England Expects el-1

by Charles S. Jackson

  “Can we evade…?”

  “Maybe… maybe not,” Thorne shrugged, disengaging the autopilot and taking the F-35E even lower… as low as he dared at night without radar. “We might get away with it if we carry on as we are and stay on the treetops, but we’re running a very real risk of ploughing into something tall and hard that doesn’t have blinking red lights on top of it like they would in peaceful old ‘Realtime’. This Old Girl’s got night vision systems, but I’m not ashamed to admit I’m no expert flying that way, and if I miss spotting a smokestack or transmission tower, neither of us’ll know much about it until its way too late at this speed.” He gave a morbid chuckle. “Last thing going through our minds if that happens will be our own arses!” There was a thoughtful pause as Trumbull couldn’t help but grin at the man’s customary use of coarse figures of speech… something he seemed to have in common with the rest of the Australians in the unit to some extent.

  “There’s that danger,” Thorne continued, “and then there’s the more important concern of leading the bastard to the Extender. If they’re looking here already, it means they probably know I won’t make it anywhere safe without refuelling. The Extender won’t be able to hide down low, and it’s not stealthy like us: it’ll stand out like dog’s balls on radar…” he went silent as the beginnings of a plan started to form in his mind. “Which may actually do us a favour,” he mused. “If the other bugger’s out there with his systems off, waiting to jump us, then we’re probably screwed, but if they’ve split the pair up and he’s on his ‘Pat Malone’, we might just have a chance.” He checked the jet’s fuel status for the fourth time in twenty minutes. “Tanks are down a bit, but we’ve still got some to play with… what do you say to us seeing what we can do to stitch this bloke up?”

  “Harbinger to Phoenix-Two… come in please, Phoenix-Two,” Thorne called out over his radio following some adjustment, the chances of the enemy tuning in on the frequency-agile transmission extremely unlikely.

  “Receiving you, Harbinger… loud and clear…”

  “Phoenix-Two, I need you to leave the assigned rendezvous area and head due north at best speed… we’re going to need you closer to England for our refuel.”

  “Is everything okay there, Harbinger?”

  “Roger, Phoenix-Two… everything A-OK… just a slightly higher rate of fuel consumption than expected,” Thorne abjectly lied through his teeth with a completely straight face. “Airspace in my area is clear…”

  “Roger that, Harbinger… altering course as requested… we’ll see you soon… Phoenix-Two over and out.”

  “They’re going to be rather upset with you,” Trumbull observed, submitting his entry for understatement of the evening.

  “Only if they… one: detect this bastard before I can get a chance to take him… and two: also only if they survive the experience to get pissed-off at me.” The grin Thorne gave beneath the oxygen mask was only barely humorous. “They’ll be quite safe if this works, Alec: the Flanker’ll pick them up long before he’s within missile range, and if he goes after them, which I think he will, he’ll have to cut his speed to conserve fuel…”

  “Meanwhile, we’ll be able to strike at him from behind while the pilot’s attention is elsewhere…” Trumbull deduced the basic outline of the plan perfectly.

  “Most fighters have only minimal detection capability to the rear,” Thorne explained, “and while he’s concentrating on what’s ahead of him, we may be able to get close enough to shove a couple of Sidewinders up his arse.” He shrugged. “It’s not foolproof by a long shot, but we’re definitely in with a chance.” He took the Lighting into a smooth bank to port that opened out into an wide 270 degree turn. “If I can get in behind him without him seeing me, we’ve got a shot, and at the speed he’ll need to slow down to, we might be able to get into range pretty quickly.”

  With both aircraft flying above 10,000 metres in altitude, Hawk-4’s pilot picked up the KC-10A at a distance of well over 300 kilometres. There was no sign of the F-35E they were also seeking, but the tanker aircraft was an important target in its own right. If the fighter hadn’t yet refuelled, which was likely, destroying the tanker was as good as shooting down the Lightning into the bargain: the strike fighter would never have enough fuel to reach safety without it.

