Bering Strait

by F X Holden

  He had known every time he took to the skies for the last twenty years, that the day may come when he was required to fire nuclear weapons at an enemy of his motherland. He trusted that if he was asked to do so, it would only be in a situation of national survival. Literally of life or death, at the risk of total national oblivion. As he kept his flight of two Tu-162’s on station off the coast of Alaska and waited for the go codes that would confirm his mission, he couldn’t help but reflect that he probably felt exactly the same right now as an American called Paul Tibbets had felt, nearly 100 years ago.

  When he had been asked to drop a nuclear bomb on 350,000 unarmed civilians.

  In a city called Hiroshima.

  Bunny had pushed the Fantom high, tail on fire all the way. She had to trust what her screens were telling her, namely that the Russian Major-General really was pulling all of his aircraft out of the OA. Not just those escorting the Tupolevs, but every damned bird over the Bering Strait and Alaska. She knew NORAD would be looking at the same feed she was, and had no doubt hundreds of US fighters down south were currently getting airborne to fill the vacuum the Russians had left in the sky behind them.

  Within minutes she was within Cuda missile range of the Russian bombers. For all their stealth technology, the bombers were too big to hide from satellites and ground stations that knew exactly where to look, and there wasn’t a single inch of air over the Operations Area that wasn’t covered by US eyes in the sky right now.

  Bunny kept radiation from her Fantom to a minimum, taking data from NORAD and Skippy, and assigned missiles to each of the two targets, but held her fire. She had never taken on a TU-162 bomber before, either in a sim or in real life, and had no idea what kind of countermeasures, physical or electronic, it had up its sleeve. So she planned to let her missiles go at the absolute inside of their effective range, giving the bombers the least possible time to detect and evade the active radar and laser guidance systems of the Cudas.

  That window closed quicker than she liked, but as warnings began to appear within her heads-up display that she was about to breach the operational envelope, she lit up the targets with her own radar and launched four of her eight Half-RAAMs. Her voice betrayed her as she nearly shouted, “Target locked: Cudas away!”

  One thousand eight hundred and sixty miles away, in the North Pacific sea west of the Kuril Islands, the USS Columbia rose to launch depth. Only one of the hull doors for its 16 missile launch tubes was open, and that had only been opened after its escort of three SSN(X) Virginia class attack submarines had ensured there would be no unwelcome visitors trying to disturb the launch.

  At precisely four minutes to three pm, US Eastern Time, 120,000 lbs. of sea water was flash vaporized inside the launch tube, blasting the HSSW Waverider missile out of the water and into the air above the sub. There it hung for a moment, as its upward momentum faded and gravity tried to pull it back down into the sea. Until its first stage MGM-140 ATACMS solid rocket booster ignited and drove the missile five hundred feet into the air on a diagonal trajectory that quickly took it to 3,000 miles per hour.

  Unlike in an ICBM launch, it only burned for a few incandescent seconds though, before the rocket burned itself out, and the missile nosed back toward the earth. As it did, it ejected its outer shell, revealing a dolphin shaped head fixed to a conical booster. Small, stubby wings sprang out of recessed grooves at the back of the missile, and its second stage Pratt & Whitney Rocketdyne SJY61 scramjet accelerated it to 4,000 miles an hour.

  It covered the 400 mile ‘safe distance’ to the west of the USS Columbia in just six minutes.

  The HSSW was fitted with a 200 kiloton W89 thermonuclear warhead, otherwise known as a ‘tactical nuke’ for its relatively modest size. It was only twenty times the power of the bomb that had destroyed the Japanese city of Nagasaki. The W89 armed HSSW had never been tested under operational conditions and it was in fact the first ever such test of a thermonuclear weapon mounted on a hypersonic missile. A second missile had been queued in case of a launch failure but it wasn’t needed. It flew true.

  When it detonated, the flash of light was clearly visible from the Russian city of Petropavlovsk on the Kamchatka Peninsula, and within minutes vision of the weapons test had been broadcast around the world.

