lowered her voice. ‘He was already dead when the jet went over him.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that. If I’d had my mind on my job earlier today I’d have realised what those Argentine helicopters were up to. If I’d stopped them sinking the Trident, they would never have dared to make the attack tonight.’

  ‘That’s bullshit, Sean. Those troops were already here. You saw one of their Zodiacs hidden on the beach. The Trident might have kept the Argentine navy at bay, but it didn’t stop them infiltrating those troops. Snap out of it, Sean. We did what we were ordered to do. We checked it out. It seemed okay. We flew back. End of story. The Trident has,’ she paused, ‘had all the countermeasures it needed to evade detection and antisubmarine weaponry. They were doing what they were paid to do, just like we are.’

  I shrugged, unconvinced, but before I could reply, the door banged. Jack stood just inside the entrance. He caught sight of me and began walking towards us, his rifle still gripped in his left hand. His face was streaked with cam cream.

  He stood over us for a moment, then put his helmet down on the table and sat down, laying his rifle across his knees. He nodded to Jane. ‘Jack Stubbs, I was the Forward Air Controller for you guys out there.’ He turned to me. ‘I recognised your voice over the radio. You two did a great job.’

  ‘Thanks, so did you.’

  He shook his head wearily. ‘I fought one war here. I never thought I’d be fighting another.’

  ‘Have we driven them off?’

  ‘For the moment.’

  ‘Will they be back?’

  ‘Probably.’ He sat in silence for a few moments, his head bowed, then glanced up at Jane. ‘Do you mind if I have a few words in private with Sean?’

  ‘It’s all right, Jack. I’ve got no secrets from—’

  She was already standing up. ‘I don’t mind. I’m going to get my feet up for a few minutes. It’s going to be a long night.’ She walked over to a th
readbare sofa against the wall and lay down.

  Jack looked back at me. ‘You’ve been under fire now. You know what it’s like. I thought you’d earned the right to hear the rest of what happened to your brother.’

  ‘About Ro – About the civilians, you mean?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Well,’ I hesitated. ‘What he did for those people sounds like an incredibly brave thing to do. Yet it’s not even mentioned on the citation for his MC.’

  ‘Oh, it was brave all right, just like that officer at Goose Green was brave.’

  ‘Meaning what?’

  ‘You’ve seen the terrain. There was no cover worth the name on the whole of Black Mountain. Our silent attack had been compromised when the corporal stood on the mine. We were making a frontal assault against well-entrenched positions – including a heavy machine gun – on the ridge above us. We were hopelessly exposed and taking casualties.

  ‘The absolute priority was to get across that open ground as fast as possible and silence that machine gun. It was the best, the only way of protecting everyone – soldiers and civilians alike. Yet your brother held up the advance to play the hero and rescue the civilians.’ He paused. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m not denying it was a hell of a brave thing to do, but it wasn’t the smartest move by a long chalk. It was bad soldiering and it could have got himself and the civilians killed, as well as—’

  ‘But it paid off, didn’t it? He rescued the civilians and then took out the machine gun.’

  He looked away from me, fixing his eyes on the floor. When he spoke again, his voice was flat. ‘As soon as he saw the civilians, he shouted, “Hold your fire.” With the noise of the guns, it took a while for everyone to hear him, but gradually the firing from our side petered out and stopped. Then he held his rifle by the barrel, waved it above his head and slowly stood up, even though the Argentinians were still firing.

  ‘The platoon sergeant was just behind and to one side of him. He yelled at him to get down and was reaching up to pull him back into cover again when a tracer round went straight through his head. I don’t think your brother even knew what had happened to the sergeant. He was still staring towards the Argentine lines, oblivious of what was going on behind him.’ He shook his head wearily. ‘He stayed exactly where he was and the Argentinians gradually stopped shooting too. Then he put down his gun, walked forward and led the civilians down the hill into a scrap of cover – a low mound of rocks. I think he carried the girl most of the way.

  ‘I don’t know if he realised what had happened or even saw the sergeant as he came back to where he’d left his rifle. He just picked it up, dropped into cover and then fired the first shot, which set the whole firework display rolling again. It was immediately afterwards that he led the frontal attack on the machine-gun position.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe he did know what he’d done and that was his way of atoning.’

  I sat in silence.

  ‘Don’t think he’s suddenly turned from a hero to a villain,’ Jack said. ‘Nothing is ever quite that straightforward in combat or anywhere else. Sure, he’s still a hero, but there’s a very fine dividing line between a hero and the next bloke, who’s just doing his job.’

  He glanced down at his powerful hands, examining the cuts and scratches on them. ‘The platoon sergeant, Lofty Williams, was a hell of a good soldier. He was also a good friend of mine. He died risking his life to save someone else’s.’ He paused and fixed me with his gaze. ‘Just like your brother. The only difference is that there were no medals for Lofty, not even a Mention in Dispatches. He was just another statistic, another name on the Para monument.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

  He picked up his helmet and his rifle. ‘I have to get back to my men. Good luck.’

  ‘You too. I’ll buy you that pint when this is over.’

  He nodded, then turned away.

  Chapter Ten

  Jane left me alone with my thoughts for a few minutes, then wandered over and sat down again. ‘Okay?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you want to talk?’

  ‘He told me some more about Mike. Including some things I might have been happier not to know.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘He wasn’t quite as much of a hero as I’d thought.’