  “Hawk-Four to Control… I have a large contact… range one hundred and sixty nautical miles, on a bearing of two-four-seven… heading three-six-zero. Size and flight profile suggests it’s the tanker aircraft we’re looking for.”

  “Receiving you, Hawk-Four,” the reply from their controllers came back after a few seconds’ pause. “Has there been any sign of the enemy fighter?”

  “None so far, Control… only jet-type contact I have on-screen is that tanker.”

  Another pause, then: “Understood, Hawk-Four… you’re ordered to proceed at best advisable speed to engage tanker.”

  “Reading you loud and clear, Control: Hawk-Four over and out,” the pilot responded before addressing the nav/weapons officer behind him. “Best course for intercept.”

  “We’ll need to back off our airspeed… we’re pushing the limits of our combat radius now after that dash run… another three hundred nautical miles tacked onto the round trip isn’t going to help.”

  “He’s not going anywhere, Feodor,” the pilot assured with a smug grin, “and there’s no need to break the sound barrier to catch him!” The pilot took control from the autopilot, killed their afterburners, and hauled back on the throttles as he pushed the jet into a light turn to starboard that took them away from the Brittany Peninsula and out toward the Atlantic Ocean. The pair of now-empty outboard auxiliary tanks fell away as he dumped them in the interest of reducing resistance and shedding unnecessary weight, every little improvement an aid to increasing their available range.

  “You little beauty…!” Thorne crowed in triumph over the intercom, a little louder than was comfortable for Trumbull’s ears. “The fuckers have taken the bait… he’s turning away!” He’d managed to obtain an angle of approach on the Flanker following that wide, circling turn that was roughly perpendicular to its own flight path, and the noticeable drop in radiated emissions was an obvious indication that the aircraft had turned away. Since the initial large drop in signal, the Flanker’s emissions had started to increase once more, this time in a steadily gradual fashion that clearly indicated the F-35E was flying faster and hauling back the distance between them and their unsuspecting prey.

  “So now we wait?” Trumbull asked simply, voicing more of a statement than a question.

  “For a while, yeah,” Thorne agreed. “We have to stay as low as we can for the moment… even if he can’t see us, ground radar might, and we need to close within six miles to have a good chance of a kill with the Sidewinders… maybe less when you consider the buggers could be four or five miles above us as well.”

  “That close…? Couldn’t we use the AMRAAMs instead?”

  “Sure… I could fire those from about forty miles out, but I’d have to light up our systems before firing, and there’d be no more hiding then. I don’t want to give the pricks any more warning that I have to… makes it that much safer for everyone else, us included.” He made a few adjustments to his course that placed them directly behind the Flanker and on the same course. Both aircraft flew on, the gap between them closing steadily.

  The KC-10A Extender had no idea of the approaching danger. As a tanker aircraft, it wasn’t designed to be in combat areas or anywhere near them, and as such it was provided with only the most basic weather and navigation radars, neither of which could pick up the Flanker that was approaching from its starboard beam. It continued on its steady, northerly heading and waited for further contact from Thorne, but the crew were growing a little concerned…no only would the F-35E be running perilously low on fuel, but spending much longer on their current course would also take them closer to the English coast than was safe under the circumstances without escort.

  On
e of the more powerful of the Luftwaffe’s ground-based stations at Brest could now see the Extender as it cruised on at high altitude, and it could also see that the Su-30MK was approaching from a perfect firing position off the tanker’s starboard rear quarter. It was still closing as the station’s operators noticed an unusual glitch on their screens and broke radio silence with the aircraft.

  “Hawk-Four… please confirm… we’ve picked up a signal ‘echo’ five nautical miles directly ahead of your position, thirty nautical miles off the target’s starboard beam… please check your internal systems and advise…”

  The revelation caused great consternation with the aircrew of Hawk-4, and there were a few nervous moments of checking and rechecking their search systems, all of which came up with nothing at all.

