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Extended Work
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| First Strike (Chapter Heading) | |
| By GeraldRennett | ||||
| 27 August 2008 | ||||
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A first attempt at a different genre - comments welcome 
FIRST STRIKE
Gerald Rennett The flight of two MIG 29 Fulcrums and two MIG 31 Foxhounds swept south at extreme low level over the fertile farmland that lies between the Tsimlyansk Reservoir and the industrial city of Volgograd to its east. West of the city and travelling close to their maximum sea-level speeds of Mach 1.2 the four aircraft banked sharply and flew south-west along the centre-line of the reservoir. They would maintain their altitude and bearing following the course of the River Don as it meandered along its broad fertile valley to the point where it spilled into the Sea of Azov. Ahead of them the US Carrier Strike Group (CSG) based on the carrier Ronald Reagan lay to in the Black Sea some 50 miles south of Yalta. For the last 13 days their intimidating presence and the awesome firepower contained within the group of twelve ships along with their escort of Los Angeles class submarines had forced the stand-down of the Russian Navy blockade of the Georgian coast and allowed supplies to once again flow into that beleaguered country. The Russian blockade ships had pulled back south closer to the Turkish coast where they sourly maintained a watching brief on their American counterparts. The arrival of the CSG had infuriated the Russian Prime Minister, Vladimir Putin but an attack on the American ships was unthinkable, not only because the consequences of direct conflict between Russian and America but because, frankly speaking the Americans could in all likelihood survive anything the Russians could throw at them and then deliver a response that would end Russian naval ability in that part of the world once and for all. However, not all in Putin’s tightly controlled circle agreed that a Russian response was impossible. Some thought that a significant blow against the symbol of American power abroad would finally remove the illusion of American supremacy in all things military. And so, the flight of Russian aircraft, carefully remotifed and relegended to appear rogue state airplanes continued to accelerate towards the CSG. An illusion that would not fool anyone under close scrutiny, but an illusion that, the planners thought, would last long enough to change the world order. After the loss of the Ronald Reagan, the Americans would never again stick their noses into parts of the world which did not concern them. As they crossed the neck of water at Kerch where the Sea of Azov joins the Black Sea the four Russian planes lofted slightly as they released their payload. Although not designed for Air to Surface combat the Fulcrums had been extensively refitted to carry a new and lethal payload; each of the four planes carried four of the top-secret манок along with four судноубийца missiles. As the thirty-two missiles sped towards the CSG, homing in on the massive bulk of the Ronald Reagan itself, the four aircraft increased their speed to maximum and followed closely in, confident of a successful strike. In the CSG alarms broke out in every Combat Information Centre simultaneously. The four Arleigh Burke class Guided Missile Destroyers whose main task was protection of the carrier launched immediately; their flock of anti-missile missiles spreading out and seeking targets amongst the incoming storm of Russian missiles. But the Russians had done their jobs well, the new weapons were faster, nimbler and packed a host of anti-missile defenses themselves. The air was soon filled with small and large explosions as some of the US defense missiles found their targets and still more exploded uselessly against the Russian anti-missile defenses. Five манок and seven судноубийца were destroyed and to his horror the Commander of the Destroyer Squadron realized that no less than 20 missiles had avoided the best that the US could throw at them and sped on towards the Ronald Reagan. On board the Carrier itself, the Aegis system had already brought on line the ships Close In Weapons System, Phalanx CIWS. As the remaining 20 missiles crossed the 4500 metre point, the Gatling guns started spewing out their rounds at over 4000 rounds per minute. The Russians had specifically designed their missiles for this too and as the Phalanx units distinctive radomes were identified the remaining nine судноубийца went into a steep vertical climb to avoid the hail of metal pouring their way. The eleven манок flew straight into the storm, final guidance adjustments being made even as the rounds ripped the missiles to pieces. And there, at this point, the Russians final card was played. Instead of the expected explosion marking the destruction of a missile, in place of the missiles themselves now eleven superheated bolts of depleted uranium sped on, eight finding their mark on the CIWS Radomes destroying them totally and three more smashing at random into the bulk of the Carrier. The Ronald Reagan lay defenceless and in the clear blue sky above the nine судноубийца topped out their loop, flew down and sped in at low-level towards the Carrier. Just two would be enough to sink the towering, thousand foot-long ship. Nine would blow her to atoms.
