“ASCOT 7209”, No. 51 Squadron Royal Air Force
Flight Level 340, Gdańsk, Poland
Like everyone aboard the heavily modified RC-135W (Airseeker), Wing Commander Robert Morgan was a volunteer. Unlike the rest of the crew, he knew exactly why the RAF was about to undertake their most important intelligence operation since WWII. Even the name of the operation, “Mincemeat” harked back to those heady days. Someone in MI6 had really burned the midnight oil coming up with that one.
The RC-135W was not a new aircraft. Built in 1967, it shared lineage with the Boeing 707 and various family members had served the USAF for seventy years. The only good news about the RC-135W was that it was newer than the Nimrod it had replaced. This particular aircraft also had relatively new engines and a fully modern set of spy gear onboard. It was the most sophisticated spy plane currently operated by the RAF.
“Approaching threshold values, sir.”
While it was normal for the Airseeker to fly missions around Europe, there was one place in Western Europe they generally didn’t go: Kaliningrad. Crammed between Poland and Lithuania (both NATO members), Kaliningrad is part of Russia but separated from the rest of the country. The official mission orders called for the aircraft to fly a complete circle around the Russian enclave, something that the Russians didn’t care for, but had happened numerous times. Recent Russian threats of using nuclear weapons against Western Europe had increased scrutiny of this small Russian enclave. Of course, the Russians would make their displeasure known to the crew. They had very carefully flown out of Polish airspace and over the Baltic Sea before turning again to approach Russian airspace. They needed to be close for this to work.
“We are being illuminated. Two Big Birds.” The 91N6E Big Bird was the primary long range acquisition radar for the S-400 SAM system. In essence the Russians were holding a cocked pistol, pointed at the crew of the RAF spy plane, daring them to come closer.
And come closer they would.
“New course one seven zero.”
“One seven zero, roger.”
The trick here was to get as close as possible, but not to get shot down. Wing Commander Morgan sincerely hoped he had chosen correctly, and he would survive the experience.
“I have airborne radars coming up. Flankers rotating out of Chkalovsk.”
Now things got interesting. One of the inspirations for Mincemeat had been the Hainan Island incident where a US Navy EP-3 spy plane was forced to land on Hainan Island, China, due to damage caused by a mid-air collision with a PLAAF J-8 fighter.
“Sir, we are in Russian air space.”
“Very well, carry on.”
The current course of the RAF aircraft was guaranteed to enrage the Russians. They had repeatedly warned of “dire consequences” for any incursions into their airspace. Of course, every aviator knew that the Soviets had shot down a Korean 747 years ago for innocently wandering into Soviet airspace. Mincemeat could end very abruptly with a SAM launch. This entire operation depended on the Russians being predictable.
“Any indication they are going to launch?”
“No sir, just long range stuff, no targeting yet.”
“We have a guest.” Thank God for standing orders, the Russians had followed the exact pattern observed in previous flights.
Morgan unbuckled his straps and peered out of one of the few remaining windows. The Russian Sukhoi Su-27 (Flanker) was a twin engined, twin tailed single seat fighter. Looking a bit like an American F/A-18, this one was clearly Russian just from it’s blue camouflage paint scheme which was unique to the Russian services. The fighter was extremely close to the wing of the RAF plane.
The radio came alive with a clearly Russian voice, speaking English. “RAF flight, Kaliningrad Control. You are in Russian Federation airspace, change course immediately.”
Wing Commander Morgan was expecting the call. He went back to his seat to use the radio. “Kaliningrad, ASCOT 7209. We are in international airspace. Immediately cease your unsafe intercept, you are risking collision. Repeat terminate your unsafe intercept maneuver.”
Morgan waited a second to confirm that the Flanker had no intention of backing off, then carefully strapped himself in, checking his harness to ensure it was tight. “Mission commander to aircraft. Secure yourselves and your stations. Prepare for operation commence.” He gave it a few more seconds to be sure everyone was ready. “Mission commander to pilot. Commence.”
