by Stephen Makk
Chief of Staff of the Air Force, General Neil L Cooper, spoke up. “I understand the submarine battle may decide the military battle, but politically if the Russian surface fleet were destroyed, that can’t be hidden. That can press the political buttons.”
“That’d be some strike, Neil.”
“It would. I’ve had staff looking at the issue and we can do it. To attack the fleet in the North Barents Sea, we’d need all our in-flight refuelling aircraft; if we could borrow British and French aircraft too, that’d help. We’d also need to station large numbers of aircraft in Canada and Norway. Carriers too in the northern Norwegian Sea. Bottom line, it could be done.”
Cotton knew it could carry the political weight they needed; the Russians couldn’t hide that.
“Ok, Neil, get your assets ready and keep planning. I’ll talk to the political types.”
The strike was approved, and it became known as Operation Top Down.
Aircraft moved to northern areas of the USA, along with Canadian and Norwegian airbases. Chief of Staff of the Air Force, General Neil L Cooper, sought permission to go ahead. The green light was given, and a massive airstrike was prepared.
From Norway to Alaska, crews were scrambled, men and women donned helmets and climbed into cockpits. Taxiways were filled with B52s, F15s, F16s, F22s, F35s. On the carriers USS Gerald R Ford and USS John F Kennedy, F18s rolled out from aircraft lifts and were hooked up to the wire. All across the northern hemisphere, aircraft rolled down runways, and were forced into the sky by glowing reheat exhaust plumes. In the cold North Atlantic, carriers’ catapults threw tons of Boeing kick ass into the sky.
Lights burned late in the Pentagon. Coordination of the three wings, North American, Greenland and Norwegian, took great effort; deconfliction and the inevitable aircraft problems took more work.
Planning, planning and yet more planning paid off, and in the cold Arctic north, one of the largest airstrikes ever put aloft was underway. Destination: the Barents Sea.
Voronezh Russia. HQ 6th Air and Air Defence Force.
General Deynekin took a call in his private quarters, and the tracking indicator showed it was from SVR headquarters, Yasenevo, Moscow.
“Yes?” His face became masked in surprise; this turned grave and finally turned to anger. “Is this true?”
A voice down the phone cursed him for doubting it.
“Of course, sir. Yes, we’ll be ready.” He called operations.
“Ops here.”
“This is Deynekin. Put the airwing on full alert status. Do it now.” Deynekin slammed down the phone. “Fucking Americans.”
The SVR, Russia’s secretive foreign spy agency, had done its job. Some officer at the Pentagon had opened his mouth to his girlfriend from Kansas. He didn’t know that a girl from Vladivostok was fucking secrets out of him.
Hours later, in a bunker deep below the airbase, an Airforce Colonel approached General Deynekin.
“Sir, our Mil satellite systems and airborne tankers over the Arctic are detecting huge numbers of aircraft approaching from North America and Greenland. We have intel and airborne AWACS confirming this, and large numbers are departing RNoAF airspace. All seem bound for the Barents Sea.”
Deynekin nodded, sighed, and pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose.
“Initiate Operation White Shield. Then Colonel, call General Olga Budanova at Airforce Command Moscow, get the lazy bitch out of bed and inform her of these developments. Contact Admiral Suchkov at Northern Fleet, Severomorsk.”
“Sir.”
A move like this had been expected, and extra aircraft had been deployed from the Kola Peninsula in the west and across Siberia. The word was out now. Scramble, the Motherland is in danger.
The cold white forests surrounding Monchegorsk Air Base Murmansk were rocked by loud reheat from Saturn and Turmanski engines. They launched SU-34, SU35, SU-30 and MIG 29s. Northern Siberia shook with jet noise as aircraft poured down runways.
Out at sea among the ice flows, aboard the Udaloy-I Class DDG Vice Admiral Kulakov, the broadcast sounded.
“Battle stations, battle stations, air threat red, air threat red.”
