Dominic Conlon - Arctic Firepath

Sean slipped out his phone and dashed off a quick txt to DD. Now the official was scrutinising each passport more closely the queue went down more slowly. Five minutes later Sean was almost at the counter, sensing butterflies in his stomach. For a moment he grew angry with himself; Levushka appeared calm, yet the experienced agent escorting him was having kittens.

The man’s eyes widened fractionally as Sean placed his passport on the counter. The official scanned the papers again and regarded Sean and at Levushka standing beside him. Before he could return to his screen, Sean produced three other documents. The first was his entry/exit visa; the second, a power of attorney document signed by Khostov to allow the boy to travel; the third was a copy of his birth certificate showing Khostov was the father. Unhurriedly the official verified the papers and frowned. All three had been crafted by the Section, so there should be no problems with them.

‘Please step to one side.’ The officer stepped out of his cubicle and signalled to the waiting policeman.

Sean looked around. The alert was out and his options were strictly limited. Behind him the column stretched back, and two other guards lounged outside an office. The policeman was nearly here. If Sean attempted to escape with Levushka, they would catch him within seconds.

The phone rang in the cubicle, and the officer ducked inside to answer it. Sean couldn’t hear the conversation. The police officer arrived and stood calmly, surveying Sean and Levushka with an interested expression.

The phone conversation finished and the official examined his monitor. When he came out he spoke rapidly to the policeman. He nodded to Sean and returned to his spot. Sean raised his eyebrows in mute query.

‘I apologise for the interruption Mr. Ingram,’ the official said courteously. ‘You may go — and have a good journey.’

It took another twenty minutes to clear security, but there were no further holdups. When they were through, Sean spotted DD packing up his laptop. Pretending not to know each other, they walked to the gate. When they were in the line, Sean turned to DD.

‘Meet Levushka.’

DD shook hands. ‘Sorry about the scare.’

‘How the hell did you manage it,’ Sean asked quietly.

‘I got a colleague to put a call through on their internal system. He pretended to be one of the senior managers at Passport control. Said that the instructions he had been given were incorrect, and they should ignore them.’

‘As simple as that?’ asked Sean disbelievingly.

‘Well, no. It happens more often than you think, apparently. But we followed it up with an official looking email to his terminal. Once he saw that, he had the authorisation he needed to cover his back.’

‘Bloody hell. Don’t leave it so late next time!’

Platypus Two carried six KAB 500KR missiles which were un-powered glide bombs. Each had a nominal payload of 500 kg of explosive and were designed for small ground targets. In normal conditions the pilot could take out the American base easily, but as if to remind him of the difficulty, the warplane dropped steeply in a down-draft. It was going to be near impossible to bomb the base accurately.

‘I want you to take command of bombing duties,’ he told his co-pilot.

‘Understood. You know our satellite navigation communications link is playing up?’

‘Most probably the storm cell. It looks like ground radar is being affected too.’ A high altitude pass was out of the question, and the pilot began to descend into the clouds. He had a sick feeling in his stomach. With the link down he would have to rely entirely on inertial guidance instrumentation. He steadied the aircraft as best he could. The lower he went the more buffeting the airframe took, until he reached a point where they were being constantly jolted in the high winds. His look-ahead and ground radar were virtually useless.

Through gritted teeth he spoke to his colleague again. ‘For the first run you let three go off at timed intervals, half a second between each.’

‘Understood.’ The co-pilot flipped the arming switches.

‘Get ready.’ The plane continued to shake violently.

The co-pilot studied his instruments and pushed the button. ‘First bombs away!’

They both felt the plane lighten as each bomb left its hardpoint. The pilot pulled the stick up sharply to get above the weather.

The co-pilot checked the fuel level. ‘We’ve exceeded our loiter time.’

‘We’ll have to complete a second run. If we go home with unused ordnance there’ll be hell to pay.’

‘We could ditch them on the way back.’

The pilot shook his head. ‘No. Don’t forget about the armaments control recorder. He turned to regard his colleague seated next to him. ‘This time we’ll approach from a different angle. Also, I want to extend the interval to one second between bombs.’

‘What about the fuel?’

‘We’ll have to pick an alternative airfield.’

They descended through the clouds again. The buffeting was less violent and it was easier to estimate the distance of the American base.

‘Get ready.’

The co-pilot double checked his instruments and pushed the button. ‘Bomb away!’

The aircraft jolted as the missile left its hardpoint.

‘Second bomb away!’

There was a longer pause. A red light blinked on the console. After a second the pilot asked, ‘What’s the holdup?’

The co-pilot checked the readouts frantically. The last bomb still remained on its hardpoint. He toggled the arming switch, then jabbed the firing button again. After a slight hesitation, the bomb released.

‘Bomb away!’

‘Good. Let’s go home.’ The pilot pulled back the stick and set a course for the mainland.

On board LK-80 the freezing rain obscured Captain Grigori’s view of the American base. But the sound of the Russian jet could be heard above the storm. It was turning back. Shortly afterwards he counted three explosions coming from the direction of the base.

They had bombed the Americans! Grigori strove to find the warplane through the mix of sleet and hail, but it was impossible. However, the jet appeared to be turning towards him because the engine noise increased. A minute later he heard another explosion. Thinking that the bombing had finished, he started to make his way to the equipment hatch where he could crawl inside to hide and get warm.

The whole ship lifted up. Smoke and debris hurled upwards in a geyser from the middle deck. Grigori shouted into his radio for the pilot to stop.

‘LK-80 has been hit, repeat, hit!’

‘Get that chief engineer and bring him to me,’ barked Colonel Grey to one of the SEALs. They were in the aft saloon. Alarms rang throughout the ship and the Russian crew were showing signs of agitation. The SEAL dived into the crowd and pulled out Feliks Chayka.

‘We may have to abandon ship,’ said the Colonel. ‘I want you to prepare all Russian hands. You will need to issue life jackets, remove covers from the lifeboats and ensure all your crew are accounted for. They should present themselves to their assigned lifeboat section and be checked off. They should wait there until further orders. The situation is urgent — can you do that?’

‘Yes Colonel. But what about your men?’

‘I will make alternative arrangements for them.’

Feliks wondered what they might be but didn’t have time to ponder. He hurried out to the bridge where he could use the tannoy to warn the crew.

Colonel Grey turned to Major Pierce from the SEAL group. ‘Bring the RIBs alongside the ship. Alert everyone else on board we may have to abandon ship. They should be ready to evacuate immediately I give the order — but not until I give it. Then come back here. Understood?’