Dominic Conlon - Arctic Firepath

Captain White lifted his head. ‘Very well Thomas. But if it doesn’t work out, just remember what I said.’

Sean planned to join Major Pierce and leave the ship with Khostov. The harsh crackle that boomed through the radio speakers almost drowned the voice. He waved the others away, knowing they needed to get off urgently.

‘…immediately…’

The message seemed to repeat. Sean twiddled with the frequency dial, hoping to catch some more.

‘…begin…’

The static drew Sean in. While the speakers repeated the announcement, he would not leave. He caught one more word the next time round.

‘…will…’

Sean couldn’t explain why, but he knew the message was important.

‘…bombing run…’

Bloody hell!

Sean ran to the lookout post outside the bridge. The skies were grey, the wind gusted strongly, but he still couldn’t see anything. Then he heard the shrill sound of jet engines, coming towards him on full throttle. Barrelling out of the cloud was a single F-35, already screaming for height. Sean watched it cross the ship and disappear into the clouds. A fraction later the bomb hit.

The Joint Air-to-Ground Multi-purpose missile was packed with a lethal shaped-charge capable of penetrating the most advanced armour, and a second delayed detonation blast fragmentation warhead. Although he couldn’t see it, he certainly felt the strike and the secondary explosion. The blast brought a deep rumble inside the mid-section, and the deck plates jumped in sympathy, throwing Sean onto his back.

He crawled to the side and stared out over the water. The first RIB was powering towards the ice.

A thousand questions raced through his mind, not least as to how he was going to get off the ship. Sean smacked the rail in frustration. Why the hell had the Americans decided to bring the bombing run forward?

The program manager experienced a jolt as the bomb landed, and was thrown to the deck. A second later the winch stopped. Dan checked the readout — the motorised winch had registered a stress reading in excess of its specification and had automatically cut out. Dan pressed the reset button helplessly, knowing that the built-in safety feature would prevent a restart for at least ten minutes.

He turned to stare at the ship over his shoulder, searching for the point of impact. He couldn’t find it. The awful realisation that there was nothing more he could do burned a pit at the bottom of his stomach. He whispered a quick prayer for the men below, and ran towards the rail for the last RIB.

In the rescue module both men felt a bump and the PRM stopped its gentle ascent.

‘What was that?’ asked the XO.

‘I don’t know Thomas, but it doesn’t sound good.’

Thomas picked up the handset. ‘Hello, what’s going on?’

There was no reply. ‘Hello, is there anyone there?’

There was no answer.

‘I think they’ve abandoned us,’ said Thomas.

The Captain took the phone from his XO, listened for a few moments and replaced it on the cradle.

Thomas regarded his Captain. ‘Did you hear what I just said? They’ve left us.’

‘Do you remember what I said, Thomas?’ Captain White placed a fatherly hand on Thomas’ shoulder. ‘Just think — nearly all the crew got away. I hope they arrive home safely.’

‘But what about us? You don’t understand my wife. She will go to pieces when she hears about me. And as for Emma and Georgina…’

The Captain noticed Thomas’ eyes moisten. ‘Sit down Thomas. I want to tell you something.’

For a minute they sat in silence, then Captain White began. ‘My children were older than yours. A boy, Peter, and a girl Zara. Peter married when he was thirty. His wife is a lovely girl. We still spend time with her.’

‘What happened to Peter?’

‘Two years after he married he got cancer. His wife was pregnant, and Peter died a year afterwards. I thank God he was able to see his son.’ The Captain sighed. ‘My wife and I spent a lot of time with Elaine and her son. I was granted a year’s leave of absence to do what I could.’

‘I’m really sorry. I knew you had some family difficulties, but I didn’t realise what they were.’

‘The point I’m trying to make Thomas, is this is something we all understand. But we cover it up, pretend it isn’t there. We will all die. But it was very hard when our son died before, well, before us.’

Thomas pulled a tissue out and wiped his eyes. ‘Yes, I see that.’

The Captain inhaled deeply, then breathed out slowly. ‘Right now there is nothing you or I can do to change anything. Now, wouldn’t it be better to go as the men our families know us to be?’

Sean raced into the bridge and around to the radio room at the back. He pressed the radio’s send button.

‘LK-80 to base camp. Cease bombing run. Repeat, stop your bombing run; personnel are still on board.’

He listened as the static filled the space, then repeated the message twice. About to repeat it for a third time, he stopped when he heard a whistling sound. The ship jolted as a second JAGM penetrated the power generation spaces aft of the reactor hall. He felt the deck tilt to starboard. There was no doubt the second bomb had holed the hull.

‘LK-80 to base camp. Cease bombing run. We have been hit and personnel are still on board.’

There was no response. Sean abandoned the radio and ran to the bridge lookout, grabbing a pair of binoculars from the plot table on the way. He scanned the sea; the last RIB was almost at the jetty on the ice. Sean screwed the focus ring, trying to make out who was in the boat. He spotted Major Pierce, Captain Grigori and the program manager Dan.

No-one had thought to check his whereabouts. Now he was marooned on a sinking ship, set to explode in a vast radioactive cloud.

‘Storm Flight 3 to Storm Flight leader!’

The leader of the Russian fighter wing dabbed his microphone button. ‘Report.’

‘Instruments detected an American warplane arming weapons system. I have him on visual.’

‘Give me a running commentary Flight 3 — can you see the target?’

‘He appears to be lining up on the ship.’

‘Not possible, Flight 3. American military vouched they are protecting their base and have no intention to launch an attack. I also confirmed this through military command.’

‘I’m telling you he is beginning an assault! My instruments indicate launch of an air-to-ground missile.’ There was a burst of static. ‘LK-80 has been hit! I repeat, LK-80 has been hit!’

The flight leader’s jaw clenched in a show of disbelief. He turned to his co-pilot sat alongside. ‘Contact the base. Find out what the hell they are playing at!’ Jabbing his mike, he resumed the exchange with Storm Flight 3. ‘Get photos and videos of the action. Keep up a running commentary!’

‘The Lightning has completed the first bombing run. It’s headed into clouds, ascending fast! I’ve lost visual, and my radar is unable to track it.’

‘The American base,’ interjected the co-pilot. ‘They’re saying they received a request to annihilate LK-80 from the Russian specialist on-board. He said the reactor is unstable and they must sink the ship!’

For the second time in as many minutes, the leader of Storm Flight couldn’t believe his ears. He clamped his jaw shut. The Americans plainly thought the Russian pilots were stupid. They were using their superiority in the air to run rings around his squadron. His ear-piece crackled with the next report from Storm Flight 3. ‘A second bomb has been released…impacting mid-ships.’

That was enough for Storm Leader. No matter that his own orders were to hold back, he was now the local commander and had to make his own judgement. Decision made, he jabbed the microphone. ‘Storm leader to Storm Flight. American planes have bombed LK-80. They are playing us for fools. They claimed peaceful intentions, yet they assaulted an unarmed Russian ship!’