ACV's 1 Operation Black Gold (55 page)

‘Main armament standby for synchronised release 4, 3, 2, 1, missiles gone.’  Our aircraft lurched into the air.

‘Eh Mike, did your compatriot fire both of his as well?’

‘Yes why?’

‘What happens if we need them on the way back?’

‘Oops, oh oh, double oops.’

‘What do you mean double oops?’

‘They’ve fired another salvo.’

‘So won’t your E.C.M. thing work again?’

‘Unfortunately it has been known to affect the fireflies and without them,’ he left the rest unsaid.

‘Oh fucking oops.’  The aircraft bucked again as we fired off anti-missile missiles.

*

‘Oh shit there’s two of them.  Incoming, incoming, multiple missiles.’  Exclaimed the radar operator aboard USS Rockwell.

‘Stand by all stations multiple missiles incoming,’ the Captain shouted down the tanoy.  The fireflies were basically dummy missiles made to engage the ships defensive capabilities while the air to surface anti-ship missiles flew in unnoticed a few seconds behind, just above the wave tops.

Four of the fireflies got through and screamed over the deck followed by the ships automatic short-range defensive weapons.  By the time they turned back the four anti-ship missiles had slammed home.  One to each of the three magazines and one to the engine room.  The USS Rockwell disappeared in a blinding flash of light.

*

The newswoman screamed and grabbed me as Mike kicked her into a tight turn.  The recoil of the fixed armament shook the craft and another explosion buffeted us.  ‘That’s the lot, come up here and look at this Jim.’

I disengaged myself from the newswoman and hefted myself up between the two seats.  ‘What’s that?’

‘Well I promised to show you how to sink a ship didn’t I?’  The glow on the horizon began to fade fast, and then it was gone.

‘That’s funny Mike, she’s disappeared off screen.’

‘What you sure Bruce, they don’t sink that fast surely?’

‘Look for yourself.’

It had definitely disappeared off screen.  ‘Don’t change course yet Mike.’

‘It might just be floundering, she could still have teeth.’

‘At the first sign of her we’ll swing away visual or scope.’  All we found was a few patches of burning oil and some floating debris.  ‘Let’s see if we can find any survivors Mike.’  There were a few dead bodies first, then our first survivors.  Three men clinging to a scrap of foam one of them was holding onto a badly burned friend.  ‘Have you got a dingy Mike?’

‘Only the one.’

‘Drop it for them will you?’

‘It’s against SOP’s Jim.’

‘Fuck SOP’s, those men are out of it now; they’ll no survive long enough in these seas to be picked up.’

‘OK.’

The life raft dropped away and auto inflated.  One man swam for it and was able to haul himself aboard, but it was drifting away, so Mike gave it a touch of down draught from his rotors and pushed it back towards the other survivors.  The cameraman was hanging out the door on a harness; they managed to get aboard the dingy and between them were able to haul the injured man on board.  We left them to it.

We could only find another two and Gordon dropped his life raft for them.  ‘I hope we don’t need them,’ Bruce remarked wistfully.

‘Maybe they’ll return the compliment,’ Mike said hopefully.

‘What now?’  Asked the news lady.

‘This is where it gets hairy, Mike patch me through to the yanks again.’

‘That’s it.’  He confirmed.

‘If you’re still listening in gentlemen the USS Rockwell has been sunk, we can only locate 5 survivors and we’ve dropped our own life rafts for them.  There might be more, I don’t know, one man seems badly injured, so you’d better hurry over.’  Silence ensued, I was about to tell Mike to cut it and move off.

‘Hello CV9, this is Commander Cavera USS Wrangler, are you stationary over Rockwell’s last position, over.’

‘Roger Wrangler,’ Mike reeled off our co-ordinates.

‘Thank you CV9, can’t you pick them up.’

‘Negative Wrangler, we aren’t equipped for air sea rescue and we’re already overloaded and short on fuel, but I can give them a message, over.’

‘Tell them we’ll be there in ten minutes please CV9, thank you out.’

Mike turned on the tannoy and passed on the message he also added something about hot suits.  ‘We’ve been here too long, they’re closing in,’ Bruce warned.

‘Let’s get to fuck out of here Mike.’  I prompted.

‘Roger that.’

‘What’s a hot suit?’  The newswoman asked me.

I shrugged, ‘don’t know; you’ll have to ask Mike.’

‘Mike.’

‘It’s a type of survival suit, a new development.  Have you ever used a warm pad, one of those things you stick in your pocket in the winter and squeeze, they produce heat.’

‘I know what you’re talking about but never used one.’

‘Well the suits are basically two layers of waterproof material with a filling of that stuff between them.’

‘I see, thank you.’

‘Are we going faster?’  I asked.

‘430 knots.’

‘That’s fast isn’t it?’

‘Very.’

‘Bandit inbound, at 250 knots,’ Bruce shouted.  Buzzers started singing again.  Missiles flew from our companion below.  The drama unfolded on the radar screen.  The AMM’s took out the incoming missiles leaving a solitary missile on course for the gunship.  It fired another salvo before the two met and it dispersed off screen.

‘Shit were running low on AMM.’  Mike growled, ‘maybe this wasn’t such a smart idea after all.’

I looked out the window.  ‘How deep are those swells down their Mike?’

He immediately say the possibilities, ‘deep enough, follow me down Gordon.’

‘Roger.’

‘Surfing USA,’ came softly over the headphones from a comedian in the other chopper.

Fear leapt into my throat as I found myself looking out the window at a moving wall of green water.  When we popped up again there was no sign of the incoming missiles. 

I found myself grinning like an idiot, ‘that was some piece of flying Mike.’

‘Hey what about me?’  Insisted Gordon.

‘Aye you too.’

