by Andy Farman
Johar Kegin had managed to strap his left arm across his chest using shrouds cut from his parachute. That had been an easy task following the discovery that he had been suspended from the trees all of four inches above the earth. After bracing himself for a probable bone-breaking fall, the virtually immediate landing had almost made him pee himself with the shock.
He had kept his flight helmet on for the first mile of his walk westwards, he had decided when setting off that it may add protection when he reached the battlefield proper. Johar did not like being on the ground in a tactical situation, being in the infantry was a thought that made him shudder. He’d been in a hole in the ground and gone tired, cold, wet and hungry before, it had been the worst seven days of his life, that portion of his basic training.
After a mile he realised that he couldn’t hear clearly and had taken it off. All the crews who had launched that day wore life preservers, despite being miles from the sea. They wore them because they had not known what the future held or where they would end up operating. Johar kept his on, it was green rather yellow and may help him cross the river with his disabled arm. The tiny inflatable dinghy had been abandoned in the woods, he did not have much of an opinion about the ground troops of any army, but he thought even a dumb infantryman would think a bright orange object floating on the water would look strange. For protection he had his service automatic, not being a great shot, barely re-qualifying each year he nonetheless gripped it tightly and just hoped he didn’t shoot himself in the foot. After a short distance he decided he wasn’t sure it was such a good idea having it on display, in case the enemy saw him first, so he applied the safety and put it in his pocket.
The occasional impact of artillery had gotten louder as he had drawn closer to the river. He stayed off the roads and tracks; they all had enemy traffic on them anyway, as he grew more and more cautious, the closer he came to the river.
Eventually he could tell he was close, despite the dark and the blackout in force by the enemy. He could make out the edge of the woods, the land beyond was slightly lighter than here under the canopy of the trees. Despite his caution he managed to trip over something and landed hard, drawing blood from his lower lip as he bit down, fighting not to cry out in pain.
He groped around and touched something that not only was soft to the touch but also clothed. It wasn’t that which had tripped him, it had been another body. He found himself crawling over more bodies and would have been none the wiser as to their identities if a destroyed tank nearby had not provided additional illumination, the flickering flames that had all but consumed it had found a fresh source of fuel and flared up.
He recognised the squadron patch on the flight suit of a corpse near his hand and that of another draped across it; the dead men were from different squadrons. Amongst the dead were soldiers too, loyal Belarus troops captured in the shattered defensive positions across the river and recce troops captured on this side.
Before the fire died down Johar had counted over fifty corpses but there were many more, the enemy had resorted to the old Red Army doctrine, not wasting resources on human rights or prisoners.
The battlefield crop of captured personnel had been gathered together here and executed, probably by machine gunning if the wounds were anything to go by.
Johar used the light of the burning tank to have a look out beyond the wood.
To the right was a self-propelled anti-aircraft vehicle, a large sensor dish and missile tubes pointing west. To his front were two BTR armoured personnel carriers with Russian Field police around them. Because of the location of the field police, their proximity to his dead comrades, he knew that they must have been involved in the murder of the prisoners.
Beyond the APCs there were about 300m of open ground to the river and a ribbon bridge, which was in constant use. Leg infantry in single file, tanks, APCs and soft skinned vehicles were marshalled across by engineers who had one eye on their bridge, minimising the speed of the traffic to avoid damage that would take it out of service until they could repair it.
He heard the scream of incoming artillery and saw it land further along the river by another ribbon bridge. Everyone took cover but after just a handful of rounds the shelling ceased and the field police bullied and kicked the troops to their feet, forcing them on.
Johar was puzzled at the lack of a sustained barrage by his own people until the moan of outgoing artillery passed high above. It had been fast, the return of fire so perhaps that was the reason.
Among the dead in the wood, as the flames from the tank receded, Johar was now at a loss as to how he could get across the river. He had only the corpses for company and as much as he would have wanted to gather up all the identity papers from the dead, he could not burden himself down whilst in enemy territory. Besides which, he had friends who may be amongst the dead, here in the wood, he preferred not knowing who, or how many he would never see again.
