i wrote this in 2004 or so... this will happen...
KAHLIA AKASHA ISFAHAN NUCLEAR STRIKE
(Please play "I don’t feel like dancing" by the Scissor Sisters.)
We painted my lovely warplane white for our deadly strike on our enemy, Iran. After Iran kidnapped 12 British military personnel and damaged a destroyer, the nod was given. Act on the No1 enemy's No 1 target – Isfahan, a city of a million, numerous military targets, an airbase and the infamous nuclear facility – a real bomb factory. We painted her white after much preparation, with special radar-absorbent stealth paint. Faint red soviet stars in the usual places, wings, tail, fuselage. Red bort number 666, we acted for the devil. We sweated, we fucked, we got drunk, we ate and slept by the plane. We got the single thermonuclear bomb from an abandoned bunker in East Germany – an electronics package to let bomb and jet talk, removal of the twin barrel 30mm underfuselage cannon to house the bomb semi-recessed, new computer software to allow blind bombing at night/bad weather linked to the autopilot, four practise missions, additional weapons and a re-paint was all it took. Now the mission was for real.
We took off on mission from our secret base on the edge of Oldham. We bought the single runway at a discount rate, along with our prop jet fighter. I met my partner online, on an old pen-pal site, now long hacked. She loved planes and war like I did. The rest is history. Here we were on the runway; she did the cockpit checks, armed the bomb, checked our other weapons, fuel status and other systems. Climb out was gentle to save fuel, throttle set to cruise, altitude increased in steps to 50,000ft. No rush at a steep angle, just slight nose up to our angelic height. We would be shielded from any radar by our stealth paint, low radar profile, height and route round all radars – both enemy and friendly.
I looked out at the ground below, towns all lit up in the clear night air. A view for miles, leaving the northwest of England, towns of Oldham, Ashton, Rochdale and Manchester. Out over the North Sea, over mainland Europe. By autopilot, but I couldn’t sleep. From my rear cockpit, I watched my gal, my love. She checked systems, radar, infra-red, weapons, avionics. Radar blips of airliners ten thousand feet below us showed on my radar repeater. Looking out and down, I could see two jet planes on separate headings, vapour trailing, nav lights blinking. A pretty site. No trouble from NATO radar or anyone else. We weren't there, invisible. An interception by a fast jet would be a challenge to evade. If, say, a Hungarian Gripen scrambled after they picked us up, could we escape? If he went at supersonic low level, he could zoom climb to get us, for he was twice as fast. Had Amraam missiles with forty mile kill range and could shoot four at once! We could jam his radar, his missile radars, drop chaff decoys, use our greater agility and our stealth. It would only take one missile to hit us. If we evaded three, one was still all it would take. We would fire back with our bright star short range dog fight missiles, our axe head medium range weapons, or dive to ground level, make him hit the ground. Or run him out of fuel. It never happened over Hungary or anywhere else, our technology was our cloak. We would fight if we had to, over Iran almost definitely. To do our evil work, anything goes. We both knew this.
The Iranian coast came up. My gal passed radar control to me, air to air to sweep ahead for any enemy fighters on combat air patrol, training missions or scrambling up after us. We were ready. I had two short and two medium range missiles to kill any brave Iranian stupid to stop us. We had four drop tanks inboard of our missiles. These would be jettisoned when empty. Red light flashed – last two tanks empty. I dropped them over the coast, our first gift to Iran. Soon we would unleash the sun. Our speed increased, less drag. My lover calmly alerted me to two search radars ahead, below us. One to each side. We ghosted past, stealth cloaking us like a rapist hunting his prey. No lock on as we passed; any blip they got from us would be seen as an anomaly.
I gently pushed the single throttle forwards to reach our attack speed – 610mph. Our top speed with half weapon load. I climbed slowly to use our speed for height. We slowed in the thin upper air, hardly enough to give lift. Engine power pushed us forth, up to 53,524ft. It was the maximum height that we could fly level. Nothing could touch us. More radars searching below us, a great web of electronic eyes many miles apart. Short, medium, long range. All to detect the enemy, be it Israel, America, Britain or another, us, doing covert work for the Brits. In a Soviet warbird.
