The helicopters did not need the runway to operate and so were based away from the tarmac.
No one had bothered to dig air raid shelters or slit trenches at Chaloupky. Most of the time had been spent handling the overload of equipment and stores brought into this tiny provincial airport. Leonov and Bershko ran a few hundred feet into the field and hid in a depression. The area around the helicopters was littered with ammunition, rockets, and fuel. One good hit, and the whole mess would go up. The first flight of enemy aircraft appeared to the northwest. It looked like Tornados. They were moving very fest, and very near the deck. To his relief, Leonov saw them pass over the north end of the airfield by more than two kilometers. Probably hunting another target. But as he got up to head back, he saw another flight of aircraft coming directly over the airfield. He hit the dirt.
Four Tornados came screaming over the field at about 100 meters. There was little to stop them. Four ZU-23 23mm towed antiaircraft guns were positioned around the airfield, but they were too slow to track the aircraft at such close ranges. A battery of S-125 Pechora missiles had been brought in, but the aircraft were too near the ground for them to be effective. As they passed over the field, the large dispenser under the Tornado's fuselage sprayed out submunitions. It looked as though the aircraft were seeding a field. As the submunitions tumbled, small parachutes emerged from each one, and they gently floated to the ground. As the submunitions hit the tarmac, the runway erupted in a staccato of explosions.
The Tornados had dropped several STABO runway cratering munitions. Each bomblet is small, about thirty-seven pounds. But the charge can blast through reinforced concrete, and leaves a deep crater. One of the aircraft had delivered a load of fragmentation munitions and bunker-busting charges near the main hangars. These blanketed the parked Su-25K attack aircraft, bursting in a furious succession of small explosions. The Tornados left as abruptly as they came, the four 23mm guns futilely firing after them. In less than a minute, the airfield had been ruined. The enemy mission had been well planned.
Leonov got up off the ground and surveyed the airfield. It was hard to see the main building complex, since the whole field was enveloped in clouds of dust and smoke. To his utter amazement, the helicopters still stood in front of him, apparently undamaged. The NATO squadron must have based the attack on reconnaissance from a day or so before the helicopters arrived. The attack had concentrated on the aircraft regiment, and had left the other corner of the airport, where the helicopters were located, unscathed. The Tornado pilots had dumped their whole load in a single pass. But they must have noticed the helicopters. They'd probably be back to finish the job.
As the dust settled, it became evident how much damage the Tornados had done. The runway was a complete mess, with big, jagged slabs of concrete strewn about. The hangar area, the center of the attack, was burning furiously. Most of the Su-25K looked like they had been hit. Several were crumpled to the ground, their landing gear shattered by explosions. The large collection of fuel drums nearby was aflame, and there seemed little prospect of putting the fire out with the limited amount of equipment on hand. The base commander called the local fire department, but the fire chief acted as though he didn't speak Russian. It took several minutes to find one of the Czech Air Force personnel at the base to arrange for the fire trucks.
Leonov warned his men to stay away from the runway. These submunition systems usually mixed in delayed-action bombs or mines with the main runway cratering bombs. There was no telling what sort of munitions still remained on the field, waiting to explode. It seemed heartless not to run over to the hangars and help the Su-25 regiment, but Leonov didn't want any of his men needlessly wounded. The rest of the squadron, including its commander, Major Frolov, gathered around the helicopters. Frolov echoed Leonov's warnings. Stay away from the runway! Frolov attempted to contact the control tower to get instructions about the disposition of his helicopters, but telephone communications, including the field phones, were useless. He sent runners over to the control tower.
About a half hour later, the runners returned in a civilian jeep with some of the staff from the regimental HQ. They agreed that the Tornados might be back to finish off the helicopters. So it was decided to fly them into a small clearing about two kilometers from the airfield to await developments. Frolov asked whether the Tornados had been busy over the forward airfield at Dorfl. The staff said an attack had been made, but the air defenses and local fighter cover had forced back the attack, with few casualties to the helicopters. The helicopter regiments had been pretty lucky so far!
The crews had already cleared most of the ordnance-handling equipment and refueling trolleys away from the helicopters. They decided to take some of the technical staff along with them in the cargo compartment in case further work needed to be done on the helicopters. Fortunately, most had been completely armed before the air strike had hit. Leonov put
on his flight helmet and adjusted the seat belts. A runner from the staff came over to each aircraft, warning them not to overfly the main runway for fear of detonating any MUSPA bombs on the field. Leonov nodded, and prepared for takeoff.
"Red Two, this is Red One, do you hear? Over."
Popov, in helicopter 32, responded affirmatively, as did the second pair.
"Red Flight, this is Red One. We will take off in pairs. I will lead. Wait for my instructions over the landing area. Over."
The big Isotov turbines behind the canopy whined loudly as Leonov prepared for takeoff. The Mi-24 is a massive helicopter, but its engine matches its bulk. In such cold October weather, the Mi-24 would have no problems lifting off, even with a full combat load. Leonov signaled to the ground crew and lifted his helicopter off smoothly. Popov got his helicopter off the ground seconds later, and fell in line behind him. From the air, the airfield was a bigger mess than he imagined. It looked as though the whole Su-25 squadron had been hit. Most of the aircraft seemed to be burned or broken. He switched his attention to the mission at hand and turned the big helicopter to the northwest.
It took no time to arrive at the new base, and he waited for the instruction of the 1st Flight commander, Capt. Sergei Nalepka.
"Kontsert One, this is Blue One. We will land in order. We'll go down into the northwest corner. Red One, put your chickens down in the north-east corner. Green One, you land near mat farmhouse. Yellow One, you put your birds down in the southwest corner. Over."
The helicopters followed in order, about eighty meters from one another. Formation flying in such proximity was one of the more dangerous aspects of combat flying. But the crews were well trained, and the mission went without a hitch. Fortunately, the ground was damp. Otherwise, the helicopters would have kicked up a great deal of dust in the farm fields, making it increasingly more difficult for the later helicopters to land.
Before he had wound down the engine, Leonov had seen Captain Nalepka running toward his helicopter. He opened up the side cockpit door and removed his helmet. Nalepka, as experienced as he was with helicopters, still instinctively crouched as he ran under the big rotor blades.
"Dmitri, Major Frolov's in the back of my chopper. He's a bit concerned about us losing touch with the main attack group at the forward airstrip. He wants one of our boys to fly down there in advance to act as liaison. You're it. Misha Popov will take your flight down there this afternoon. Tell Kurasov and the command staff what happened, and give him these notes from Frolov about communicating with us. We will set up a temporary ground station here."