The base did not even have an operational early warning system. No base emergency alarm, no long-range threat radar. Its entire defensive package was made up of exactly two 188-mm triple-barreled flak guns.
For the two dozen people assigned to the base and those citizens living in the village of Hampton nearby, the first warning that anything was wrong came from three miles across Falkland Sound. It was a coded message sent by a detachment of the Special Tank Services commandos which were in charge of protecting the small farmhouse on the hill near Summer Point.
Their mobile attack-threat radar had detected an unknown aerial force heading east toward the Falklands. This urgent message had been sent at exactly 0600 hours. But by the time the people at the McReady Air Base received the message, decoded it, understood it, asked for confirmation, and then decoded that message, it was too late.
Fighter-bombers bearing the red ball markings of the Nipponese Occupation Army had already appeared overhead.
Two and a half miles away, across the sound which separated East and West Falkland, the detachment of STS soldiers who had sent the warning message were perched on a high cliff which looked out on the water and East Falkland itself.
They were inside the huge armored vehicle known as the Roamer. From this high ground, they could clearly see McReady air base and the enemy planes that were now circling overhead.
It was these soldiers who first realized something bad was on the way. On a security patrol around the tip of West Falkland, a routine drill performed as part of their protection duties for the farmhouse on the hill, the soldiers had set up their mobile long-range aerial threat and surface-radar array. The exercise was performed more to test the equipment than anything else. The STS commandos had been astonished when they had turned on their screens and seen a ten-ship task force heading right for them.
The ships and their size indicated they were not friendlies. One of the vessels was an aircraft carrier of medium size and as they watched on their radar screens, this ship had commenced launching airplanes. Most of those attack planes were now circling above McReady Air Field.
There were seven STS soldiers inside the Roamer, which was a kind of half tank, half personnel carrier that came equipped with many warning devices and communications equipment. Thirty-five feet long, fifteen feet wide, and weighing in at twenty-five tons, the Roamer also had a small but lethal antiaircraft weapon on board. It was a guided rocket array which could launch up to sixteen small, semi-maneuverable HE projectiles at an airplane, hoping that one or more of the rockets would hit something. It was the shotgun approach to antiaircraft artillery.
The problem was that the rocket array could only be effective inside a three mile range—the Roamer’s current position was two and a half miles away from McReady, nearly at the edge of the AA weapons envelope. The STS men would have to pick their targets very carefully, and be fully prepared not to hit a thing.
They had already messaged back to the farmhouse, of course, and the tank crews back there were at that moment going into high alert mode one. This meant the threat to the farmhouse and the facility below was at the highest point possible. The orders back from the STS commanders was for the Roamer crew to aid the defenders of McReady air field in any way they could, even if the sky was about to fall in on them. Gaining this vantage point at Point Curly and studying the situation was the first part of the Roamer crew’s carrying out of this order.
By the time the sun broke the far, stormy horizon, the full enemy aerial force had arrived over McReady. The aircraft were of two types. Roughly half of the fifty airplanes were SuperKate attack craft. Large two-man jet bombers, these planes had been instrumental in the sneak attack on Panama almost a year earlier. Each plane was weighed down with eight 2,000-pound Hiki bombs known for their building-busting as well as their runway-cratering capabilities.
The other two dozen airplanes were SuperZeroes, the powerful, highly maneuverable jet fighter of choice of the Nipponese Occupation Forces.
There was another airplane out there as well—bigger than the others, and slower too. It was a multiengined affair, a unique aircraft known for its ultra-long range, its relatively lightweight construction, and its bug-eyed appearance. It was orbiting out to sea, about twenty-five miles north of McReady. Out of visual range and for the most part flying below radar, the STS commandos could only guess what its purpose was.
Once the attacking forces were set, the SuperKates began to dive on McReady. Screaming down from a height of 15,000 feet, they dove in pairs, their first target the base’s second-longest runway.
The first pair swept in, laying their 2,000-pound bombs in a line across the field’s north-to-northwest runway, a 9,000-foot strip. The bombs hit hard and exploded like a line of gigantic fireworks. The plumes of smoke, flame, and concrete went straight up in the air, nearly clipping the tails of both attacking airplanes—that’s how precise these pilots were.
As the second pair of SuperKates came down, their bombs heading for the same runway, the base’s defenders finally opened up. The two AA guns, one located at each end of the base, began valiantly firing away at the attack planes. But it was a rather pathetic sight. The air was filled with swirling aircraft, bombs were falling, engines screaming, and in the middle of it all was the rather weak pop-pop-pop of the two small, antiquated AA guns.
Somehow word about the defenders’ weapons reached back up to the SuperZeroes, who were circling the attack area in carousel fashion at about 8,500 feet. Two of them broke off from this orbit and came screaming out of the cloud layer. It was obvious they were going in to strafe the AA guns.
That’s when the STS men went into action.
One AA gun was located at the northwestern edge of the base, and, at about 3,000 yards, the closest defenders’ position to the STS team’s Roamer. One of the SuperZeroes came down to nearly wavetop level and began a run across Falkland Sound, heading straight for the AA gun which was still popping away at the SuperKates.
