Ride of the Valkyries

by Stuart Slade

  For a second the display cleared. Gitta could see six hostile tracks spreading out as the aircraft went for individual targets, climbing to get clearance for their bombs. Then, another display of electronic mayhem as the bombers identified the frequency he was transmitting on and went to spot jamming. This time they were concentrating their jamming energy on the frequency Udagiri was using, blotting out the returns again. Well, there were ways of dealing with that as well. Another flip of the switch and the radar went to frequency-agile; hopping around from one frequency to the next in an attempt to find bands that weren't jammed. The screen cleared again but the picture was jerky, half-obscured sometimes, the track indistinct.

  One thing was clear though, in the time taken to get a track, the bombers had moved far and fast. Nearly 1,800 kilometers per hour, at a guess, and they were already nearing Pattle Island.

  B10N-1 Shuka Mi-121, Approaching Pattle Island

  There was a strange symbol on the head-up display, a long green bar terminating in a circle. The bar was the aircraft's projected course, the circle where its bombs would land if the release was pressed now. Ahead, Genda could see the large freighter in the island lagoon that was his assigned target. Behind it was one of the small frigates that was a secondary. The green line was right across the center of the freighter and it would only take a tiny change of course to put it across the small frigate as well. But primaries first.

  Genda was silent, his lips pressed shut as the green circle marched with frightening speed towards the freighter. Silent because his WSO was fighting his battle with the enemy frigate radar and missile controls and didn't need to know about anything else. Survival depended on him winning that electronic war.

  Chartered Freighter Sukanya, Pattie Island.

  Captain Pradesh had always guessed that his urgent desire to earn money would eventually do him in. Now it looked as if he was right. The radio was blasting out warnings. The warships around him were frantically coming to action stations. He couldn't see what the threat was, not yet.

  But, what was that? His binoculars to his eyes, he saw something terrifying. A dragon, surrounded by a ghastly glow of green light, coming straight for him. He shook himself. Dragons didn't exist; he knew that. The trouble was, it wasn't comforting to tell himself that something that didn't exist was demonstrably doing its best to kill him.

  Then he understood. The thing hurtling towards him was an aircraft, flying very low and blindingly fast, the glow surrounding it was the spray thrown up by the concussion wave of its passage. Yet it was silent. The words ‘speed of sound' swept through his mind. He started to shake, for there was no doubt. The dragon was coming straight for him

  B10N-1 Shuka Mi-203. Approaching Pattle Island

  Lieutenant Hara was lined up on his target, the tent encampment right in the center of Pattle Island. His aircraft carried eight cluster bombs, four under the wings, four in the belly bomb bay.

  Dropped across the encampment they would shred anything underneath them. Seven years earlier, the Americans had shown what cluster bombs could do to a target. Since then, Japan had concentrated on developing its own. Like the Shuka itself, tonight was the first night the new weapon was to be used in anger.

  Off to his left, fire erupted from the bow of one of the Indian frigates. For a second Hara thought somebody had mistaken her for a primary target and dropped his bombload on her. Then the fire faded and was replaced by another a second later. Fire from the 4.5 inch gun turret forward, probably on local control because his WSO hadn't reported a radar lock on him.

  Then, more flashes below and behind him. He was moving too fast for the traverse of the turret to keep up. If he'd been going for the frigate, he'd have been in danger but he wasn't. That made him a crossing target, an order of magnitude more difficult to hit. The green line on his head-up display had already crossed the coast and the tent encampment was directly ahead. There was a twinkle down there, like fireflies in the dark. Rifle fire, and machine guns.

  Encampment, First Company and HQ Company, First Battalion, the Punjab Rifles

  The flash of Udagiri's guns briefly, very briefly, silhouetted the dark, arrow-like shape hurtling silently through the night. Around Second Lieutenant Lai, the men of his platoon were boiling out of their tents, snatching rifles. Already, a few men were firing into the sky. Not at the approaching shape but at the area of sky it had to fly through. Without even thinking, Lai had drawn his pistol and was firing also.