  “Not possible!” The weapons officer complained in confusion. “There’s nothing in front of us except that bloody tanker!” He shook his head in frustration. “It must be a system problem at their end… we’re thirty miles from target!” But the truth hit the pilot in front of him like a sledgehammer a second later.

  “Christ!” He howled, dumping his remaining external tanks and hauling desperately back on the stick. “The fucker’s behind us!” He jammed his throttles forward as the Flanker suddenly hurtled upward into a loop, g-forces jamming them both hard into their seats and hampering their breathing as their afterburners kicked in.

  Thorne knew there’d been a chance of ground radar picking them up as they’d left the safety of low altitude and commenced their long climb toward the Su-30MK at full throttle. The growling lock-on signal from his IR systems had been buzzing in his ear for a few minutes during their final approach as the Lightning drew closer to firing range, the actual closing speed between the two aircraft no greater than 200km/hr.

  He really felt their luck had held longer than he’d any right to ask, and they’d managed to get far closer than he’d expected at the moment the Flanker suddenly entered into a sharp, radical climbing manoeuvre, indicating the jig was up. They were still at extreme range for his Sidewinders, but distance would close far more quickly now the enemy was turning in toward them. He also knew there were just seconds before the Flanker also had a clear lock on him, and Thorne didn’t hesitate as he launched both AIM-9X Sidewinders stored within his internal weapons bays. The twin flares of their rocket motors was almost blinding against the blackness of the night sky as they hissed away beneath the aircraft in pursuit of a target that was still ten kilometres away, five thousand metres higher in altitude and completely invisible to the naked eye.

  The detection of incoming missiles put the pilot of the Sukhoi at an immediate disadvantage as his radar and IRST systems detected the F-35E within seconds of rolling through the apex of the loop. Years of training kicked into action in an instant as he simultaneously fired off two missiles of his own, pulled into a hard turn away, and dumped flares and chaff in an attempt to decoy the incoming fire. Thorne also prepared to go on the defensive, but held his course for a few precious seconds as the two opposing salvoes of missiles passed close to each other in mid-air. Waiting for what instinct told him was the last safe moment, he kicked into afterburner and entered into his own series of complex manoeuvres as chaff and fiery flares also fell from beneath the rear of the Lightning in lurid streams.

  The aircraft suddenly lurched upward and to one side at a rate Trumbull wouldn’t have thought possible, assuming he’d actually had time to think as he waiting for his stomach to catch up, and the pair of Vympel R-73 heat-seeking missiles were suddenly presented with an extremely difficult target. Codenamed AA-11 ‘Archer’ by NATO forces, the missile was the most modern short-range missile in the Russian Air Force’s inventory and was a simple, yet remarkably manoeuvrable design. No guided weapon was perfect however, and one of the approaching missiles quickly decided on an easier target as it veered off to starboard and followed one of the burning flares on a long journey down toward the cold Atlantic below. It detonated harmlessly a few seconds later, but the second R-73 came much closer, not so easily fooled by the flares and heavy manoeuvring.

  Both Trumbull and Thorne simultaneously drew sharp, frightened breaths as the Archer sizzled past within metres of the cockpit, diverted at the last minute by another flare, and detonated just thirty metres astern. The shockwave of the blast from the 7.5kg fragmentation warhead slapped the Lightning like a giant hand, and shrapnel filled the air around the aircraft, several pieces tearing large holes through the surface of its starboard rudder. Thorne suddenly found the aircraft far more difficult to handle as the damage instantly created serious control and airflow problems.

  “Well bugger me…!” He howled in anger and fear, fighting momentarily to regain level flight and praying there’d be no further missiles to dodge.

  They were in no immediate danger. Hawk-4 had been targeted with two AIM-9X Sidewinders — one of just a handful of AAMs more advanced than the R-73 — and the pilot’s attention was far too focussed on avoiding his own death to consider a follow-up attack at that moment. He’d instantly banked away south and downward after firing, and turned onto a course away from the Lighting, the Sukhoi’s own incandescent flares pouring in streams from its tail accompanied by clouds of aluminium strips that glittered brightly in the illumination of those desperate fireworks.

