Gordon Stevens - Kara’s Game

Assuming the UN sanction the action.

Jovan was slightly hotter. Kara wiped his forehead and talked to him about what they would do when the summer came and how he and she and his father would walk in the hills and pick the berries and the apples.

The shells and the mortars were still coming in. ‘Roof of UNMO building has just received a direct hit,’ MacFarlane reported on the secure net.

‘Serbian authorities have been informed of request for air strike,’ he was informed. ‘UN procedures in operation. Thunder One on cockpit readiness.’ The pilot in the cockpit and the engines running.

Perhaps he had become accustomed to the sound of the shelling, Janner thought, perhaps it was the temperature. The air cut through his lungs and the cold crept into his body. Two hours to go, he told himself, two hours before the Jaguar zipped over the valley and bombed the shit out of the bastards shelling the town. Two hours before he and Max could crawl out of the OP and join the others in the base position. Not that the base was any warmer than the OP, not that they would risk heating any food there.

It was all a game, of course. The Serbs were calling the UN bluff by not responding to the request to stop the shelling, and in just under two hours now the UN would call the Serbian bluff by taking out the guns in the hills.

The sky was a thin blue and the temperature was plummeting. God how he wanted something hot, Finn thought. Ninety minutes to go before the air strike. The Boss would have talked to both the UN and NATO by now, and the wheels would be rumbling, the pilots already briefed.

Jovan was going to vomit. Kara knew by the way he was holding his stomach and clenching his jaw. She held him in her lap, the bowl in her hand. Probably the food, she told herself, probably because she had put too much potato and carrot in, and he wasn’t used to it. The jet of liquid shot from his mouth. ‘It’s all right, my little one.’ She wiped the saliva from his lips. ‘Now you’ll feel better.’

The air strike was sixty minutes away, assuming the UN procedure took two and a half hours. ‘Another round near UNMO HQ,’ MacFarlane reported. ‘Constant incoming, no cessation.’

‘AWACS in position.’ The Airborne Warning and Control System aircraft sitting high above them. ‘Thunder One on sling shot.’ The Jaguar waiting at the end of the runway.

The sky and the air had the awesome clarity of winter. ‘Forty-five minutes,’ Janner whispered, half to himself and half to Max. ‘Wonder whether Belgrade’s told the bastards on the guns.’

Jovan’s temperature was rising, the sweat was breaking on his forehead and his breathing was slightly shallow. ‘Where’s it hurting?’ Kara asked him. She undid his coat and gently felt his stomach, then his abdomen, to the right and lower. ‘There, Mummy.’ He jerked away in pain.

Thirty minutes to go – Janner counted down.

‘Mission approved,’ he and Finn were informed on the secure net. ‘Confirm laser coding.’ To ensure that the pilot received the correct target positioning.

‘Charlie Two Two. Laser coding confirmed. Over.’ Janner on burst, the transmission lasting a millisecond.

‘Charlie Two One. Confirmed. Over.’ Finn.

The guns pounded again

‘Thunder One airborne,’ the FAC and UNMO teams were informed.

‘Confirm you are still in danger,’ MacFarlane was requested.

‘Confirmed.’

So what was she going to do? Kara held Jovan close and rocked him gently. Try to get him to the medical centre in Maglaj new town, which would mean running the risk of the snipers in the daylight and the guns even in the dark? Or stay here and pray the fever didn’t develop and the pain went away?

The guns were still pounding.

‘Thunder One over Adriatic,’ the FAC and UNMO teams were informed. ‘Thunder One crossing coast. Thunder One over Bosnian air space.’

‘Magic Five Five.’ The Jaguar pilot to the communications AWACS. ‘This is Thunder One entering the area.’

‘Roger, Thunder One. This is Magic Five Five. You are cleared to contact Charlie Two One and Charlie Two Two.’

‘Charlie Two One. This is Thunder One. Radio check.’

Thank God, Finn and Janner thought.

‘Roger, Thunder One. This is Charlie Two One. Loud and clear.’

‘Charlie Two Two. This is Thunder One. Radio check.’

‘Roger, Thunder One. This is Charlie Two Two. Loud and clear. Check position.’

‘This is Thunder One. Now thirty miles south of Maglaj.’ The Jaguar travelling at a mile every six seconds and losing altitude for the run-in.

‘Roger, confirm target position,’ Janner requested.

The first target – Janner’s target – was camouflaged in a yard at the side of two houses, both empty except for the gun crews.

‘Target as briefed.’

‘Okay, Thunder One.’ Janner switched on the laser marker. ‘Lima on.’

The pilot saw the cross in the HUD, the head-up display, the L to the right indicating the laser was operating. He checked the code and selected the rocket on the weapons panel.

Four miles and twenty-four seconds out. Cross and L in HUD – he checked automatically. Everything okay.

Can’t see target but I can see buildings, he thought.

The ground was a hundred feet below and he was following the course of the valley.

Three miles and eighteen seconds out.

I can see two buildings where the target should be, he thought.

Two miles and twelve seconds.

I can’t see any guns. I can only see two houses.

One mile and six seconds.

Kara heard the thunder. What is it, Jovan asked. I don’t know, she told him.

‘Aborting run. No target in sight. I can only see two houses.’ He was already a mile past the target.

‘Yeah,’ he heard the man on the ground. ‘The guns are camouflaged in a yard to your left of the houses.’ And you should have known that, because it was on my report. Except somewhere along the line somebody forgot to tell you.

‘Okay, Charlie Two Two. Coming round again. With you in forty seconds.’

‘Okay, Thunder One. Lima on.’

In the winter light, the sun glinted on the laser sight.

‘Thunder One. This is Magic Five Five.’ The command and control AWACS. ‘Are you task complete?’

The Jaguar was five miles and thirty seconds from the target.

‘Negative, Magic Five Five. This is Thunder One. Will be in thirty seconds.’

‘Thunder. This is Magic. Abort. Abort.’

The Jaguar was four miles and twenty-four seconds out.

Christ, the pilot thought. ‘Magic, confirm mission abort and reason.’ Because someone – somehow – might be playing silly buggers.

Three miles and eighteen seconds.

At the head of the valley the sun glinted again on the laser sights.

‘Thunder One. This is Magic Five Five. You are to abort. I time authenticate Whisky Juliet.’

Each operation was coded for such a situation, the code changed every two minutes. The pilot checked the authentication code. ‘Confirm reason for abort,’ he asked.

Two miles and twelve seconds out.

‘Thunder One. This is Magic Controller. Just fucking abort.’ Meaning how the hell do I know?

One mile and six seconds.

In the house Kara heard the thunder again. Listen, she told Jovan. The planes are coming to stop the guns. The planes are coming to save us.

‘Charlie Two One and Two. This is Thunder One.’ The Jaguar was past the target and climbing hard above the hills to the north.

What the hell is this? Janner wondered.

What the hell’s going on? Finn almost swore.

‘Bad news. Just been told to abort the mission.’

‘Why?’

‘Sorry. Have to exit area. Good luck.’

Because the negotiators in Vienna have said they were on the verge of a breakthrough, so do nothing to rock the boat, Janner thought. He waited for the next salvo from the hills. One minute, two, three.