The crews of both 2K22M Tunguska flak vehicles had been watching the air battle with intense interest. Both had been driven out of the main base area at full speed, heading for safer positions in open, high country to the south west, however the relocation had also meant they’d lost some range with which to deploy their missiles against the approaching bombers. The sudden loss of the radar control bunker and the network connections that went with it had also significantly reduced their ability to pick up the approach of the new group of low-flying attackers.
Their own systems were capable of detecting and tracking targets out to thirty kilometres or more, but the contours of the land in the area they’d withdrawn to had unexpectedly created a ‘blind spot’ that had blanked out a large part of what their own internal radar systems could ‘see’ to the east. As such, they were late in locking on to the flight of S-2Ds as the aircraft crossed between South Ronaldsay and Hoy, and only picked them up at the moment Davies swept through their ranks with his cannon blazing.
Parked within two thousand metres of each other, the turrets of both turned almost in unison as their gunners selected their first targets and they prepared to fire. Each vehicle could engage up to three targets at any given time (two with missiles and one with cannon), and a secure wireless link between the pair’s fire control systems ensured neither locked on to a target already selected by the other. Two missiles hissed into the sky in sequence from each Tunguska’s launchers as the twin cannon fired together in concert.
At a range of 4,000 metres, the flight of S-2Ds had barely crossed into the guns’ firing envelope, but it was ultimately the presence of the Raptor within their midst that saved Carl Ritter’s life. The Tunguskas’ IFF receivers had been shut down intentionally to prevent any automatic systems blocking the engagement of enemy targets due to the proximity of friendlies, as had happened during the previous attack. There was therefore no alarm raised within either vehicle that one of the aircraft approaching low against the eastern horizon was in fact Jack Davies’ F-22, invisible to radar as it was in any case. The cannon of the nearer of the two 2K22M had been targeted on Ritter’s aircraft, and fired in the seconds after Davies had roared past and been hit by fire from the German’s wing guns. It was of no consequence to the Tunguska’s fire control systems that another aircraft had strayed into the path of its own cannon as it released a half-second burst that sent fifty-odd 30mm rounds into the sky in twin streams of tracer.
At least ten of those high-explosive shells ripped through the stricken Raptor as it strayed into the path of incoming fire that also slammed into its damaged rear end and basically blew apart everything aft of its twin tails. Alarms and warning lights immediately flooded Davies’ screens and instruments with information, although by that stage he was already all too aware of the massive damaged the F-22 had sustained. All control and power was lost, and he was far too close to the surface of the earth to delay choosing his next course of action.
Captain Jack Davies, never one to hesitate at the best of times, instantly weighed up the situation and made the most difficult decision of his life without a second thought. Tucking his feet in tight beneath him to ensure they cleared the Raptor’s instrument panel, he reached up above his head for the yellow and black striped loops at each corner of his pilot’s seat. He dragged those loops savagely forward, pulling a Kevlar protective ‘shield’ over his head as explosive strips shattered his cockpit glass. He felt the aircraft shudder as rockets ignited beneath him and his Martin-Baker ejection seat blasted a hole through the bottom of the Raptor’s fuselage, propelling him upward and sending him high into the air, away from any danger. The shattered wreckage of the F-22 turned nose-over and smashed itself to pieces against the surface of the water below just seconds later.
The rest of the burst that finished off the Raptor continued on past without hindrance, and two of the remaining shells slammed into the tail of Ritter’s S-2D. Huge chunks were blown out of its aft fuselage, followed by an immediate loss of tail and rudder control. At the same time, five more of his fellow pilots were blasted from the sky around him, four by missiles and another by heavy cannon fire, leaving just his and nine other aircraft flying. Struggling with his own controls, Ritter immediately ordered his remaining pilots to dump their ordnance and abort the attack: he’d rather face his chances with a possible court-martial than see the rest of his men killed.
The remnants of I/ZG26 broke apart and began a turn to the east, bombs falling away unused as they hugged the ocean once more in search of safety. Five more fell to the missiles and cannon of the Tunguskas before they managed to slip back into ground clutter behind Cantick Head and the northern end of the island of South Walls, and Ritter’s dismay over the continuing losses was compounded as the deadly 30mm cannon again sought his out S-2D, dealing it a second glancing blow as several shells this time blasted away a substantial section of his port wing. Combined with the damage already sustained in the earlier attack, it was sufficient to send the aircraft into a nose-high stall for a moment before it turned over onto its back and fell back toward the sea, completely out of control.
Ritter gave the order to bail out and struggled from his own harness as the S-2D reached the apex of its last flight. Both men leaped from their cockpit, and Ritter gasped as his parachute unfurled and sharply retarded his descent moments later. He could only look on in total despair as a second incredible, previously unseen fighter swept down out of the sky and destroyed the last of the S-2Ds as they fled to the east. Wolff hung from his own chute a few hundred metres away, and further off in the distance Ritter could see the pilot of the strange aircraft he’d hit, also floating toward the sea from higher altitude beneath his own parachute.
Carl Ritter closed his eyes as he felt his strength suddenly drain away. He released a weary groan as he descended slowly, the breeze swaying him this way and that. All he could think about was the destruction of an entire third of his geschwader, and the deaths of so many of his men. Just three aircraft — Meier’s and the two forced to abort their attacks earlier — might be fortunate enough to make it back to Stavanger. Most hadn’t been so lucky, and with most of those aircraft lost today destroyed so suddenly and completely, it had been impossible for any other crews to bail out.
Ritter was also baffled as he considered the appearance of those two strange, grey aircraft, and it was a small consolation indeed that he’d been able to damage one of the things sufficiently to contribute to it being brought down by ground fire. The thing had displayed American style insignia… admittedly not the ‘red-spot-in-a-white-star’ of the US Army Air Corps… but it’d been close enough to easily draw conclusions. The aircraft had shown a pale five-pointed star along with the letters ‘USAF’. Had the Americans changed the air arm’s name to United States’ Air Force and he’d merely not heard… could he be certain that he’d seen the words ‘United States’ on the aircraft’s fuselage in the same faded lettering? Surely the American’s couldn’t be so openly aiding the British as to risk an act of war?
…And if they were to declare war against Germany, how could anyone oppose aircraft like that? He gave up agonising over questions he couldn’t hope to find answers for as he opened his eyes and saw the cold, dark water coming up fast to meet him. He grimaced and closed his eyes once more, wondering if his life jacket was going to work now he needed it for the first time… as he thought of the men he’d already lost that day, he wondered for a moment if perhaps it might be better if it failed.