Foxbat (24 page)

The knocking on his cabin door was loud and sudden, and woke Richter immediately. He felt
like he’d been asleep for only a matter of minutes, but from looking at his watch he saw that it was early evening.

‘Coming,’ he called, rolled out of the bunk and wrapped a towel around his waist. He
slid the cabin door back and peered out. A communications rating stood in the corridor, a clipboard and a buff envelope in his hand.

‘Sorry, Commander. We’ve received Secret Flash traffic for your eyes only.’ He
offered the clipboard. After Richter scrawled an approximation of his signature in the correct column, the rating handed him the envelope and walked away.

Richter sat on the edge of the bunk, ripped open the envelope and pulled out three sheets of
paper covered in double-spaced printing in capital letters. He glanced at the originator – SIS via CINCFLEEET – and quickly read the text. Then he read it again.

‘Fucking Simpson,’ he muttered, stood up and began to get dressed.

Richter found Roger Black in Flyco, precisely where he’d expected him to be.

‘Blackie, a word in private, if you can spare the time.’

Black looked down at his flying programme. Two Harriers had taken off ten minutes earlier, and
they were now expecting the two aircraft they’d relieved to land-on shortly.

‘Will this take long?’ Black muttered distractedly.

Richter nodded. ‘It might.’

‘Right, just wait till we’ve recovered these two jets, then I’ll be with
you.’

At that moment the intercom buzzed from the Ops Room, and Lieutenant Commander (Flying) pressed
the key to answer. The intercom was on speaker, and his voice echoed from it: ‘Flyco.’

‘Flyco, Homer. Cresta One and Two are on recovery, estimate minutes three. Request flying
course.’

‘Roger, Homer. Clear to the low wait. Call visual.’

Richter leant back against the bulkhead and watched. Numerous things had to happen now at more
or less the same time, and the intricate process always fascinated him.

Little F pressed another intercom key. ‘Bridge, Flyco. We have two Harriers on recovery,
request DFC.’

The Officer of the Watch didn’t use the intercom to reply, but instead appeared at the
opening to the bridge.

‘We’re turning now, sir, and increasing speed. I’ll call steady.’

‘Thank you.’ Little F selected the flight deck broadcast. ‘Flight deck, Flyco.
Stand by to recover two Sea Harriers, number three spot.’

On the deck below, the FDO raised one hand in acknowledgement.

‘Flyco, Officer of the Watch. Steady on DFC of two four five.’

‘Roger.’

‘Homer, Flyco. DFC two four five.’

‘Flyco, Homer, roger.’

‘Flyco, Homer. Cresta are visual with the ship, coming to your frequency.’

‘Roger that.’

And then a new voice, clipped and precise, broke in. ‘Cresta Two.’

‘Cresta One, loud and clear. Break, break. Flyco, Cresta One with Two in company, visual.
At the slot.’

‘Cresta, Flyco, roger. Wind down the deck at twenty-two, gusting twenty-five. No circuit
traffic.’

‘Copied. Landing order will be Two, then One.’

Richter heard the roar overhead as the two Harriers overflew the ship and turned to port to
start their left-hand circuit, the distance between them opening sharply. The pilot of the second aircraft had to allow time for the first to come to a hover alongside, then land, and finally
move off the spot before making his own final approach.

‘Green deck fixed wing,’ Lieutenant Commander (Flying) ordered.

The rating sitting at the control panel made the appropriate switch and echoed the order:
‘Aye, aye, sir. Green deck fixed wing.’

Richter watched critically as the first aircraft began approaching the ship, speed dropping away
as the pilot used vectored thrust to slow the Harrier until it was exactly matching the
Illustrious
’s forward speed of eighteen
knots. The scream of the Pegasus was very audible even through Flyco’s armoured glass. The pilot visually checked the deck, watched for the FDO’s signals, then began transitioning
to starboard.

Above three spot, the aircraft stopped and Richter, who had hundreds of hours’ flying time
in the same type, marvelled again at the sudden immobility in mid-air of the sleek fighter. Then the pilot reduced the thrust and the Harrier started descending. It hit the deck fairly hard
– most Harrier vertical landings are best described as ‘firm’ – and then almost immediately taxied away towards the forward end of the flight deck, clearing the way
for his wingman, who was already moving alongside the ship, to land.

