Fate had dictated that the carrier, several days behind schedule, would reach
"the northern entrance of the Canal just as the advanced elements of Lucifer's fleet were entering the southern end. Now only about 100 miles separated the two opposing forces.
So, although the Italian communications team was working round the clock intercepting messages from the enemy fleet, Hunter and the others still lacked an accurate reading as to just how many and what type of ships Lucifer had under his command. That's where the Aussie pilot Russell came in. The pilot's mission was to overfly the southern end of the Canal in his S-3A, unescorted, and photograph the enemy with the plane's sophisticated belly cameras. For good measure, the BBC cameraman volunteered to go along. Videotapes of the fleet would also be
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very helpful in the battle to come.
The two minelaying frigates rejoined the Saratoga flotilla just as it was preparing to enter the Canal. Before the task force entered the waterway, all of the ships had spent time with the flotilla oiler. Watching the refueling operation, Hunter wondered when they would get a chance to fuel up again. If ever . . .
He spent the morning hours with O'Brien, Olson, Heath, and the Commodore determining the order of battle for the flotilla. They agreed that six of Olson's frigates would enter the Canal first, followed by the carrier itself.
The Moroccan troopship would come next, along with the oiler and the captured supertanker. The rest of Olson's frigates would protect the rear. Twenty of the Commodore's armed yachts, carrying members of the UDT, would sweep for mines beyond the area they had already cleared. The rest of the Freedom Navy would be scattered throughout the flotilla.
Hunter had already worked out the air operations. The eleven Tornados were the heart of his squadron. The versatile airplanes were very valuable to their cause, so he divided them into two units, Alpha and Beta, and instructed that only in the worst possible scenario would both units be off the carrier at the same time. The Tornados would comprise the main bombing force. They would go after the enemy ships with everything and anything they could carry.
The Viggens too would serve exclusively in the attack role. Hunter had the Swedish airplanes fitted with overstuffed "Greendog" bombs -so heavy that the airplanes would have to skim the surface of the water for their initial attacks.
The creaking Jaguars would be given the pinch-hitter role. They would be loaded up with aerial bombs, cannon ammo, and Sidewinders. They could 350
either take the measure of the lead enemy ships via dive-bombing attacks and strafing, or protect the bombers from any enemy interference in the air.
The most difficult assignments fell to Hunter's F-16 and the three Harrier jump-jets. They would have to freelance for most of the air strikes. That is, be on station quickly, unleash whatever bomb loads they might have, then loiter over the battle area and apply force -whether it be Sidewinders, cannon fire, or air-to-surface missiles -as needed.
The S-3A would provide armed recon. Olson's choppers would serve in the air-rescue role.
The flotilla sailed into the Canal quietly, without incident. Moving more or less in single file, the frigates and the Freedom Navy advance ships went in first, then the carrier, the troopship, the tankers, and the rest of the frigates. The only thing they encountered on the waterway was the still-smoldering wreckage of the gunboat-that had made the mistake of stopping the Commodore twice.
Hunter had never sailed through the Canal. As he watched the passing shoreline, he knew that in peaceful times the channel would have been bustling with merchant ships big and small. Now it was quiet, eerie. The shores were lined with wreckage everywhere, all of it slowly disintegrating in the mercilessly hot Mideast sun. He saw downed airplanes of all sizes and types, bows of sunken ships, demolished tanks, jeeps, trucks, pontoon bridges.
Rusting, sand-blasted reminders of Mideast wars too numerous to count. It was almost as if war were attracted to the area, like tornados to the American Midwest or hurricanes to its East Coast.
"What the hell is the big attraction?" Hunter 351
asked himself. "Why have so many people died over a bunch of sand?"
There were human skeletons everywhere too. Some still dressed in uniforms, helmets still strapped onto bare jawbones. There were clutches of them, here and there, like the wreckage, victims of wars past and forgotten. Watching them, Hunter got the distinct and unnerving impression that he was floating through a graveyard.
The S-3A returned after the carrier had been in the canal for about an hour.
Hunter met Russell as he emerged from the jet and immediately noticed the battle-hardened veteran was visibly shaken.
Hunter ushered him to a remote corner of the Saratoga's mess hall and signaled one of the cooks to bring them some "strong" coffee.
