by Stuart Slade
"Stay where you are. Do not attempt to move. If you attempt to run away you will be killed." The voice over the loudhailer was a Marine, the language was Arabic. The figures by the truck froze for a few seconds and then one of them started to run. He didn't get far, the M-81 machine gun roared a quick burst and the figure was swallowed up in his own private dust cloud. When it cleared, the figure was on the ground, shredded by the burst. The sight seemed to stimulate the others, they started to run, spreading out from the wrecked truck.
"Damn." First Sergeant Esteban Tomas cursed and took careful aim. There was a stutter of shots, neither a volley nor a roar of automatic fire, just the careful patter from men taking their time to make sure their shots struck home. The range was long, two hundred yards or more, but the runners went down. Tomas nodded with satisfaction, there was no substitute for a proper rifle and a proper rifle round. It had taken time to convince people that the .27-59 was a real rifle cartridge but it had made it eventually.
The .27-59 was based on the .30-54, a more compact version of the old .30-06 and it had been bottlenecked to take the bullet designed for the .276 Pederson cartridge. The result was a very high velocity rifle round that tumbled and broke up in its victims. The military rifle world was divided between those who had gone to the intermediate-power rounds like the Russian 7.62x39 or the Anglo-Australian 7x43mm and those who had stuck with full-power rifle cartridges. Neither would admit the other knew what it was doing. The U.S. was in the full-power round group and that was just fine by Tomas.
"Scoopnet, this is Angler. We have intercepted the fish school at the fishing ground. They tried to make a break for it and they ain't standing no more. Catch is gutted, repeat, catch is gutted."
"Acknowledged Angler. What is your range from the fish school?"
"Two hundred yards, maybe a touch more."
"Good. Angler under no circumstances approach the school. Say again under no circumstances approach the fish school. Please acknowledge long form."
Tomas raised his eyebrows. He hadn't had to do that since boot camp. "Scoopnet, this is Angler. I acknowledge receiving the order not to approach the fish school. I understand this order and will comply. Over."
"Thank you Angler. You have no idea how important that is. We will be with you in five minutes. Out."
It took a little longer than five minutes before the weird whistling noise of the Rotodyne could be heard. It was one of the later versions, a Kaman-built Samaritan; a flying ambulance complete with a white paint job, green stripe down its fuselage and red crosses on the rear and wings. High, very high overhead, a four engined aircraft was starting to orbit the scene; an AC-133 Slayer known to the people on the ground as "Scoopnet." Although Tomas didn't know it, the aircraft was Buffy, an old friend of his.
The Samaritan transitioned from horizontal flight to vertical. Its two jets changed from propulsion units to gas generators for the tip jets built into the Rotodyne's rotor. As it did, the strange whistling picked up in volume and started to drown out the jets. A lot of people complained about the noise of the Rotodynes, but noise level measurements always showed that they generated less noise in absolute terms than a commuter train. It was the pitch of the noise that annoyed people and then only those who never used the intercity passenger service they offered. For everybody else, an aircraft that travelled with the speed of a jet airliner yet flew from the top floor of a multi-story parking lot was worth a little noise.
On the ground, the Samaritan's tail ramp dropped and figures got out, figures in white suits that looked for all the world like spacemen. Tomas had the insane thought that if anybody else was watching, they'd assume the world was being invaded. The figures went from body to body, collecting them and putting them in bright orange body bags. Through his binoculars, Tomas could see the glaring yellow word BIOHAZARD and the symbols that went with it. Before each bag was carried back to the Samaritan, it was thoroughly sprayed with something.
By the time all the bodies had been collected, the men in the isolation suits were obviously tiring, yet they too were thoroughly sprayed before being allowed back into the Samaritan. Then, more figures climbed out and started spraying the ground, coating it with a gushing stream of liquid. Even from their hilltop, the marines could smell the gasoline. Finally, its work done, the Rotodyne took off and Tomas couldn't resist it any longer.
"Scoopnet, what the devil is going on?"
"Devil is just about right Angler. We're talking a serious biohazard here. Trawler is going straight back to an isolation unit and won't be out for weeks. Now, get your heads down, its barbecue time."
