FINAL FLIGHT
Jimmy Boom Semtex
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Copyright 2009-11
Jimmy Boom Semtex. All rights reserved. This version 2021.
No part of this
work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without
listing Jimmy Boom Semtex as the author. The only exception is using a single
paragraph for reviewing purposes where the author, Jimmy Boom Semtex, must be
quoted as author and holder of the copyright.
This is a work of
fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either
the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely
coincidental.
FINAL FLIGHT
Harriers hit us
at dawn. Did their job pretty well. Bombed our runway, cratering the tarmac in
a dozen places, killing six ground crew, two aircrew and two officers. Our fuel
truck went-up, too, as did three planes. We can use the grass to fly; we’ll
miss our ground crew, but we can service our own jets. Sacha and his WSO never
got to the shelter. A sad loss, we’ll fight back even harder. Officers, screw
them. Fuelling by hand from 55-gallon drums and hand pump is hard, but what we
train for. Our planes can’t be replaced. Scorched and blasted to bits, like our
lost men. Gone. Time to fly, to hit back against NATO (North Atlantic Treaty
Organisation). Yes, we’ll really screw them over. Everyone to the briefing
tent, including my Annie. She’s my co-pilot, navigator, Weapon System Operator,
and sensor operator. She’s good, that’s why I chose her to be with me in
battle. She is second-to-none – and I’m in love with her, completely. If our
officers knew of our affair, I’d be grounded – she would be transferred at the
least. But, this is war – World War III, to be exact.
We receive a full
briefing considering our field conditions. Our officers are jerks, but good at
their job. Everyone listened, wanting to miss nothing. We all knew some would
die.
---
To our warplanes!
Take the netting off – annoying as it always snags on the eight-blade prop.
Open the cockpit canopy. Annie climbs into her front cockpit to do the
pre-flight check and bring the systems up. I do the walk round checking to see
if anything isn’t as it should be. I get to the weapons and remove the arming
pins. Our loadout is two Brightstar IR (Infra-Red) air-to-air missiles on each
outer wing pylon, two Saffron anti-tank missiles inboard, two Medusa anti-radar
missiles on the inner wing pylons and, to enhance our range, three drop-tanks:
two inboard of the Medusas and a centre line one behind the semi-recessed twin
23mm cannon pack. This Annie armed when I was in the cockpit. Nothing amiss, I
climbed aboard and did my own pre-flight, checked with Annie that everything
was green, then closed the canopy.
Signalling to the
ground crew to remove the power lead, I initiated start-up procedure: six steps
to get our eight-blade prop spinning. Hear the APU (Auxiliary Power Unit) whine
and turn the turboprop over. Noise building, even in my earphones. All okay on
the MFD (Multi-Function Display) showing engine parameters. Move the single
throttle from idle to minimum to max power. Feel our bird come alive. See Annie
busy with her screens. Check to see if she is okay and that our plane is;
switch to encrypted channel and quick clearance to go. Yes! We roll out of our
earth revetment to the grass take-off strip. Why didn’t the Harriers sow denial
weapons? We’d have lost more jets. Full power, away we go, bumping over the
grass past burnt-out planes, to the sky. We are airborne! Climb out at shallow
angle to stay below NATO radar (we don’t believe it, radar has moved on) and
give us maximum surprise.
Our fuel burn is
higher but we are so near the front... I scan my three MFD screens, see we’re
being picked up by NATO radar, so I drop us lower – our radar-absorbing paint
and carbon fibre helps, but death is death. My tension increases.
I see Annie
before me, her head moving from display to display, to her HUD (Heads Up
Display), to look outside and back again. I feel the urge to tell her what she
means to me, that the songs are true. I don’t. I order a new course to our
target. We all fly alone. Good or bad tactics? Historians will discuss this
later, if anyone survives this.
Suddenly, our RWR
(Radar Warning Receiver) comes alive – NATO fighter! I turn into the threat
that my display shows is to my port. I order Annie to turn our ECM (Electronic
Counter Measures) jammer to manual then to auto. Should’ve done it before!
Could be our death! I switch my HUD to dog fight mode and do a series of turns
to check our tail. Clear. There! Sun glinting on a canopy, a flare of flame as
a missile is launched. Heat-seeker this close; dropping chaff to break his
lock, flares to blind his missile. Come on, Annie, jam his radar, be my eyes.