Men and women rushed to their stations wearing their white anti-flash hoods. In the darkened control room, people peered into screens. SA-9-N Gauntlet surface-to-air missiles swung into position above decks. The K band pulse doppler radar searched for an airborne foe.
Task Force flagship, Peter the Great – Pyotr Velikiy – also activated her SA-9-N Gauntlet surface-to-air weapons and her long-range SA-10 Grumble surface-to-air missiles. These were coupled with Top Steer and Tombstone radars, and had an engagement range of 95 miles.
Ships of the Northern Fleet were ready, searching, waiting for the enemy. Long hours of drills were over; this was the real thing.
Leading the US strike force were the same F15 flights out of Keflavik, Iceland, who’d downed the SU-34s over the icecap.
“Bluebird one, Bluebird five. I have radar paints from 025 degrees, 26,000 feet. Categorising, categorising. Type is N011 Bars, phased-array radar, pulse doppler tracking. Possible Sukhoi interceptors.”
“Copy, Bluebird five. Bluebird flight, continue vector niner degrees to targets. Bluebird five and three, climb to two six and intercept bogies.”
The two F15s pulled up and away, and lit up their search and tracking radars.
“Bluebird three, bluebird five, have multiple bogies, three minutes to AMRAAM range. Initiating Longshoot engagement.”
“Copy, bluebird five. I have ’em too. Selecting AMRAAM.”
High in the Arctic sky, the F15 pilots watched their screens and tracked the bogies as they closed.
“Blue flight, go for Fox three.”
AMRAAM launch was green.
Far away, SU-30 pilots out of Monchegorsk Air Base watched contacts on their screens. They were categorized as F15, F16 or F35s.
The flight leader called out, “Vybrat R77. Aktivirovat raketu.” Select R77 (NATO AA-12 Adder). Activate and arm missile.
The miles counted down as the two flights approached. Near simultaneously, AMRAAM and R77s fell away from their aircraft, motors ignited, and they sped off to their targets. The fifty miles was well within both weapons’ range; the missiles crossed in flight ignoring each other.
Inertial with mid-course update and terminal active radar homing/infrared targeting was employed by both missile types.
“Blue flight, incoming; engage ECM and hard evade. Go.”
The F15s activated their electronic ECM pods and pulled hard and low; flares were ejected to confuse the infrared homing of enemy missiles.
The Adder turned to follow. Blue three pulled hard on his stick; he was greying out with the G force. He tensed to fight it. He let the stick relax and rolled to the left and pulled hard again.
The F15 twisted and pulled with unreasonable G force. It was a fight he couldn’t win, and the Adder flew into his starboard engine and exploded.
Blue three was hit by his own spinning engine blades, and most of his chest was splattered across his cockpit controls. He died instantly and the F15 was now in a flat spin. Blue five was hit too and exploded in a fireball. The three parts of the aircraft fell into the icy sea below.
Far away, AMRAAMs found their SU-30 targets, who also employed jamming systems. They were effective, but not perfect like their American counterparts. Missiles followed the jinking aircraft down, and slammed in, blowing many them from the sky.
To the east, F18 Super Hornets from the USS John F Kennedy detected the first of the Russian fleet. “Ghost one from Ghost four, have surface trade 70 miles, four degrees left of our course.”
“Ghost one, all flight, come left four degrees.”
Ghost leader had the target on his display: a ship, yes, but what?
“Ghost fight, this is Big Nose one. K band radar detected. We have a Udaloy-I Class Destroyer on our bearing, range 63 miles.”
Big Nose was a flight of two F18 Growlers, speciali
st electronic, air warfare, two-seat aircraft. He’d be speaking to the backseat E warfare specialist.
“Suspected picket ship covering the flagship. Udaloy-I Class DDG are carrying SA-9-N Gauntlet surface-to-air. Deadly within their range, but range is seven miles; clear until then. Peter the Great is carrying long-range SA-10 Grumble surface-to-air missiles, engagement range of 95 miles. So they will become a threat.”
