War with Russia

Ghastly though it was to watch, Morland knew that this was his proof and this was his moment. He raised his camera and took photograph after photograph of the Hinds in action above him; switching every so often to record the devastation they were creating. They were so low and moving so slowly and with such confidence that he was even able to ensure that he captured their registration numbers; the Int boys back home would love those shots. They would probably be able to name the pilots. This was the proof the colonel had demanded. This was Russian airborne forces at work. No ifs. No buts. No militias or proxies.

It was, though, now time to get out before they were spotted. Morland could see this was now the endgame of the defense and he noted there had been no more mortar strikes since the Hinds had started their deadly pounding. The Russians would soon move in and finish off the survivors and then they would be moving to their secondary targets. He wanted to be gone by then.

He spoke quietly into his PRR to tell the other two that it was time to move back to the car. Morland and Watson began to move back, covered by Wild, making the most of the cover provided by the trees.

Then Morland heard the roar and clatter of another two Hinds approaching. However, these were not firing rockets or shells. He found himself frozen in appalled fascination as they flew overhead, almost knowing what was going to happen next, but somehow unable to not watch it. He raised his camera again as the Hinds flew over the passenger terminal. Two large drums dropped, one from the back of each Hind. They could only be one thing.

The 250-kilogram, fuel-air explosive bombs landed on the building.

There was a roar as the terminal erupted and, even from over a kilometer distance and lying prone on the edge of the forest, Morland felt the intense heat and blast hit his face. There would be no Latvian survivors for the Russian soldiers to finish off after all. In fact, Morland wondered whether that massive explosion might not have taken more than a few Russians with it.

And now there was silence from the buildings; silence everywhere in fact, a shocked silence. Then vehicles appeared, supported by infantry, which closed on the building. The fight for the airport was over. The Russians would next spread out to secure the perimeter. He spoke into his microphone.

“Move now. Fast.”

The team quickly retraced its steps to where Krauja and Archer were waiting with the Land Cruiser under cover and mounted up.

One look at Krauja’s eyes told Morland of her desperate need to know what was happening at the airport and to its defenders. He guessed that she would have friends in that Riga-recruited National Guard Battalion, which had defended the airport so bravely. But he knew, too, that this was not a moment for emotion.

Instead, he reverted to the professionalism of a soldier giving a situation report. After the trauma of what he had seen, it was the only way. Anything more than an emotionless statement of the bare facts would be in danger of wrecking Krauja. And he was suddenly unsure how he would handle that.

“Major Russian airborne assault on the airport. I’d estimate it at least a battalion-plus strength; supported by Mi-24 Hind attack helicopters and BMD-4 airborne armored vehicles. Defenders put up a strong fight, but have now been neutralized. The airport is now in enemy hands. I have photographic evidence of Russian helicopters attacking. Our task now is to get those pictures back to the UK as quickly as possible. We need to get to Padstow ASAP.”

Krauja took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “My younger brother was a reservist in that battalion. He was in his first year studying law at the University of Riga.”

Morland was lost for words. Her quiet dignity somehow made the situation even worse. He nodded in acknowledgment of what she had just told him and then pointed at the car. Without saying another word she strode to the driver’s door, got into the seat, turned the key and, once the last door had slammed shut, accelerated hard back down the narrow cycle path toward Riga.

Soon they were through back streets lined with old wooden buildings and back down to the Daugava again. As they drove, they kept the windows down and rifle barrels facing out, all the while keeping a sharp lookout for more Russians. From the scale of what they had witnessed back at the airport, they could be landing more troops anywhere.

Krauja turned right and made her way through the narrow streets of the old port quarter and then joined the main highway. Finally they drove onto the 600-meter length of the Vansu bridge, high above the Daugava River.

“There’s your ship. Down on the left,” said Krauja, pointing.