PROLOGUE
“Scramble Scramble Scramble!”
The call came at the start of the shift. For Captain Brad Jones and his crew,
every trip into combat began with those three words and a siren, now yowling
over the desert airfield. Barely seven minutes later, Brad guided his AH-64E Apache gunship into
the air. In the front of the tandem cockpit, Brad’s friend, Gunner Chuck
Willows, sat at the controls of the Target Acquisition and Designation
System.
This was a mission they had flown several times; racing to the scene
of an ambush to take out a Taliban position.
“Be advised, we have a small arms fire report and three explosions.”
The voice of Joe Blake, Detachment Command back in the Tactical Operations
Centre, crackled in Brad’s ear. “And there are two civilian journalists
embedded with the platoon.”
“Copy that.” Two miles out from the target, Brad flew the Apache
above the bed of a dried up wadi. Lower than much of the surrounding
countryside, he knew it would be invisible to the enemy until the last possible
moment. The ground flashed by, a herd of goats fled in terror and a small boy
waved a stick at the helicopter.
Tomorrow’s enemy, thought Brad as he banked to the left, following the dry
water course.
“Half a mile, Captain.” Chuck called out the range to target.
“Going visual.” Brad eased up the Apache to a hundred feet. Ahead,
he saw smoking ruins of an Afghan compound sheltering the American patrol and
the flash of gunfire from insurgents on other side of the valley.
“This is Crazy Horse One Seven, we have forty individuals with
weapons, two hundred meters from the compound, over.” reported Chuck to
Command, reading the screens.
“Crew, we have personnel west of your position, over.” replied
Command.
“We have visual on the target. No strobes. Repeat, no strobes.
Confirm position of friendlies, over.”
“Roger that. Friendlies going green, over.”
Moments later,
clouds of luminous green smoke billowed up from the compound. Smoke grenades.
“Copy that Command, we have visual on the friendlies. Be advised
we’re gonna set up an inbound run, over.” Brad levelled out the chopper.
“Range Mike Bravo 565888617.”
“Mike Bravo 56888617 copy that.”
“Clear to fire.”
“Firing.”
A staccato of 30mm rounds from the Apache’s cannon sliced into the
fields and the enemy fire over the compound lessened.
“Good shooting.” said Command, as Brad banked away from the
immediate danger zone.
“We got multiple enemy positions here.” Chuck watched the screen and counted the heat
signatures of at least two dozen more Taliban hiding in the fields. “This is
gonna go high risk. There’s a group with rocket launchers at four hundred
meters.”
“You got auto range on it?” asked Brad.
“Affirmative.”
Chuck pressed a button and Brad felt the deck tremble as a Hellfire
missile shot away from the Apache. On the other side of the valley, the missile
exploded a Taliban position, taking a rocky outcrop with it and leaving a huge
crater in the hillside. The smell of cordite filtered through the cockpit.
Immediately, Brad swung away the gunship, taking it out of RPG
range. Flying this low and slow made
them easy targets.
“We’re taking fire from the north!” shouted Chuck, as if on cue. Red
lights blazed across the central warning panel in the Apache.
“Missile lock!”
“What the hell?!” muttered Brad, as he instinctively pulled the
helicopter into a hard evasive turn, raising the collective for full power,
and pushing forward the cyclic to gain
speed. Flares and chaff deployed automatically from pods, designed to confuse
and misdirect any heat or radar seeking missile.
“I got visual on the launch. Incoming – get us outta here, man!”
“I’m on it.” Brad focused on flying the chopper as hard and as fast
as he could towards the wadi.
The missile flew an almost perfect circle, 2000 feet above the
helicopter; its internal microprocessors comparing the heat and the electromagnetic
signatures from its target with the data profile in its systems. As though
making a conscious decision, the missile banked over and descended towards the
Apache.
“It’s on our ass, man.” reported Chuck. “Do your thing.”
“Where the fuck did the Taliban get an SAM?” Brad shouted as he
drove the Apache down into the wadi, hoping to lose the missile in the tight
turns and confusion of the terrain.
Behind them and closing, the missile passed through the cloud of
metallic chaff, its sensors registering them as a possible target, but the
electromagnetic signature detectors instantly overrode the signal. The missile
pressed on, homing in on the fleeing Apache.
Brad, his hands clenched and sweating on the controls, took a bend,
and glimpsed a group of insurgents hit the ground below him. A small – a very
small - part of his brain registered a flash of bright blonde hair among them,
then he saw the missile take the bend too.
“I can’t lose it – fuck, what is that thing? Chuck, on my mark, hit
it with all the CM we have left and brace yourself. I’m gonna try something.”
“Do it.”
Brad gave the Apache full power and headed straight towards the high
bluff edge.
“3,2,1 MARK.” Chuck nailed the countermeasures button and braced
himself for the move. Brad yanked back on the controls, pointing the gunship’s
nose at the sky and putting it in a high vertical climb, more like a fighter
plane than a helicopter. Struggling against the effects of the G force required
to pull this unconventional manoeuvre, he prayed the missile would lose their
trail in the counter measures and impact on the wall of the wadi.
At the same instant the missile passed through the chaff and easily
made the turn up and out. The vertical climb slowed the helicopter and the
missile closed the gap until it was within a meter or two of its quarry. The
onboard proximity censors matched the helicopter’s EM signature and the warhead
detonated. Brad and Chuck were briefly aware of an intense light, before a wave
of heat and pressure enveloped them.
The Apache hurtled into the sky, its rotor blades spiralling
futilely before they gouged into the sand. The fuselage continued to somersault
upwards, until it seemed finally to surrender, and smashed into the hot, dry
earth below.
Thank you for hosting the virtual book tour event. Awesome book review, so glad you enjoyed reading Patriot! - Kathleen Anderson, PUYB Tour Coordinator
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