  ‘But Rose—’

  ‘He saved Rose and her family, all right, just as she said, but in doing so he got someone else killed.’

  When I’d finished telling her the story, she sat in silence for a moment, then said, ‘Good. I’m glad.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Not that someone died. I’m glad for you. It doesn’t lessen your brother in any way, in my book at least, but a hero with feet of clay is both a lot more human and a lot less daunting for his kid brother to live up to.’

  ‘But—’

  The sirens started to wail and the Tannoy crackled into life. ‘Alert. Falcon call-out. Alert. Falcon call-out.’

  The table went flying as the guys jumped up.

  I groaned. ‘Not again.’ My legs felt like lead, but Jane dragged me off my chair and we ran for the door. This time there were no explosions, no displays of tracer lighting up the night. Noel, Shark and the other guys were ahead of us as we sprinted for the ramp. They disappeared into the tunnel leading to the other shacks as Jane and I ran straight up the ramp.

  The Tempest shack was bedlam, the ground crew running to close the inspection covers, pull the warning flags from the missiles and yank the chocks from under the wheels.

  I barely glanced at the crewman holding the ladder for me. ‘Ready to go?’

  ‘I hope so, sir. It’s fully fuelled and loaded. We’ve not had time for even half the other checks.’

  I jumped into my seat, jammed the helmet on my head and reached for the radio button. ‘Fortress, this is Falcon Three starting up.’

  ‘Roger, Falcon Three. Intelligence suggests enemy aircraft taking off from Rio Grande.’

  ‘Identification?’

  ‘Probably Mig 29s.’ He paused. ‘And fully armed.’

  ‘Shit.’ These weren’t Mirages, one step from the scrapyard. Mig Fulcrums were a frightening exception to the generally poor standard of former Soviet military equipment. They were faster than the Tempests and more agile. I could only hope that their Argentinian pilots had not yet had sufficient training to make full use of their aircraft’s competitive edge.

  I pressed the transmit button again. ‘Numbers?’

  ‘Nothing yet… Wait… Yes. Eight aircraft. Two four-ships. Confirmed taking off. Stand by.’ There was a brief pause. ‘Falcon this is Fortress. Scramble all aircraft.’

  ‘Falcon Three scrambling.’

  The ground crewman was leaning over the side of the jet, strapping me in as I was speaking. I fastened my harness and waved him away. As he ran clear, I pulled the lever to close the canopy.

  ‘Falcon, check in.’ Noel’s voice over the radio showed no trace of weariness.

  ‘Falcon Three.’

  ‘Five.’

  ‘Eight.’

  ‘Negative Falcon 11. We’re pissing fuel all over the deck. Switching aircraft.’

  ‘Follow us up, Falcon 11, if you can get airborne.’

  There was a moment’s silence. Including the jet already airborne, only five were ready. The other seven had either been destroyed by the Argentine Special Forces or were unflyable without further repairs. We were heavily outnumbered – eight to five.

  Noel’s voice interrupted my thoughts. ‘Fortress, this is Falcon. Flight of four scrambling… antimissile take-off.’

  I eased the throttles away from me and the jet rolled slowly forward. The crewman guiding me out gave me a good luck sign, then ducked out of the way. As we cleared the building, I saw Noel’s jet already nosing on to the edge of the runway and then accelerating as the afterburners flared.

  ‘Data link coming up,’ Jane said.

  I wound up the engines, feeling as much as hearing the thunder as they belched out smoke a
nd flames that sent battle debris whirling away into the darkness.

  ‘Starting synchronisation,’ Jane said. ‘That’s good. Everyone’s on the link.’

  Noel’s jet was now clear of the ground, flares popping out as he flew flat and low over the perimeter and across the peatlands beyond.

  We were already rolling as I pushed the throttles further forward, up to eighty per cent reheat. My seat slammed into the small of my back in the familiar power surge. The jet howled down the runway and I felt the wheels come clear. ‘Gear travelling.’

  My heart was in my mouth as we lifted off, but not from fear of the duel to come with the Argentine aircraft. ‘Keep your eyes peeled, Jane. This could just be a feint to get us airborne over another patrol loaded with Stingers.’

  I felt the hairs rise on my neck. We had already used our share of luck. Instead of the usual steep climb, I held the Tempest fifteen feet above the ground, so close that the wash lashed the grass and I felt I could have reached down and touched the perimeter fence. ‘Flares! Flares!’

  Jane kept flares tumbling out but I held my breath as we skimmed over the peatlands, approaching the location of the other missile launches. I glanced down and could just make out the crater we had blasted, already filled with water draining from the surrounding peat.

  ‘Three hundred and fifty knots.’

  ‘Out of reheat.’ I pulled the throttles back to kill the afterburners, but held the acceleration up to four hundred and fifty knots. Then I stood the jet on its tail and headed skywards. There was still no telltale flash of light, no clamour from the missile Warner.

  We were safe from handheld SAMs for the moment, but a greater danger was awaiting us.

  We banked to the south and I caught sight of the flares of the other Tempests as they followed us down the runway. We kept in a steep climb to twenty thousand feet and then levelled out. I edged a little further upwards until the exhaust gases suddenly began to condense in a thick white plume behind us, a trail visible even in the darkness. I dropped five hundred feet and it disappeared again. We were at the perfect height; nothing could come down on us from above without leaving a contrail as a signature.