The second landing was a mirror image of the first, and the moment the Harrier touched down
Roger Black stood up. ‘Good landings,’ he said, touching Little F on the shoulder. ‘Tell the Senior Pilot I said so, please.’

‘Will do, sir.’

‘That used to be the Royal Navy’s definition of exceptional flying ability, if I
remember rightly,’ Richter said. ‘The same number of takeoffs as landings?’

‘It still is,’ Black replied. ‘I’ll be in the Bridge Mess,’ he
added to Little F, ‘listening to Spook’s bad news. It
is
bad news, I presume?’

‘It is for someone,’ Richter agreed, and followed Black out of Flyco and down the
stairs.

‘Stand by for Nuclear Control Order. Prepare to copy. Nuclear Control Order is code
Oscar Charlie Three Lima Nine Four Sierra. Read back.’

‘Roger,’ Whitman said, looking down at the paper in front of him. ‘I copy
Nuclear Control Order code Oscar Charlie Three Lima Nine Four Sierra.’

‘That’s affirmative.’

Whitman looked over at Fredericks, who had copied down the release code as Whitman read it
back to USStratCom, and was checking the Emergency War Order folder.

‘OK, we’re still not launching anything,’ he said, passing the folder over to
Whitman for verification. ‘Code Oscar Charlie Three Lima Nine Four Sierra decodes as “Bring all missiles to Alert Five, and hold at five minutes to launch”. Looks like
we’re still in an escalating situation.’

‘Roger that,’ Whitman said, and glanced at the rows of tell-tales in front of him.
The one labelled ‘Strategic Alert’ was illuminated, but all the others – ‘Warhead Armed’, ‘Ready to Launch’, ‘Launch in Progress’ and
‘Missiles Away’ – remained dark. And, as he began running through the familiar sequence of commands that would bring and then
hold all missiles at five
minutes’ notice to launch, Richard Whitman fervently prayed that they’d stay that way.

‘Is it just me, or is this sheer fucking madness?’ Roger Black asked. He was
sitting at the small table in the Bridge Mess, and for the third time was reading the signal Richter had received earlier.

‘It’s not just you, Blackie.’

‘And why am I reading this anyway? It says specifically it’s for your eyes
only.’

‘I don’t care about the distribution list. My boss has no clue about the way a
warship works. He doesn’t seem to realize there’s no possible way I could do something like this without serious support from the ship.’

‘It doesn’t mention your section here. This signal was authored by somebody at SIS,
following a request from the CIA.’

‘That’s what it says,’ Richter agreed, ‘but this smells like a typical
Richard Simpson set-up. The Company may well have requested assistance from us because we’re here and on the spot, but I’ll bet the rest of this plan was concocted by Simpson
himself.’

Black put the three sheets of paper down on the dining table. ‘So what are you going to
do?’

‘First,’ Richter said, ‘I’m going to ask you formally if the ship will
assist me. You’re Commander (Air), so you own the Air Department. If you say “No”, that’s the end of it as far as I’m concerned. I can’t do this without
support.’

‘What do
you
want me to
say?’

Richter wearily rubbed a hand over his face. ‘Frankly, I’d be quite happy if you
told me to get lost. But I can’t ignore this.’ He pointed at the signal between them. ‘I’m out of touch with the latest intelligence, obviously, but this looks to me
as if it’s come straight from the CIA, and I think their analysis – or what proportion of it I can deduce from this – is probably right. If it is, then what they’re
suggesting does make sense. More importantly, if we
don’t
comply, we’ll quite likely find ourselves
in the middle of a shooting war that will include nukes from both sides. And however you slice it, that’s really bad news.’

Black glanced down at the signal before replying. ‘If you go ahead with this, we’re
going to be in a shooting war anyway.’

Richter nodded. ‘I know, but it’s probably the better of the two
alternatives.’

