The Last Enemy - Parts 1,2 & 3 - 1934-2054

by Luca Luchesini

  Chapter 13

  Colonel Fabrizio Nardini and his wingman, Captain Paolo Caponecchi, received the order to take off with their two Eurofighter jets from the Italian Air Force base of Grosseto at exactly the same time that the three Marines’ helicopters entered Italy’s territorial waters. The scramble flight was code-named Tango Zulu.

  Launched at full speed, it took the interceptors less than ten minutes to cover the one-hundred miles to Rome. From one thousand feet of altitude, the two pilots could see firsthand what was going on in the Square. They reached for the radio, asking the Ministry of Defense for instructions as they circled above the city. Below them, the crowd that had been decimated by the Marines’ guns, was starting to disperse into multiple groups fleeing and letting out their rage. Fires kept popping up, setting Rome ablaze.

  The voice of the Italian Air Force Chief of Staff eventually reached Fabrizio.

  “Tango Zulu, the order is to intercept the helicopters and signal them to land immediately. Do not fire, repeat, do not fire. Copy, Tango Zulu.”

  “Roger, Sir. Calculating the intercept route now. We do not fire, copied.”

  Fabrizio then addressed his wingman, who he knew was a fervent Catholic.

  “Paolo, we close in from both sides, I fly in from the right of the Marines’ formation, you go in from the left, copy.”

  A short second of silence passed, then he heard the voice of the wingman.

  “Copy, Colonel, I follow you.”

  “Paolo, are you all right?” Fabrizio asked bluntly, “We have no time for emotions, we just have to follow orders.” Fabrizio hoped this would be enough to have Paolo back in full control. In any case, Fabrizio could not ask for a replacement wingman.

  “Yes, Sir. I follow you.”

  “Good. Let’s go.” Fabrizio pushed the throttle forwards and ordered his fighter to follow the intercept course. The computer showed it would take less than one minute to reach the Marines. The display also showed that the two US Navy F-35s were patrolling just outside of Italian waters, about thirty miles away. With some luck, they could make the helicopters land before engaging with the Navy fighters.

  On the USS Lincoln, Bill Murdoch was watching the two Italian fighters approach the helicopters. He would think about the dead Pope on board later, now he had to take his team home. He called the Chief of Air Operations, who, without waiting for the order, put the Rear Admiral in contact with the Navy planes.

  “Commander Jamie Foster, Bill Murdoch speaking. You see the two Italian fighters on your radar? They will intercept the group of Bravo 1 just off the Italian coast, but still in territorial waters. I do not think they will fire on our boys. At least not immediately, but they will try to put pressure on them. Here is what I want you to do: you follow from a distance and as soon as Bravo 1 is in international waters you sandwich the Italians between you and the helicopters until they give up. Copy that, please.”

  “Copied, Sir, we put pressure on the Italians as soon as they are in international waters. Are we allowed to open fire?”

  The answer came immediately.

  “Do not fire until fired upon. Good luck, Commander.”

  The two Eurofighters reached the three helicopters when there were still two miles to reach the coast. Fabrizio made sure Paolo was on the other side of the formation, then he called on the NATO emergency channel.

  “US Marines flight, this is Colonel Nardini of the Italian Air Force. Please land immediately.”

  The helicopters continued, Fabrizio repeated the order. No answer. The group overflew the coast, there were still twelve miles of sea before the international waters.

  “US Marines flight, I repeat, please return back to land now.”

  Since the Marines’ pilot was ignoring his order, Fabrizio rapidly thought of a way to increase the pressure in the last six miles he had left before they reached international waters. He moved closer with his plane, overtaking the helicopters. The wake of the jet sent the helicopters in heavy turbulence, so that they had to open the formation to avoid colliding into each other. On board Bravo 2, to the left of the formation, one of the Marines reached for the machine guns to stay firm on board.

  Paolo Caponecchi saw the sudden move of the soldier, and briskly decelerated to get out of the line of fire. No fire came out from the gun, but by the time he realized it, he had already armed the weapons systems of his plane.

  From Bravo 1, Kaminski was shouting to his crew in the intercom.

  “Do not open fire, repeat, do not open fire! In one minute we are in safe waters.”

  The arming of the Eurofighter missiles was detected by the sensors of the Navy F-35, that sent alarms through the head display of Commander Foster. The images projected on his retina by the battle control computer gave him three seconds to decide whether to arm the attack system in response, or do nothing and risk being shot down.

  He armed the system and told the computer to lock the nearest target, which was the plane of Colonel Nardini.

  Fabrizio checked the battle map, showing there were six miles left to scare the Marines back to the coast. He armed the systems, and saw that his wingman was now trailing the three helicopters, about one thousand yards behind him. He called Paolo on the encrypted channel.

  “Paolo, fire a short salvo to the left as I slow down to keep them in our waters. It’s our last chance.”

  Paolo had been eagerly waiting for that command, and immediately let a one-second round go.

  Aboard Bravo 1, Kaminski saw the bullet lines in the sky and bursted out loud on the NATO emergency channel,

  “Fucking bastards, stop firing, stop firing!”

  He had not even finished his sentence when Commander Foster released the fire button on his missiles, aiming them at the two Italian fighters.

  The flashes of the missiles leaving the US Navy F-35 were the last thing that Fabrizio and Paolo saw in their life. Less than one second later, their planes exploded above the Tyrrhenian Sea.

  In the Operations Control Center of the USS Lincoln, officers and servicemen alike could not help gasping both in fear and relief. Bill Murdoch waited a couple of minutes for the emotions in the room to subsume. Once he was sure all eyes were on him, he spoke softly.

  “As soon as the Marines are back on board, we will head back to Norfolk, Virginia, by means of the Sardinia Channel, in order to stay as far away as possible from Italian waters. I want everybody in battle order, and air patrols on duty around the clock, until we reach the Atlantic Ocean. We will also go in emission control, which means radio silence.”

  He then turned to his second in command.

  “Mark, I need a break. You take charge. I will be back in one hour.”

  “What if the Pentagon calls, Bill?”

  “Tell those idiots to watch all the recordings and wait for me to be back. Just do not change the ship’s course for any reason.”

  “What if the Italians try to intercept us?”

  “I do not think they still want to challenge us. The problem is no longer with us, now it is in Washington. In any case, we stick to the golden rule; do not fire until fired upon.”