2051 hours, 28th April. Copenhagen Airport, Kastrup, Zealand. The airport seemed to be in total chaos as the four RDAF Merlin helicopters carrying Colonel Currie and his headquarters staff arrived. Almost every sort of military transport aircraft and civilian airliner could be seen jockeying for space in the various parking areas, while there was also a constant stream of arrivals and departures as NATO mounted an airborne equivalent of ‘Operation Dynamo’.
On the flight in Currie had spotted that some of the terminal buildings were on fire and had also seen the burned out carcases of an Airbus A380 and a 747; he prayed that both had been empty at the time of their destruction. He had also seen that the roads around the airport were filled to bursting point with vehicles and that what seemed like thousands of civilians were besieging the place, only just held back by Danish police and soldiers.
Barely had the Canadian soldiers jumped down onto the tarmac when the Merlins took off again. They had other missions to attend to before they too headed for safety.
A Danish lieutenant came running towards the group of Canadians.
“Colonel Currie? Could you follow me please we have a plane waiting for you and your men.”
He led Currie through the chaos of the airport, passed piles of what looked like abandoned equipment and personal possessions towards a CC-150 Polaris. Currie noted from its serial that it was the same aircraft that had brought him to Zealand what seemed like a year ago.
“Saigon must have looked a little like this near the end.” Currie commented.
“Sir?” The Dane asked, slightly puzzled.
“The American evacuation in 1975; they were pulling out just ahead of the North Vietnamese.
“There were people hanging off helicopter skids and all sorts.” The Canadian Colonel replied.
‘WHAM!’
Two 757s and a USAF C-130J two hundred meters away disintegrated as stand-off missile fired by a Soviet fighter-bomber found its target. Currie felt the heat from the explosion wash over him, followed by the blast wave, which nearly knocked him to the ground.
“The Yanks didn’t have to put up with that.” Currie muttered as he regained his balance.
“Come on, come on.” The Dane urged. “We have to keep moving!”
Currie hit the air-stair leading to the Polaris at the run, taking it two steps at a time. After the urgency of the Danish lieutenant in getting them aboard the aircrew seemed extremely relaxed. The cabin crew, for example, took their time in making sure everybody was properly seated.
Once the crew were seated the aircraft began to slowly taxi towards the runway. Colonel Currie got a grandstand view of the airport fire brigade trying to extinguish the fires started by the Soviet missile strike, not something he particularly enjoyed.
Once the Polaris was airborne Colonel Currie sank back in his seat and relaxed. His ordeal was over…for now.
2101 hours GMT. Watts, South Los Angeles, California. Sergeant Hooker crouched with his back against his patrol unit. He mentally thanked whoever had taken the decision to fit LAPD police cars with Kevlar armour inserts in their doors.
[1] Any bullets that struck the car would have to go through two layers of Kevlar before they could reach him. Even with the various sorts of weapons available to LA gangs this was fairly unlikely. The rest of the car was not so well protected, every window had been shattered, the light bar was in several pieces and most of the body was full of bullet holes. Hooker also seriously doubted that the engine would turn over if he tried to start it.
Hooker rolled out from behind the car and fired a couple of ‘bean-bag’ rounds from his Ithaca 37 at the nearest rioters, who were not carrying firearms. He quickly rolled back into cover as armed rioters returned fire. Hooker’s partner fired off half a dozen shots from his AR-15, bringing down two armed gang members.
“Good shooting, Romano.” Hooker complimented him. “But save your ammo, we don’t know how long it will be until the reinforcements arrive.”
“You don’t believe they’ll be here within thirty minutes, Hooker?” The younger officer asked.
“I’ll believe it when I see them coming down the road, Junior.” Hooker replied.
One of the other officers popped up briefly and fired two shots, before jinking back down into cover.
“I think I got the sniper, Hooker!” He shouted.
“Nice work, Corrigan, but keep your eyes peeled.”
“4 Adam 30 and 4 Adam 16.” The radio suddenly squawked.
“Back-up should be with you in approximately two minutes.” Hooker risked reaching into his unit and picked up the radio handset.
“4 Adam 30, roger.
“About damn time.” He muttered after replacing the handset.
The sound of approaching emergency sirens caught Hooker’s attention. He looked towards the source of the sound and saw two ‘black and whites’ leading a pair of requisitioned city buses.
The two police cruisers halted, revealing them as belonging to the California Highway Patrol rather than the LAPD. The officers who began to disembark from the buses also wore the khaki uniforms of the CHP, rather than the dark uniform of the LAPD.
Two CHP officers jogged across to Hooker and his partner, taking cover behind the wrecked unit.
“I’m Lieutenant Bishop; this is Sergeant Getraer, CHP.” The senior highway patrolman said, introducing himself.”