‘Right,’ Black said. ‘If you want my support, you’ve got it.
I’ll go and talk to the captain. I’m sure he’ll be amenable.’

‘He probably will be. He’ll be out here safe in the Yellow Sea, in this steel war
canoe bristling with close-in weapon systems and surrounded by frigates and Harriers on CAP. I’ll be the one out in the bundu getting my arse shot at.’

Black grinned at him and stood up. ‘That’s true, but at least he’ll be
thinking of you.’

‘Do you want me to tag along now?’

‘Probably better not, but I’ll take the signal, if you don’t mind.’

‘Be my guest.’

Roger Black returned to the Bridge Mess five minutes later and opened the door to let the
captain enter first. Richter stood up but Davidson motioned him back to his seat, then sat down opposite. ‘I’m not entirely happy about this, Mr Richter.’

‘I’m not wild about it myself, sir. But from what I know of the situation it might
actually be the most sensible course of action.’

‘I don’t dispute that. What I’m concerned about is the suggestion that you
undertake this as a solo mission. I think you’ll need help.’

Richter shook his head immediately. ‘I can’t ask anyone else to do this, sir.
It’s going to be hairy enough for me.’

Davidson turned to Black. ‘What’s your opinion, Wings?’

‘I don’t think you’ll pull this off by yourself, Paul. I know you’re a
very competent pilot, and your record speaks for itself, but you’ve been away from regular flying for some time. You’re not that familiar with the new weapons on the GR9, but even
if you were, this is a highly dangerous mission into very hostile territory. At the very least you’re going to need a wing-man to watch your back.’

‘So what are you suggesting? You can’t make this an official operation. This signal
makes that quite clear.’

Black unfolded the sheets of paper and glanced down at them. ‘I agree. The exact wording
they’ve used here is “an illegal act by a renegade pilot”.’

‘That’ll be me,’ Richter said. ‘And I think it would be a lot more
difficult to explain it away as “illegal acts by a squadron of renegade pilots”.’

‘We’re not talking about a squadron, Paul, or anything like it,’ Black said.
‘I’m thinking about one wing-man beside you, and one or two above to provide top cover. Or perhaps two pairs to hit two targets each. That’s four aircraft
maximum.’

Richter’s gaze switched between the two men. ‘I think we need to be absolutely
clear about this,’ he said. ‘If you give me the go-ahead for this it will be an illegal act – an act of war, in fact – against a country that’s expressed no
hostile intent whatsoever towards the United Kingdom. If I don’t make it back, the best outcome would be for me to go down with the aircraft. If I’m captured, I’ve no doubt
I’ll spend some time in a cellar somewhere having my fingernails pulled out and various bones messily broken before they finally stick what’s left of me up against a wall and
summon a firing squad. And the same will apply to any other pilot who goes in with me.

‘That’s one aspect of the situation. The other is that their Lordships at the
Admiralty will probably not be entirely delighted if the captain and senior aviation officer on a Royal Navy capital ship are found to be conspiring with a civilian pilot to commit the said
act of war. My guess is that the subsequent court martial would be the least of your worries. We could be talking of dismissal from the service, loss of pension rights and all the rest. Maybe
even a charge of treason. This is serious stuff.’

Davidson smiled thinly. ‘I have a substantial private income, Mr Richter. I’m in
the Navy because I like it, not because I have to be. I’ll make it clear that the final decision was mine, and I’ll issue appropriate orders to all those involved. If this
particular can of worms ever gets opened, I’ll make sure I’m the one in the firing line.’

It was a somewhat mixed metaphor, but Black and Richter knew exactly what he meant.

‘Obeying an order an officer knows to be illegal is also a court-martial
offence,’ Richter pointed out. ‘But if I handed you a copy of that signal with a few changes on page two, you wouldn’t know the order hadn’t come direct
from CINCFLEET and, unless you went down to the CommCen to see the original, you’d never know that I’d made any alterations. That might provide a bit of protection.’

‘True,’ Davidson said, ‘but that would put you right in the frame if this all
goes wrong.’

