Chapter Twenty-Two Excerpt--'Context'
Two hundred kilometers away, Chris Prentice pointed the nose of his Raptor east. He was the lead element for RAVEN Flight, and as he angled the fighter away from Gdansk, the colonel looked down and to his left.
His wingman today was a Polish lieutenant, fresh from of the Academy in Deblin. The young pilot jockeyed an F-16, and the respective aircraft were flying a ‘loose deuce’ formation, with vast distances between their wingtips. In reality, the aviators were jetting ahead at different altitudes, which, under normal conditions, wouldn’t hinder their ability to fly as a team.
For that, Prentice groused, we’ll just rely on the disparity in language.
The colonel’s kvetching was done under his breath. All of the Polish pilots spoke English, or so he’d been told, but the truth was a little more revealing. Joint ops had all the ingredients for miscommunication, at best, and the alternative—well, that wasn’t even worth thinking about, now was it?
Prentice gave the Poles an ‘E’ for effort. The Europeans had certainly bested their U.S. counterparts; many spoke a handful of languages, prompting Christian to consider the percentages for bi-lingual speakers in the American military. Spanish probably topped the list, to be sure, but he wondered—
“RAVEN-2, turn right and form up on my three o’clock position.” The colonel spoke slowly; the Pole’s responses had so far been sluggish—an indication that his command of English left something to be desired.
“Turning right, RAVEN Lead,” the lieutenant repeated, almost immediately. His heavily accented voice crackled in the colonel’s headset. “Forming up on your three o’clock position.”
Sunlight pierced the canopy, and a surprised Prentice smiled under his visored helmet. “That’s a good copy, RAVEN-2. Kilo’s just ahead.”
The so-called Kaliningrad Corridor was the grid square designated for RESILIENT EAGLE. Location names were typically shortened (hence the reliance on acronyms, Christian decided), and Kilo was quickly adopted.
The colonel checked his scope. To the east, and headed in the opposite direction, another pairing of American and Polish flyers traced the southern reaches of Kilo’s airspace. Their path lay parallel to RAVEN Flight. Two more groups followed from the west, and while their presence was encouraging, what he saw to the north was not.
The tactical air control center at Lask was coordinating with other assets; a Boeing E-3, with a rotating radar dish atop its fuselage. Their combined efforts gave a bird’s-eye view of the playing field, and for the first time, coalition forces had a clear picture of the Russians’ base of operations.
At this distance, they were far out of sight, but Christian’s long-range display showed Ivan’s fighters filling the sky. Hardware in the Raptor’s nose identified the aircraft as Sukhoi 27s, along with two Su-34s, the brightly colored FULLBACKs he’d seen just days earlier. The birds now aloft had sprung from the base in Chkalovsk.
Their point of origin was telling. Chkalovsk was owned by the Russian Navy, and the Su-34s were operated by their Air Force, the Voyenno-Vosdushnye Sily Rossii. That mouthful of Slavic flowed easily enough from the locals’ lips, but Prentice became tongue-tied at just the thought of saying it.
The colonel mulled over the collaboration between Russia’s forces. Fighters from the navy and air force were now working in tandem. The word had been passed that elements of the Rocket Forces were now in place, entrenched along Kaliningrad’s southern border with Poland. The Russians were clearly intent on showing some muscle.
According to Prentice’ software, eight fighters representing the opposing force were now airborne, with a couple of lumbering support platforms nearby. One was probably a re-fueler, and the other, with its larger radar return, was undoubtedly a Beriev A-50. This aircraft was far more robust than the E-3, but fulfilled the same role.
He looked on the bright side. None of Russia’s assets had behaved provocatively. Christian gave them that; Ivan could be very disciplined. The Sukhois stayed behind their line, playing it safe and observing strict rules of engagement. Coalition pilots did the same, and no one—American, Polish, or Russian—had raised their radars to paint a hypothetical target.
Prentice whispered a prayer that everyone involved would act circumspectly. Stretching out far below were the ground forces of several nations. Getting twitchy now wouldn’t help. Wars had begun over lesser things, and with NATO and the Russians poised on the brink, the senior officer couldn’t imagine a happenstance better suited to ruin everyone’s day.