As Scoopnet orbited overhead, a section of four jet fighters screamed low over the bridge. Almost without thinking about it, Tomas recognized them; F-110E Specters. He saw the black canisters wobbling clear from their fuselage and wing hardpoints, watched them arching down to saturate the area of the crashed truck with napalm. He only just managed to cover his face in time, for the heat waves off the orange-black fireballs was ferocious and raised blisters on the unprotected skin of his hands. Air-dropped napalm and ground-sprayed gasoline, talk about a belt and braces approach to the problem. Just what sort of biohazard was it that needed such treatment? For a brief second, he almost called Scoopnet and asked, then decided that the question would make him look foolish at best. Even so, he had to bite his tongue when the radio bleeped again.
"‘Angler, this is Scoopnet. Proceed to the village ten klicks south of your position. Observe but do not contact. Repeat do not contact, evade all local inhabitants. Observe and report any kind of sickness in that village."
"Acknowledged Scoopnet, observe and evade, do not contact but report all signs of sickness. Out." Tomas looked around at his men who were watching the dying inferno where the truck had once been. "Get ready to move out people, we have a village to watch."
As the Marine unit moved out, Tomas wondered what would happen if the village he was assigned to watch did start to develop an outbreak of serious sickness. Looking back at the blackened circle of ground and the word "‘biohazard" still echoing in his mind, he had an unpleasant theory about that which he intended to keep to himself.
Seer's Office, National Security Council Building, Washington D. C.
Lillith punched the telephone number for the White House and waited while the automated system connected her. "Hello,
Nammie? Lillith. Word from the Boss for your boss. One down, two to go.
Flight Deck INS Viraat, South China Sea
By Indian Navy standards, Lieutenant Sonlai Mart supposed this was ‘the big one.' By American standards he knew it was the ‘so-tiny-it-needs-a-powerful-microscope-to-see-it one,' but the Indian Navy wasn't SAC and this was the biggest air strike they had ever launched. Sixteen Tigers were lined up on the deck, each with a full load of 20mm ammunition and four Sidewinders under their wings. Behind them were the Skyhawks, sixteen of them, each hauling seven 1,000 pound bombs. Ever since the Chimp Fuzzies had arrived, the Indian Navy had been searching for their base. Now, by a combination of observation and electronic intelligence, they had found it. A place called Sugu Bay on the southern coast of Hainan Island.
The strike was leaving Viraat with the bare minimum for her own defense. She'd started with 36 Tigers but six had been shot down and two more had crashed on landing. This strike just left her with twelve for combat air patrol and six Skyhawks for strike. It should have been eight but the Fuzzies had got two of them. Still, the Chimp Navy wasn't going anywhere and if they tried, the cruiser Punjab was in the screen and still had her missiles. After what one of Mysore's Sagarikas had done to that Chimp cruiser, they wouldn't be taking her lightly.
Mart shifted angrily in his seat. All the world was saying that the Indian Navy had lost that battle but they hadn't; they'd stopped the Chimp squadron cold and sent it running for home with its tail between its legs. The problem was, everybody had seen the crippled Indian ships being towed in, their dead lined on the decks ready for their funeral rites. Nobody
had seen the Chimp cripples or their cruisers and destroyers now on the bottom of the South China Sea.
The catapult crew were waving him forward so Mart edged his Tiger up to the catapult and heard the scraping sounds underneath as the wire bridle was attached. The Tiger was an old aircraft and still needed the bridles, Mart had heard the new Hindustan Hornet would have the catapult gear built into its nosewheel. If the Navy ever saw them; the Hornet was still nothing more than lines on paper at the moment. Much like India's new carriers, they too, were just lines on paper.
It was a low-level ride out, it had to be. One reason was to avoid enemy radar as long as possible, to give the enemy fighters based at Sugu Bay as little time as possible to react. They had two powerful radars there at least. Those gave them good area coverage, but it was those radars that had given the final clue to the base location. The other reason was combat experience. The Fuzzy was faster than the Tiger; it accelerated better, could climb faster and it could turn tighter, at first anyway. Only, its big delta wings bled energy off fast in a turning match at low altitude where the drag from the thicker air was more of a factor. So, low down, the Tiger would have the advantage as the fight continued and the Fuzzys would be wallowing as their energy bled off and wasn't regenerated. This fight would be a long one; not the hit-and-run skirmishes of the last few days. The Tigers had to keep the Fuzzys away from the Skyhawks for as long as they could. The Fuzzies would know the strike was aimed at their base and they had to stop it if they were to have a home to return to. Yes, it would be a long fight today.