This flight path took it right past the cliff where the STS Roamer lay in wait. With the ’Zero slowing in speed and its pilot obviously powering up his electric guns, the STS commander sighted his hot engine and launched a half-barrel barrage of AA guided rockets. The eight projectiles went spiraling away from the hidden cliff position, turning swiftly if uneasily as their primitive radiation-seeking nose cones followed the warm electronic heartbeat being emitted by the attacking SuperZero.
Their paths might have looked uncertain, but the timing of the barrage couldn’t have been better. Five of the eight rockets hit the ’Zero and a sixth clipped its tail. There was a series of quick explosions as the tiny HE warheads blew up. A second later the SuperZero began to come apart.
First there was smoke. Then flame. Then many swirling pieces of metal, bone, and skin. Another explosion shook the morning air. After that, there was nothing left of the ’Zero or its pilot except tiny pieces of debris falling into the cold, choppy waters of the Sound.
Scratch one SuperZero.
But now the STS crew had a problem. It had revealed its position. Still, when the second SuperZero came in, mimicking its partner’s path, the Roamer opened up again, this time launching its eight remaining guided rockets. Only two of the projectiles hit the target this time, but it was enough to sheer off the unsuspecting ’Zero’s wing and send the plane careening into the sound, right after its partner.
While all this was going on, the SuperKates continued their systematic cratering of the base’s northwest runway. Several control buildings had also been hit and now long plumes of smoke were beginning to rise above the airfield.
The Japanese planes were going about their job in a very leisurely fashion. The base’s AA guns were still firing, but now a swarm of ’Zeroes came screaming down and, avoiding the lethal approach over the sound, began mercilessly strafing both AA guns from the opposite direction.
Even worse, a six-pack of SuperZeroes had located the Roamer’s position and were now coming out of the sky, c
annons powered up, intent on destroying it.
The crew of the Roamer locked up tight and began moving off the cliff. Its commander knew he had to get to a less exposed position, but such a maneuver would be difficult. The terrain all around Point Curly was wide open, rocky, with barely a tree or a bush in sight to hide behind. Their only chance, and it was a slim one, was to make a mad dash for the bottom of the cliff, where heavy beach foliage and some convenient rock outcrops could be found.
Two ’Zeroes came in just as the huge tracked vehicle had backed out onto the roadway from which it had come. Both ’Zeroes opened up with electric guns and cannon, both missing the Roamer cleanly, but not by a wide margin.
A second pair of ’Zeroes were right on their tails. Their aim was true, and in seconds heavy machine gun rounds began pinging all over the Roamer’s turret.
It was at this point that the Roamer’s commander sent an urgent message back to the command hut at the farmhouse, telling them they were under attack, that there was little they could do about it, and to please dispatch “any and all” aid or recovery forces—STS lingo for, send some body bags for us. So desperate was this message—sent as a third pair of ’Zeroes were homing in—the Roamer commander ended it with the even more fateful words, “God Save the Queen.”
All did seem rather bleak inside the Roamer at that moment. They were about to be torn apart by cannon shells, McReady airfield was about to be bombed out of existence, and a substantial naval force was on its way to invade the island, all of which would put their main responsibility—the operation at the farmhouse—in dire straits indeed.
To a man then, the STS troopers believed that they had fucked up royally and that by failing to protect the secret at the farmhouse, they’d triggered a widespread, global event of historic proportion.
That’s why it was so strange that in that last dark second when they were convinced only a miracle could save them, that’s exactly what happened.
Their first indication was that the expected barrage of armor-piercing, skin-ripping, bone-crunching cannon fire never came. They heard the ’Zeroes bearing down on them—but they heard another sound as well. This one was deeper on the mechanical end, yet higher in pitch.
The noise, and the strange echoing that accompanied it, led them to think that whatever was making it was going very very fast.
They did hear the unmistakable sound of an aerial cannon going off—this was the last sound many a soldier had heard, and it was terrifying. But the fusillade did not hit the Roamer. Instead the Roamer just kept on going, at full speed, twisting and turning down the steep road off the cliff.
The commander was pounding his driver on the back to go faster, and the driver was trying to comply. But in the confusion and the sheer elation of not being dead yet, the commander did not realize the vehicle’s power plants had no more rpm left in them.
About hallway down the hill they heard more cannon fire, more screeching engines—but still, no gut-wrenching cannon barrage came. The driver was now eyeing a small forest at the bottom of the hill, hard by a frozen bog and next to an outcrop of thick granite rocks. It would be a perfect place to hide.
He made for it quickly. Through more noise and engine screeching and cannon rattling, the big vehicle somehow skidded its way through the trees and under the protective granite top.
Only then did the commander order all stop and told his men to stay fast and in place.
Then he lifted the turret hatch and had a look out.
Jet engines were still screaming and cannons were still rattling and the bombing of McReady field was still booming in the background, but the commander wasn’t paying much attention to any of it. He was looking straight up into the clear cold sky above them.