There are no ‘radar invisible aircraft’, at least not yet. The F-117A Nighthawk however was as close as present technology could manage, its shape and material it is made from, lessen the radar return, hiding it amongst the clutter. The danger time for the Nighthawk is when its low profile is spoilt, such as when it released non-stealthed weapons from within its belly.
Far to the west, an E-3 Sentry ventured closer to the front, hidden behind a jamming screen of NATO aircraft that now headed east again. The task of that particular E-3 was to assist the 49th Fighter Wing in its present mission.
The Russian A-50 and its escorts were aware of the jamming approaching them. They kept station for the moment, as they were still well outside missile range.
The operators aboard the A-50 updated their friendly air and ground units as to the latest occurrence and altered their own radars operation to pan back and forth across the approaching interference, with only a full 360’ scan once per minute.
After about ten minutes, an operator noticed a very faint return from behind them during the minute’s full sweep. He reported it to the senior controller who set the radar to pan across their rear, there was nothing there now so the once a minute full sweep was resumed and they concentrated on the western threat.
Although he had seen nothing on radar the senior controller tasked a Su-29 away from its flight of three, sending it to use its IR sensors and look-down shoot-down radar, just in case.
The 49th Fighter Wing had completed a long, arcing, low-level flight in order to penetrate the air defences over Central and Eastern Europe. Four Nighthawks were going after the nearest A-50 base in northwest Ukraine whilst Colonel Tobias Corbin in Hawk 01 led his wing against the A-50 that was aloft, before tackling their secondary missions against other enemy CAP and the AAA missile systems.
What the A-50 had detected was a Nighthawk launching an AIM-120 from 18 miles away, well inside the weapons maximum range and it was now fast approaching them and the escort, along with thirteen of its brothers, launched from other Nighthawks.
The approaching E-3 Sentry was controlling the AIM-120B AMRAAMs via data link, the missiles own WGU-41B onboard systems were set to standby mode whilst the 335lb weapons were steered in at Mach4. There was no active radiation being emitted to warn the target aircraft of their approach until they got to one mile out, when the E-3 ordered the missiles sensors to active and it cut them loose.
Aboard the six Mig-31s and the A-50, automated systems discharged chaff and flares whilst screaming an alarm into the pilot’s headsets. The fighters broke, but for the lumbering A-50, its evasive manoeuvres were a token effort.
The AIM-120B is an advanced weapon of the fire-and-forget family, its onboard mono-pulse radar guidance systems analysed the radar returns from the chaff bundles, and they were travelling too slowly to be aircraft so they were ignored.
The A-50 died first, 40lb charges in two AMRAAMs exploded next to the tail section and cockpit, spreading wreckage over five miles. There were two weapons targeted on each aircraft and all were destroyed although two crewmen ejec
ted safely.
In the Ukraine, an A-50 on pad alert was immediately ordered aloft to replace the splashed AWAC but aborted its take-off run when an engine lost power. Ground crews rushed to ready another aircraft and its crew awoken and scrambled out to the flight line.
Five miles from the airbase a Nighthawk lazed the A-50 being readied whilst its partner launched an AGM-65 Maverick, its arrival coincided with that of the crew and fuel bowser, the explosion illuminated the airbase and surrounding countryside. Six more A-50s were scattered about in high walled dispersals and the lazing Nighthawk sighted three of them. Twenty minutes later all three were wrecked and on fire, as was the A-50 taxiing back to the flight line.
Back over the battlefield an air raid warning was going out to both ground and air units. Systems went active as they sought the oncoming attackers but the A-50s destruction had robbed them of their long-range eyes whereas the NATO attack had the full benefit of AWAC and JSTARS support. It wasn’t going to a one sided fight, but for the moment the west had the advantage.
