STRIKE

Strike

(dedicated to F-105 pilots and their nuclear mission. Cuba 1962 anyone?)

I can finally say I feel a strong sense of duty and contentment as I do my job, all I ever trained for has come together when events bigger than me came to life. My job is to end life, not yours but your counterpart in the East. Mr Ivan Ivanovich in his collective Soviet missile factory making his nuclear bang sticks to fire at us. We’re the Good Guys who believe, fight and die, for peace, liberty and freedom. The Bad Guys believe in tyranny, oppression and furthering their cause. Together we will stop them and show them no fucking mercy. Godless bastards!

My shiny silver United States Air Force Republic F-105 Thunderchief sits armed with a 1 megaton thermonuclear bomb snug in her bomb bay. Ready for me to fly into Russia on a one way suicide mission to kill Mr Ivan Ivanovich and a million of his kind and their families, to wipe out their collective Soviet missile factories and all of the other Commie shit that is against freedom. All are targets in my nuclear gun sight. I nod to the armed guard who stands by my warplane, do the walk round check, including the single bomb, sign for the jet with her ground crew and climb aboard.

I do my take off checks, start the huge single engine and taxi for takeoff. There are fifteen other F-105 nuclear strike fighters. All armed with the same type bomb, for a similar one way mission. I listen to my radio and the tower gives us permission for a Hot Scramble. Even now, Soviet bombers and missiles could be on their way. We can shoot their slow lumbering bombers down; their missiles will get through, like ours. We have more. Here we go! Slowly picking up speed down the long runway, will need most of it in my loaded jet. So heavy with fuel.

We all head off in different directions, one warplane to one target. That is how we do it. More will get through the porous Soviet defences. The large bomb is behind and a little below me, in the bay. Like an unborn child in the belly of its mother. How many unborn babies and their mothers will I kill tonight? There are workers’ houses near the factory. They’ll have families. Kill them all! Nip the next generation in the bud, before they can breed the next lot of Soviet Communist heroes to steal the Free World. Kill them all. Ordered to kill, a joy. My joy.

I fly a route around their defences, relying on my wits, luck and my enemy being asleep. One million fucking tons of TNT will wake them up! I’ve got two big fat drop tanks of gas to help me along and nothing else, not even self defence Sidewinder missiles. Of course, I’ve my 20mm Gatling gun and a few rounds. This low, I can shoot up a few trains. With tensions up, chances are it’s a military train. Too bad if civilian. My explosive shells will blow a person in two. Look, a train! One pass and a few hundred shots at him. Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! goes my gun. Onwards I fly.

Fuck! Soviet Anti Aircraft fire ahead of me. Must have heard my engine? Advance my single throttle past cruise setting to near the speed of sound. Feel my jet buffet in low level turbulence. My near empty fuel tanks slowly me down, punch them off and gain an extra fifty knots airspeed. With luck they’ll land on a Russian soldier! Freed of the weight, my jet is a speeding dart. Through the gunfire, not a scratch. Must be a base nearby. Change direction again and spoof them. Two hundred miles to my target, a factory and a medium size city.

Watching my radar and gauges for anything amiss; enemy Migs or problems with my jet. Nothing wrong. Here we go! I think of my wife, Jennifer and our new born three month baby, Anneke. With a grim smile I shut them out of my mind. They’ll be dead now. Our house was near our airbase, like the Soviet houses near their factory. Can’t have any distraction. Time to Target coming up. Final checks on our bomb, armed, bomb bay doors open. Seconds ticking away, I can see the factory and distant city! They’re firing at me! Now! WEAPON AWAY!

I push my throttle into Zone Three afterburner and hug the deck, speed dizzyingly comes up to eight hundred knots, supersonic, and my fuel burn is horrendous. I feel the g-force. It takes me away from the danger zone of a one megaton nuclear blast. A white flash. I close my eyes and ease back out of ‘burner. My job is done. I bank my Thunderchief over and turn slightly. There’s Hell. A coming blast wave and climbing mushroom cloud. No one will survive. Sudden buffet as the wave hits, no trouble, I change heading and head into the wilderness.

There’s no going back to my base, there’ll be nothing left. No refuelling tankers to give me gas, no runway to land on and no family! All gone. World War 3, full nuclear release. Shit! Enemy Mig fighter, a mile away and coming towards me. Too close for his missiles. Track him with my nose, squeeze the firing button and he gets a dose of 20mm cannon shells. Hit! He disappears into flame. My first kill in the sky. Adding to the million I’ve just incinerated with my big bomb. Did the Soviet pilot eject? And see his family and city die? Like mine have in England?

Damn! Engine stuttering, picking up and then stopping. Fuel gone. Not long till control goes. Pull the nose up and gain height, popping up on their radar scopes and into missile range. Now! Eject as the stick goes mushy, high enough for safe ‘chute deployment. Will I escape with my life or be captured? There’s nowhere to go, Russia stretches for thousands of miles. All enemy territory. Out of the jet ok, she crashes in some trees. Floating down in my parachute. See the distant mushroom cloud. I did that. Shit! Russians below me, with guns, firing…