  The first of the Sidewinders held an excellent lock on the Flanker’s exhausts for most of its flight as the jet turned its nose to the south, and although it was ultimately tricked at the last moment by a tight combination of heavy manoeuvre and hissing flares, it nevertheless still detonated close enough behind the aircraft to damage its port wings and send fragments tearing along the rear fuselage. The damage mattered little, as the second Sidewinder powered on unerringly, its imaging-IR seeker head completely oblivious to a sky full of decoys. It scored a direct hit on the exhaust nozzle of the Sukhoi’s portside Lyulka turbofan and detonated on impact, also igniting the SU-30’s remaining internal fuel in a massive, billowing explosion of fire and thick smoke.

  “Phoenix-Two, this is Harbinger,” Thorne began a few seconds later as he brought the Lightning back under control. As the aircraft was controlled electronically through ‘fly-by-wire’ systems, there was no real feedback of the damage through his joystick, however both men could feel the aircraft shuddering due to the disrupted airflow around the jet’s damaged twin rudders, and manoeuvres also took slightly longer than they should as a result. “Sorry about the scare there, gentlemen… we had a close call, but its all clear now and we’ve splashed one Flanker.” Thorne knew the crew of the Extender had to have noticed the all-in air battle in their area, and that was bound to raise some questions as to why their course had been rerouted in the first place.

  “Receiving you, Harbinger… glad to hear everything’s OK… thanks for the heads-up.” The tone of the last sentence was distinctly sarcastic.

  “Oh yeah… they’re pissed,” Thorne observed with a nod and a wry grin. “They’ll get over it though…” He keyed transmit once more. “Not a problem there, Phoenix-Two… I’m twenty-five nautical miles off your starboard beam and getting close to ‘bingo’ fuel… could definitely need some assistance.”

  “Roger that, Harbinger,” The reply came in an instant, sarcasm immediately replaced with professionalism once more. “Crew is ready and awaiting your arrival.” A bright star suddenly lit up in the night sky ahead of them as the Extender turned on its navigation and operating lights, guiding the fighter in to a rendezvous.

  The refuelling took a good deal longer than it normally should have, most of that extra time taken up by Thorne fighting with his damaged aircraft while attempting to link up with the Extender’s refuelling boom. Task finally completed, the pair formed up for a long and leisurely cruise back to base, on their wide detour around Ireland to avoid any further potential threats. It wasn’t long however before that potential threat became a realised one. As they closed on the south coast of Ireland, Thorne’s search radar detected a single, hig
h-level contact approaching from the north-east at high speed.

  “Looks like we’ve got some more ‘fun’ coming our way, Alec,” he advised, locking the aircraft into his targeting systems while it was still more than 200 kilometres away. He then radioed the crew of the KC-10A to also advise them of the newly-detected bogie. “Phoenix-Two, we’ve got our last Flanker heading in at high speed from the north-east, range one-one-zero nautical miles… recommend you head further west and descend to low level. Turning in to intercept now… we’ll see if we can keep him off your tail…”

  “Understood, Harbinger… will comply… thanks for the warning.” There was no sarcasm this time, and within seconds the tanker had began to turn sharply away from the Lightning’s port wing, seeking safety in distance and a lower altitude. Thorne turned the F-35E in the opposite direction, putting them on a collision course with the remaining Sukhoi.

  “One way or the other, this is the last of them, isn’t it, Max…?” Trumbull observed with a seriousness borne of tension and fear.

  “Sure is,” Thorne agreed slowly, his own nerves starting to show in his voice as the aircraft continued to shudder noticeably in flight. The jet still flew well enough, but the continual vibration was beginning to sap at both men’s mental and physical strength. There was also the danger that constant stress placed upon the airframe itself might cause some other unknown weak point to fail, although Thorne decided it probably best not to mention that fear to Trumbull at that moment. “Not much chance of sneaking up on them this time, either,” he grimaced. “It’ll probably come down to technology in the end…”