You ready for this…?
“Fuck, no...” he muttered with a thin smile as Angus Young’s blistering guitar riffs returned to full volume in the background. He gave a faint shrug. “What choice do I have?”
I’ll let you concentrate… the voice advised softly as it began to fade, adding only, almost as an afterthought: remember to tuck your feet in…
Thorne didn’t really register the meaning behind that left-field and rather unhelpful remark at the time, so completely was his attention fixed on the green of the island ahead as he hurtled toward Ambon’s southern coastline at 800 knots. He was picking up at least a dozen separate airborne IR signatures now at various points above the island, at least half of those clearly belonging to fighters on patrol, and he felt a momentary pang of regret that the last of the guided missiles Hindsight had brought with them on their journey from the 21st Century had been used just months before in the North African desert. The first generation of replacement weapons sufficiently small, and nimble enough to be used against an enemy fighter were still a few years away at best.
He switched to ground attack mode as the Lightning flew on, holding to his passive sensors only, for the time being, so as to provide the greatest level of surprise. Already, the EOTS below his nose was scanning the way ahead, picking out targets with its thermal imaging and high-resolution digital optics. His main screen was filled with potential threats, each highlighted by a small green square with a range reading in metres below, and all of them dropping rapidly as he continued on at supersonic speed.
It was only as he hurtled past beneath a pair of patrolling Zeros, both of them far too high above and far too slow to give chase, that he finally accepted that the jig was probably up and engaged his active targeting systems. The powerful APG-81 radar mounted in the aircraft’s nose immediately picked up dozens of ground and aerial targets off varying sizes and at varying distances in the broad frontal arc ahead of its line of approach. Right across Thorne’s HMDS display and the instrument panel’s main, widescreen display, a significant number of those targets quickly changed from green to red as their radar emissions were analysed, compared to samples already stored in the Lightning’s internal database and categorised as imminent threats.
“Comms: frequency change – contact Trooper…” he instructed clearly for the benefit of his speech recognition systems, which instantly adjusted the radio accordingly and gave a confirming beep in his earpiece. “Harbinger calling Trooper – Harbinger calling Trooper – come in please, Mallee…”
“Trooper receiving you five by five, Harbinger… and about bloody time, too…!” Came Langdale’s quick and obviously annoyed response a few seconds later, eliciting a wry half-smile. “In position and awaiting orders… over…”
“ETA eight minutes and closing, Mal: Whaddya got for me? Anything happening around the barracks at the moment?”
“Not much activity in this area for most of the morning – a few regular patrols and minimal enemy presence other than a handful of guards – but a whole squad turned up about an hour ago and they’ve been hanging about ever since.”
“What about our ‘friend’?” Thorne asked carefully, a little frightened of the answer he might receive.
“Only one sighting this morning so far, Harbinger, but she appears to be all right at present. Spotted her about an hour ago, moving between barracks at the far side of the compound; I could be wrong, but I think she went into the Germans’ huts… they’ve bloody got a bunch of Wehrmacht officers and a few naval ratings being held in that area as well!”
“We’re aware of that, mate,” Thorne acknowledged, not ready to reveal the identities of some of those officers just yet. “How’s your force disposition? Were you able to link up with Gull Force?”
“Eileen and the Krauts are in the same bloody barracks that squad of Japs is guarding. There’s what’s left of two companies spread out all over the bloody peninsula, sir, but I managed to link up with about two platoon’s worth. It’s enough: give the order and we can take ‘em…”
“I’m gonna take out the heavy-hitters in the bay first, mate: make sure they don’t have any big guns left to turn on you. Wait for my first pass to hit home, then go for your life! Get to Eileen and keep her safe! She has complete command on the ground… understand?”
“Understood, sir... understood,” Langdale confirmed.