  Over to his left, his platoon missileer had his Kris missile up and in the "aim" position. Trying to lock the seeker onto the approaching aircraft, was a vain hope. The Kris was really suited to rear-sector engagements. Using it on a head-on target like this was a slender chance at best. Even that, though, was better than nothing. Once the bomber passed, nothing was all that would be left. Lai knew what would be coming down any second. Submunitions. Antipersonnel submunitions.

  B10N-1 Shuka Mi-233, Approaching Pattle Island

  The target was the big fuel and munitions dump. The weapon, 1,000 kilogram bombs fitted with fuze extenders. Mi-233 carried eight of them. Lieutenant Sakai reflected that the B10N could carry an impressive warload, he had no doubt about that. Once, he had wanted to fly fighters but they were a dying breed in the Japanese Navy. Only the seaplane fighters held a future and there were few enough of those. So he ended up in a bomber group and fell in love with the shark-like Shuka. Now, they were making their target run.

  "LOCK! We have a lock." His WSO's voice was urgent, not panicky.

  There was nothing Sakai could do. He had to keep his aircraft running straight. Already, the green bar on his head-up display was crossing the site of the supply dump. It was down to the WSO to deflect the incoming Jabiru. He was taking the pulses from the fire control system of the inbound missile and retransmitting them, the strength little changed, a little delayed. Done right, the missile would interpret them as showing a slightly different course from the real thing. They would be interpreted as a curve that would take the missile away from the racing Shuka, to where it could do no harm. Deception jamming wasn't the only tool he had. He thumped a switch and silver clouds separated from the rear of the aircraft, chaff that would envelop the aircraft and hide it from the approaching missile.

  Bridge, INS Nilgiri, three miles east of Pattle Island.

  The roar and vibration shook the bridge of Nilgiri, two great streaks of fire headed into the sky towards the bombers racing over Pattle Island. It was too late, Commander Simons knew it. The bombers had come in too fast. Their electronic warfare equipment had delayed the anti-aircraft fire just long enough.

  The two Jabiru missiles were curving away, chasing after the nearest Japanese bomber. That was the problem, they were chasing the aircraft, there was no way they could catch it before it dropped its payload on its target. Even after that, it was a slender chance. Once the bomber was over the radar horizon, it couldn't be illuminated and the Jabirus would go ballistic.

  Beneath Simons' bridge, the arms on the twin-rail launcher rotated and stood erect. Two new missiles slid from the magazine underneath to re-arm the launcher. They'd be waiting for the next wave of bombers, if there was another wave of bombers. Because this one had got in, free and clear.

  B10N-1 Shuka Mi-331, Approaching Pattle Island

  The thermal imager built into Lieutenant Sayona's bomb-nav system was projecting a heat picture of the enemy vehicle park on his screen. Unfortunately, the image was green and the green bar of his bombsight picture was almost drowned out by it. That was a problem nobody had foreseen and now it was making his life almost impossible, Sayona was slightly amazed nobody had discovered it during the B10Ns extensive test program. Still, if he strained his eyes, he could see it, just. The green circle at the end was quickly approaching the blaze of color that represented the still-warm vehicle engines. His aircraft was loaded with 500 kilogram bombs, 16 of them, all fitted with fuze extenders. He planned to salvo the lot, right into the center of the vehicle park. Dispers
ion would to do the rest of the work for him.

  Project 16C APD INS Prabal, Pattle Island.

  The Japanese aircraft was coming straight at the old destroyer escort. She was coming to action stations but her single five inch 38 caliber and four twin 40mm guns defense were a pitifully weak defense. The best she could hope for was that her gunfire would cause the Japanese pilot to flinch, to disrupt his bomb run and, just possibly, miss. The midships 40mm twin had already opened up. Its tracers were flashing though the darkness towards the dim shape of the bomber hurtling towards them. For a brief second, Commander Ghopal thought he'd scored a miracle because the target seemed to explode in light. The elation didn't last, he realized it was just the Chipanese aircraft dropping clutches of flares and chaff clouds. It banked slightly, telling Ghopal that he was its next target.