Johar witnessed the NATO attacks by more conventional aircraft. He lay huddled down amid the bodies, still looking for a way across the river. Although it was dark he doubted he could get away with joining the westward columns of troops, periodically the field police used red filtered torches to check the men filing past.
He became aware of shouting and caught the words ‘air raid’. On the bridge, vehicles commanders shouted at the vehicles ahead to speed up and troops started to push their way toward shore, either the west or east banks, whichever was closer. An officer emerged from among the field police APCs and despatched men to the bridge at the run, Johar winced as they gunned down without warning, two of the leg infantry who were heading back to the eastern bank.
The air seemed to tear open at the very sound of an incoming projectile, everyone froze in tableau as the AAA vehicle to Johar’s right exploded.
At the bridge further along the river, the ribbon bridge came apart as columns of water that contained men, vehicles and bridging sections, leapt high.
Johar was agape until low flying jet aircraft tore low overhead, heading east. He huddled down between bodies, ignoring the searing pain from his shoulder, neck and ribs as he sought cover.
250lb retard bombs bracketed the far bridge, banks, the column of AFVs and men, whilst closer to home CBU bomblets peppered the area.
Royal Air Force Tornado GRs and Jaguars gave the area part of their loads as they went toward suspected harbour area, gun lines, workshops and headquarters. USAF and Belgian F-16s had the wild weasel tasking’s and French Mirage shared the air superiority mission with USAF F-15s, clearing the air threat for B-52s to attack the bridgehead to the west with fuel-air weapons.
When the last bomblet had detonated he dared to raise his head again, he viewed a scene of carnage, there were dead and injured scattered about, burning vehicles lined the route to the bridge.
He made a decision and got to his feet, the bridge was damaged but still spanned the river and was at the moment unguarded and unattended.
He hurried as quickly as he could, looking right and left but needing to turn his shoulders, his neck muscles felt as if they had locked solid. As he drew level with the Russian field police vehicles the officer appeared from the rear of the nearer vehicle, he had apparently buttoned up the door as the bombs fell. Both vehicles were on fire and the man had obviously undogged the hatch to escape the flames within, he was on fire and screaming piteously, Johar reached for his pistol but stopped himself and deliberately walked on. In the years to come he would tell himself he had not put him out of his misery for fear of drawing attention, rather than because of the murdered men in the wood, in the years to come he would tell himself that lie often.
To the north, Hawk 01 had turned northwest immediately upon launching its AIM-120B at the A-50 and its escorts. After five minutes Hawk 01 turned west, hunting the deadly SA-10 Favorit sites nearer the front. Corbin kept the hybrid Nighthawk at tree level, or rather the systems slaved to the TFR, terrain following radar did. Hawk 01 was one of a pair of test bed airframes released for operational service. This two seat version did not have the ‘legs’ of its compatriots, but needs must in times such as these. At least it allowed him the luxury of a navigator/weapons officer and permitted to just fly.
Lt Billy Firewalker, his native American navigator was busy trying to pick a route that avoided their encountering SAM sites. Ground threats appeared on his threat screen as figure S icons; air threats were depicted by batwings.
Where a radar was detected, but had not illuminated them, the icon was a faint flickering red. If it had illuminated, or painted, them the icon thickened in size but still flickered. A lock-on was solid, unflickering red.
“Search radar at 1 o-clock…looks like a Tombstone, probably at Polatsk…big town, but they don’t got us yet,” he warned. There was nothing in his voice to indicate his great granddaddy had ridden with Geronimo, it was pure Texan.
“Rog,” Tobias replied.
“Coming left to 262.”
The Nighthawk banked to the left, raising its profile slightly and the Tombstone radar painted it again but not enough to enable detection.
The new heading took them directly across the Western Dvina River where it met the Ula. Tobias told Billy to set the TFR to sixty feet and he took them south above the River Ula’s surface.
“We got a major road bridge coming up, Vitsyebsk to Lyepyel highway, they got to have SAM’s or a Zeus or two protecting it…twelve miles. We got high ground both sides for another eight…small valley to the left then, old river course I guess. HT lines across this here river just after that.”