“We’ve got more airstrikes on the way behind me, and three choppers inbound, ETA approx. forty minutes. They’ll have commandos onboard but their primary mission is evac, and I want Eileen on the first one outta there… They’re on the same channel we are: they can probably hear you already, and should be in range to respond shortly. First and foremost priority is to get her out of there… you got me…?”
“Orders received and understood, sir…”
“Good man…” Thorne nodded, almost managing a smile. “Stay frosty and be ready to go: this is our chance to pay these bastards back, and I intend to rip their fuckin’ hearts out!”
“I heard that, sir…”
“Good luck, mate… Harbinger out…”
Thorne returned his full attention to his instruments, pulling the Lightning up to a few thousand feet and directing his EOTS to focus on the nearest of the large radar signatures ahead. As the optics locked and zoomed in, his suspicions were confirmed by the presence of what appeared to be two light carriers and at least one other capital ship – probably a heavy cruiser. Not only were those vessels the source of the most powerful radar emissions he could pick up, but the carriers were also a potential source of far greater danger in the fighter aircraft they undoubtedly carried in their hangars – aircraft that might cost significant allied lives if given the opportunity.
“Not today, assholes… not… today…” he muttered softly, jaw clenching into a tight-lipped grimace as he armed the weapon racks beneath the Lightning’s wings and selected his first target.
All hell had quite understandably and dramatically broken loose as a previously undetected enemy aircraft had suddenly appeared on the search radars of the carrier Hiyō as it lay moored in Ambon Bay. Initial sighting reports of that same aircraft were received a moment later from two Zeros on BARCAP patrol south of the island, sending command centres aboard ship and on land into frantic action, even as some began to question the reality of the signals they were receiving, the apparent speed of the approaching enemy so great it almost defied belief.
Air raid sirens began to wail right across the island as ready-response pilots waiting on deck in their aircraft immediately started their engines and prepared for take-off in support of their colleagues already airborne. Aboard every warship currently moored inside the bay, gun crews reacted to the sudden call to battle stations and bolted for their positions, turning dozens of anti-aircraft guns of varying sizes toward that sudden, southerly threat. On land too, AA defences charged their weapons and stood ready, waiting for an opportunity to deal with their as-yet unseen adversary.
In transit halfway between Paso and Tan Tui, Hasegawa was as surprised as any of them over the suddenness of the attack, although his lack of communications with his HQ meant he was still completely unaware of the true nature of the approaching aircraft. Regardless of what it actually was however, he nevertheless recognised that there was a very real danger the air raid was a direct attempt to either destroy he device still aboard Kormoran, to force a release of the prisoners at Tan Tui or… worst case… both simultaneously.
As desperate and doomed to failure as any such attempt might actually be, he couldn’t afford to do anything other than take it seriously. There’d already been unconfirmed sightings of enemy units in the vicinity of the barracks lines and he’d deployed additional guards as a result, determined that there would be no attempt to free his VIP prisoners. Both common sense and his driver suggested that they should get off the road and seek some kind of shelter, however he urged the man on instead, ordering him to Tan Tui barracks at full speed and indifferent to the corpora
l’s repeated warnings.
The first pass was almost anti-climactic from Thorne’s point of view. The moment the first target and mode of attack had been chosen, the F-35’s automated systems had taken over, sending the aircraft into a stomach-churning climb at full throttle that tested his G-suit to the limits and almost threatened a black-out as his vision tunnelled momentarily. His suit hissed and popped as compressed air pumped around his legs and lower body, constricting heavily and forcing blood upward, back into his brain to retain consciousness.
Intent on remaining outside the range of the heaviest flak for the time being, he’d selected the LABS method for the initial attack. The Low-Altitude Bombing System’ as it was known, had been specifically designed to permit pilots to release their weapons from a ‘stand-off’ distance to either avoid enemy fire or, in the case of nuclear weapons, to remain out of the blast radius of their own devices.
