“Radar lock confirmed,” both pilots answered almost simultaneously.
“Okay,” Hunter said. “Visual will be in about twenty seconds. I count about thirty choppers. Some of them are gunships, probably Hinds and maybe even a couple Havocs. Others might be carrying troops. They might even be dispatched from Lucifer’s fleet ships. I’m sure they are coming to investigate what the hell happened to their comrades.”
“I’ve got a visual, major!” one of the Harrier pilots called out.
Hunter looked to the southeast just in time to see the thirty specks riding out of the clouds.
“Just as I thought,” he called to the Harriers. “Hind gunships escorting troop carriers. Okay, let’s meet them halfway. Remember, those Hinds are bad news with their nose cannons, and the Havocs might be outfitted with Aphid air-to-air missiles.”
With that, the two Harriers and the F-16 formed up into a triangle pattern and streaked toward the incoming chopper force. Hunter put his hand to his left breast pocket as he was wont to do before going into battle. The reassuring folds of the American flag and Dominique’s photo were still there.
The Commodore’s three yachts were thirty miles into the Canal when they spotted their first Soviet mines …
They had been moving very slowly down the waterway after encountering the gunboats. Just twenty minutes before, they had seen a large force of helicopters — Russian helicopters — pass right over them. They were heading towards either Cairo or Giza, but they didn’t pay any mind to the yachts.
“Screw you, you bastards!” the Commodore had yelled up at them, all the while waving at the aircraft as if he were a friendly native.
Once the Commodore was certain no one could see them, he had put six of the UDT swimmers into the water. They were acting as point men — scanning the waters ahead of the yachts, their eyes peeled for mines.
Now they had found what they were looking for.
“How many?” the Commodore asked the leader of the UDT swimmers as he surfaced next to the lead yacht.
“At least one hundred,” the frogman answered. “More than enough for our purposes.”
“Deo gratias!” the Commodore said with a slap of his side. “But can you disarm them quickly?”
“It will take the rest of my men and some Aussies in two rubber boats,” the diver said. “But then we are talking about an hour’s work.”
“Then go to it!” the Commodore said excitedly. “I will get your other men in the water as well as the Aussies.”
The man slid beneath the surface once again, leaving a trail of air bubbles breaking the surface.
The Commodore checked his watch. It was almost 0900. He had just an hour to fulfill this first part of his mission. Then he would have to get back out of the Canal and start phase two.
He raised his eyes toward heaven. They had been lucky so far. “Please, Father,” he whispered. “Remember us today … ”
The S-A3 continued to circle the port of Alexandria, its elaborate cameras clicking away.
“We’ve got enough film for three more passes,” Gump reported to the pilot, E.J.
“Okay,” the Aussie pilot said. “Let’s drop down a hair, mate, and try for some closeups.”
The recon airplane had been flying way up — at nearly 70,000 feet — for nearly a half hour. Now it slowly slipped down and leveled off at 62,000.
Their target was the Soviet sub base installed at the Egyptian base. Through the jet’s long-range telescopic camera lens, Gump had counted at least thirty subs of all sizes and configurations, docked out in the open in the port.
The city of Alexandria itself had been long ago abandoned — its ordinary citizens had either sailed or trekked across to Algeria months before. The richer ones had flown out. They were the first of the cavalcade that had descended on Casablanca airport, avoiding the war they knew was to come. Just when the Russians had moved in was anyone’s guess. But the subs posed a significant threat not only to the Saratoga flotilla, but also to the ships of The Modern Knights — should they ever arrive.
But the problem was, the men of the Saratoga couldn’t afford a battle with the Soviet subs right now. They had to marshal all the energy and reserves for the battle that lay ahead in the Canal.
That’s why these photos of Alexandria were so important.
Five minutes into the swirling air battle, Hunter had personally shot down five helicopters. The Harriers had accounted for three more each. But, as the allied pilots were soon to find out, this would be a numbers game. Despite their victories, there were still nineteen enemy choppers to contend with.
Hunter had decided to concentrate on the troop-carrying Mi-14 Haze-A helicopters first. He methodically pumped four Sidewinders into their loose formation, downing three of them and causing a half-dozen of their comrades to quickly execute 180-degree turns and head off in the direction from which they had come. That’s when Hunter went after the Hind gunships that had pressed on, trying to get to the pyramid.
Meanwhile the Brits were facing off against the potentially troublesome Havocs …
The small choppers, about the size of a US AH-64 Apache attack copter, were quick, maneuverable, and outfitted with the Aphid missile — a Soviet equivalent to the Sidewinder. If there was a helicopter in the world that could give most jet fighters a run for their money, it was the Mi-28 Havoc.
But, like the F-16, the Harriers were not ordinary jet fighters …
On first confronting the Havoc, the two jets immediately went into their “vectoring” or hover mode. The two Havocs did the same. For a moment it looked like an Old West gunfight was shaping up — the two Havocs in the black hats squaring off against the two Harriers in the white hats.
The standoff lasted almost a minute — an eternity in the middle of a battle. But then it was the Havocs that blinked first. One of their pilots let off a short burst of cannon fire. The two Harriers — both pilots highly trained and in sync with each other — instantly lowered their airplanes to avoid the volley. In doing so, they were able to get cannon shots of their own at the unprotected belly of the choppers. One Havoc took a full Harrier burst on its tail. The punctures vibrated the rear of the enemy aircraft so much, the tail rotor snapped off in an instant of smoke and flame. Scratch one Havoc …
Meanwhile the other Havoc had climbed, banked, and then turned towards the hovering British fighters, firing two Aphids in rapid succession, hoping the missiles would home in on the VTOL jet exhaust. No such luck. This time, the Harrier pilots simply jumped up and out of the way of the deadly rockets. Then, quickly, both jets turned and fired long, accurate volleys at the helicopter. When the smoke cleared, there was nothing left of the Russian chopper but a rapidly falling cloud of burning metal cinders.
Now the games were over. No more face-offs. The Harriers put the thrusts back on forward and tore into the remaining choppers.
Meanwhile, Hunter was systematically battling the Hind gunships. He had lowered his flaps and his landing gear to slow down enough to fire on the copters with his Sidewinders. Many of the remaining troop-carrying choppers, after seeing the F-16 twist and turn about their loose formation, opted to land and disgorge their troops. This tactic put the friendly troops taking cover inside the pyramid in imminent danger.
The Soviet reinforcements started moving towards the Cheops monument, already drawing fire from the outnumbered Moroccans. Hunter dove in and strafed the Soviets, expending the last of his cannon ammo in three passes. The action served to delay the Russian advance — but not by much, he knew. He had to call in the Harriers to strafe the advancing troops.
While this was happening, the surviving Soviet Hinds began a curious tactic: the copters circled the pyramid in both directions, firing down on the troops hiding near the entrance. Again, it looked like a scene from the Old West — this time, the old Indians-surrounding-the-wagons ploy. One Harrier, seeing the situation, backed off from the strafing operation, climbed, then screeched down out of the clouds and stationed itself, in a hovering mode, right over the entrance.