Mart's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden squawk from his radar warning receiver. It was a new addition; a British set called Sky Guardian mounted in the tail. To many of the pilots, it had been another unnecessary instrument to watch but this time it was worth its keep. The display was simple. A single light indicated an I-band radar and a bar pointing towards the forward left octant. There was nothing out there though. A submarine? Submarines often had I-band air search radars. The bar turned into a blip on the outer edge of the display. That didn't mean it was a long way away, it meant that it wasn't a threat. If it had been closer in, it would have been a search radar that was tracking his aircraft. Closer still and it would indicate a fire control radar tracking him. A dot close to the center would have been a radar homing missile locked in on his aircraft. This was just a search radar, scanning routinely; as if that couldn't be dangerous enough.
"Deva-One, we have enemy aircraft climbing to meet you, range 75 nautical dead ahead. Enemy count estimated twenty bandits. Aircraft climbing fast, be aware, the Fuzzies are coming up."
"All aircraft buster. We have friends. Ashra, Kali and Deva sections follow me. Lashmi section stay with the friends to stop leakers."
Mart was grim. With 20 bandits coming up, the escorting fighters would be badly outnumbered. If the worst came to the worst, some of the Skyhawks could jettison their bombs and help protect the rest. Of course, if they did that, they'd effectively be lost as bombers although any that survived could still do strafing runs. He'd had to split his fighters though. If he'd taken them all out to intercept the Fuzzies, they'd just have blasted straight past him and the bombers would have been unprotected.
Mart activated his own radar and was rewarded instantly with the appearance of the enemy formation ahead of him. The low flight had done part of its work, the Fuzzies had been late taking off and they were approaching head on, a slight altitude advantage but not much. If it hadn't been for that chance radar contact, the Indian formation would have been a lot closer and the advantage would have been with them.
Mart took his eyes off the scope and scanned the sky where the enemy had to be. Those who thought a pilot's white silk scarf was an affection had never tried this. A few minutes frantically twisting around looking for the enemy aircraft would soon leave his neck raw and bleeding but for the smooth slipperiness of that silk. There, far ahead and a little above him, he saw a flash of light, sun reflecting of a cockpit perhaps? Whatever it was, there they were.
"Bandits, 11 o'clock, angels estimated plus one. Coming in fast."
Mart pushed his Tiger over into a shallow dive. It was counter-intuitive. The rational thing to do was to try and climb to meet the incoming Fuzzies, but they already had the height advantage. By pushing the Tiger into a shallow dive, Mart was building up energy and that was what he needed to avoid the threat that was coming. Ahead of him. The Fuzzies had nosed over into a shallow dive themselves, closing the range fast. They had to be running at full power themselves, probably had been since take-off. The Fuzzy was even shorter-legged than the Tiger; they had to blast though the Indian fighters and get to the Skyhawks behind before they ran low on fuel.
There it was! The leading edge of the Fuzzy group suddenly exploded in white smoke. They'd been tracking the Tigers on their radars and they opened the battle by playing the best card they had. Their missiles were heavy and clumsy compared with the neat little Sidewinder, a lot of missile for very little oomph as Raytheon scornfully described it. But, the Alkali missile had one thing the Sidewinder lacked; the ability to home in on a target from its frontal arcs. They weren't very accurate that way but it could be done. Sidewinders had to be fired from the rear arc of the target. Also, the overwing mounts on the Fuzzies were reputed to cause parasitic drag, slowing the aircraft down and limiting performance. So, the enemy had fired them all off in one great salvo, hoping to swamp the group of Tigers coming up to intercept. That meant about 40 Alkalis were on their way in. A lot for twelve aircraft to dodge. The one thing though was that the Chimps hadn't aimed their missiles individually, they'd just let fly at the Indian formation and let the missiles decide who to aim for.