There! A group of blips on the screen!
No missile trails or launch warnings, just the problem radars. We had no anti-radar weapons; we needed more air-to-air than anti-radar missiles. The threat was more deadly. We started to leave the radar group behind. Our jamming denied them more than the shortest lock. It was enough, though. Our own radar picked up rising airborne targets – Iranian fighters. I locked up the four most dangerous closest jets. All I had to do was click my trigger on the stick or lock my helmet site to fire if time was short. Distance and time to target unwound in my head’s up display. Jammers switched to air-to-air.
Missile range coming up, now! I confirmed with my gal, then launched one medium range weapon. It glared like a demon, spearing down into the dusk sky. On my scope our axe head missile merged with plane. A distant flash – nothing. Five other Iranian jets turned away, shocked by my first blood. They'd be back.
We changed course. Isfahan was ten minutes away. My gal armed our single one-megaton nuclear bomb. All in the green. Here we go, countdown on my screen. Bomb drop will be automatic but my lover and I will ghost it, both press the red button just to make sure. Our most intimate act. Fuck! Enemy jets coming back, three to port, four to starboard. Classic sandwich tactic. My weapons outrange them but we only have one BVR missile. I’ll hit the group to our left! Here we go – missile away! Range closing, they’re going supersonic. Close the gap. Ready, our two bright star weapons, the Soviets’ best close range weapon. I drop chaff and flares, set jammers to auto. Talk to my gal. Okay? Yes. Glad to be here? Yes, wouldn't be anywhere else.
Here we go, their mid-range weapons speed to us. Most fired blind, their dated air-to-air radars just can’t see us. Our tech is better than theirs. Bang! My axe head blows an Iranian Sukhoi to kingdom come. Four missiles from the left jets, five to the right. Only one of the latter guide, with a faint lock on. Chaff decoys it, jamming takes care of their radar. I turn sharply to port – my entrance to Isfahan is there. Locking up my two heat seekers by infra-red, I have two more kills. Steady, wait for five mile range – one away, two away. Straight and level through any remaining fighters. No need to turn, to pursue them. We outfought them in level flight by our technology. In a dogfight we had the best plane ever built. I see my two missiles hit home – only one left.
We shoot past the last jet, drop decoys to stop any missiles fired by the others. For some reason there was none. We were one our own. A walk in the park. Two minutes to go. Nothing would stop us. We are ready, last checks, our last weapon ready. We had four kills, a million more would follow. See it now, industrial haze, faint street plan, big buildings, grey against the brown desert, straight line of the nearby Mig airfield and the main target - Isfahan nuclear facility. Queen of the Iranian bomb program, where they built the weapon used on the Jews. Israel held back, for World War III would follow their revenge. We acted for them all.
Shit! Surface to air missile launched, one after the other. Launched blind or by infra-red, can see the dust kicked up and light of the rocket engines. Now multiple search radars lighting up, to guide the missiles. Jamming now, chaff, flares released, gently weave my jet in the thin upper air to add to the confusion. Multiple explosions far below, medium height stuff. We are too high. Just two reach our height, missing on a ballistic trajectory. Now level flight, wings level. 5,4,3,2,1 – bomb away!
My finger and my gal’s finger follow up auto release. Two minutes to detonation height of five thousand feet above Isfahan city centre. Everything in 15 miles would be destroyed, city, airbase, nuke site. A million plus dead and injured. More missiles, all ballistic. Not a single lock on, we did it!
Turn to escape heading, stay high to be safe for we were unarmed now. Our speed 630, our maximum. We would feel a moderate shockwave. Nothing more. We could have gone in low level but flak would have been a danger, as well as high fuel burn.
Flash! Whiteness, the touch of God. We did it! Targets destroyed. Time to go home...