For the first time ever, his men actually heard him curse.
“Goddamn!” he yelled excitedly. “What the hell is that?”
Across the sound at McReady, the crew manning AA gun emplacement #2 was running out of ammunition.
It had been years since they’d fired their gun, it was a small wonder it was working at all. They had been hitting targets since the terrifying aerial attack began five minutes ago. The sky was so full of Japanese aircraft, it would have been hard not to hit anything.
So they had destroyed three SuperKates and had damaged at least three more. But again, it didn’t make any difference. There were so many enemy airplanes roaring about, killing three and banging three would have little effect. There was no doubt who would ultimately prevail in this battle.
But the gun crew had been firing away madly nevertheless and now they were running out of ammunition. Once they ran through their last magazine, what would happen? They didn’t know ….
Meanwhile, the enemy airplanes were so systematically attacking the air base, it was easy to see what their plan was. The main north-to-northwest runway was destroyed by now, as were the two smaller east-to-west strips. But this still left four major runways unscathed, three big enough to handle fighters, one that could handle everything but monsters.
It was the same with the hard targets. The attackers had blown up the half dozen support buildings at the base, along with the main access road, a bridge, and the water desalination plant. Left untouched were the weather rooms, the control towers, the main radar station, the fueling facility, and the backup communications hut.
So the intentions were clear: The attackers were seeking to disable the air base but not destroy it. In other words, they wanted to take it over.
And kill everyone on the ground in the process.
That’s what happened to Gun Crew #1, far across the base. They and their gun had gone up in a huge explosion about a minute before, courtesy of a double pounce by a pair of SuperZeroes. Now Gun Crew #2 was all that was left between the attackers and giving up the ghost. Though valiant and loyal, none of the six men in the crew wanted to the here, in the lonely northwestern edge of East Falkland Island, literally out in the middle of nowhere.
But that’s what was going to happen. The crew let off its last ammo tube, and tore a good chunk off the tail of a SuperKate—and then the gun went dry.
The gun crew had rifles, but it would have been pathetic to try to fight off the huge fighters and attack planes with small-caliber ammunition. Not that the gun crew would have any chance to do so. Now that the first gun crew was gone, no less than eight SuperZeroes were diving on the #2 gun position. Each plane had four machine guns and a cannon. Combined, one plane could spit out nearly 300 rounds in three seconds. Multiplied by eight, that’s the fusillade that awaited the hapless gunners.
It was odd, then, because the British soldiers did raise their rifles at the first SuperZero coming in. They all knew they were just seconds from death in this godforsaken place. The SuperZero was coming right across the tarmac at them, five yellow splashes of light emanating from its nose and wings. The air was suddenly filled with fire and hot, piercing lead. A couple of the men began praying. A couple began shooting back….
And then, something very strange happened.
To the men in the guncrew, it looked like a white streak—a bolt of lightning from the cold, smoky sky.
It went by them so fast, it really was a blur. No sharp edges could be detected at all. A second later, the SuperZero that had been bearing down on the gun crew was gone. There was some smoke, some flame, and a few pieces of wreckage, but nothing else remained. Instead of a barrage of deadly cannon fire and machine gun bullets, the gun crew was covered in a small cloud of cinders.
The men looked at each other in disbelief. The bombing of the field was continuing, jet engines were still screeching, explosions were still going off. Yet somehow, they were still alive.
Now the second SuperZero was coming in low and slow and firing all its guns at once too. Suddenly the white streak was back and the attacking enemy airplane went up in a ball of fire and smoke as well. The same thing happened to the third ’Zero, and then the fourth.
Lying on the ground, hands over their hea
ds at this point, the members of the gun crew looked up and saw this strange flying thing above them again. The white streak was taking on the image of an airplane, but it was still going terribly fast. Attacking planes were falling out of the sky all around them. Crashing, exploding, disintegrating—suddenly the gun crew was more in danger of getting killed by a piece of falling wreckage than by the bombs and cannon rounds of the attackers.
A SuperKate, totally in flame, came crashing down no more than fifteen feet away from the depleted gun, so close it had actually burned several gun crew members slightly. At that moment the crew got up as one and ran toward a cement embankment next to a burning maintenance shed nearby.
From here they had a better view of what was going on above them. But still it was a fantastic, confusing scene.
The white streak was a fighter aircraft. They could see it better now. Its wings and nose were emitting huge streaks of muzzle flame—much bigger than those of the attacking Japanese planes. It was shooting down the enemy aircraft as if they were standing still. Its pilot was making his way through the attackers, weaving a tapestry of flame and jet exhaust in his deadly wake. No shot was wasted, no movement of the airplane superfluous. Every bullet hit, every cannon round exploded, every attacker caught in its gun sights went down.
But this airplane—it just didn’t seem real. It was going too fast, flying too low. It was performing aerobatics that seemed to defy physics itself. The attacking airplanes tried like hell to get out of its way, but once before its gun barrels, the white streak would simply emit a few well-placed cannon rounds and go on to the next attacker. The plane hit would invariably go down in flames.
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