Now was the time to translate energy into agility. As the salvo of Chimp missiles closed, Mart hauled the nose of his Tiger up sharply into a barrel role, salvoing off his flares as he did so. The missiles couldn't cope with the sudden change, not all of them anyway. More were deflected by the cascading flares sprayed behind the rolling Tigers. Mart saw one Tiger explode as it was hit by two of the Alkali missiles. There was no hope of the pilot getting out of that one. Another Tiger didn't make its roll fast enough and it was surrounded by bursts as at least three missiles exploded around it. Two down? Mart didn't know. The Fuzzy and Tiger formations were closing at an aggregate of l,700mph and there just wasn't time to look.
As he came out of his barrel roll, he was, at last, slightly above the Chimp formation. A light gray Fuzzy swept in front of him. Almost by instinct, without consciously making the decision, he thumbed the firing button for his cannon. Four streams of tracer licked out towards the Chimp seaplane fighter. He didn't even see the results of that though because he was racking his Tiger around, trying to get onto the tails of the Fuzzies before they plowed through his formation. Another light gray shape in front of him. The one he'd just shot at? Or another one? He didn't know and didn't care. The annunciator tone in his ears was warbling then changed to a constant pitch. His Sidewinders were locked on and he fired both outboard missiles. One failed to guide, it just flew straight off and disappeared into the sky. The other curved around and exploded just under the Fuzzy's tail. The aircraft went into a flat spin; this low down, there was no way the pilot was going to pull out.
The sky was full of shapes. Some familiar: Tigers, Fuzzys, Alkalis, Sidewinders, mixed up in wild profusion as the two formations merged. Some of the shapes were unfamiliar: explosions, the flowers of parachutes, a spinning mass where a Tiger and a Fuzzy had collided and the pair were heading for the sea, their wreckage at once locked together and shedding fragments as they died. Mart swerved again; in this wild furball, flying straight and level was suicide. Another light gray shape; two more Sidewinders squeezed off as the tone turned constant.
He didn't see whether they hit or not for he had to turn to avoid a Fuzzy closing in on him, its big 30mm cannon flashing. Those thirties were deadly, it only took a couple of shells to put a fighter down. Then an annoying thought struck
Mart, the fighter he ‘d just used his last two Sidewinders on, it had been light gray hadn‘t it? Not the dark gray used by the Indian Navy?
The Fuzzies were in front of them now, extending the range as they dived away and closed on the Skyhawks underneath. Now Mart could afford a quick count. There were ten Fuzzies in front of him and he could see seven Tigers. His fighters had scored ten for five. Even as he watched, the Fuzzies fired their missile salvoes again and the effect on the four Tigers flying close escort was disastrous. Three exploded on the spot, some hit by multiple missiles, and the last swept away, trailing streams of black smoke. The ten Fuzzies were through and they were heading straight for the Skyhawks below. A hundred miles per hour faster than the Tigers, they had made it past the fighters. Now, the bombers were going to have to take their lumps.
In the lead Skyhawk, Commander Suresh Nanda saw the Chimp fighters break through the fighter screen and dive on his bombers. The Skyhawk formations started to disperse, spreading out so that they wouldn't be taken out in single blows. It was a battle of time now, the longer the Chimp fighters took to chase down each individual Skyhawk, to fix it and shoot it from the sky, the fewer aircraft they could bring down. So, the longer each individual Skyhawk survived, the more would get through.
Nanda saw the Chimp Fuzzies swinging around to come onto the Skyhawk's tails. He swerved, swerved again, then thumped the flare release as he saw the Chimp fighter behind him fire its two remaining missiles. The decoys worked; the books had said the Alkali was easily decoyed and it was true.
The 30mm cannon shells could not be deflected so easily. They were streaking past his cockpit, first one side, then the other, as he frantically jinked around and dodged the big shells. Loaded with bombs, his Skyhawk was jinking majestically and that wasn't the way to jink. Beside him, another Skyhawk was already trailing black smoke from its wing roots. As he watched, the wings themselves folded up and the Skyhawk just fell out of the sky. More black smoke, more explosions, still jinking frantically. Then it suddenly seemed to him that something was missing. At first he thought it could be his aircraft, that it had exploded under him but it was nothing so dramatic. Just the balls of light flying past his cockpit had gone. The fighters had given up? Or run out of ammunition? It was rumored the seaplane fighters were low on both fuel and ammunition. One of the penalties of being a fighter that had to float.