G-force crushes me, my turn takes us to a wing above the ground. Be careful!
Climb, full combat power. Turn, roll, face him. His Sidewinder misses as my
turn is too tight and the missile cannot follow us. BANG! As it detonates
twenty metres away, shockwave from 25 pounds of iron filled with explosives
shakes my plane. A Devil slap, white-hot shrapnel cuts into the right wing, two
neat holes in the carbon fibre skin. I glance at the holes, at my MFD showing
minor damage only, nothing bad, and at the holes again, then at the enemy. I
recognise him as an F-20 Tigershark as she shoots past. NATO’s best fighter
means trouble.
Annie turns our
radar to air-to-air, gives me control of it and our two Brightstar missiles and
wishes me luck as I turn and follow him. Almost out of sight, he arcs around in
a high g-turn to re-attack. My Topaz radar acquires him, I lock him up with my
HOTAS (Hands On Throttle And Stick) controls and I grunt as a green box appears
on my HUD. His coffin, should he enter it. My helmet sights back it up, gives
overkill when my enemy is outside my HUD. I bring our nose up, roll wings level
and speed towards him. Several hundred feet up and climbing, visible to AWACS
(Airborne Warning And Control System) and everyone else scanning heavenwards.
Growl in my ear. Lock-on! F-20 in my helmet sights, just above my HUD. Press
the tit, port Brightstar ignites on a tail of fire, spears away so fast. I half
roll, turn and dive away for the deck. I punch out half-a-dozen flares and
chaff, ignoring the centre MFD and HUD repeater saying that Annie is dispensing
the same damn countermeasures. Close in, our jammers struggle due to his high
power agile radar. The RWR gives bearings on two search radar. SAMs (Surface to
Air Missile). More dangerous than any F-20 – hidden death from below. Cutting
it fine, I dive us below tree level, roll into a valley and safety. Our RWR
goes black. Glancing around and above, I see a brief explosion over a hill. Did
we get him or did he evade our missiles, like we did his – just? Ground warning
horn blaring – ten feet limit! I pull-up around fallen boulders, turn around
valley sides, follow a winding path. In my element, I lift my wing as the horn
goes off again. Annie shouts her curses at me, the war...
Recklessly, I
scream at her, my Annie who’d die if I push instead of pull the stick. Who I’d
never let anyone else have – like my plane. I killed the damn horn, pushed my
control stick and we headed lower. Five feet above level ground, she screams in
terror, startling me. I pull-up over a boulder as big as a tank. Glancing at my
mirror, I see dust kicked up by my prop-wash. I let our nose rise, kick full
right rudder and snap-roll in the valley. Scream my love for Annie, who turns
to look at me in terror, some loose black hair twirling with the g-force. She
sees my wicked grin and returns it, briefly. I level off as the valley dies
out. Annie curses me, says she loves me for always, that I’m the best pilot. I
smile. This is as close to marriage as we could get.
---
Hell! Armoured
column! Tanks passing under us. No radar. I line-up to fire my 23mm cannon, see
shells strike a tank without harm. Another. Too much top-armour. Troop carrier.
Quick correction – got him! Light armour smashed by my explosive and armour
piercing shells. I smile at the thought of NATO troops being blown to bits,
burned alive and killed. Annie brings up ground scan on the radar, tells me
what I can already see: thirty-plus vehicles on one narrow road; now SAM or
antiaircraft defence as the RWR was blank. I fire at another APC (Armoured
Personnel Carrier). Ordered Annie to lock-up a tank with a Saffron missile on
our next pass. At full throttle, I open the air-breaks, turn on a wing and
shoot back down the line. Annie smoothly talks herself through her act,
launches. I felt the kick back as our port anti-tank missile left the rail.
Down it went to kill a Challenger tank in one go. Soon, our other Saffron did
the same, another tank and crew dead. What a run! Better than any training
exercise, any day! Around again with guns blazing, searching-out troop carriers
that stop to try and save their men. I get one kill, another damaged before my
ammo runs out. Annie calls up the squadron and army tank-killing choppers to
come to the party. We head-back to base.