His wingman today was a Polish lieutenant, fresh from of the Academy in Deblin. The young pilot jockeyed an F-16, and the respective aircraft were flying a ‘loose deuce’ formation, with vast distances between their wingtips. In reality, the aviators were jetting ahead at different altitudes, which, under normal conditions, wouldn’t hinder their ability to fly as a team.
For that, Prentice groused, we’ll just rely on the disparity in language.
The colonel’s kvetching was done under his breath. All of the Polish pilots spoke English, or so he’d been told, but the truth was a little more revealing. Joint ops had all the ingredients for miscommunication, at best, and the alternative—well, that wasn’t even worth thinking about, now was it?
Prentice gave the Poles an ‘E’ for effort. The Europeans had certainly bested their U.S. counterparts; many spoke a handful of languages, prompting Christian to consider the percentages for bi-lingual speakers in the American military. Spanish probably topped the list, to be sure, but he wondered—
“RAVEN-2, turn right and form up on my three o’clock position.” The colonel spoke slowly; the Pole’s responses had so far been sluggish—an indication that his command of English left something to be desired.
“Turning right, RAVEN Lead,” the lieutenant repeated, almost immediately. His heavily accented voice crackled in the colonel’s headset. “Forming up on your three o’clock position.”
Sunlight pierced the canopy, and a surprised Prentice smiled under his visored helmet. “That’s a good copy, RAVEN-2. Kilo’s just ahead.”
The so-called Kaliningrad Corridor was the grid square designated for RESILIENT EAGLE. Location names were typically shortened (hence the reliance on acronyms, Christian decided), and Kilo was quickly adopted.
The colonel checked his scope. To the east, and headed in the opposite direction, another pairing of American and Polish flyers traced the southern reaches of Kilo’s airspace. Their path lay parallel to RAVEN Flight. Two more groups followed from the west, and while their presence was encouraging, what he saw to the north was not.
The tactical air control center at Lask was coordinating with other assets; a Boeing E-3, with a rotating radar dish atop its fuselage. Their combined efforts gave a bird’s-eye view of the playing field, and for the first time, coalition forces had a clear picture of the Russians’ base of operations.
At this distance, they were far out of sight, but Christian’s long-range display showed Ivan’s fighters filling the sky. Hardware in the Raptor’s nose identified the aircraft as Sukhoi 27s, along with two Su-34s, the brightly colored FULLBACKs he’d seen just days earlier. The birds now aloft had sprung from the base in Chkalovsk.
Their point of origin was telling. Chkalovsk was owned by the Russian Navy, and the Su-34s were operated by their Air Force, the Voyenno-Vosdushnye Sily Rossii. That mouthful of Slavic flowed easily enough from the locals’ lips, but Prentice became tongue-tied at just the thought of saying it.
The colonel mulled over the collaboration between Russia’s forces. Fighters from the navy and air force were now working in tandem. The word had been passed that elements of the Rocket Forces were now in place, entrenched along Kaliningrad’s southern border with Poland. The Russians were clearly intent on showing some muscle.
According to Prentice’ software, eight fighters representing the opposing force were now airborne, with a couple of lumbering support platforms nearby. One was probably a re-fueler, and the other, with its larger radar return, was undoubtedly a Beriev A-50. This aircraft was far more robust than the E-3, but fulfilled the same role.
He looked on the bright side. None of Russia’s assets had behaved provocatively. Christian gave them that; Ivan could be very disciplined. The Sukhois stayed behind their line, playing it safe and observing strict rules of engagement. Coalition pilots did the same, and no one—American, Polish, or Russian—had raised their radars to paint a hypothetical target.
Prentice whispered a prayer that everyone involved would act circumspectly. Stretching out far below were the ground forces of several nations. Getting twitchy now wouldn’t help. Wars had begun over lesser things, and with NATO and the Russians poised on the brink, the senior officer couldn’t imagine a happenstance better suited to ruin everyone’s day.
No comments have been added yet.
