Point of Impact

by Point of Impact (retail) (epub)

  Drew thumbed the radio button. ‘Sorry, Magic. What was that you were saying? Target engaged and destroyed.’

  ‘For a Brit, you’ve got big balls,’ the AWACs controller said. ‘You’ll certainly need them, because the shit is going to hit the fan in a very big way when you touch down.’

  He ordered them straight back to base. Drew pulled into a steep turn, climbed to height and headed for the coast.

  Nick sat in silence for a few minutes. ‘Drew, you are a stubborn, self-willed, pig-headed, arrogant son of a bitch… but if you get out of this alive, I’ll buy the drinks all night.’

  ‘I’ve got a funny feeling that Russell is going to say exactly the same thing, apart from the bit about the drinks.’

  They landed back at Gióia and taxied in. ‘Don’t open the canopy just yet,’ Nick said as Drew nosed the Tempest on to the line outside the hangar and shut down the engines. ‘Let’s enjoy the last few moments of peace and quiet we are ever going to experience.’

  Drew smiled. ‘You think I might be in trouble then?’

  ‘Never mind you, we’re both in the deepest shit we’ve ever seen. This isn’t just RAF rules and regulations, this is an international fucking incident. It’ll come as quite a surprise to the folks back home. There they all were assuming that a declaration of war was a matter for the Chiefs of Staff and the Government and now it turns out that any old flight lieutenant can do it for them.’

  ‘Have you finished?’ Drew asked, though his confidence was ebbing fast. ‘I’ve no problems with my conscience.’ He gestured towards the hangar. ‘Look, here’s Russell himself coming to congratulate us.’ He took a deep breath and then flicked the switch to raise the canopy. ‘Well, here goes.’

  ‘I’ll keep this short,’ Russell said, his moustache quivering with indignation. ‘The procedures for engagement were clearly laid down. You have deliberately chosen to ignore those procedures.’

  ‘Because by the time we’d gone through them,’ Drew interrupted, ‘even supposing we’d got authorisation, the Serb bomber would have been on its way home again, leaving a lot of innocent people in bits.’

  ‘That is irrelevant. Quite apart from the betrayal of the trust that I had personally placed in you, you have also disgraced yourself and your squadron.’ Russell waited for a response, but Drew just watched him impassively.

  ‘I can’t protect you this time, Miller. It’s out of my hands.’ Russell spun on his heel and strode away.

  The rest of the squadron crowded around. Drew smiled wearily at their gestures of support, but knew it counted for nothing.

  He stripped off his flying gear, showered and was on his way to the crew room when three military policemen confronted him. The most senior blocked his path. ‘Flight Lieutenant Andrew Miller?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘I am instructed to issue formal notice of court martial proceedings to be undertaken against you. You are charged with gross misconduct, dereliction of duty and disobeying orders from a duly authorised senior officer. You are not obliged to say anything, but silence may count against you in court. Do you understand the charges against you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Drew said evenly.

  ‘Do you have anything to say?’

  ‘Yes I do: my conscience is clear.’

  The MP’s face registered a flicker of disapproval. ‘You are grounded and confined to base until further notice. Any attempt to leave the base by any means will be treated as desertion.’

  The MPs marched away, in step, down the corridor. Drew stared after them, a sick feeling in his stomach.

  Nick handed Drew a coffee and sat down with him at a table. ‘So they’re throwing the book at you?’

  ‘The whole library. What about you?’

  Nick shrugged. ‘I’ll get a bollocking but I should be all right. That’s the beauty of being a nav. Short of ejecting the pair of us, there was nothing much I could do to stop you, was there?’

  He studied Drew’s face for a moment. ‘It’s bad news for you, though. I can’t see any way they won’t kick you out for this.’

  Drew tried to stop his hand shaking as he picked up his cup.

  ‘It’s a cold world, Drew. We’ve both been in the Air Force so long we’ve almost forgotten what it’s like out there. People have to buy their own clothes. When their teeth need fixing they have to find a dentist. When they’re ill they have to look for a doctor and join the hospital queue.’

