Dominic Conlon - Arctic Firepath

He switched to the plane’s internal net and spoke to his co-pilot. ‘Contact base. Inform them what has happened. Tell them we are retaliating.’ He clicked the microphone on his headset.

‘Storm leader to Storm Flight. Take the American warplanes out of the sky!’

Flight leader manoeuvred to gain height and engaged his weapons systems.

Sean ran to the other side of the ice-breaker, searching for any means of escape. He used the binoculars to scan the surrounding seas, hoping for some kind of flotsam he might use. There was nothing but the iron steely waves. Perhaps there was something he could throw overboard? He began to hunt in the nearby cabins.

A minute later he became resigned to his fate. He looked out again across the Arctic sea as the freezing wind burned his skin. His graveyard would be this harsh landscape. He had come a long way and survived many life-threatening events in his career. Whenever he contemplated death he imagined it would be quick, at the hands of an assassin or a sniper’s bullet. He always believed he would die in the dirt or a gutter somewhere far from home, but never in such a strangely beautiful place.

He turned back to the ship, unwilling to give up just yet. As he crossed Bridge Deck 4, he paused opposite the double doors of the reactor control room. Something about the entrance and the room that lay beyond gave him the shivers. A sixth sense made him stop and approach. The doors stood slightly ajar and he pushed them open and peered in.

Bright lights illuminated a figure bent over one of the control room panels.

‘Khostov?’

The man jerked upright and twisted around. ‘Sean. I’m glad to see you.’

‘Why the hell didn’t you leave?’

‘I told them I needed to try and contain the core.’

A loud rumble sounded somewhere deep within the superstructure.

‘And can you?’

‘No.’ Khostov breathed the word so quietly Sean hardly heard him.

‘Was there ever anything else you could have done?’

Slowly Khostov shook his head.

‘Then why did you stay?’

‘I felt I had to. I designed the safety circuits.’

‘But you have a boy, waiting for you back in England.’

‘And you have a girlfriend. Yet you’re still here.’

A moment of utter understanding passed between them. Sean sympathised with Khostov’s desire for atonement, but another roar from the guts of the ship interrupted them. The floor tilted, wrenching his thoughts to the present. ‘We have to get off.’

‘What about the lifeboats?’

‘All gone.’

‘The American RIBs?’

‘Gone.’

‘Contact the Americans. Let them know we need assistance. Perhaps they might send a helicopter over to take us off?’

‘I tried the radio, but I can’t reach them.’

‘Then we are lost.’

As if to emphasise their predicament the deck lurched with the impact of a third JAGM, closely followed by a deafening blast from the delayed secondary explosive.

The leader of Sentinel Flight stared at his instruments in horror. They were lit up like a Christmas tree. ‘Sentinel One to Sentinel Flight. We are under attack! Take evasive action. Do not fire back!’

He yanked the stick up savagely, and the g-forces began to drain blood from his head. Breathing quickly in his mask, he knew that if he didn’t get enough oxygen in the next few seconds he would lose consciousness. Normally this would not be critical for a short time, but he needed to keep his situational awareness intact. He pulled the stick back further and the airframe clawed the cold air for height. Right now the aircraft was vertical, acting just like a rocket, powering upwards towards thinner atmosphere.

He clicked his mike. ‘Base, we are under attack. Get all our assets up in the air! Use whatever you have to keep the Russians from bombing the airfield. If one bomb damages the runway, we are done.’

An insistent bleep started, and he observed several air-to-air missiles released by the Russian warplanes. He checked to confirm his Electronic Counter Measures was engaged. Now he would find out for real just how good the electronics were.

He rolled out of the ascent less than a minute after pulling the stick back. From a height of 60,000 feet, he studied the Barracuda electronics warfare package. The suite overlaid radar with infra-red tracking functions and electronic countermeasures, providing an aerial map of the battle below.

It was a complex and fast moving picture. The two squadrons of MiG-29s were the biggest threat; they had almost the same operational ceiling, but a smaller combat radius. As a short range fighter, they would have to leave the stage early. But what made the plane interesting was their ability at infra-red tracking. The R-73/AA-11 air missiles they carried were linked to the pilot’s helmet-mounted sights, meaning they would not need to use radar to key in a target — they could do that more quickly and simply by looking at it.

The pilot was less worried about the squadron of Su-24M. Although the Russian plane was faster, the F-35 supplied a better acceleration and a much higher ceiling. He realised that his big advantage — the F-35’s low visibility to radar and infra-red — had already been lost. By putting distance between his team and the Russian’s, he hoped to bring the advantage back into play. The MiGs were much more visible on radar, which would enable Sentinel squadron to get a shot off before the MiGs could re-acquire them.

The Russians had already loosed air-to-air missiles, and Sentinel leader caught an F-35 on the scope on its way down. He thumbed the microphone on the Russian’s frequency. ‘Storm Flight, break off your engagement. DO NOT FIRE!’

Another track arched across his visor, indicating the Russians had fired another missile. They must be deliberately ignoring his order. ‘Break off, break off. You are not under attack.’

The co-pilot clicked his mike. ‘Captain, Base says Storm flight saw us bombing the ship. They think we started the attack.’

‘Understood.’ The Captain clicked the mike to broadcast on the Russian frequency. ‘Storm Flight, break off your attack. We were directed to sink LK-80 by your own advisor. The ship’s reactor is about to explode. We were tasked to sink LK-80 to minimise the fallout. I repeat, break off your attack. LK-80 is being sunk at the request of your nuclear physics expert.’

For a second there was a lull in the fighting. Then the Captain saw a red trail in his visor.

The Russians had fired again.

‘That’s it,’ muttered Sean.

‘What?’ queried Khostov.

‘The helicopter, you talked about a bloody helicopter. It may be still there.’

Sean recalled seeing the machine while Khostov was attending the reactor. It seemed such a long time ago, but was probably less than an hour. Major Pierce had brought him on a quick tour of the ship and Sean glimpsed it tethered at the aft end of the bow deck. In all the excitement he believed someone would have flown it to base, but he couldn’t see the deck because the reactor hall was in the way.

‘Come on!’ Sean grabbed Khostov and pushed him towards the door. They staggered as an explosion ripped through LK-80, coming from the steam turbine or power generation area. Sean pushed him through the doors and they raced down the companionway to the bow deck. Emergencies were wonderful for showing where a person’s priorities really lay, thought Sean. Khostov’s strapped ankle didn’t seem to be holding him back at all.

Already seawater slopped over the steel plates. Immediately Sean felt the numbing cold as it soaked his boots. He continued to pull Khostov after him. Although the man possessed the same sense of urgency, he was too slow to be left to his own devices.