Semi-OT: more fan fiction

[Sanjuro]

I have been enjoying Matt Wiser's Red Dawn thread; I have a few related ideas about the UK's involvement, which gave me a great excuse to buy a set of Pilot's Notes for the last British fighter, the English Electric Lightning F6. The central character is Flying Officer Neil Wolfe, a first-tour pilot with 11 Squadron based at RAF Binbrook in Lincolnshire. With NATO politically neutralised, the UK's role is IMO to protect the eastern end of the SOSUS chain and try and control access to the Atlantic as much as possible, to protect its population and industrial base as much as possible while providing support to the US and Canada.
Some of my ideas are not compatible with the Red Dawn alt history; think of it as a similar world rather than another front in the same war.

[Sanjuro]

When the Scramble bell sounded Wolfe was asleep in the “Q” shed… 20 hours into his spell of QRA. There had been no call outs for the shrunken Lightning force for some weeks, and aside from one spell of cockpit readiness the afternoon before, the alert period had been a chance to finish some paperwork for his secondary duty as Housing Officer. This was the last paperwork he would ever do for that duty- some weeks later he wondered if it had ever been processed.
The corridor is the usual apparent chaos- ground crew rushing everywhere, but all in a pattern practiced many times. Wolfe joins the rush along the corridor- as the space widens into the HAS itself the mob seems to vanish as each member disperses to his post. The hangar door is already opening as Wolfe checks the ladder is attached and climbs to the cockpit.
Into the seat- he starts powering up the aircraft even as the fitter behind him secures his harness. Bonedome on- check intercom, radio and O2 coupling- double check all the ejector seat pins are in place- nod to the fitter, who slides down the ladder and pulls it away. Radio traffic comes through: “Spartan section, immediate launch, Runway 02 in use, wind 090/12, QFE 1011, clear immediate takeoff.”
Something unusual is happening- an immediate launch and takeoff clearance before he even starts the engines. To his left the flight lead is already taxying, so as soon as the first engine is running Wolfe waves off the ground crew and releases the brakes. Second engine running… all gyros uncaged and erect… O2 flowing… into the pre takeoff memory drills… the runway already… what is this, a Mineval? Lead already rolling… line up a little right of the centreline, smoothly up to full military power, the familiar push back into his seat, left hand on the thrust levers moving them both left to engage reheat.. through 170 knots, rotate, gear up, check the climb rate and accelerate.
“Spartan section go to button 8.” Wolfe turned the UHF channel selector to channel 8, heard Lead’s call “Spartan check in.”
“Two.”
Area controller’s voice… perhaps slightly less calm than usual? “Spartan section, heading 040 degrees, climb Flight Level 360, expedite. Confirm weapons hot.”
Weapons hot? He has never heard this before, except on the range… Master Arm confirmed On.
The radio sounds: “Lead.” Wolfe responds “Two.”
One minute into the flight and Spartan section is climbing through 30000 feet, accelerating through 450 knots IAS. Fuel flow is good, O2 flow ok, no warning lights… remember this aeroplane is as old as he is. Lead looks ok, the radio again… “Spartan Lead, heading 030 degrees. Spartan Two heading 060 degrees, contact button 9.”
What is going on? Splitting the flight on an intercept? He retunes the UHF, checks in on the new channel. “Spartan Two, this is Telescope, confirm load?” Today’s code for his weapons is Paraquat- two Redtop missiles and guns.
“Paraquat.”