“Sergeant Hooker, LAPD; this is Officer Romano, over there are Officers Corrigan and Sheridan.” Hooker replied. “We’re certainly glad to see you, Lieutenant; we’re in serious danger of being overrun here.”
“You’re the local here, Sergeant. Just show us where we need to go.” Bishop said.
The slow, difficult process of retaking Watts from rioting, anarchy, murder, arson and looting was about to begin.
2110 hours. Singapore city, Singapore. The Vietnamese delegate to the Association of Southeast Asian Nations, ASEAN, sat down at the table opposite his Singaporean, Malaysian and Thai counterparts. Also present were observers from the United States, Australian and New Zealand.
While ASEAN had been holding numerous meetings since the beginning of the Polish Crisis and the outbreak of war, this meeting was strictly informal and very private. It was important that this meeting did not, for the moment, become public knowledge.
“I am glad you could make it to this meeting.” The Singaporean delegate, who was acting as chairman, being the host, said to the Vietnamese delegate. “I am sure you are aware of the concerns that our governments have regarding the recent actions of Vietnam. We hope that this meeting may help to resolve these concerns without the need for any…how should I put it…precipitous action.”
“My government has received your diplomatic note and we have issued a response.” The Vietnamese delegate replied. “However that note was for public consumption, there are those within our government who are less than happy about our support for the Soviets, they may soon be within the majority. You must understand that we are in a very difficult position, we have treaty commitments to the Soviet Union and they have a lot of military personnel in our country. Moreover they have been clear on what they will do to countries they feel have betrayed them. However we have no wish to enter a wider war, or cause the war to spread to Southeast Asia.
“I have been instructed to let you know that Vietnam has no intention of attacking anyone, but we will defend ourselves against attack.”
“What are you going to do about the Soviet facilities at Cam Ranh Bay?” The Australian observer asked. “The Soviets have used it to launch bomber raids on northern Australia, which have killed Australian citizens and caused much damage. We can’t allow this to continue.”
“I quite agree with my Australian counterpart.” The American observer said. “Soviet bombers based at Cam Ranh Bay are a continuing threat to both Australian and American interests in the Western Pacific. We cannot allow that to continue, which is why the USS
John C. Stennis and her battle group are approaching the Vietnamese coast.
“If you do not deal with the Soviets and live up to your obligations as a neutral then we will.” He added firmly.
The Vietnamese delegate looked directly first at the Australian and then the American observers.
“As I have said we will defend ourselves against attack; we will for example assist the Soviets in mounting local Combat Air Patrols protecting Cam Ranh Bay, but that is all we will do. Should any American or Australian military personnel be forced to bail out over Vietnam we will pass them on to the Thais as soon as we can, we are not at war with your countries, or have any desire to do so.
“We will understand if you wish to attack any Soviet facilities in our country, as you have done in Cuba. All we ask is that you do not mine our major civil ports, or attack our offshore oil and gas installations. I’m sure I do not need to remind you that US and EU based companies have made major investments in these platforms in a joint venture with our national oil and gas company. We will protect these investments so long as any attacks on Vietnamese soil are limited to Soviet facilities.
“We would really like our very lucrative trade links to continue to operate. It is not in our interests to have that disrupted.”
The ASEAN delegates and the two outside observers looked at each other.
“That sounds very fair to me.” The Thai delegate said, breaking her silence. “My government is also very keen to avoid any further spread of the war, or disruption of trade. We are also very happy to act as honest, neutral brokers between Vietnam and the nations that the Soviet Union has attacked by abusing the trust of Vietnam.
“Of course we will also lend our support to the removal of the Soviet threat.”
“As will we.” The Malaysian delegate said.
“As will my government.” The Singaporean delegate added.
The American observer looked at the Australian and New Zealand observers.
“I will pass this message on to my government, but I am sure that they’re response will be favourable. If the government of Vietnam sticks to its side of the deal we will still to ours.” He said.
“I can’t foresee that my government will have any objections.” The Australian said.
“While my country has not been directly attacked we have been affected by the attacks on our friends and allies and will support them. We will support efforts to eliminate the Soviet threat and I am sure that my government will not object to any deal which limits the spread of the war.” The New Zealander added.
*
Once the Vietnamese delegate had left the others continued the meeting. They had another matter to discuss.
“We had hoped to speak to the Indonesians, but they don’t seem to be receptive to our overtures.” The Australian observer commented. “We’d rather end our conflict with them than extend it any further, but if we have to we will.”
“We are currently trying to convince them of the error of their ways, but their military government is very proud.” The Singaporean delegate replied.
“They have a strong sense of grievance against your countries.” The Malaysian delegate added. “They feel that the events of 1999 humiliated Indonesia and now they have the chance to get some revenge.
“However should they continue to be intransigent we will remind them that both Malaysia and Singapore are allies of Australia and will come to her aid if they continue their attacks, or allow the Soviets to utilise their territory to attack Australia.