The USN senior pilot thought through his options. His target was the flagship, but the chances of evading the Udaloy weren’t good. He knew they’d have to drop to wavetop height, reducing range, and they’d have to climb again to find the main target. The destroyer would still be behind them. They had to take it out. Now.
“Ghost one, Ghost two and three, engage target with SLAM-ER.”
“Copy, Ghost one.”
The two F18s entered a shallow dive and selected the SLAM-ER air-to-surface missile.
“Ghost three from Ghost two, select missile GPS and inertial navigation.”
“Copy.” The miles counted down, it was now time.
“Ghost two, launch SLAM-ER.”
The missiles fell and ignited their motors. The Udaloy was now a target.
The ship, the Vice Admiral Kulakov, became aware of the danger. The Air Warfare Officer knew there was one potent weapon he possessed.
“Hostile missiles incoming. Engage AK-630.”
This is a Russian fully-automatic naval close in 6-barrel gun with a very high rate of fire; an equivalent to the American Vulcan Phalanx. A last resort. It’s mounted in an enclosed turret and directed by MR-123 radar, also assisted by television detection and tracking. Max range is around three miles, but it usually waits until the target is less than two miles away.
The two SLAM-ERs, now at low level, raced in at 520mph. As they reached three miles, their terminal guidance kicked in. The two missiles cross-talked to each other at short range with a long-range Bluetooth enhancement. This was a classified capability. The control missile was decided by the one with the most recent software-build version, and this took control. If they had the same software build, then the latest physical build number was in command. Chief Bird designated its partner missile to go for the forward section of the target, and it would take the rear.
The missiles closed in, arming warheads. This was it, terminal approach to target.
Aboard the Vice Admiral Kulakov, the AK-60 went auto active. The US missiles approached closer, closer now. The MR-123 radar control gave the order: fire.
The AK-630 opened up with the incoming missiles 1.3 miles away, and 5,000 rounds per minute of high velocity lead filled the flight path of the approaching missiles.
After 15 seconds, Chief Bird was hit by over 80 rounds, and he fell into the sea and exploded.
The second missile flew on the target; it was hit too but not fatally. It did veer to the left to avoid the hail of lead, and the stubby wing damage it suffered meant that its turn-back to the target wasn’t as hard as its computer control required. The SLAM-ER struck the ship forward of the ideal location, but caused great damage to her bow area.
Damage control fought a hard battle to keep the fire from the forward magazine. The Destroyer was heavily damaged but still just about in action, for now.
The F18s flew in high, bound for the flagship beyond.
“Ghost flight split, one to four south, five to eight north. Search for the queen bee.”
The leader knew, of course, that two and three were down on the deck engaging the picket Destroyer, but he and his wingman turned south. They must hit the principal target.
16
“Sir, enemy airborne approaching,” said the Russian Air Warfare Officer aboard the Vice Admiral Kulakov.
“Range?”
“Five miles, sir.”
“Engage with Gauntlet missiles, lock and free terminal engage.”
“Sir.” The Russians used NATO code names if they liked them. The Sukhoi SU-27 series was commonly called Flanker in Russian service.
The missile’s radar and launching store was aft of the damaged area, so her teeth were still bared. The K band pulse doppler radar entered tracking mode.
“Track acquired, launching.”
The Destroyer launched round after round of its surface-to-air missiles. Anyone watching in the darkness would see missiles lift off, trailing flames behind, lighting up the smoke-covered ship and reflecting off the sea.
The Gauntlets raced in and hit all four southbound F18s and only partly damaged one, but the crew knew the game was up, turned back, and after ten miles had to eject.
A long-range SA-10 Grumble surface-to-air missile from the Peter the Great hit Blue one at high speed and the F18 split in two. Ghost four, now closer to the Destroyer, came in range of the AK-630. Thousands of rounds of lead shredded the front fuselage, and her pilot’s body was now just pieces of red flesh and bone flying off into the wind as the aircraft fell into the icy waters below.
Similar actions were repeated across the area. The Northern Fleet lost two Frigates, and a Destroyer was also sinking, but she had a couple of hours left. The Vice Admiral Kulakov was damaged but still in the fight for now.