“Spartan Two, traffic is range 250 miles in your twelve o’clock, believed to be Backfire at FL340. Engage and destroy.”
“Spartan Two confirm?”
“Spartan Two I say again, engage and destroy. Target now range 240 miles..”
From the rate the range is reducing, the target has to be supersonic. Head on- that is why they needed to confirm he has Redtop missiles. If he has to intercept head on at this speed, he will be right on the limits of supersonic intercept range- theoretically 155 miles radius, this looks slightly outside- worry about a tanker after the fight.
“Spartan Two, range now 100 miles, target in your twelve o’clock, Backfire. Target must not reach weapons release point- estimated 100 miles from the coast.”
“Roger.”
With a closing speed of nearly two thousand miles per hour, the window for Redtop launch will be miniscule… radar on, one strong return. Slave the missile seeker head to the radar blip. Range 25…20…15…10… now. The missile launches cleanly at about 8 miles. Just as Wolfe looks away from the radar, he sees the blip separate.
“Telescope, Spartan Two. Multiple bandits.”
“Spartan Two, Telescope, Roger. Engage.” By now he is already turning and climbing… initial jink left, then roll right, try to get visual contact on the second target. An explosion in his 3 o’clock, don’t look at it, the second Backfire a few miles south now, diving away. Pull… try and get the nose pointing at the target… don’t stall, if you flick at this height you’re perfectly safe but you’ll never catch him. Unload the wings- he’s below you. Six miles by the radar… too far for a tail shot. Nose down with full reheat… never gone this fast before… Mach 2.2, catching him nicely, 3 miles should be ok… oh hell, at this speed he is as fast as the missile, thrust levers back into military power, fire the missile, inside two miles… this time he has a good view as the Redtop explodes and the fragments cut the Backfire in half.
No chutes. He has just killed four men, more likely eight. An hour ago he was asleep. Twelve hours ago he was arranging new windows for some base housing.
Fuel state.
“Telescope, Spartan Two. Fox 2 on second bandit, I am now below bingo fuel. Do you have a tanker?”
“Spartan Two, Telescope. Tanker is range 40 miles, turning southwest, make your heading 220 degrees. Remain this frequency.”
The tanker is a Victor- it has followed him out to sea at Mach 0.9, in the knowledge he is unlikely to have enough fuel to make land. Today he takes 9500 pounds- close to his full fuel capacity of 10300.
“Spartan Two, Telescope. New traffic for you, unknown contact, make your heading 010 degrees. Descend FL 200.”
“Spartan Two wilco.”
“Spartan Two, be advised, Spartan Lead was on this bogey. No contact with Spartan Lead.”
“Roger.”
This time the chase is slower- he keeps the engines out of reheat as Telescope steers him into visual range. This bandit is a Bear-E; a Tu-95 maritime patrol aircraft. The hunt is not easy- his own 30mm cannon against the radar-guided 23mm cannon in the tail of the Bear. Did Lead forget about those guns? By flying closer than peacetime gunnery practice would ever allow, he eventually shoots off one wing.
No chutes again. How many does a Bear-E carry? The last time he saw a Bear-E, he had flown a peacetime intercept somewhere north of Shetland. He had waved at the crew, and they had held a copy of Playboy against their canopy.
He lands back at Binbrook. It is a surprise that it is still only 0730. The mission has taken only a little over an hour. There is another pair of Lightnings in the hardened shelters for QRA. Visually, it is just another day in the life of a NATO airfield in the Cold War. But today is not a Mineval.
In the meantime, he parks the aircraft and goes looking for breakfast.

