With all serviceable aircraft having been rearmed and refuelled, the USS John F Kennedy was keeping half of its remaining interceptors aloft and the carrier group running fast to the south. The PRC Xianfeng-7 satellite had passed over ninety-three minutes before and the Jianbing-3 was due past in another hour.
The repositioning of the satellites had been done hurriedly, without allowing a more measured interval of several hours’ between passes.
Both sides now had satellite surveillance benefits, but armed with the space commands information on the PRC over-flight times, Admiral C. Dalton believed he had the greater advantage.
Twenty feet below the carriers’ bridge lay Flag Ops and it was here that the Admiral laid out his idea for the operations staff.
“The way I see it,” he began.
“Is that we will have a twenty-one hour and twenty-seven minute window of opportunity, once that next Prick flies by.”
He would no longer bother to pronounce the letters P.R.C, to his mind P.R.I.C.K far better described that country.
The CAG and TAO had known the man a long time, getting beat and running away did not sit easily with them either.
“I assume that we are going to turn and attack once the satellite is past, sir?”
The Admiral was nodding.
“Damn straight!” he declared.
“I want to keep the remains of Quinn’s F-14s and the two Sea Harriers aloft as CAP, the rest launch a strike on the reds… what do you think?”
The CAG was silent, doing sums in his head.
“I need to get together with Intel, see what we know about their defences on land?” he said after a few moments.
“I can give an assessment then, sir.”
“Hawkeye’s state that the A-50s egressed after the nuke hit us… we splashed a recon bird half hour after the strike, probably a damage assessment sortie… so as far as I know, there are no other eyes upon us right now,” the TAO put in.
“How long until the group has replenished at sea?” the Admiral enquired.
“Another three hours’, maybe less… provided we don’t get visitors or a sea gets up,” replied TAO.
“Okay, let’s resume in one hour people, get to it.”
Sea Harriers, Papa Zero Two and Zero Seven had been relieved from their three hour CAP and crossed the fantail of the John F Kennedy in trail at a mere 80 knots before settling to the flight deck and following the decks instructions to a parking area. Lt Cmdr. Sandy Cummings and Lt ‘Donny’ Osmond made their way to the towering superstructure, pausing to watch an E2-Sentry trap and the crewmen at work high overhead.
The superstructure was a hive of industry as running repairs were made to the masts. This appeared rather hazardous as buckled lengths of steel were cut away and replaced with straight lengths that were welded into place.
“It rather looks like someone trying to build a skyscraper, starting with the penthouse and leaving the foundations until last,” observed Donny.
Lt Nikki Pelham had been posing beside her Tomcat with its brand new addition of four red stars below the fuselage whilst she and Chubby Checkernovski took turns behind the camera. Nikki had still not heard anything from home as to her family but she was not going to dwell on it. Nikki and Chubby joined the two RN, Fleet Air Arm pilots as they watched the Hawkeye catch the three wire.
“So how do you like being on a real carrier boys?”
“Bloody noisy… they stuck us in the janitors broom cupboard, right below the flight deck. Our little carriers and aircraft are far quieter, if you did this stuff on the ‘POW’ you’d get complaints from the look-outs that it was keeping them awake… I really can’t see it catching on!” Sandy said with a smile, using the abbreviation for HMS Prince of Wales.
“RN aviation is more civilised too, its far more dignified to stop and land, than it is to land and stop… much easier on the hang-over.”
Nikki laughed.
“Sorry boys, the US Navy is dry.”
Donny leant forward conspiratorially.
“Well don’t spread it around, but we have a limited supply of single malt in Mrs Miggins Pie Shoppe… otherwise known as the janitors broom cupboard.”
“How the hell did you get that on board?” asked Chubby.
“He had it stowed aboard the aircraft, just in case he had to land on a tropical island populated by bikini models, bereft of male company.” Sandy explained with a Scottish accent that Nikki found quite appealing.
The conversation was curtailed by the tannoy system called all pilots to a briefing.
“Looks like the opening night may be delayed, ladies and gents. Someone called Baldrick may have thought of a cunning plan!”
“Who?” intoned Nikki and Chubby?
“The faithful manservant of Sir Edmund Blackadder!” Sandy informed them
“Who?”
“As soon as I can get back to the POW and collect my DVD collection, we will have to have a Blackadder night, to start your education in the finer things in life… does your galley have any fresh turnips?”
The pleasant Pine, Sycamore, Oak and Beech forest on the high ground above Muhlsdorf was being reduced to the consistency of matchwood. Almost four hours’ of unrestrained artillery bombardment had pounded the earth or stripped trees of their branches and foliage with airbursts.
In his Challenger II, Major Darcy listened to the cacophony of noise outside the tank and wondered how many of his squadron still remained or if they were safe in their dug in revetments. The tank rocked back on its sprockets and red-hot steel rang on its armoured sides from a near miss. The terminal in front of him went blank. The lack of the Ptarmigan data would hamper his command and control even further.
“It’s at this point that one of you is supposed to say For God’s sake… play something they know!” said the major, in an effort to ease the tension.
“If it is all the same to you sir,” said his gunner. “I’ll just sit here quietly and carry on shitting myself.”
All his tanks had a good stock of spare radio antennas to replace any stripped off by the barrage; so far they had been lucky. Half an hour before he had checked his tanks own masts and all had been in order but the view from his vision blocks had been scary, their own piece of ground was no longer as wooded as it had been. The flashes of detonating munitions allowed him to glimpse the battlefield in a way the tanks lo-lite TV did not.
The Coldstream Guards CP was obviously still in business as his headset came to life.
“Hello all stations address group Kilo Hotel, this is Zero… ‘Wicker Man’, over!” The enemy armoured assault was on the way and the CP had dispensed with the preliminaries of radio checks to the ‘Sunrays’, commanders of the sub-units which now had to leave their present locations and move forward to their fighting positions.
The Kings Royal Hussars were shown first on the CNRMIS, Combat Net Radio Management Information Systems net diagram for that address group and Darcy answered immediately.
“Tango One Nine, roger… ’Wicker Man’… out.” He switched to the squadron net and passed on the instruction to his troop commanders but one failed to answer and there was a pause before that troops sergeant answered in the missing tanks stead. Darcy switched to interphone,
“Driver, take us to our first fighting position, now please,” before calling up C Troops sergeant.
“Hello Tango One Three Bravo this is Tango One Nine. Say condition of Tango One Three Alpha if known, over?”
“Tango One Three Bravo, their turret is only about ten feet from us, over.”