‘If he wasn’t so fucking ugly, I’d marry him myself,’ Gigs chipped in.  It was an old joke and not a very good one, but it had us all laughing and helped relieve the tension but not for long.

‘Hello CV9 this is 09 enemy CAP on-route your position, over.’

‘CV9 roger, we are running low on ordnance, can you send us any help over?’

‘09 wait, out.’

‘Hello CV9, this is India Sierra one two, we have been monitoring your frequency and can at your location in, figures, two minutes, but it’s going to cost you a lot of free taxi’s Jim.’

I came bolt upright.  ‘Don is that you.’  I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.  Don Filer had been a regular customer of mine.  I couldn’t begin to count the number of times I’d taken him back to RAF Lossiemouth in my taxi.  On quiet nights, we would often sit outside the gates and blether.  He was a quiet unimposing man of high intelligence of medium build and height with straight straw-coloured hair.  The first time we had met, I had been on a rare night out.  I’d came out of a night club early to find two men trying to mug him, a rare happening in Elgin at the worst of times.  I’d come up behind them unnoticed, when one had brandished knife I moved in and took him out.  Don had dealt with his friend as easily.  We had stood over the unconscious men until the police arrived.  The whole incident had been caught on the CCTV cameras and we never even had to appear in court.  Once he realised I was a taxi driver he always looked for me on the street first, before he took a cab home.

‘Don if you can pull our fat out of the fire, I’ll buy you a fucking taxi.’

‘Hello- IS12, this is 09.  Negative I repeat negative, do not enter area of conflict.  Obey rules of engagement over.’

‘India Sierra one two, I have a friend in trouble down there and I’m going in to help, but I will not engage the enemy unless fired upon.  If you don’t like it then court martial me when I get home, out.  You coming?’  He asked his wingman.

‘Just try and stop me Donald.’

They banked the interceptors hard, pushing the throttles through the gate.  In moments they were going Mach 5 plus.  ‘Let’s go in loud, switch on everything except your attack computer.’

‘All done.’

‘Right let’s get between them and the choppers.’  They dived fast, the lower they got the faster the world seemed to go.  They hit the deck and swung towards the incoming fighters half a mile in front of the helicopters.

‘Hello 0 this is IS12 Bandits have a lock on us, they’re firing, they’re firing, going defensive now over.’

‘09 roger engage the enemy over,’ came the exasperated voice of General Morris.

‘IS12 Wilco out.’

They downed the incoming missiles with their ECM then fired air to air; they streaked home downing both fighters.

‘I have another pair coming in from the right Don.’

‘I've got the pair coming in from the left.’ 

They split but were too close for fire missiles.  Don’s number two blew straight through his pair gained some distance and fired his rearward facing air to air; both his targets fell towards the sea in flames.  Don on the other hand switched to guns.  He barely had a second to line up but shells ripped through the nose of his selected target cutting the pilot in half; his upper torso fell against the stick pushing the F21 into a death dive.

Don slammed on the airbrakes bouncing the interceptor up.  He flipped her over and came down on the remaining fighter, which had pulled into a desperate turn.  Don turned inside him and fired again.  It was a perfect deflection shot stitching the fuselage of the F21.  Pieces flew off into its slipstream.  First one engine, then the second burst into flames.  Don had to bank hard to avoid the ejecting pilot.  When he came round the F21 had exploded and disappeared but the pilot was safe.

‘That’s their standing patrols down Don, but the carriers coming round into the wind.’

Don’s mind ticked over the problem for a moment or two.  ‘Let’s go visiting.’  Twenty seconds later, the American AWAC’s was falling from the sky and they were diving out of line of sight.

‘IS12 this is 09.  Do not; I repeat do not engage their war ships over.’

‘IS12 were not going to engage their warships, just pop in for a visit, out.  Remember Gibraltar Gary?’

‘Oh shit, Don, no.’

‘Prepare for lock up.’

Gary sighed with exasperation, ‘ready, she’s all yours.’

‘Lock up now.’  The two aircraft came together as one.  Only a few millimetres separated them.  Now Don was flying both aircraft, he took them up to the limit of their speed.  ‘Prepare for afterburners.’  They were through the escort in a flash.  Don aimed for the carrier’s flight deck, as they reached it he lit the afterburners; they were propelled to Mach 6 and gone.

Behind them a pair of F21’s lined up on the cats were blown across the flight deck into a line of parked aircraft.  A ruptured fuel tank and hot exhausts caused a sea of flames to wash across the deck and over the side blistering paint.  Men were scattered like chaff in the wind.  One hung spitted on the nose cone of an F21 Screaming feebly until the flames consumed him; yet still the burning corpse danced in the flames like a puppet on a string.  Fire crews sprang into action; hydraulic rams began to tilt the deck and a whole squadron of burning fighters slid into the sea.  The fire crews quickly began to get the fires under control but it would still be hours before another aircraft could take off from the deck.

‘Hello CV9 this is IS12 that should keep the big boys off your back for a bit but you’ll have to do the rest on your own we’re running short on fuel.’

I had been leaning between the pilots seats watching the drama unfold on the radar screen with my heart in my mouth.  Saliva began to flow again when I heard Dons voice.  ‘Thanks Don what kind of taxi would you like?’

‘Oh I don’t know I’ve always fancied being picked up in a Ferrari.’

‘Stuff the taxi, I’ll have a crate of booze,’ shouted his wingman.

‘Done.’

‘Good luck Jim, I believe that’s us even out.’

For the second time I found myself staring out the window at a giant wall of green water.  We had run into a defensive line of gunships and they were taking no chances.  Multiple missiles raced towards us.  Mike had promptly dived between the waves again.  A few missiles had even tried to turn in after us but had been swallowed up harmlessly by our giant green friend.