War with Russia

They waited, Webb locked onto his target as if he was on the range and firing a rifle. Then, high above them and just audible, even above the firing, Morland heard the familiar scream of a fast jet engine.

“Won’t be long now,” muttered Webb. “Stand by for impact…”

0200 hours, Sunday, July 9, 2017, Central European Time 0300 hours, Sunday, July 9, 2017, Eastern European Time

25,000 feet above Kaliningrad

“GIANT KILLER, THIS is Apollo, refuel complete. Now on station as CAP.” Bertinetti spoke briefly into his microphone as his F-16 soared high above the flatlands of Kaliningrad, with Captain Mike Ryan tucked in close on his starboard side and just astern.

“Copy that, Apollo. Be aware. You’ve now got NATO’s Boeing E-3A Sentry aircraft providing air surveillance in case of enemy air attack. An Airseeker RC-135 Rivet Joint SIGINT aircraft from the RAF is also airborne and reports Russian C2 still down. SAM threat is minimal.”

“Roger, Giant Killer. Send sitrep regarding air assault landings.”

“Giant Killer. H-Hour confirmed, 0330, Apollo.”

Bertinetti breathed a sigh of relief. It was one thing to have flown in fast and low, hit the Pionersky radar site as ordered and then to extract quickly, but at the mission brief he had been less than happy to be told that the Buzzards of 510th Fighter Squadron would then be required to provide a two-ship CAP, combat air patrol, following their bombing run. At the time, expecting few if any of them to survive the attack, he had felt that was an order too far. However, he knew the drill well enough: just get on with it. There was no way he was asking anyone else to take on the extra tasking. Mike Ryan had caught his eye and nodded; he was Bertinetti’s wingman and that was an end of the matter. He was coming, too.

Mission complete, the other six aircraft had headed straight for home. The pilots would first debrief and then creep home and into bed, almost as if nothing had happened.

However, it was still very much happening for him and Ryan. Far to the east, and invisible in the dark forests far below, the first fingers of dawn were beginning to lighten the faint curve of the horizon. He checked the time: sunrise in an hour and then they too could return to Aviano. He stifled a yawn and tried to stretch his legs. He had been strapped into his seat for four hours now; his G-suit felt too tight against his body and he longed to remove his helmet to scratch his head. The F-16 was always a great aircraft to fly, but it was well past time to count his blessings and head home before his luck ran out. Nevertheless, he set his instruments, activated auto-pilot and settled back to cover the area of sky above south-central Kaliningrad in a series of “racetrack”—long loop—patterns.

It was not long before his radio burst into life again.

“Apollo, this is Giant Killer. Are you receiving me? TIC now.”

“Apollo, Roger. Send details.”

“Troops in contact, enemy grid 893456, south of Pravdinsk. Under fire from heavy machine gun. They have laser designator and are ready to paint the target. Be aware, target on edge of Iskander compound, possible that nuclear warheads have been armed. Accuracy essential.”

“Apollo, copy that. Out.”

At the words “nuclear warheads armed,” all the fatigue of a long night flight and his body’s craving for sleep vanished. Bertinetti checked his position. He entered the enemy grid reference into LANTIRN. The infrared navigation and targeting systems updated itself, giving him a time on target of five minutes. He called ground control again to get the marker to lase the target.

“Giant Killer, relay to TIC. Time on target five minutes. Paint the target in two.”

Then he called Ryan. “Ghost One, this is Apollo. Cover my six o’clock while I go in.”

He put the F-16 into a dive and it responded like a thoroughbred racehorse let loose from the stalls. Flying low and fast, Bertinetti selected the stores management system page on his right-hand multifunction display, before punching the appropriate button around its perimeter to power up the Maverick. As he did so, the missile gyro ran up to speed in preparation for launch and lit the cockpit indicator, showing it was ready to fire. As he reached his pull-up point, he climbed and instantly picked up the target in the inky black below him. Flying at 3,000 feet, it was all too easy to see the streaks of tracer fire burning into the darkness. Without emotion, Bertinetti depressed his cage switch, allowing the missile to start to look for the laser marking the target.