"Jezzuz, Hawk," E.J. told him. "I've never seen so many ships in my life! I thought The Modern Knights were stacked!"
"What kind of ships?" Hunter asked as the cook dropped off a steaming pot of laced coffee.
"You name it, they got it, mate," E.J. answered. "Battleships, missile cruisers, armed freighters, rocket-launcher ships. They must have fifty or sixty destroyers alone. Plus a helicopter assault ship. One of those crazy half-battleship-half-carrier jobs."
"Russian?" Hunter asked.
"Through and through," E.J. said, swigging the coffee. He felt the whiskey-laced mixture slide down his throat. "Still got the hammer and sickle on it. A lot of the ships do."
"Well, Lucifer is an equal-opportunity employer," Hunter said. "He'll hire anyone to help him destroy the world."
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"They must have sixty Hind gunships on that flattop," E.J. continued. "The BBC
guy has a lot of good footage. And the troopships! They got LSTs, steamers, converted cruise liners, barges, tugs, you name it! All of them stuffed with soldiers. Those guys must be chomping at the bit to get to the Med just so they can spread out."
"Were you spotted?" Hunter asked.
"Maybe, maybe not," the Australian answered. "I didn't get any radar-lock indications, but that doesn't mean they didn't spot us visually."
"No aircraft flying above or near the fleet?"
"Just one airplane," E.J. said. "This P-3 Orion It's an old Navy job, still with the long, pointy ass end, you know?"
"Yeah, we intercepted some radio transmissions from it a while ago," Hunter said. "That's how we knew the Sovs were laying mines in the Canal."
"That's right," E.J. replied. "This must be the same airplane. Yet, if anything was going to spot us, that plane would have. They're usually jammed with enough gear to rival an AWACs, aren't they?"
"Yes, usually," Hunter said, after thinking for a moment. "Unless they are carrying some other type of gear on board now . . ."
They left the mess hall and went to the CIC. There the BBC crew had set up a large-screen TV and videotape-playback machine. Heath, Yaz, Olson, O'Brien, and The Commodore were all on hand. Without much fanfare, the cameraman switched on the TV and inserted the freshly shot videotape.
Even though Hunter knew what to expect, he was still stunned. Spread out on the Red Sea near the southern entrance to the Canal, Lucifer's fleet looked like one of the huge armadas the US had
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thrown against the Japanese in the South Pacific.
"My God," Heath blurted out, speaking for everyone. "How in hell can we expect to hold up that whole bloody thing?"
"Between Lucifer and The Modern Knights, they must have hired just about every ship in the world," O'Brien said.
Even the normally stony Olson was slightly rattled. "This is a formidable force . . ." he said with typical understatement in his Scandinavian-accented English.
"Their biggest problem will be getting all those ships through without causing one hell of a traffic jam," Yaz said, dejectedly.
"No," Hunter said, stemming the tide of negatives. "Their biggest problem is going to be us . . ."
The Jaguars took off first, four of them catapulting into the air with a rush of steam and a scream of jet exhaust. The quartet climbed and began long circles around the carrier.
The Tornados launched next. Six of them, each carrying 18,000 pounds of anti-shipping bombs, streaked off the carrier and joined the Jags orbiting above. Then the carrier's elevators brought up the spaceship-like SAAB
Viggens. The fighters, their delta wings bulging with overstuffed bombs, went airborne in less than two minutes. Unlike the other airplanes, they stayed in a ground-hugging holding pattern.
Hunter launched next, the Saratoga's rejuvenated catapult flinging him hard and fast out over the water. Meanwhile, two of the Harrier jump-jets were lifting off vertically from the stern of the carrier. The remaining Harrier as well as the Beta group of
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Tornados would be left behind in order to protect the flotilla if necessary.
The air group finally formed up, went through a series of armament and communications checks, and then headed south. The first direct attack on Lucifer was about to begin . . .
The lead ship in Lucifer's fleet was a cruiser manned by crew of Chilean mercenaries. A squadron of destroyers and corvettes, all carrying crews of"
mixed nationalities, was next in line, followed by the first group of troop-carrying vessels-tugs, small freighters, and barges.