“Rog.”
No sooner had Tobias acknowledged than flickering batwings, denoting an air threat at their six o-clock, appeared on the threat scope.
“Shit, looks like we got us a Zhuk radar back there…Fulcrum or Foxhound, he ain’t got us yet, but if we turn he might!”
Billy called the Mig-29s radar by its Russian codename, the Zhuk was a very capable piece of equipment that had locked up a Nighthawk during the Gulf War, on that occasion the cavalry, in the form of a F-16, had splashed it before it could launch on the F-117A.
“Where is he, how far?”
“Ten klicks…but closing!”
“If we don’t turn, we run the gauntlet at the bridge…we have to turn Billy.” Billy had started to get excited but the colonel’s matter of fact way of speaking, almost bored manner settled him down.
“Okay…three miles to the turn, Colonel.”
The Fulcrum had been directed by the A-50, before it was destroyed, to investigate the brief trace. The pilot knew that they were in the vicinity, nothing else could have got close enough to the giant AWAC and its powerful radar without being detected.
Its pilot used his IRST, Geophysica 36-Sh electro-optical sensor suite combined infrared search and tracking sensors in conjunction with his lookdown radar. At 7,000 feet the Mig-29 had picked up a heat trace and descended towards it. Against the cold surface of the river, the Nighthawk was leaving an IR track, despite its sophisticated heat masking and dispersal design. As the Fulcrum grew closer to the stealth aircraft, the heat trace grew stronger.
“Turn coming up, TFR set.” Billy informed Tobias.
Tobias let his hand hover near the side stick control; his kids used side sticks when they played Super Maria or Super Marlow or whatever the stupid plumber was called. The aircraft was flying itself; the computers and sensors in the aircraft could fly the machine, as he never could. Without the computers adjusting the control surfaces constantly he could not keep it flying by himself. The whole machine was reliant on its systems to stay in the air, not the humans sat at the front, and it took a leap of faith to put your trust in it. Despite the makers assurances about the EMP shielding he was always sceptical, how could they know without letting off a nuclear airburst somewhere to test it. EMP, the electromagnetic pulse generated by a nuclear weapon detonating in th
e atmosphere, screwed up all manner of electronic systems, from computers to car batteries.
The Nighthawk banked hard left as it entered the valley. In mid-turn the flickering batwings solidified, accompanied by the deedle deedle audible warning that they had been illuminated by the Mig-29 and its fire control system had them locked up.
For the Fulcrum pilot, a solid radar lock, as the Nighthawks radar profile increased in its banking turn, instantly replaced the disappearance of the IR trace, with the F-117A leaving the river to fly overland once more.
The pilot called it in, but the NATO air superiority operation was in full swing and everyone had their hands full staying alive.
The radar track faded as the Nighthawk levelled out but the Fulcrums radar now knew where to look and focused its search, locking it up once more. The pilot selected his AA-8 Aphids but the American activated his track-breakers and the missile lock-on tone died. Frustrated, he decided to shake the other pilot up a bit and dropped lower.
“He’s still back there, Tobe!”
“Yes, but his missiles can’t see us to lock-on, we’re okay!”
Tracer slashed past, blindly groping for them and Tobias kicked the rudder, slewing them away. The high terrain warning screeched, reminding him how close they were to the valley walls.
An S icon appeared on the threat screen at their twelve o-clock, directly ahead where the valley widened. Unbeknownst to the crew, they had been flying towards a divisional headquarters, unplotted by JSTARS.
“Shit…ground search radar ahead, we got Zeus and Grumbles, we got to turn man!”
“Like hell we do, lock ‘em up with the HARMs!”
Billy selected the AGM-88 high speed anti-radiation missiles and launched two away.
As the Nighthawks rotary launcher in the F-117As belly cycled to release the weapons against the ground threats, the Fulcrum pilot got a lock-on tone again from his AA-8 Aphids and pickled two off at the unseen target ahead.