  B10N-1 Shuka Mi-121, Over Pattle Island

  The green circle touched the side of the freighter. Genda salvoed the four 1,000 kilogram bombs hanging under his wings. Then a quick touch of the controls, a slight change of course, the bang underneath as the snap-action bomb-bay doors opened and four 1,000 kilogram weapons dropped clear, heading for the small frigate in front of him. As the bombs left, Genda heard the doors snap closed. He pushed the nose of his B10N down slightly, running for the horizon.

  Chartered Freighter Sukanya, Pattle Island.

  Captain Pradesh saw the dark gray shape streak overhead, saw the objects detach from its wings. He even saw the tails on the retarded bombs snap out to form airbrakes. They would slow the bombs down so the aircraft that had dropped them had time to get away from their blast. He saw that was in the middle of the pattern and was mournfully aware that he was not going to make a profit on this particular charter. Then, he felt the ship heave up under his feet. The first bomb had been short, it had exploded in the water beside him and the shock wave was shaking his freighter like a rat. Then, the whole front of the bridge caved in, sending showers of glass fragments across the deck. The helmsman, standing right at the front just vanished, slashed to ribbons by the waves of splinters driven by the fury of the bomb.

  It was hot, unbearably hot. Pradesh survived because the first shock had thrown him off his feet. He'd landed behind the navigation radar console and it had shielded him from the worst of the blast. Through the gaping hole that had once been the front of his bridge, he could see his ship looked like an old, tired boxer who had been punched in the face far too often. Her bow was crushed, bent to one side, torn and flooding. That didn't explain the heat though, nor why the night was suddenly so bright.

  The explanation for that was aft. Another bomb had crashed into the serried ranks of engineering vehicles on the aft deck. They were burning, the pyre spreading even as he watched. It was no use. Pradesh knew his ship was gone. No merchant ship could fight a fire like that. No civilian freighter could take hits the way his Sukanya had been pounded. It was over. "I'm sorry old girl." The words were brief and quiet. Then he grabbed the megaphone; he knew there was not one chance in ten thousand thousand that the internal communications were working. "Abandon Ship!"

  Project 16C APD INS Prabal, Pattle Island.

  "Away Fire and Rescue parties!" Ghopal's cry was echoing around the bridge within seconds of the crash of the bombs striking home. There was a chance. A slim one only but a chance. The bomber pilot had misjudged his turn slightly and the line of thousand kilogram bombs had walked across the ship at an angle. One had exploded close alongside, Ghopal had felt the terrible hammer blow through his feet. Another had gone into the troop accommodation and LCVP davits aft, both now thankfully empty. The other two had gone way aft. For a second, he'd thought there had been a fifth bomb, an air burst. But it had been the supersonic boom a few feet over his head as the Chipanese bomber had flashed past. One hit, one near miss. There was a chance, wasn't there? The fires aft didn‘t look too bad did they?

  "Damage Control here Sir. There's no hope of saving her."

  What was that? There had to be. "Get hold of yourself man!" The captain snarled down the speaking tube. "Where's your backbone? Get firefighting teams aft, before the fires take hold. Check for leaks and get damage control timbers in place. Seal all watertight doors. Some of them will have sprung with the blast."

  "It's no good Sir. It's not the topside damage, we can cope with that. It's the near miss that's done for us. It's sprung all the plates portside. The welds have all gone. We're taking in water along our whole length. There's not much coming through at one any point but it's coming in everywhere. We've got an hour or two, no more. Then we'll roll over and go down."

  "We have diesel power?"

  "Yes, Sir."

  "Then we'll run her aground. The shallows are only a few hundred yards away. We'll put her aground while she's still level. That way we can still use her guns. If we can't be a ship any more, we can at least be a flak battery. Engine room? Give me all the power you've got. Then get out of there."

