operate from ad-hoc facilities such as forest clearings, like the one he had flown from, car parks and motorways, avoiding being exposed to potential Soviet missile and, even, nuclear strikes. As a consequence of the unique capabilities of this aircraft, Flight-Lieutenant Tate had been able to take off from a heavily matted, but short, runway, in a large forest clearing. This enabled the Harrier Jump Jet to take off with a full weapons’ load, conserving fuel to enable it to fly further afield or stay longer over the target area. On his return though, he would be able to land vertically.
Out of the corner of his eye, Flight-Lieutenant Tate spotted four trails of anti-aircraft fire, the intermittent tracer rounds glowing as they curved up from the ground, almost lazily, yet the 23mm rounds were leaving the four barrels of the ZSU-23-4 Shilka, at the rate of nearly 4,000 rounds per minute, travelling at over 900 metres per second. The Soviet Shilka fired short bursts, its onboard radar tracking the intruder. Tate pulled back on the stick, climbing slightly as he pushed the Pegasus turbofan engine harder, leaving the tracer trail behind him. He dropped down again, needing to keep the Harrier at the right height so the position of the aircraft was at the optimum if the photography he was about to take would be at its best. As this was a reconnaissance mission, fitted beneath the fuselage, mounted on the centreline, was a low-level daylight reconnaissance pod. The pod was fitted with four oblique F.95 cameras, set at a twenty and thirty-degree angle, one pair fitted with six-inch focal length lenses and a second pair with three-inch lenses. A fifth camera was fitted in the vertical mode, an F.135 mount, loaded with five-inch film.
He checked the aircraft’s height again and confirmed his bearings. The Harrier was just passing over a wooded area, about midway between Peine and Lehrte. This aerial photography would give 1 British Corps a better handle on what was coming towards their defensive line on the River Leine. He clicked the button and the cameras started whirring, the rapid shutter movement allowing clear pictures to be taken for up to 500 frames.
The SA-6, NATO codename Gainful, a triple-missile Transporter, Erector and Launcher, TEL, received its tracking data from the battery’s ‘straight flush’ radar, and the missile launch platform turned and elevated the three large missiles.
The curved radar spun round and round on the tracking vehicle, and the operator hunched over the circular scope, watched the rapidly sweeping arm repeatedly showing the blip of the enemy target. More data was transmitted to one of four SA-6s in the battery.
The TEL adjusted the launcher again, ensuring it was tracking the aircraft as well. On command, the crewman launched the 2K12 Missile, a white streak leaving the back of the 600-kilogram rocket as it sped towards its target at Mach 2.8.
The radar warning receiver burst into life, indicating his aircraft had been lit up by the enemy, probably a surface-to-air missile tracking radar.
“Shit.” Pushing forward the throttle lever, Tate checked his head-up display and confirmed the plane’s heading, then rotated his head wildly, looking left, right, up and down, and over his shoulder, desperately looking for the telltale signs of a missile heading his way.
“Damn.” He saw the streak of the missile heading towards him, arcing round and heading straight for the Harrier. He stabbed the chaff button, praying he wasn’t too late and pulled on the nozzle angle lever, rotating the vectored thrust nozzles into a forward-facing position: VIFFing, a dogfight tactic he had learnt when fighting against the Argentinian Dagger, a multi-role fighter aircraft, during the war in the Falklands. He used it now to drop his speed and go into a tight turn as a second chaff dispenser was fired. He pulled back on the stick, and his feet controlled the pedals as the G-force applied pressure to
Out of the corner of his eye, Flight-Lieutenant Tate spotted four trails of anti-aircraft fire, the intermittent tracer rounds glowing as they curved up from the ground, almost lazily, yet the 23mm rounds were leaving the four barrels of the ZSU-23-4 Shilka, at the rate of nearly 4,000 rounds per minute, travelling at over 900 metres per second. The Soviet Shilka fired short bursts, its onboard radar tracking the intruder. Tate pulled back on the stick, climbing slightly as he pushed the Pegasus turbofan engine harder, leaving the tracer trail behind him. He dropped down again, needing to keep the Harrier at the right height so the position of the aircraft was at the optimum if the photography he was about to take would be at its best. As this was a reconnaissance mission, fitted beneath the fuselage, mounted on the centreline, was a low-level daylight reconnaissance pod. The pod was fitted with four oblique F.95 cameras, set at a twenty and thirty-degree angle, one pair fitted with six-inch focal length lenses and a second pair with three-inch lenses. A fifth camera was fitted in the vertical mode, an F.135 mount, loaded with five-inch film.
He checked the aircraft’s height again and confirmed his bearings. The Harrier was just passing over a wooded area, about midway between Peine and Lehrte. This aerial photography would give 1 British Corps a better handle on what was coming towards their defensive line on the River Leine. He clicked the button and the cameras started whirring, the rapid shutter movement allowing clear pictures to be taken for up to 500 frames.
The SA-6, NATO codename Gainful, a triple-missile Transporter, Erector and Launcher, TEL, received its tracking data from the battery’s ‘straight flush’ radar, and the missile launch platform turned and elevated the three large missiles.
The curved radar spun round and round on the tracking vehicle, and the operator hunched over the circular scope, watched the rapidly sweeping arm repeatedly showing the blip of the enemy target. More data was transmitted to one of four SA-6s in the battery.
The TEL adjusted the launcher again, ensuring it was tracking the aircraft as well. On command, the crewman launched the 2K12 Missile, a white streak leaving the back of the 600-kilogram rocket as it sped towards its target at Mach 2.8.
The radar warning receiver burst into life, indicating his aircraft had been lit up by the enemy, probably a surface-to-air missile tracking radar.
“Shit.” Pushing forward the throttle lever, Tate checked his head-up display and confirmed the plane’s heading, then rotated his head wildly, looking left, right, up and down, and over his shoulder, desperately looking for the telltale signs of a missile heading his way.
“Damn.” He saw the streak of the missile heading towards him, arcing round and heading straight for the Harrier. He stabbed the chaff button, praying he wasn’t too late and pulled on the nozzle angle lever, rotating the vectored thrust nozzles into a forward-facing position: VIFFing, a dogfight tactic he had learnt when fighting against the Argentinian Dagger, a multi-role fighter aircraft, during the war in the Falklands. He used it now to drop his speed and go into a tight turn as a second chaff dispenser was fired. He pulled back on the stick, and his feet controlled the pedals as the G-force applied pressure to
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