Many USAF and USN aircraft were lost and the Russian flagship was untouched. The Russian Air Force had lost aircraft too, but they could be quickly replaced by nearby reserves from Siberia and Central Asia. All in all, the attack had failed. Russian aircraft and ships had been ready and were close to home, reducing the range they needed. The Northern Fleet and the air force were seriously damaged, but were still in a fighting state.
The SVR agent in Washington, the girl from Vladivostok, had given them valuable hours to prepare.
The Pentagon.
Present was the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, General Cotton, USA; Chief of Naval Operations, Admiral Nicolaj Kamov, USN; Commandant of the Marine Corps, Bruce Nanut, USMC; Chief of Staff of the Air Force, General Neil L Cooper, USAF; National Security Advisor, Stockhaisen.
The Joint Chiefs sat at the conference table and the mood was sombre. Coffee was served and the doors were closed. Chief of Staff of the Army, General Sally Weingarten, looked at the report first.
“I’m not a fighter jockey,” she looked at General Cooper USAF, “but this looks bad.”
Cooper scowled. “Yeah, not good. They were ready; they expected us. We each got a hammering in the air, but we did cause significant damage to their Fleet.”
“But…” said Bruce Nanut, USMC.
“Yeah, we didn’t take out the flagship Peter the Great or decimate their Air Force. In truth, the air conflict has become a war of attrition. Nobody likes that. The way you win is to bring numbers to bear and get close to the enemy, reducing the time to resupply. That and the increased sortie rate will wear Ivan down. We do have more birds than he does, and ideally, we’d position them close. That means northern Norway. Trouble is, many Norwegians don’t want the north of the country to become a garrison, and therefore a target. The government is pushing it through so far, but that’ll become more difficult. There’s Britain with the Shetland Islands, and Denmark with the Faroes. But they each present problems, mainly lack of infrastructure for large numbers of aircraft.”
“Look,” said Commandant Bruce Nanut, “can we win this conflict?”
Cooper nodded. “We have more aircraft and, if we can station them closer, we can win. But the price will be high, very high.”
“We still need the spectacular,” said CDS General Cotton.
Nobody smiled, all were wrapped up in thought, each wrestled with their own problem anaconda. How do we win and win convincingly?
Admiral Kamov sat up and took a drink of coffee. “I have an idea. It’s a long shot, but it might just work.”
“Go on, Nicolaj,” said Cotton. “You have the floor.”
Kamov looked at each in turn. “It’s like a game of chess and their Queen is Pyotr Velikiy, Peter the Great. She’s a Kirov class Battle Cruiser; we’ve run wargames against her and she’s a pretty hea
vy old hammer. But we also have a heavy hammer; she’s mean, underhand and dirty. It’s time to put the enemy between a rock and a hard place. His rock is his lack of numbers; we have a hard place. It’s time to let Blake off the leash.”
Cooper and Weingarten looked down and pursed their lips.
“Is that possible?” asked USMC Commandant Bruce Nanut. “It’ll have a formidable ASW screen to get through.”
Nanut shook his head. “You’d have more chance of getting Miss Utah to give you a Portuguese hand pump.”
Kamov shrugged and raised his palms. “Blake is the man on the scene. It’ll be his call.”
USS Stonewall Jackson.
With XO Nikki Kaminski in command, the boat made its way towards the icecap’s edge.
To the north west, there was an unwelcome presence: an Akula class SSN.
She walked over to the sonar station and looked into the dripping oil painting screen. “Benson, what’s he up to?”
“He’s not making any signs of detecting us so far. He’s close though.”
“Planesman, speed six knots.”
The boat decelerated to half its speed. For Nikki, the enemy SSN was a distraction they didn’t need.
The boat cruised on under the ice for 15 minutes.
“Sir,” said Benson, “the Akula has turned to port. His track is now approx five degrees astern of us.”
“Weaps, designate contact as Tango one, get a firing solution on him. Flood tube three, open outer doors.”
“Sir.”