  Drew nodded. ‘None of that stuff bothers me as much as the thought of what I’d do and where I’d go. That empty flat in Finnington doesn’t hold much appeal these days, but I’ve no idea where I’d go instead.’ He stirred his coffee abstractedly. ‘No home, no wife, no lover, no family, no mates; perhaps Sally’s right: maybe I am Bert Russell’s spiritual son.

  ‘The other thing that bugs me is that, if they kick me out, I’m never going to find out what’s wrong with the Tempest. You’re going to have to take that over.’

  Nick shook his head. ‘If I get out of this one alive, I’m not going to do anything to rock the boat again. I’ve got a wife and four children. You can tilt at windmills, if you like. I’m more interested in trying to keep the sails turning.’

  Drew smiled, drained his coffee and stood up. ‘One thing’s for certain: we’re not going to be flying any dawn patrols tomorrow, so what about that promise to buy the drinks all night?’

  Nick got to his feet. ‘That’s the only intelligent suggestion you’ve made all day.’

  * * *

  They both slept late the following morning and were settling down to breakfast in the canteen as some of the crews were beginning to file in for lunch.

  Drew looked up and smiled as he watched DJ sidle across to their table, holding a sheaf of papers.

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘Today’s British front pages, faxed through from Finnington. I intercepted the clerk and managed to persuade him to photocopy them before he delivered them to Russell.’ He tossed them on to the table.

  Nick picked one up, scanned it and groaned. ‘Oh no. Not Guy bloody Gibson again. Listen to this: “While not condoning the action of Flight Lieutenant Miller, it shows more clearly than a hundred empty speeches at the United Nations the extent of the mounting frustration felt by servicemen hamstrung by petty restrictions while asked to confront an increasingly desperate and ruthless enemy.”

  ‘That was The Times editorial. Can you imagine what The Sun’s going to be like?’ He riffled through the pile and held up the lurid front page: GOTCHA: OUR BOY BLASTS SERB PSYCHOS.

  As Nick read through the rest of the photocopies, a smile spread slowly over his face. He tossed the last one aside and grinned across the table. ‘Perhaps I’ve been a bit hasty in consigning your career to the dustbin, Drew. You know that old chestnut about having to shoot someone or give them a medal? My guess is they’re going to have to stand the firing squad down.’

  Half an hour later, they checked the duty roster for the next day and found they were back on dawn patrol. ‘Perhaps Russell hasn’t got round to crossing us off yet,’ Nick said.

  ‘No such luck.’ The authoriser looked up from his desk. ‘He only put you on there ten minutes ago.’

  As Drew walked back along the corridor, he came face to face with Russell, who stopped, nonplussed.

  ‘I see I’m rostered for duty again tomorrow, sir.’

  Russell flushed. ‘I’ve been persuaded to give you another chance, Drew, against my better judgement, I might add. You can consider yourself fortunate.’

  Drew kept his face deadpan. ‘Who persuaded you, sir?’

  Russell’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, then he said, ‘That’s none of your damn business,’ and hurried away down the corridor.

  ‘He’s cracking up,’ Nick said, as he came up behind Drew.

  ‘I know,’ Drew said. ‘That’s what happens if you sit on the fence for twenty years. The railings eventually penetrate your brain.’

  * * *

  Th
e intelligence brief the following morning warned of increased activity around Banja Luka and it came as no great surprise to Drew and Nick that they were assigned to that area as they checked in with the AWACs controller.

  ‘Tiger 2–1, confirming two aircraft for Gate 5, Drop 4,’ the mid-western voice said. ‘Go and CAP at Oscar.’

  ‘Great,’ Drew said. ‘Just what we need: another static CAP. Why is it always our turn to play at being live targets?’

  ‘Drew,’ Nick said, choosing his words carefully. ‘You’re not going to do anything rash this time, are you?’

  Drew knew his answer was less than reassuring. ‘If anything happens, let’s just hope either the general back at COC has some balls for a change, or the UN commander hasn’t gone for a round of golf.’

  The first CAP passed without incident, but Nick grew increasingly restive in the back seat. Finally he could stand it no longer. ‘I don’t know about you, Drew, but I’m dying for a pee.’

  ‘Tension getting to you Nick? Help yourself to a Nato pee bag and don’t mind me.’

  ‘For some strange reason the thought of undoing my safety harness within range of several Triple-A and SAM missile sites doesn’t really appeal. If it’s all the same to you, if we have to eject, I’d like to be attached to a parachute at the time.’