  When the Tupolevs’ escort had radioed Major Alekseyev that they had been ordered to return to base, he had not been overly concerned. He knew the 3rd Air and Air Defense Forces Command had achieved total air superiority over the Operations Area since the early days of the conflict, when several older Tu-160M2 bombers had been lost in the successful attack on Elmendorf-Richardson and Eielson air bases. The men of the 21st Guards had drunk many a toast to the memories of those brave men.

  Alekseyev was entirely focused on the small box mounted on his dashboard, right at eye level, that would light up with the go codes if his mission was authorized. He had a wingman with him for redundancy, but there had been no threat to their mission and he didn’t expect one now.

  “Captain, news outlets are reporting that the Americans have detonated their nuclear weapon!” his systems officer reported.

  “Very well. Be alert.”

  He heard a tone in his ears, and then saw six red figures appear on the box in front of him. He turned to his co-pilot, “Authenticate please Lieutenant. One nine five four three alpha alpha.”

  His co-pilot tapped an icon on a tablet and read out the figures there, “Confirming. One nine five four three alpha alpha.”

  “Turning to heading zero nine seven. Weapons, you are clear to engage the target with a single 3M22 missile,” Alekseyev said.

  “Yes sir. Clear to fire Tsirkon missile.”

  The Tupolev’s weapons bay doors opened and the rotary launcher lowered into the slipstream.

  Alekseyev compensated for the drag by lifting the nose a little.

  “Launcher down and locked. Missile system check complete…” his weapons officer intoned.

  Alekseyev felt as though he should say something a little more momentous, given this was the first time in history Russia would be firing a nuclear weapon outside a test environment.

  But the moment passed and anyway, his crew wouldn’t understand what he was talking about.

  Until their weapon struck Anchorage in about 13 minutes.

  Suddenly an alarm screamed in his ears. “Missile alert!!” his systems officer yelled. “Initiating defensive protocols!”

  In an instant, Alekseyev felt the stick of the Tupolev rock to starboard as the defensive combat AI took control of the bomber from him!

  “Never seen this before,” Bunny muttered. Her missiles had been tracking faithfully toward the flight of Tupolevs, when the bombers had suddenly broken port and starboard, accelerated dramatically and fired clouds of decoy devices. The decoys spoofed two of her four AMRAAMs, but the other two kept tracking. Until suddenly they went haywire and began spiraling through all points of the compass and lost their targets completely. They self-destructed, but Bunny could see they were nowhere near the bombers. Four shots, four misses. She only had four short range all aspect missiles and guns left.

  “What?” Rodriguez asked, peering over her shoulder at the tactical display.

  “Ivan has some kick-ass jamming rig on his new TU-162s,” Bunny said. “We can forget radar. Need to go optical and IR.”

  Rodriguez looked over her shoulder at Bondarev, “Anything else about these beasts you haven’t told us?”

  “I’m not an expert on the jamming systems of the TU-162,” Bondarev said. “They haven’t been implemented on any other type. We have been told though, they are very effective against both infrared and radar homing missiles.”

  “So, we’re down to optical,” Bunny said. “Great. Need to see the whites of their eyes.”

  “And they are rumored to have some sort of secret close combat defensive weapon,” Bondarev said. “I have never seen it trialed. It may just be a rumor.”

  Bunny moved her bandaged hand off her
mouse and tried to tap a key on the keyboard with her right forefinger but missed the keyboard completely. Cursing, she slammed her hand on a crate beside her and began kneading it with her left hand.

  “You OK O’Hare?” Rodriguez asked with concern.

  “Yes ma’am!” O’Hare growled back at her, a little too loudly. “Going to kill this bastard even if I have to unlace my boot and start typing with my right foot.”

  “Mayday mayday,” Alekseyev’s systems officer was calling on the radar. “This is Molotok Flight, under enemy air attack in sector 34 West, requesting immediate assistance.”

  The Tupolev was indeed a bastard. It’s four Samara NK-321 turbofans put out 245kn of thrust at emergency power, accelerating it from normal cruising speed of Mach 0.9 to Mach 2 or 1,300 miles an hour, in less than 15 seconds. The pressure from the sudden acceleration would have been enough to cause spinal injury if the seats and pressure suits of the crew hadn’t been designed for it. Couple that acceleration with an inverted low banking turn as the combat AI sought to present a difficult targeting solution to the incoming missiles, and it was no wonder his co-pilot lost his lunch into the space between his legs.