As the Lightning climbed dramatically, now almost vertical, its fire control systems determined the optimum moment and triggered the sequential release of a pair of thousand-pound bombs from each of the triple-ejector racks beneath its inner wings. The aircraft then continued into huge loop it had commences several thousand feet below, executing a half-roll at the apex and roaring away in the opposite direction, away from any potential danger. The bombs themselves continued on their merry way, separating from each other as they were hurled upward into a ponderous ballistic loop. As they too reached the apex of their own climb, still heading in their original direction, they began to curve unerringly toward their target, plunging downward from a great height.
They were unguided weapons – known colloquially as ‘dumb bombs’ in Thorne’s era – yet the sophisticated radars and fire control systems of the F-35 were such that their trajectories were remarkably accurate for all that. None of the weapons were actually intended to strike Hiyō, however two fell within sufficiently close range to complete their intended task. At a predetermined height, each bomb split apart to release three smaller canisters of ethylene oxide, each separating from the others and bursting itself apart just thirty feet above the target, all under the control of proximity radar fusing. A huge cloud of aerosol fuel was released, enough from two bombs to engulf the entire ship’s island and a significant section of its broad flight deck. Detonators within the casings activated a few milliseconds later, igniting the entire cloud in a gigantic explosion of incredible force and destructive power.
Known as thermobaric weapons (or FAE – ‘fuel-air explosives’), the devices were far more devastating than conventional bombs of equivalent weight, and the combined blast of two of them was more than sufficient to all but obliterate the carrier’s superstructure entirely, shredding it into torn, jagged pieces of tortured metal and killing every single human being inside. Large sections of the flight deck on either side of the shattered were also torn up and twisted, rendering it completely useless as fire began to spread through the vessel below decks. Off to starboard, the other two weapons also detonated, incidentally and completely destroying a small patrol vessel that had had the misfortune to be simply cruising past at that moment.
Now flying level and upright at the end of that great half-loop, Thorne released a whoop of elation as he watched the destruction of Hiyō on his main display screen, the EOTS cameras having been locked to target and focussed on the vessel throughout the entire manoeuvre. As clouds of flame rolled skyward and debris peppered the surrounding water and other vessels nearby, he pulled the Lightning into a sharp bank to port, taking note that at least two pairs of Zeros were now belatedly closing in on his position, and designated his next target; the equally-large Junyō, anchored a mile or so north of the stricken Hiyō’s position.
“Five more minutes and I am going to make a move regardless,” Ritter growled darkly, back pressed flat against the wall by the window of his room as he stared through a crack in the shutters at the squad of Japanese guards milling about outside.
“There’s a dozen maschinenpistolen out there, for God’s sake,” Reuters hissed sharply in return, standing ready in the open doorway leading out to the main hall. “You’ll not last five minutes against that lot!”
“None of us will last five seconds past midday,” the pilot snapped testily, still not happy with what his CO had done as he glanced nervously at his watch. “Better to die taking action that to sit here like a coward and just accept it!” Both men were speaking English for the benefit of Donelson, currently sitting on the bed close to Ritter with her legs hanging over the side.
“Better not to die at all…” she observed drily, trying to ignore the rising sense of defeat that was threatening to overwhelm her senses. “We’ve still more than an hour… time enough yet if an opportunity present’s itself.”
“Our men are ready… her men are ready…” Ritter spat angrily, tension filling his words as he craned his head this way and that, trying to take in the position of every man he could see outside. “One word and we can rush them!”
“Overwhelm a dozen men with automatic weapons?” Reuters almost smiled, shaking his head. “Take it from an old infantryman: that kind of stupidity only works in cowboyfilmen…!”
“Scheisse…!”
Born of angry desperation, no phrase could have possibly conveyed so perfectly the frustration that Ritter was feeling at that exact moment. Just a few seconds later, before anyone else could add to the remark, the first wail of air raid sirens rose mournfully into the air from all around, dark and alien and filled with foreboding.
