“Two minutes to ideal engagement range,” the coordinator said. They were approaching at Mach Two; the European radars had locked on. The odds were that they were within European engagement range as well; his aircraft were far more vulnerable to European missiles than their ships were to his missiles, even if they were newer antiship missiles capable of damaging an American carrier. They had been tested in Iran; the Iranians had actually managed to damage an American carrier with one of them. They were tricky targets to hit. “The enemy is hailing us.”
Sulkin pulled down a set of headphones. “…is your last warning,” a voice crackled, in English. It was more or less the official language of the seafarers around the world. “If you do not break off your attack, we will open fire; this is your last warning.”
“Too late,” Sulkin said. He smiled grimly as the final seconds ticked down. “Fire!”
The aircraft buckled in the air as it launched its first missile, then its second, then its third, all heading towards their targets. The European ECM wasn’t online; even if it were, it wouldn’t have made much difference. The sensors in the missiles were far more capable than the Europeans could have guessed, particularly if they still thought they were facing Algerians. The Russian-maintained Backfires could have fired all of their weapons at once, but he had thought it best to ripple-fire from the Algerian-maintained aircraft; a single mistake and the aircraft would have exploded in the air. His other aircraft were firing as well; thirty aircraft, each launching four missiles… there were one hundred and twenty missiles heading towards the European fleet.
“Bank, bank,” he snapped, as the Europeans returned fire. They had to have been on a hair-trigger; they might even have fired first by microseconds. Their missiles were faster, too; a Backfire disintegrated in the air, then a second one was damaged and fell towards the sea, the pilots ejecting just in time before their aircraft smashed into the waves. “take us out of here!”
Two more Backfires fell, but Sulkin was safe; his aircraft had been missed. The Backfires dropped flares and other countermeasures — the trade of ships for aircraft worked in their favour, but he would have preferred to have kept the aircraft himself — and evaded more return fire. They had succeeded in their mission; all they had to do was escape. That would be easy.
The Europeans would have a far harder task.
“My God,” the sensor officer snapped. “Sir, there’s over a hundred missiles coming towards the fleet.”
“Clear to engage,” Ward snapped. “Get your head out of your arse and kill those missiles! Priority target; leave the aircraft to the air defence frigates!”
The Churchill rocked as it fired counter-missiles into the air. Its CIWS opened fire as well, killing two missiles; he allowed himself a moment to hope that the fleet could beat off the attack with little loss. The air defence ships had been targeted first, he saw; a French frigate and an Italian destroyer were struck and blown out of the water before they could reprioritise their weapons. They had attempted to wipe out the attacking aircraft and paid the price. Two more ships were struck, even as a warhead exploded far too close to the Churchill for comfort; he realised that they hadn’t been the target. The Churchill was small beer compared to the bigger ships.
The bridge fell silent as the fleet fought for life. The Principe de Asturias was the first to be hit, but the Charles de Gaulle and the Cavour rapidly followed her as the missiles hacked into the side of the ships and exploded. Smaller ships died, but the carriers burnt; they died slowly, in terrible pain. Ward could only watch as the merciless bombardment continued; the Standing Force, proud masters of the sea only half an hour again, was being torn apart.
“The Admiral has been confirmed dead,” the communications officer said. The bombardment was ending, but only three ships remained undamaged… and seven more remained floating, but damaged. The remains of the Charles de Gaulle were still floating, but the carrier was a burning wreck; it wouldn’t be long before it sank. He wondered briefly what that would do to the environment, before realising that it hardly mattered; there were worse issues at hand.
“Captain, we have more aircraft coming over the sea from Algeria,” the sensor officer said. His voice was rising with alarm. “I think they’re going to try to finish the job.”
Ward made his decision. If they were at war with Russia, they would be hunted down if they remained in the Mediterranean; they would almost certainly be caught before they could make it to the Suez Canal and the American positions there… and if the Americans weren't in the war, they might intern the ships rather than let them go back to Britain. Escape through Gibraltar would be risky, but he could think of no better idea; if nothing else, they should be able to make contact with higher authority at the rock.
“Weapons, engage anything that comes near us and looks like a threat,” he ordered. The ROE hadn’t been written with a full-scale sea battle with Algeria in mind. “Communications, inform the other ships that we are returning to the rock and ask them to come with us; if not, wish them the best.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” the communications officer said. There was a long pause. “They’re scattering, Captain.”
Idiots, Ward thought. But he understood; how could a Frenchman, or an Italian, leave the sea when they could make it back to their bases? “Helm, take us to Gibraltar, best possible speed,” he ordered. “Communications; I want strict communications silence, understand? From now on, we’re hunted animals.”
To all intents and purposes, EUROFOR naval forces in the Mediterranean had ceased to exist.
Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Fall of Warsaw
It is part of the traditional law of war that, in case of a siege, a city may have its food cut off and civilians attempting to escape may be fired upon, even killed, to drive them back to eat up the food. This is cruel to be sure, an “extreme measure” as the U.S. Army's manual on the subject admits.
Warsaw, Poland
Shalenko watched dispassionately as the forces slowly invested the Polish city. Warsaw had once seen two brutal uprisings against the Germans, and the Polish forces had been trickling into Warsaw ever since the first blows had been struck in the war. It actually worked in his favour; the Poles would have thousands of their soldiers trapped neatly in a pocket, which he had surrounded before preparing to reduce it.
Modern war hadn’t changed city-fighting much. The Americans had taken Baghdad easily; they had just been able to walk in with only a handful of causalities. Holding the city had been a different matter. The fight for Qom, in Iran, had rivalled Stalingrad; after the first nuke had detonated, neither side had been interested in showing quarter. Even today, Qom was still partly ruins.
“Ensure that our broadcast continues to go out,” he ordered. The sound of fighting was getting louder; the last thing he wanted was more civilian deaths than he needed. “Inform Nikita that he can begin the offensive as soon as he is ready.”
“Yes, sir,” Anna said.
“Citizens of Poland, this is an emergency announcement,” the voice said, over the radio. “There is a military emergency in progress. Remain in your homes. Do not attempt to interfere. Do not use the telephones, radio transmitters or the Internet. If you require medical assistance, stay calm; help will come to you. Do not disobey this warning. Listen only on this channel for further instructions. There is a military emergency in progress.”