  Alekseyev hated the feeling of helplessness more than he hated the nausea and narrow vision. Giving control of his aircraft over to a computer system because the designers didn’t believe his own reflexes could save him and his crew, it left him impotent to do anything except try to keep his eyes on the threat warning screen and watch as the American missiles, for that was all they could be, speared toward him and his wingman.

  Where the hell had they come from? A stealth fighter, obviously. But how had it penetrated so deep into Russian held airspace? It was probably a drone sent on a one-way mission, but how could it have reached them so quickly, flying all the way from the US mainland? The answer was, it couldn’t have. So either it was loitering, like a trapdoor spider waiting for an unlucky victim to wander past, or it was launched from close by. Which was also impossible!

  Two of the four American missiles winked out. His systems were unable to pick up the fighter that had fired them. So, definitely a stealth fighter. There was no AWACs coverage available, so they had been relying on their now absent escort to scan the airspace around them and locate any threats. But they had become complacent.

  The Tupolev reversed its roll and began a sweeping high-speed turn, dropping even lower. He heard a clunk as the missile launcher thumped back into place in the weapons bay. It had withdrawn as soon as the bomber started evasive maneuvers.

  “Molotok Flight, this is Krolik flight of four Su-57s, we are the closest to your position, we will be within range in twelve minutes,” Alekseyev heard a voice say in his ears.

  “Acknowledged Krolik flight,” Alekseyev said into his mike, breathing heavily as he fought the G-force. “Please hurry, we may be dead by then.”

  Or maybe not, he thought with sudden optimism, as he saw the remaining two American missiles on his screen spiral out of control and self-destruct.

  Bunny’s mind raced. The two Tupolevs had separated now, and were accelerating away from each other. She couldn’t get within visual range of both of them, and unless she took her shot within the next few seconds, at least one of the bombers would have time to make a missile run again.

  She decided. The optical targeting system on the all aspect Cuda allowed for full 360 degree off boresight fire. That meant that she could have her aircraft pointed at one of the bombers and fire at the other, even though it was behind her, as long as she could see it and lock it up with her magnified weapons screen. She put a nav lock on the Tupolev in front of her, which was thankfully completing an evasive turn or it might have been able to outrun her. Leaving her flight AI to keep up the pursuit of that bomber, she concentrated her attention on her Cuda targeting system, swinging the crosshairs through the sky toward the now small delta winged shape of the other fleeing Tupolev. As the crosshairs jerked over the bomber, she got a tone, and the white crosshairs turned red, indicating she had an optical lock. Before she lost it, she fired two of her remaining missiles at the locked Tupolev!

  The missiles dropped out of her weapons bay and lowered their noses, turning 180 degrees before they accelerated to Mach 2.5. Even though the Tupolev was accelerating away at Mach 2, there was no question the missiles would catch it. So it just remained to see if it had any other tricks up its sleeve.

  It didn’t. Twisting like a snake, desperately firing clouds of tinfoil chaff to try to spoof the incoming missiles, one of the Cudas made direct contact with the Tupolev and detonated. The other found itself in what seemed to be a double cloud of foil chaff and also triggered its proximity fuse, without effect. One direct hit on the central fuselage of the bomber would have been critical, but this one hit just below the Tupolev’s weapons bay. It disappeared in a flash of aviation and rocket fuel as its fuel tanks and ordnance exploded.

  If missiles could think, the second Cuda would have had a single thought as it dived into that double cloud of chaff. And its thought would have been, ‘This is not chaff’.

  “Splash one!” Bunny said.

  “Yes!” Rodriguez yelled, unable to help herself.

  “Closing on second target,” Bunny said out loud. “Two missiles remaining. Guns up.”

  “You have Russian fighters closing from the south,” Rodriguez pointed out. “ETA about eight minutes. I don’t think you’ll catch it before…”

  “I see them,” Bunny confirmed. “It’s going to be close. Wait. What?” Rodriguez saw Bunny swing her head around as she looked at multiple virtual screens within her virtual-reality rig. “Oh shit, this is not good. He’s decelerating.”