That howl produced a galvanising effect both in- and outside of the barracks in the moments that followed. Reacting with the best of their regimental conditioning and devoid of input from any other source – such as a superior officer - the guards immediately broke into groups and took off at a cracking pace in a number of directions, seeking out their predetermined action stations in the case of air raid warning and leaving just two of the regular guards to remain at their usual post down by the wharf, although they too made sure they took cover in slit trenches dug nearby for just such an emergency.
“It appears the ‘kavallerie’ have indeed arrived in the nick of time…” Reuters conceded drily as Ritter shot a loaded glance in his direction, making a concerted effort to mask his own, sudden excitement. “Perhaps we shall live to see another sunset after all! Schultz… statusbericht…!” He called loudly, turning his attention toward the ensign at the doorway at the far end of the hut.
“All clear, Mein Herr…!” Schultz called back eagerly, ready and waiting with a reply. “No observable threats.”
“It is time, then,” the Reichsmarschall declared with a noticeable shake in his voice as he lifted himself away from his resting place against the door sill, producing Oshiro’s blade from beneath his tunic. “I suppose we shall need this…”
“Give it to me,” Ritter offered immediately, taking a few steps across the intervening space with his hand outstretched.
“You’re sure…?”
“You’re a fit man for you age, Herr Reichsmarschall,” Ritter pointed out, trying to sound more glib that he truly felt, “but I suspect a younger man’s hand is needed for the dirty work…”
“Of – of course,” Reuters nodded quickly, in truth happy to be rid of the thing as he passed it over, and neither man was impolitic enough to mention that the other’s hands were shaking.
“Still clear there, Schultz…?” Ritter asked again sharply, moving out into the hallway as Eileen rose to follow, taking up a makeshift club she’d fashioned from part of high-backed, wooden chair.
“Still clear, sir!” He replied instantly, staring out from behind the barely-open door.
“Ten seconds, Meine Herren…!” The pilot declared with as much calm as he could muster, passing a doubly-significant nod of recognition to Eileen in that moment. “The rest of the men will act on our lead as planned. I’ll neutralise the guard closest to the exit…”
“And I’ll deal with the partner…” Donelson confirm
ed quickly, her tone ice cold as she steeled herself for what was about to happen.
“Five seconds…” he continued, counting down as he reached for the door latch at their end of the barracks and turned it carefully open. “…zwei… ein… und los…!”
He pushed the door wide, intending to storm out with the rest behind, only to be thrown bodily backward into the barracks once more as the heat and force of a tremendous blast wave swept across the beach from the south-west, followed quickly by the roar of its passing. Above the treeline in that direction, a colossal cloud of flame and black smoke curled skyward, and although it was impossible to see what exactly had happened from their position, it was quite clear that a large warship out in the bay had at the very least been terribly damaged.
The distant, ripping sound of a manoeuvring jet fighter reached their ears faintly in the seconds that followed, bringing a faint smile to Eileen’s lips even as it was joined by the thud of heavy flak and steams of random tracer that began to streak into the sky beyond the trees.
“It seems I am destined to a lifetime of underestimating that man,” Reuters observed with no small amount of dark irony, no doubt in his mind in that moment as to who would be in the cockpit of that aircraft.
“…If you’re lucky…” Donelson shot back, her own courage and resolve buoyed by the revelation that help might well be close at hand.
“None of us are out of danger yet, captain,” Ritter pointed out breathlessly, tactfully cutting off anything more inflammatory that his CO might possibly say in return. “Our deal still stands, yes…?”
“I gave my word, colonel,” Eileen assured, although the reluctance in her voice was noted by both men.
“Then let’s not both with ‘what ifs’ just yet,” he suggested, tightening his grip on the tanto once more. “Time to make our own luck!” And with that, Ritter dived out through the open doorway at full tilt, releasing a loud, adrenalin-laced battle cry and never looking back for a moment.
The Dead Alone (Empires Lost Book 3) Page 101