“On another matter the South Koreans and the Japanese have asked us to pass on a request to leave energy exports from Indonesia and Vietnam alone. They are somewhat dependent on LNG from those countries as well as Australia. I would also note that Australia depends, in part on Vietnamese oil.”
“I’m sure we can agree to that.” The Australian said. “We have to live with the Indonesians; we’d rather they just stop fighting. If we had to inflict a military defeat on them it would risk the country breaking up.
“Now that would be our nightmare scenario.”
2115 hours. Over the Baltic Sea. Squadron Leader Harry Watson put his Typhoon FGR.2 into another tight left-hand turn. He and his wingman were part of the major NATO effort to protect the aerial evacuation from Zealand from Soviet attack.
Watson risked a quick glance at the MFD supplying information from the nearest AWACS. To Watson’s eyes it looked like someone had transported both Heathrow and O’Hare Airports to Jutland, along with their air traffic, and placed them alongside each other. Making any sense out of it was nearly impossible, yet the fighter controllers seemed to be managing…just.
*
92 Squadron had been temporarily chopped from 2 ATAF to COMAIRBALTAP for the duration of the evacuation of Zealand, along with several other NATO squadrons. The Soviets and the East Germans had also moved in squadrons from other areas to try and stop, or at least hinder the evacuation.
After a day of intense fighting to protect the transports 92 Squadron was down from sixteen aircraft to twelve. Two more pilots had also been killed and a third wounded.
*
As Watson completed his latest circuit he noticed a group of twelve Soviet fighters, which the AWACS controllers evidently believed were Su-35 ‘Flanker-E’ fighters. If they got in amongst the transport stream it could be a massacre, alternatively they could be armed with air to ground weapons which would cause havoc at the airports where troops were being evacuated.
To his satisfaction they were well within range of both Typhoon’s Meteor missiles. Well it was time to club some baby seals.
“Light ‘em up.” He told his wingman in a brief message. “Energise radar.” He told the aircraft.
“Radar energised.” The annoyingly pleasant voice of the Typhoon confirmed.
The CAPTOR radar came on line very quickly, ‘sorting’ the targets in front of the Typhoon, prioritising the targets in terms of which were a greatest threat to Watson’s aircraft.
“Select target one, select Meteor one.”
“Target one selected, Meteor one selected.” Watson armed the aircraft’s weapon systems, waited a second to make sure that everything was working before pulling the trigger.
“Fox One!” He announced.
The Meteor missile dropped away from the belly of the Typhoon fired its solid rocket motor and began to accelerate up to Mach 5, seeking its prey. Watson quickly fired a second missile before shutting down the radar and taking evasive action to avoid any possible return fire from the Soviet fighters.
Watson continued to track the progress of the two missiles as he lined up to take a third and fourth shot. He was satisfied to see both his pair and those from his wingman hit their target, and that the Soviet formation had been seriously disrupted.
‘BLEEP! BLEEP! WEEEEEE!’
“Warning, hostile missile launch! Activating DASS.” The aircraft warned Watson, sounding as if it was discussing the weather rather than an approaching R-77/AA-12 ‘Adder’ missile.
“Oh hell!” Watson swore, he fired off two Meteor missiles, before banking hard to the right and putting the Typhoon into a steep dive. “Deploy Turd.” He told the aircraft.
“TRD deployed.” The aircraft said as it deployed the Towed Radar Decoy.
Watson, glanced briefly at the MFD screen showing the approaching missile. It was not good news; it did not look like that the DASS, TRD and evasive manoeuvres did not seem to have seduced the weapon. It was unerringly seeking his aircraft.
2118 hours. Embankment tube station, Westminster, London. Detective Sergeant Banks swiped his Oyster Card at the barrier to exit the station. Special Branch did issue its officers Oyster Cards for use while on official business, but trips using them had to be accounted for, so since this an unofficial journey he was using his own card.
[2] He walked out of the station, passing two British Transport Police constables armed with G36C carbines. Most mainline and underground stations in London had an armed police presence, some of the more important also had protection from troops. Along with a more visible presence of uniformed officers, they were part of a strategy to deter sabotage and terrorist type attacks.
Banks walked onto his meeting point with his contact – a small snack bar that seemed to be open almost twenty four hours a day. The detective liked the place, one could get a full English breakfast at anytime between the early morning and the middle of the night.
He sat down at the booth at the back of the snack bar, ordered a mug of tea with two sugars and a bacon and egg roll, and waited. He was halfway through his roll when his contact, a mug of coffee in one hand and a plate brimming with a full English in the other, arrived.
“Good evening, detective.” The man said as he cut up one of the sausages before shovelling it into his mouth. “I trust the information I gave you at our last meeting was of use to you?”