[Matt Wiser]

Not bad for a start. The first day was a bad one all around.

[Sanjuro]

Rear Admiral Sir John Gerard, DSO DSC RN had imagined his war would involve either his killing thousands of people, or none at all. It had never occurred to him that he might kill just one person.

Patrol Day 26
War Day 1
Captain John Gerard DSC RN, Officer Commanding Gold Crew, HM Submarine Resolution.

HMS Resolution was on station south of Iceland, running at periscope depth for her daily Satcom orders. Gerard was on the bridge when the Signals Officer reported, carrying a flimsy piece of printout.
“Yes Flags?”
“Sir, I have FLASH traffic from Norwood.” Gerard had never seen Flags look so pale.
“Give it here then.”
The message read:
FLASH FLASH… From COMSUBLANT to all submarines… State of War declared between NATO countries and Warsaw Pact wef 0001z. Message repeats… FLASH FLASH… From COMSUBLANT to all submarines… State of War declared between NATO countries and Warsaw Pact wef 0001z. Message ends.
Gerard looked up. “Officer of the watch, I have the conn. Lower the mast, make depth 80 fathoms. Set revolutions for 12 knots.” Every instinct in Gerard was to take the boat as far and as fast as possible away from the position he had broken the surface, even if only with the ESM mast. However, the need to avoid making noise limited the speed available until their depth was at least 50 fathoms (300 feet). “Make heading 165. OOW, you have the conn. Department heads to my day cabin.”
It took a few minutes to assemble the boat’s heads of department into the curtained enclosure grandly called the day cabin. Gerard had the time to ensure he looked calm- it would be inappropriate for him to look as alarmed as Flags had done.
“Gentlemen, we are at war. In a few minutes I will tell the crew, but before I do I want a status check from all of you. Engineering?”
“Reactor is good, sir” said the boat’s Chief Engineer. “We have lubricants and consumables for at least two hundred and fifty days. Both desalination plants are at maximum efficiency, air systems too. We had new batteries before this patrol, so if we have to power down the reactor we have at least thirty six hours of operation.”
“Thanks. Missiles?”
“All sixteen missiles have had a diagnostic check this week. Warheads are all responding to my systems, and the MIRV programming is updating from the ship’s navigation updates.”
“Pilot?”
The Navigation Officer almost shrugged. “We dived today before a full satnav update, but all the inertial systems are running, no real drift between satellite updates. Worst case position error less than 100 metres.”
“Sonar?”
“Enough noise from outside to confirm everything is working. The tail ran out well, and we’ve kept our manouvering to a minimum so it should be at full strength if we do have to jink. I take it you don’t want me to check active systems?”
“No.” Despite himself Gerard had to smile.
“Purser?”
“Food for another two hundred and thirty days if we use ration packs, hundred and sixty if we stick to the frozen stuff. Paper for at least as long, unless we have an outbreak.” The only substances that would destroy a Supply Officer’s career if the ship ran out were, traditionally, beer and toilet paper. Beer was not issued in large quantities on the Polaris fleet.
“Doc?” Nothing for the last month- we had the usual crop of colds at the start of the patrol, then a broken arm from a sparks who took a tumble on a ladder.”
“Anything to add, Number one?”
“No sir,” said the Executive Officer. “I’ll go to the bridge before you tell the crew, in case the OOW needs anything.”
“Very well, gentlemen. Dismissed.”
Gerard took time to write his thoughts- the last thing the crew needed was to hear an announcement that was at all hesitant. He had no illusions about being an inspiring speaker; he could at least try to be reassuring. He managed to keep his voice level on the interphone to Sonar.
“Any contacts?”
“No sir. Not even commercial traffic.”
“Understood. Stand by for an announcement.”
He keyed the microphone for the ship’s address system. “Now hear this. All hands, this is the Captain. As of midnight, a state of war exists between NATO and the Warsaw Pact. As we are the active patrolling Polaris submarine for the next five months, we must consider ourselves at the front line from this moment. Silent routine must be maintained, and all contacts considered hostile. Satcom runs will be discontinued- all communications will be initiated by Norwood using VLF. You are all aware of the importance of our role in the defence of our country, and I am entirely confident that every man of you will carry out his duty to the limit of his ability, and in the highest traditions of the Royal Navy. That is all.”

The next few weeks were the best, and the worst, of Gerard’s career. For only the second time in that career, he was commanding a vessel at war- and this time against an enemy much better equipped, motivated and above all vastly more numerous than the Argentines had ever been. Unlike the action in the South Atlantic, here he was in familiar waters, operating against the opponent he had studied his entire adult life. However, as a bomber captain, he was no longer hunting enemy ships- his prey was entire cities. Every sonar contact must be escaped- but always creeping away, never rushing. The alliance he had believed he would be a part of had been politically neutralised, and in the waters north of the Gap he was patrolling he would now have to worry if former allies’ ships would be working for the enemy.
For the crew things were simpler. Their duties were unchanged- the Polaris boats’ functions had always been to maintain the British nuclear deterrent; none of this had changed. Gerard held the responsibility: if the Resolution was destroyed, or even driven from her patrol area, the UK would have to surrender that very day or face annihilation. Not since Sir John Jellicoe 70 years before had a British naval officer had the ability to “lose the war in an afternoon.” But Jellicoe had had all the resources of the Admiralty a telegraph away; when in harbour he could be in contact with the Government by telephone, and even at sea there were destroyers available to act as couriers. All Gerard had was the maddeningly slow VLF receiver: when each letter took thirty seconds to receive, the messages were at best terse and rarely illuminating.
A bright spot happened some forty days later: a sustained cacophony of active sonar to the east was identified as some Norwegian frigates, nearly a hundred miles away. Rather than ignore the now-neutral Norwegians, Gerard followed his own orders and the Resolution slid away- leaving the Soviet surface group searching for him frustrated and empty handed. Politically the Norwegians might be neutral- in practice, at the tactical level old friendships were remembered.