  “What? Why would he be doing that?” Rodriguez swung around and called over to Bondarev. “The second bomber is slowing down. It’s stopped running. What is happening?!”

  “The commander is doing what I would do,” he said. “He is trying to complete his mission.”

  The Tsirkon missile could not be launched at speeds above Mach 0.9. Any attempt to lower the rotary launcher above that speed risked it being ripped off, damaging the airframe as it pulled away.

  Alekseyev had already made his decision before he saw the ball lightning-like flash on the horizon that had been his wingman. Whatever was pursuing them, drone or human piloted fighter, or fighters plural, it made no matter. He had survived their first attack, and he was still alive. For now. He had no way of knowing how many US aircraft were hunting him or where the next attack would come from.

  He had disconnected the defensive AI and taken control of his aircraft back.

  “What are you doing sir?” his co-pilot asked.

  In answer he keyed his internal mike, “Weapons. I am going to brake to launch velocity. Prepare to lower the launcher and fire.”

  The co-pilot looked like he wanted to protest, but whatever he was about to say, he bit it back. “Preparing for close-in decoy release,” he said, flicking some switches.

  “The enemy sent two short-range missiles after Molotok 2,” Alekseyev told him. “Probably on optical guidance. Jamming was ineffective. The default countermeasure systems were ineffective.” He cut the bomber’s thrust and deployed the emergency air brakes - they were both thrown forward against the straps of their harnesses as the massive bomber began decelerating hard. “I want you to set the swarm for maximum spread and fire at the outside of the intercept envelope!”

  “Setting swarm for max spread,” the co-pilot confirmed. He crossed himself. “God help us.”

  “If we succeed in launching our Tsirkon,” Alekseyev told him cryptically. “It is not God you will need to reckon with.”

  Bunny had been burning toward the huge flying wing at Mach 1.8. In a flat-out footrace, the Tupolev could have outrun her Fantom. But it had been dodging and weaving and had lost considerable airspeed before it decided to bug out, so her intercept calculator had put her on a track that should have given her a very short window in which she could attack the bomber before it reached t
he approaching Russian fighter flight that was clearly responding to its call for help.

  She’d been gearing herself up for that engagement, so she’d been taken by surprise when the Tupolev suddenly swung east on a new heading and threw out its sea anchor. One moment, it had been a silver sliver on the horizon, the next, it was filling her forward camera like it had stopped in mid-air and decided to fly backward and attack the Fantom. She knew that was an optical illusion enhanced by the visual simulation system on the Fantom, and her threat screen told her the true story - it had just cut its airspeed dramatically and was falling from Mach 2 toward Mach 1 and below.

  “Cudas tracking,” she said, her voice calm, even though her heart was pounding. “Optical lock. Firing one. Tracking. Firing two.”

  She chopped her own airspeed back so that she didn’t overrun the bomber. It took what seemed like milliseconds for the missiles to close.

  Rodriguez saw them as two small lines on the laptop’s tactical screen, reaching between Bunny’s Fantom and the Russian bomber. “Come on,” she urged. “Let’s get this done.”

  “No!” Bunny suddenly exclaimed. She had been watching the contrails of her two missiles reach out toward the bomber. Just as she expected them to strike, two black clouds burst from the back of the Tupolev like two huge swarms of bees, filling the sky. Her missiles flew right into them.

  The black clouds flashed brilliant white, and her missiles disappeared.

  The radical new drone-swarm defense that had been fitted to the TU-162 bombers could indeed be compared to a swarm of bees. Dropped out of apertures lining the underside of the Tupolev, the swarm comprised two clouds of 1,000 miniature drones each, which could be programmed to take a set distance from each other once launched, forming either a dense or a loose cloud. Like tinfoil chaff, when concentrated, they reflected radar energy and could attract radar homing missiles - with the advantage that they stayed in formation, unlike chaff which quickly dispersed. But their real talent was that when they were dispersed, their eight gyro stabilized rotors coupled with autonomous range finding could keep each drone at a maximum holding distance of 50 feet from all of its neighbors, creating two separately positioned clouds that were two drones thick and a half mile wide.