“It was.” Banks confirmed, watching with a slight amount of disgust as his contact seemed to be intent on squeezing the entire contents of the plate into his mouth at once. “The Branch now has those people you told me about under surveillance and we’ll probably bring them in over the next few days.”
“Excellent.
“Now I have something to ask in return. My employers need to know the details about a couple of matters.
“We need to know details about an operation that has been given the codename ‘MALLARD’. We would like to know if it is still an active operation, whether it is in progress, or has already been carried out.
“We would also like to know about the status of the floodgates on the London Underground.”
“I can tell you about the second thing right now.” Banks, who was something of a Tube enthusiast, replied. “They’re all operational; London Underground spent a fortune getting them all working again and installing new ones. They’re controlled from the main LU operations centre with a hardened back-up control in an unfinished station on the Northern Line.
[3] “The other matter…well that might be a bit more…difficult. It would mean accessing computer files that I don’t normally use…”
Banks’ contact reached into his pocket and pulled out a battered brown envelope. He handed it across to the detective. Banks opened it and thumbed through the wad of used ten and twenty pound notes inside.
“This should help me a great deal.” He said, putting it into his inside pocket. “Well time I was going.” Banks said getting to his feet. “A policeman’s lot is certainly not a happy one.”
The contact finished up his full English as he watched Banks leave. He smiled as he reflected on the fact that he now had proof of a Special Branch detective taking a bribe, which could be very ‘useful’ in the near future.
2120 hours. RAF Leuchars, Fife, Scotland. Wing Commander Foster wondered what he could have done to be summoned to the Station Commander’s office at this hour of the night. He was not on alert, so he had hoped to have gotten something to eat before getting some sleep instead.
He didn’t think that he had done anything to warrant an ‘interview without tea and biscuits’, but who knew what sort of bee the Station Commander had in his bonnet.
Foster reached the Station Commander’s office and knocked on the door.
“Enter!” The voice of Air Commodore John Forbes-Hamilton bellowed from inside.
[4] “You wanted to see me, Sir?” Foster asked, hiding his surprise that standing to Forbes-Hamilton’s left was Wing Commander Sarah Stapleton, his fiancée.
“Indeed I did.” The Station Commander replied.
Forbes-Hamilton always reminded Foster of a slightly thinner, beardless version of the actor Brian Blessed. He too had a habit of bellowing everything and seemed slightly insane. Foster had always wondered how someone of his build had fitted into the rear cockpit of a Phantom.
“Sit ye down, sit ye down!” Forbes-Hamilton said heartily. “Don’t worry, Jackie-boy you’re not in trouble. In fact we’ve got some good news for you.
“Would you like to tell him, Wing Commander Stapleton?”
“If you don’t mind, Sir.” She replied. “Well, Jack we’ve been trawling through the various claims made by 11 Group aircrew and we’ve been able to confirm for certain that you’ve killed three ‘Backfires’ and a pair of ‘Fencers’. It also looks as if you make have three, or four more probables, but we can’t confirm them at the moment.
“The good news from that is that it makes you an official ace and better than that from what we can deduce the first RAF ace of the war.” She said beaming.
“I’m stunned, I’m not sure quite what to say.” Foster replied. “Of course my navigator George Wilkinson will share each kill.”
“Of course, Jackie-boy.” Forbes-Hamilton confirmed. “We wanted to break the news to you first of all. I’m sure you’ll want to tell George yourself.”
*
A few minutes later Foster and Stapleton were making their way to 43 Squadron’s hardened war headquarters intent on breaking the news to Squadron Leader Wilkinson and the rest of the squadron.
“He’s a bit, how shall I put it, full on, the Stash here.” Stapleton observed.
“Certifiable and insane are two words many of us have used to describe him; but he’s a good bloke at heart.” Foster replied. “By the way, how’s your back these days?” He added playfully touching the small of her back with his left hand.
She recoiled from his hand, wincing.
“Still giving you trouble, eh?” He observed.
“You can say that again; the docs think it will be at least another six to eight months before I can fly again.
“And don’t do that! Don’t think about touching anything else either just because we haven’t seen each other for a month. I’ve no time to waste being chased around a HAS dispersal by a horny fighter pilot; some of us have proper work to do.”
Foster blew a raspberry at his fiancée, made a grab for her rear and missed.
“That’s what I’ve always loved about you, Jack.” She replied, laughing. “Your sense of maturity.”
***
[1] Another legacy of the 1997 ‘North Hollywood shootout’.
[2] those who may be curious information on the Oyster Card can be found
here and
here.
[3] Was to have been called North End, but LU staff have recently nicknamed it Bull & Bush, after the well-known pub nearby. See
here and
here for more details.
[4] The commander of an RAF Station is normally a Group Captain, however the Station Commander of RAF Leuchars is also AOC Scotland, hence the higher rank.
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