Cruise Day 161
War Day 136

The ship’s doctor, Surgeon-Lieutenant Carmody, was worried.
“Captain, M.E.M. Brody had appendicitis. He needs surgery- I have the minimum facilities here, but he really needs a hospital.” Brody, a Marine Engineering Mechanic, was one of the youngest of the crew- his nineteenth birthday had been the day before the Resolution left Faslane.
“Doc, we are at sea. Even if we dash, it is three days to the Clyde- over a week if we stay silent. We can’t just leave our patrol area.”
“Sir, we are only three weeks from the end of our patrol. Repulse should be on station by now.”
“And if Repulse is late? Even in peacetime we would stay out to 180 days, as it is Norwood wants us to stay till 200- and that is on station. Assume another week for a quiet return home. It’s impossible, Doc.”
“But sir, I’ve spoken to Pilot. We’re only twelve hours from Iceland at high speed…”
“You’ve done what?” Gerard’s normally calm expression had subtly gone more still.
“I’ve spoken to Pilot…”
“It is not Pilot’s responsibility to change our patrol orders, nor is it yours to suggest such a thing. You have a patient- your responsibility is to treat him.”
“But Captain, I assisted with appendectomies on land- I’ve never done one myself, and my SBA has never seen one.”
“Do what you can, Doc. Dismissed.”
An hour later Carmody was back. “It’s really bad, sir. I’ve prepped Brody for surgery, but he’s in a very bad way. I don’t have the facilities here- he needs at least a proper sickbay even to have a chance.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Sonar told me-” Gerard ignored that for the moment- “the Nimitz battle group is only 150 miles away. The weather is good, we could surface and they could send a chopper for him”
“Doctor, this is a capital vessel of the Royal Navy. Its entire function depends on not being found. I will not jeopardise the boat, its crew or the country for some slim chance of the Nimitz dropping everything and sending a helicopter. Even if the Nimitz was right overhead, I would not surface. If you are worried about being blamed-“ Carmody went pale and Gerard knew he had almost gone too far- “I will give you written orders to carry out the surgery as best you can but we will not surface.”
“That will not be necessary sir. I know my duty.”

Cruise Day 162
War Day 137

Carmody had done his best, but Brody’s appendix had burst before it could be removed. A combination of shock and septicaemia had killed him within hours. The Exec made sure Carmody was kept away from the Captain- another outburst would finish his career, but more seriously it would dent the already battered spirit of the crew. In the log, and in his own journal, Gerard scrupulously noted all the objections Carmody had raised, but made it clear that even the most experienced surgeon could have done no more with the small sickbay on Resolution. He knew Carmody considered him a murderer nonetheless.

Cruise Day 208
War Day 183

Under a thick overcast, HM Submarine Resolution slipped up the Clyde to her base. Blue Crew would be ready to take over, resupply and return her to sea. In the meantime Gerard would have to send the letter that he had written for Brody’s parents.
Gerard did two more cruises before the war ended. The sixteen missiles, each with their two warheads, remained unfired. No Soviet vessel ever detected Resolution.

[Sanjuro]

Not too dark I hope...

[RN7]

I really enjoyed Matt's work. As I said to him some time ago I would like if he expanded his take of Red Dawn outside of the Continental US and included some write ups on events elsewhere with Canadian, British, Anzac or Japanese forces in other theatres.