-----X-----
Further back Major Yka Huotari, Flight Leader, smiled in satisfaction. All had gone exactly as planned, in fact the loss of the twelve missiles was signicantly less than had been expected. Major Huotari had been well chosen to lead this mission. A maverick from East Karelia, land that had once belonged to Finland before being handed over to Russia after the Second World War, he had overcome suspicions about his true allegiances and proved time and again that he was, quite simply, one of Russia’s Top Guns. With a first successful strike against the US under his belt he would stand well-positioned to rise to the heighest heights within the Russian military. Ahead of him the carrier loomed black against the skyline, its ruined CIWS twisting impotently into the sky and three smouldering holes where the sheer kinetic energy expanded by the impacting depleted uranium bolts had drilled deep into the carrier’s superstructure. He could plainly see the nine separate exhaust flares against the black of the carrier as the судноубийца flew in line abreast directly at the doomed ship. The end of the Ronald Reagan was near and with that would come the start of a new world order. “Mita? Perkele!” Unbidden his native Finnish came to the fore as the scene ahead and beneath him changed almost instantly. The newest carrier in the US fleet was not as defenseless as he had thought and all along its starboard side, previously invisible shutters had dropped silently away forming a row of black portholes along the ships entire length. Instantly dazzling chrome-blue white light erupted from each porthole, each separate beam twisting and splitting until a curtain of pure-blue light eclipsed the entire side of the carrier reaching well above the top-most part of the carrier’s superstructure. Where the curtain touched the sea, the water hissed and boiled furiously. As Huotari watched the nine судноубийца flew straight into the maelstrom of light, exploding furiously, but strangely silently, the carrier remaining unharmed behind it’s protective screen. “Paska!”, Yka swore as he saw the barrier surge forwards towards his flight of aircraft. Years of combat experience had honed his reflexes to almost superhuman speed and, afterburners on, he dragged the Fulcrum into a vertical climb so that for a few seconds it seemed that he was flying over a plain of blue-white light as the curtain passed beneath him. The senior Foxhound pilot, almost as fast as Yka, threw his plane into a tight left bank and almost made it but a sudden surge in the curtain’s advance just brushed against his right-hand wing, which vapourised immediately and the stricken jet tumbled down to explode against the boiling sea. The two junior pilots were too slow and flew straight into the curtain, their aircraft exploding violently, but just as silently as the судноубийца had done. As Yka reached the apex of his climb, and with the curtain falling far below him, he rolled his plane over and prepared to fly at full speed back to the safety of Mother Russia. The mission had failed but he know that the footage contained in his warcams of the Americans new weapon needed to be analysed at once. However, the CSG had one last trick up it’s sleeve. From all four destroyers, bright needles of the same intense blue-white light lanced out, bracketing the Fulcrum. Yka felt a sudden stab of pain as one passed directly through his left leg, the wound instantly cauterised by the heat of the beam. His aircraft shuddered and with fractions of a second left before one of the probing beams found a fueltank, Yka pulled hard on the emergency ejection handle and punched through his cockpit canopy as the Fulcrum blew itself to bits beneath him. As the seat fell away beneath him, Yka hung in his parachute far above the Black Sea. There are certain countries that would have not hesitated to try out their new weapon on the helpless parachutist, but America is not one of them and as he drifted slowly towards his once target he could already see the Marine crew climbing into the rescue boat to pull him from the sea. Major Yka Huotari would become the first Russian pilot taken prisoner in an act of combat between the US and Russia since the Iron Curtain fell and with it the old Soviet Union disintegrated. He was also the first living non-American to witness the first ever use of Combat Beam Weaponry.
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