With that command, the RC-135W jerked violently to the left, towards the Russian fighter. Simultaneously, Morgan got back on the radio. “Kaliningrad, ASCOT 7209, we are experiencing violent mid-air turbulence.” There was a sickening THUD as the wing of the Boeing aircraft clipped the canopy of the Sukhoi. “He’s gone, wing commander.”
Morgan sincerely hoped that the pilot of the Russian fighter was OK, but there was nothing for it. The fate of his nation and perhaps the western world as they knew it hung on the outcome. He keyed the microphone again. “MAYDAY MAYDAY MADAY. ASCOT 7209 is declaring an emergency. MAYDAY MAYDAY MAYDAY.”
“Mission commander to pilot, emergency descent, change course to land at KGD.” While Khrabrovo Airport (KGD) was technically a civilian airport, there were also Russian military units stationed there. The idea was to make it public that they had landed safely to increase the odds that they survived the experience. “Mission commander to crew, emergency destruct sequence. Execute destruct.”
Like every other spy plane in the world, the Airseeker had a series of small pyrotechnic charges that would render useless any sensitive information on the plane. Of course, the equipment on the aircraft would be of great interest to any potential enemy, including the Russians. It was vital that none of this equipment got into Russian hands. The destruct sequence was also designed to destroy any documents carried on the plane. That sequence had been carefully modified to ensure that it didn’t work correctly.
Morgan picked up the radio again. “Khrabrovo, ASCOT 7209, declaring an emergency.”
There was a moment’s hesitation before the Russian civilian air traffic controller came on. “ASCOT, say the nature of your emergency.” English was the international language for pilots and air traffic control, a convention that the Russians occasionally honored.
“Khrabrovo, ASCOT has suffered a mid-air collision. We are losing fuel and cannot return to Poland. We have also lost major electrical.”
“ASCOT, understood, you are cleared visual approach runway two four, altimeter two niner eight six.”
Airport Khrabrovo
Kaliningrad Oblast, Russia
“Come out with your hands up!”
The Russians had placed an air stair next to the main door but hadn’t attempted to enter the aircraft. Not yet anyway. Morgan looked at the other members of the flight crew, nodding to each one in turn. “Open the door.”
None of them were armed, of course. There was a survival kit in the back with a rifle, mostly intended to protect the crew from wildlife if they were forced to ditch. Once the door was open, Morgan was the first out. “We are unarmed!!” Holding his arms high, he slowly walked down the air stairs. He could see a large group of armed FSB agents surrounding the plane which had been parked at a remote ramp, well away from the civilian part of the airport. The FSB officers all wore camouflage uniforms, helmets and body armor. They were armed with very serious looking black AK-74Ms. At the bottom of the stairs was an FSB officer with the three stars of a captain on his shoulders. “Keep your hands up, walk forward.”
As each member of the crew came off the aircraft, they were very thoroughly searched and handcuffed. They were then placed into a van with no windows. After a few minutes of driving, they were removed from the van and separated. Morgan was placed in an interrogation room where he was shackled to a fixture on the table. He wasn’t going anywhere.
After about half an hour, the captain came into the room. “So, what should we do with you, spy?”
Morgan snorted. “I am a Royal Air Force Officer. Morgan, Robert. Wing Commander. Two four six two eight six two four.” Morgan spread his hands, indicating his uniform. “I wish to speak to my embassy or a representative of the Red Cross.”
“You won’t speak to anyone until you tell me why you violated Russian air space.”
“Morgan, Robert. Wing Commander. Two four six two eight six two four.”
There was a knock on the door. The FSB officer left, closing the door behind him. He was gone for at least half an hour. They had taken Morgan’s watch and there wasn’t a clock in the bare grey room.
When the FSB agent returned, he was visibly angry, almost shaking. He shook a binder he brought with him in the air. “SO! You will tell me everything about this document!” He slammed the binder on the table.
Looking at the cover, Morgan didn’t have to pretend, he groaned in near physical pain. On the front of the binder, it said, “Top Secret: Operation Torch.”
“Morgan, Robert. Wing Commander. Two four six two eight six two four.”