  ‘Oh all right, then. I suppose we’ll have to find a rest area. Honestly, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, always take a pee before a long journey.’ He checked his watch. ‘Our refuelling bracket isn’t for another fifteen minutes, but if you’re really desperate I’ll call AWACs and see if we can go early.’

  ‘I’d be pathetically grateful if you could.’

  ‘Magic, Tiger 2–1 requesting permission to exit the area fifteen minutes early for our refuelling bracket.’

  ‘Any reason for that?’

  ‘An in-cockpit snag, a bit of crew discomfort.’ There was a chuckle from the AWACs controller. ‘You Limeys and your endless cups of tea. Go ahead. Do one for me while you’re at it.’

  As they came out of their gate, Drew and Nick made their weapons safe. Nick pushed the pin into his seat, then began unstrapping himself and struggling out of several layers of flying kit.

  ‘Bag relief, NATO-issue,’ Nick said, reading the label on the plastic container. ‘These guys can’t even write English, never mind speak it.’

  There was the sound of a struggle as he fought to unite himself with the equipment. ‘Mid-air refuelling is a doddle compared to this. It’s like trying to get a python into a pillowcase underwater.’ There was a contented sigh from the back seat, a few seconds’ silence and then a groan. ‘And why are they only half a pint? It’s bad enough having to use them at all without having to stop halfway and change bottles.’

  ‘You always say that,’ Drew said wearily. ‘It must be prostate trouble.’ He began bunting the aircraft, decelerating sharply to create zero G for a few seconds. Unrestrained by his harness, Nick felt himself floating out of his seat, with his NATO-issue equipment still attached.

  ‘Very witty, Drew. However, if you glance over your right shoulder you’ll see that the first pee bag I filled is floating straight towards the back of your head.’ Drew laughed and pushed the throttles forward, piling on a bit of G and sending Nick crashing back down on to his seat. The first pee bag squelched down on to his lap a moment later.

  ‘Now if playtime’s over,’ Nick said, ‘I’ll just pop the equipment away and we can get back to work.’

  They flew on to their rendezvous with the tanker. ‘Morning, Texaco,’ Drew said. ‘Fill her up and check the oil and water will you?’

  ‘Great,’ the tanker pilot said, ‘another humorist. That’s all we need.’

  Drew nosed the Tempest’s probe into the basket. Fuel began pumping into the jet at the rate of hundreds of gallons a minute. Inside five minutes they were streaking back towards their entry gate, ready to take up position again just to the south of Banja Luka.

  AWACs welcomed them back. ‘There’s a lot of activity around Jellystone. Claret 2–1’s just reported heavy concentrations of troops around helicopters at 448174. He’s also had SAM 2 indications a couple of times.’

  As they flew in to take up station south of Banja Luka, the hostile symbols began reappearing on the radar warner, each one announced by an electronic tone, ringing out in the cramped cockpit like the tolling of a bell.

  At each tone, Nick rattled out a warning: ‘Triple-A, two o’clock, outside lethal range. SAM 6, eleven o’clock, just outside lethal range.’

  Almost as soon as they were on station, there was a different, more strident tone. ‘Surveillance radar tracking us from site Orange,’ Nick said.

  ‘We know about that one. No problem.’

  ‘There may be,’ Nick said. ‘It’s come up as missile surveillance now – a SAM 2, inside lethal range. Someone’s having a closer look.’

  Ali came through on the radio immediately with the same message. Drew called up AWACs again. ‘Magic, SAM 2 indications from Jellystone area.’

  ‘Okay, I’ve lost SAM 2 indications,’ Ali said, but as Nick began to reply, ‘So have—’ he interrupted himself. ‘No, it’s back on us.’

  As he spoke, the alarms started screaming. A bar of green light stabbed across Nick’s screen, pinpointing the radar locked on to them.

  ‘Spike! Spike!’ he yelled.

  The screen message, ‘SAM 2 acquisition’, was superfluous. Drew was already throwing the jet into a pattern of evasion and ramming the throttles all the way forward, the engine note rising to a scream as the afterburners kicked in.