Although Lucifer knew the Saratoga was heading for the Canal, his lack of reliable intelligence and recon led him to believe the carrier was still dead in the water in the Mediterranean. A powerless ship, surrounded by a bunch of yachts and frigates, posed little threat to his vast fleet, so he thought.
Though he was upset that the Russian Navy subs hadn't finished off the disabled carrier during their first attack, he wasn't worried. When his armada had traveled through the Canal, he would send his own warships to do the job themselves. This message he had foolishly passed on to the commanders of his fleet, who, in turn, bragged about it to their crews.
That's why it was with great surprise that the lookout on Lucifer's lead cruiser spotted the flight of four Viggen jets approaching at wavetop level and heading directly for him. Were the airplanes allies? Freelancers that Lucifer had hired to protect the fleet through its Canal passage?
He knew the answer was no as soon as when he heard the anxious voice of his comrade in the cruiser's communications room. He was screaming 355
through the intercom that "unidentified enemy aircraft" were heading for the ship. Instantly, the lookout knew a big mistake had been made.
The four Viggens roared right over the cruiser, so close the lookout felt the need to duck. As the jets screamed by he saw their wings were jammed with strange-looking bombs. He watched as they continued up and over the destroyers behind his ship and soon disappeared around a slight bend in the Canal. His first thought was one of relief. "At least they didn't drop those things on me," he whispered.
Then he turned around and saw the Tornados . . .
The British swing-wing fighter-bombers were right in front of him, six altogether, flying in pairs. Their underwings also carried clumps of bombs.
But unlike the Viggens, two of the planes were zeroing in on the cruiser. And the lead Tornado was firing its cannon at him.
The lookout felt the cannon shells rip up his right arm, take a chunk of his shoulder off, and graze his head. Suddenly he couldn't move; he was in shock.
Everything was moving in slow motion. He saw the lead Tornado drop two silvery cannisters. Both struck the forward gun housing on the cruiser, passed through the compartment, and tore two side-by-side holes in the deck. A tremendous explosion followed, so powerful it lifted the bow of the ship right out of the water.
Only the lead Tornado dropped any bombs; like the Viggens, the six airplanes streaked overhead and continued down the canal.
The lookout, half his body already covered in blood, was now hit square in the face with a wave of flame resulting from the explosion. Suddenly his hair, his uniform, his very skin was on fire. In fact, the whole ship was instantly covered in flames.
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He screamed, but no sound came out . .
By this time, the warning klaxons were blaring on the dozen destroyers and corvettes sailing behind the illfated cruiser. The startled crew members, roused by the sound of the approaching jets, first watched the four Viggens pass over, then saw the Tornados deliver a devastating blow to the lead ship.
They knew they were next.
The guns crews were not yet at their posts when' the Jaguars appeared. The small, aging jet fighters were flying very slowly four abreast and coming in on a slight angle. After passing over the blazing cruiser, they simultaneously opened up on the first four destroyers with their powerful nose cannons. The combined barrage caught one ship broadside, perforating it, killing any sailor unlucky enough to be on its starboard side. A succession of secondary explosions followed immediately.
The four jets passed over their first victim, and started riddling another-a smaller destroyer escort. The rain of deadly cannon shells walked up the side of this ship and quickly found their way to its magazine. The vessel's ammunition went up, obliterating everything from its forecastle to its stern.
The explosion was so quick and so sudden, two of the Jag pilots had to yank back on their sticks to avoid being caught up in the conflagration their cannon fire had caused.
One by one, the destroyers were attacked by the slow-moving Jaguar foursome.
Those ships lying directly in the jets' line of attack were caught helpless and with no room to maneuver. No return fire was offered in defense. They were chopped up like lambs in a slaughter.
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Further down the canal, word had reached the group of twenty troop-carrying vessels that the fleet was under attack. But these ships too suddenly realized their vulnerability.
Two armed tugs were leading the troopships, followed by fifteen large, open, square river barges of the type used to carry wheat, coal, or garbage in peaceful times. Now they were filled with the advance troops of Lucifer's Legion. The soldiers, already weary from spending so much time packed like sardines on the barges, panicked when they heard the approaching sound of jet engines. Out of the blazing Middle Eastern sun, they soon saw the outline of the four Viggen jets.