‘I’m used to that. About the only advantage in working for Richard Simpson is that
he’ll do whatever’s necessary to protect his staff, as long as he thinks what they’ve done is justified. As this’ – he pointed at the signal – ‘is
almost certainly his idea, he’ll find it very difficult to do anything other than support me. So don’t worry about my career, such as it is.’

‘Right,’ Davidson said. ‘I think we have a broad agreement. I’ll order
our escorts to new positions, and move the ship closer to the North Korean coast. Wings, have a quiet word with a few of the more enthusiastic squadron pilots and ask them if they’d
like to go along for the ride.’

‘Aye, aye, sir.’

Davidson stood up and extended a hand. ‘Good luck, Mr Richter. I hope to see you back on
board when this is all over.’

Kim Yong-Su was not surprised that he’d heard nothing further from the ‘Dear
Leader’. He was well aware of the significance of the action they were planning, yet despite all the time and preparation that had been involved, he still wasn’t certain Pyongyang
would actually go through with it.

But late that evening his direct telephone line rang, and the voice he heard sounded full of
confidence as the ‘Dear Leader’ announced that ‘Golden Dawn’ would start at precisely 0530 local time the following morning, with the first troop movements at
0630.

‘You have three volunteers to go along with you,’ Roger Black announced as he
walked in and closed the door behind him. Richter was in the admiral’s quarters at the stern of the ship, just forward of the Quarter Deck, maps of North Korea spread out over the
dining table in front of him. ‘They’re the Senior Pilot, and two of the most experienced men on the squadron: Charlie Forbes and Roger Whittard. You’ll make a good
team.’

‘I’m still not sure that it’s such a good idea.’

‘I disagree, and so does the captain. You’ve about a one per cent chance of pulling
this off if you go in by yourself. With a four-aircraft group, the odds are maybe fifty per cent.’

‘That good, eh?’

Black smiled at him. ‘Well, maybe a
little
better than that.’

Richter picked up a large buff envelope, prominently marked ‘Secret’ at top and
bottom and with a large red ‘X’ on each side. ‘I’ve got the latest satellite imagery, but it only confirms what we already thought. The No-dongs that the Yanks think
have nuclear payloads are located at Mayang and Ok’pyong, those being the two most southerly missile bases on the east coast, and at Hochon and No-dong.’

‘Do they want you to hit all four of them?’

Richter nodded. ‘Yes, they’re desperate to knock out anything the North Koreans have
got that can reach Japan. The east coast missiles
must
be destroyed. Everything else is of secondary importance.’

‘And do they really think that having us carry out this mission will prevent a North
Korean invasion?’

‘It’s a fine line. Because Pyongyang threatened that any attack by South Korea or
the Americans would be considered an act of war, there’s some chance that if we do it, the North Koreans might be confused and not react, or not react as violently. And that might work:
after all,
I’m
confused, and I’m supposed to know what’s going on. But if the Americans are right, and whatever
plan Pyongyang has cooked up relies on these missiles and their warheads being available, taking them out will certainly fuck things up for them. If they don’t have any nukes to
threaten Japan, the invasion of the South might have to be called off. That’s what the Americans are gambling on.’

‘Is it worth while doing anything to sanitize the aircraft?’ Black asked.

Richter considered the question for a few moments.

‘If one does get shot down, a new paint job isn’t going to fool anyone, and the
whole point of this is that the attack aircraft must clearly not be American, so the “Royal Navy” logos and squadron markings should stay. That might tell any eyewitnesses that
the aircraft are British, though I doubt if many North Koreans would be able to recognize a Harrier. And especially not one that’s two hundred feet above the ground doing about five
hundred knots. They’ll hear it, but they probably won’t ever see it.’

‘You still think a low-level approach is best?’

‘I don’t think there’s much choice, Blackie. If we go in at high or medium
level, we’ll get picked up by radar and every SAM battery and anti-aircraft gun emplacement within range will start shooting at us. Not to mention having to tangle with their Fishbeds
and Floggers, and at high level a Foxbat would eat a Harrier for breakfast. At low level, the GR9 can outrun, or at least outmanoeuvre, anything they’ve got, I hope. A high-speed,
low-level quick in-and-out is the only way this is going to work.’