  Encampment, First Company and HQ Company, First Battalion, the Punjab Rifles

  Lai was dead, he knew it. It was silent around him. The cluster bombs must have gone off and he was dead. The rows of tents set up only a few hours earlier were ripped to tiny shreds, fragmented by the deadly blasts of the little bomblets that had rained down on them. His men, they were gone. They'd still been firing as a last act of defiance. They had been ripped apart as thoroughly as the tents. Objectively, Lai knew that he was there as well; some of the unrecognizable fragments strewn around the ground. So this was what it was like to be dead. Hell didn‘t seem to bad compared with the blasts of the cluster bombs. Interesting.

  He turned around, expecting to see the spirits closing to take him away. Instead he saw one of the light vehicles, a Tata jeep, starting to burn. Petrol tank probably punctured and pouring over a hot exhaust. And one of my riflemen is trapped inside, fighting to get out. Lai didn't think. He ran over and grabbed the handle, already too hot from the fire underneath. It was pointless, of course. He was already dead, what could he do to help a man who was still alive? But the door was moving. Instinctively, he and the rifleman coordinated their movements and the distorted door burst open. The man rolled out, his clothes already starting to burn. Lai was waiting and beat out the flames before they could take hold. The man was singed but safe. His mouth worked but Lai could hear nothing. Then it began to dawn on him, he wasn't dead, he was deaf. The supersonic boom of the bomber going over had damaged his ears.

  "I'm not dead? I'm not dead!" The rifleman shook his head. Somehow, in the hell of fragments from the anti-personnel bomblets, Lai had survived. Well, most of him. His ears, only time would tell. His hands, he could feel the burns from the hot metal starting to hurt. But he wasn't dead!

  Fuel Dump, Pattle Island

  Nobody had ever expected to see it. 55 gallon fuel drums exploding and shooting into the air like rockets. The line of bombs had walked right across the dump. Their fragments had slashed into the fuel drums, spraying their cargo around the dump site. Blast and explosions had set the petrol and diesel on fire, causing pools of blazing liquid to flow around and under the ranks of drums and crates of munitions. The crackle of ammunition cooking off in the inferno added a surreal sound of applause to the more spectacular drum flights. But, expectations were right. Nobody could see the unexpected aerial exploits of the fuel drum because the people inside the dump were dead. Turned into blazing torches by the bombs and fuel, they'd run around, and screamed and died. The fuel and ammunition stockpile blazed unattended, the fires out of control as the carefully-unloaded cargoes exploded in their final eye-tearing inferno.

  Vehicle Park, Pattle Island

  "Get the dozer moved, and shift that backhoe!" The vehicle park was on fire as well but the situation was more contained that the dreadful sight of the blazing fuel dump at the other end of the island. The bombs had destroyed most of the vehicles. The survivors were damaged by the deadly fragments, but some could be saved. The two heavy vehicles were the key. With a dozer and a backhoe
, positions could be built, holes dug and embankments built. Ground could be smoothed to make a runway.

  Out to sea, there was another fire. The freighter than had brought the heavy vehicles was ablaze from bow to stern, her shattered structure outlined in orange fire. The vehicles she'd brought, the ones still on board, they were gone. This one dozer, this one backhoe, they were all that was left. Keeping Pattle Island Indian depended on saving two vehicles.

  The engine on the dozer roared into life. "Get that vehicle out of here, get it clear." The sergeant yelled the orders but they weren't necessary. The dozer was already moving, on its way to safety. The survivors of the motor pool unit were still struggling with the backhoe, it didn't want to start but they were determined and they would not give up. Soon, it too was moving.

  Operation Room, INS Udagiri, three miles west of Pattle Island.

  Sub Lieutenant Gitta broke through the jamming at last when he shifted to war-only operating mode. This combination of jitter factors and prf variations was designed to give each radar pulse its own distinct fingerprint, one that the track extraction software would recognize and use. The fire control radars had locked on and he'd felt the vibration, the roar, as the two Jabirus had left the rails and chased after the vanishing bombers. It was too late, he knew that. They would be over the radar horizon any second. But it was better to take a shot than to let the bombers go unchallenged.

  He quickly stepped out onto the bridge. The sight was a nightmare. Pattle Island seemed to be a mass of burning wreckage. The bombers had taken out everything. One of the ships in the lagoon was a mass of fire. She was already down by the bows and only had minutes to live.