---
Mission almost
over, quick exhilaration of battle leaves me tired. Annie snaps me out of my
reverie as we change course. My IFF (Identification Friend or Foe) gives off
friendly signals as Annie tells me Major Topol, our CO (Commanding Officer),
has congratulated us on the tank find. He is inbound to attack, coordinating
with two other of our planes. Two others had used all their ammo on pre-set
targets, they RTB (Return To Base). We had already lost one jet with crew
missing. Annie made it clear that it was so nearly us, I stopped her. I am a
better pilot than what-was-his-name? The new guy from Kirov. Newbies die first.
Still, my two years on Sukhoi Su-25s in Afghanistan had taught me well. I was
hit by small arms fire nine times, lost an engine to a Stinger and struggled
back in a dying jet. There weren’t many 25s then, I was honoured by my CO but
that meant little when I saw my comrades die every week. Then I learnt to hate
officers, transferred out of the war to the new Aeroprogress training centre on
the new Sukhoi T.720B attack fighter. My combat experience was needed due to
their new design being ready to be shipped to the war. We spent two years
deciding what worked, what didn’t. A guerrilla war was nothing for what we
planned for: the full takeover of Western Europe by force. I was shocked when I
learnt the truth, but I had expected it. NATO had sabre-rattled against our
front line re-equipment. Our new T.720B was just such a weapon, along with attack
choppers like our Mil 28 and Kamov 52, our MiG 29 and Sukhoi 27 multirole
fighters, our Tupelov 22M3 and Tupelov 160 nuclear bombers. Not to mention the
nuclear missiles for if – and when – NATO responded. We had new tanks, APCs and
all the other equipment we would need. As the T.720B was a two-seater, I was
crewed with Annie to show her what tactical fighting was all about. Falling
in-love wasn’t part of the plan, our secret and ours alone. Now we needed one
another like never before. It was total war.
---
Suddenly, our RWR
came alive with three ground radars searching for us. Immediately one locked-on
to us, warning tone changing from a mesmerising sound like a bird to an evil
report that I turned down. A second had got intermittent lock. We, me and Annie,
talked, planned. Climbing so we popped-up permanently on their scopes, we
turned our jammer to manual. Annie gently found their frequency, told the
computer to follow any shifts and jammed them every three seconds, on a low
power setting. We didn’t have long before a Roland SAM came after us. Now! Annie ordered. She
launched our port Medusa in hunter-killer mode, down the NATO radar beam. He
would be hit, even if silent. He emitted and died, data linked to us before
impact confirmed a hard-kill. Annie launched our last offensive weapon at
another site; this was further and launched two Roland SAMs on our tail. I got
us in the weeds; Annie dumped countermeasures and jammed them. Rolling and
turning over flat fields at 500 knots was fast but not Mach 3 like a Roland. I
checked my fuel on my MFD; time to drop our wing tanks. Jolt as they fell free,
our centre one will follow when empty. Speed 550 now, no indication of a
hard-kill. Both Rolands go whizzing off our track, ballistic. We got past them!
Just one IR missile left, better take no chances. Got our map up on my centre
MFD, check with Annie for best course. Fuel is okay but combat must be avoided.
On our encrypted
radio something comes through. NATO just went tactical with nukes! Annie
swears. This is it – they did it, pushed the button. More orders, Annie patches
them to me. In code. I go white. All planes RTB to re-fuel and re-arm with
tactical nuclear weapons. No words said, just a code sequence unique to each
surviving plane. Target data discs would be given when we landed, our bombs
loaded with engine running. Hot refuelling. Annie already gave me the two best
ways back. I take the fastest. NATO troops fire small arms at us, red tracer
arcs past us, missing. Jinking around trees and low hills we come to base. I
send our code word and slow to land. A fast blur distracts me. No! Annie!
Whiteness.
---
Bio
Jimmy Boom Semtex
is into many things. Writing is one. His varied work includes poetry, prose and
stories on a variety of topics. Erotica like his Fire Extinguisher Man series,
poetry on current world events, horror stories and more besides. Jimmy loves
getting tattooed, listening to alternative music, drinking beer and living a
simple but fulfilling life. Check his blogs out. He's working on new erotic
stories and a poetry collection. His writing career is diverse and so are the
authors/poets/writers he’s collaborated with.
https://nickgoth555.wixsite.com/website
https://jimmyboomsemtex.blogspot.com/
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