The objective of the attack had of course been to inflict maximum damage to equipment and materiel anyway, ideally with the element of surprise, and the main targets were aircraft and specialist personnel. Both were extremely susceptible to damage in many forms, and it wasn’t necessary even to destroy the aircraft, as sufficient damage minor might well be enough to ground them and render them useless in a world devoid of advanced maintenance workshops or stores of spare parts. As it turned out, the damage inflicted on the ground at Hindsight was anything but minor. Rather than using only conventional high-explosives, the attacking bombers instead carried a mixture of weapons that included HE and also two of the most savage and despised weapons of modern warfare: napalm and white phosphorous. Phosphorous was a volatile substance that was self-igniting, and would burn viciously if exposed to the open air.
The first two sticks of bombs slammed into the base to the left of their intended target, the runway and main buildings, and their shattering explosions rippled across the landscape in a long, deep path that tore through Hindsight’s officers’ billets, the mess and beyond. Great torrents of terrible red flame rose along the path of the rolling impact immersed in black smoke, pillars of thrown-up earth, and the hissing grey clouds of phosphorous as it instantly spread and ignited on contact with the atmosphere. Everything the bombs hit disintegrated under the onslaught, consumed in seconds by fire with the intensity of hell itself. The structures were predominantly wooden in construction, and there’d been no rain for weeks: everything was tinder-dry, and the flames instantly began to spread.
The next three sticks of bombs fell basically on target, the first striking half way along the main runway and ‘walking’ its way up to the hardstands and tower as the other two overlapped on either side and ran on into the hangars and associated buildings beyond. Concrete shattered and cratered under the assault, the tower was blown to pieces by a direct hit from a 250kg HE bomb, and the napalm and phosphorous again consumed a deep strip of land hundreds of metres wide in total destruction.
As the control tower toppled and disappeared into clouds of fire at its base, the hangars collapsing down on themselves as the instant, searing heat melted the iron sheets on their sides and roofs. Blast and shrapnel shattered their framework and brought it crashing down as stores of ordinance and flammables held within those hangars and attached buildings added their force to the devastation. Wayward tracer sprayed in all directions as crates of 20- and 25mm cannon shells cooked off in their crates.
Nick Alpert watched all this from slit trench by the bunker’s entrance, an army ‘tin hat’ helmet jammed tightly on his head. The heat was intense all about as the Hindsight base basically burned to the ground before his eyes, but he continued to relay information back to Drews inside, who in turn passed it on via radio to Thorne and the rest of the aircraft; fighters and transports alike. Something in the periphery of his vision suddenly caught Alpert’s attention, and he turned his head to the east. Looking out across the earth-covered roof of the bunker, there was just enough time to see one of the last five bombers’ bomb ‘sticks’ falling directly toward them.
The men inside the bunker detected a second formation of aircraft on their radar systems at that same moment, again approaching from the east but this time at very low leveclass="underline" as a result, these new bogies had been able to get much closer before being discovered. No one was given a chance to alert anyone else of these new aircraft’s presence however, and Alpert’s last, desperate thoughts were the realisation that those last patterns of bombs were right for them. Fire and death reached them seconds later and swept past. The bunker’s roof and walls were thick and reinforced by iron mesh — high explosive alone wouldn’t have been enough to harm its inhabitants — but phosphorous and napalm were weapons that could kill without penetrating thick concrete or armour plate.
As entire area became saturated with both burning and hissing substances, there was suddenly no oxygen for living creatures to breathe. Alpert, with no time to get under cover, was engulfed in flaming, sticky gasoline and died within seconds. Neil Drews and Dicko Cassar, inside the bunker and ‘protected’ from the immediate effects of napalm and WP, took longer to die from a combination of suffocation and asphyxiation by noxious fumes. They had no chance to give a warning to anyone… instead, the radio simply went silent in a sudden and rather permanent fashion.
Davies didn’t wait for Trumbull as he turned the F-22 to the south-east at full throttle, thundering across Stronsay Firth between Stronsay and Shapinsay, and out across the North Sea in pursuit of the remaining bombers. He quickly left the F-35 behind as a result, and went supersonic even as he continued in a shallow climb. The retreating enemy bombers hadn’t been able to get far and he picked them out instantly on radar while they were just twenty kilometres east of South Ronaldsay, and it took just seconds for him to release his last six AMRAAMs against the nearest of them, six more bombers falling in fire and wreckage a moment later.
Davies was prevented from pressing home his attack with guns however as his radar suddenly picked up more aircraft at low level, this time still heading inbound. At first, he thought them to be the expected two squadrons of RAF fighters, but quickly realised that couldn’t be the case as he quickly identified far more than the expected twenty-four aircraft.
“Bogies… bogies…!” He howled over the radio to anyone who’d listen. “New targets… fifty-plus… twenty klicks out at extremely low level and heading for Hindsight…! Harbinger: I’m out of missiles! Forget what’s left of the heavies and vector onto this new threat!” He tried twice more to raise Hindsight on the radio with no success, and began to have grave fears for the men left on the ground beneath that onslaught.
“Top Hat to Eyrie control — Top Hat to Eyrie control…” The unexpected new and obviously English voice on his radio caught Davies completely by surprise. “Come in please, Eyrie control…”
“Top Hat, this is Captain Jack Davies of Hindsight Training Unit — call sign ‘Phoenix-One’,” Davies broadcast to the new arrivals as the expected RAF fighters finally appeared on his screens, also at relatively low level and approaching from the same direction as the second flight of enemies he’d just detected. “I’ve been unable to raise ground control and fear the worst. Authorisation code word is ‘Phalanx’: I’m assuming command from the air immediately. Be advised there are enemy aircraft in your vicinity, bearing approximately three-three-zero from your current heading. If you have guns and fuel, then we need your assistance urgently with this new threat… Please respond… over…”
‘Phalanx’ was the current version of a weekly code-word that was part of briefings for any pilot operating out of the Hindsight base. The word was intended to provide confirmation that the user — Davies in this case — was cleared to issue direct orders and take command if required, which he was now required to do. The approaching Mustang pilots would’ve all been briefed on the same information prior to departure for the trip up that morning.