  As he hurled the aircraft into a hard left turn, the screen message changed to ‘SAM 2 MG’ – missile guidance – the missile was already in the air and homing in on them, surfing the radar beam.

  ‘SAM launch. Get away from us, DJ,’ Drew yelled. DJ and Ali peeled away instantly, afterburners blazing. ‘Chaff.’

  Nick responded before Drew had finished the order, pushing the chaff button as fast and often as he could, sending clouds of aluminium foil billowing out behind the aircraft.

  ‘Clear my turn,’ Drew demanded.

  ‘Break right.’

  Grunting with the effort, Drew forced the stick hard right, the G-force clamping down on him like a vice as the jet slewed. He held the turn for two seconds, then levelled the wings and yelled, ‘Chaff, before sending the jet into another breakneck turn.

  He heard a thud as Nick’s helmet banged against the side of the cockpit under the force of the turn. ‘Where’s the missile?’ Drew shouted, each word an effort as the G-force pressed in on him. He kept the jet diving, twisting and turning, trying to break the radar lock as Nick scanned the sky for the missile hurtling towards them.

  Both saw it together, a black streak far below them, trailing a tail of grey smoke as it shrank the gap. Drew forced the stick right and watched the missile change course to follow. There was not even the slightest room for doubt about its target.

  Neither Drew nor Nick wasted a word, concentrating on their jobs with cold professionalism. Accelerating to two thousand miles an hour, the missile would take a handful of seconds to reach its target. Drew had to keep dragging his eyes away from the panel on the screen, but he could not stop himself counting down the seconds to impact.

  Despite Drew’s manoeuvres, the alarm still sounded and the warning light still flashed. The missile kept accelerating towards them, locked to the radar beam. He hurled the jet into an even more desperate turn, fighting the stick to force it down and away to the right as he screamed for more chaff.

  Numb with fear, he waited, skin crawling, hunching his shoulders as if to make himself a smaller target. There was a vivid red flash in the sky above and behind them, as the missile detonated on the last burst of chaff.

  He flinched involuntarily, expecting shrapnel from the blast – white-hot metal exploding outwards, obliterating everything in its path – to come crashing through the fuselage. As he realised that they had
escaped, he closed his eyes for a second in silent thanks and let his pent-up breath escape through his teeth.

  He eased back on the throttles and the howling engine note began to fade. ‘Shit, that was too close. Are you okay, Nick?’

  Nick’s voice was so shaky that his reply was almost inaudible.

  Drew thumbed the radio button. ‘Magic, Tiger 2–1 was engaged by SAM 2. No dam—’

  He never had the chance to finish the sentence. The aircraft would not respond to the stick, lurching drunkenly from side to side, then spiralling downwards. Already at low altitude after the manoeuvres to evade the missile, Drew had no time to try to right the aircraft. He hauled back on the stick and called, ‘It’s no good, Nick. Prepare to bang out.’

  Nick scanned his screen one last time, then thumbed the radio and began broadcasting the information that would let a rescue helicopter pinpoint the site. ‘Bullseye point seventeen miles, zero-two-nine, present posit—’

  ‘No time,’ Drew yelled. ‘Eject! Eject!’

  They pulled on the yellow-and-black handles simultaneously. Straps tightened around them, pinioning their arms and legs to their seats. There was an explosion as the canopy blew off and was ripped away by the slipstream, then a roar as the ejector rockets fired.

  Drew blacked out for a couple of seconds under the force of the ejection. He came to as the main parachute opened with the crack of a whip and he felt himself jerked upwards as it took his weight. After the noise, there was silence.

  He opened his eyes and glanced around. The Tempest’s pyre was blazing a mile away in the same thick forest that covered the steep slopes below him. There were mountain crags rising at his back, but in front of him the forest ended abruptly in a narrow patchwork of fields surrounding a small village. A canvas-topped lorry was beginning to move out of the village in his direction, drab-uniformed figures buzzing around it.

  At first Drew could see no sign of Nick. Panic seized him. Had he been trapped in the Tempest? Then he caught a movement in the corner of his eye and saw Nick’s orange-and-white chute a few hundred yards nearer to the village and drifting ever closer to it on the wind. Drew hauled down hard on his own harness trying to steer away from the village and the road, but his efforts had little effect.