I glanced at Saeton. His body had relaxed into the shape of his seat. That was the only sign he gave of relief. ‘Check undercarriage up,’ he shouted to me as he levelled out. I glanced out of the side window. The starboard wheel was up inside the wing casing and I nodded. His eyes remained hard and alert, scanning the instrument panel. Tubby was jotting down notes as he read the dials. Oil Pressure 83-Oil Temp. 68-Coolant Temp. 90-Revs 2,300, with the exception of the inboard starboard engine, which read 2,270-Vacuum Pressure 4 1/2 ins. — Height 1,500. We cruised around for a bit, checking everything, then we began to climb. Oil Pressure 88-Oil Temp. 77-Coolant Temp. 99-Revs 2,850 plus 9-Vacuum Pressure 4 1/2. I glanced at my watch. Rate of climb 1,050 feet a minute.
At 6,000 Saeton levelled out. ‘Okay to cut out the other motors?’ He glanced down at Tubby, who nodded, his face unsmiling, his eyes almost lost in their creases of fat as he screwed them up against the sun which drove straight in through the windshield. At the same moment I saw the outboard engine slow. The individual blades of the prop became visible as it began to feather. The noise in the cockpit had lessened, so had the vibration. We were flying on our own motors only. Airspeed 175. Height 6,300. Still climbing. Swindon lay below us as we turned east, banking sharply.
The two motors hummed quietly. Saeton pulled back the control column. The nose of the plane lifted. We were climbing on the two engines only. Six thousand five hundred. Seven thousand. Eight thousand. Rate of climb 400 feet per minute. Half a dozen banking turns, then a long dive to 4,000 and up again. The motors hummed happily. The starboard engine was a shade rough perhaps, and engine revs were a little below those of the port motor. But there was plenty of power there.
Saeton levelled out. ‘I could do with a cigarette.’ He was grinning happily now, all tension smoothed out of his face. ‘From now on we can forget all the hours we’ve slaved at those engines. They’re there. They exist. We’ve done what we set out to do.’
Tubby was smiling, too, his face wreathed in a happy grin. He hummed a little tune.
We swung south over White Horse Hill. The racing gallops at Lambourne showed like age-old tracks along the downs. Climb, turn, dive — for two hours we flew the circuit of the Marlborough downs. Then at last Saeton said, ‘Okay. Let’s go back and get some tea. Tomorrow We’ll do take-off and landing tests. Then we’ll try her under full load and check petrol consumption.’
‘I want that starboard motor back on bench tests first,’ Tubby shouted.
Saeton nodded vaguely. For him it was all settled. He’d proved the motors. It only remained to get them to the highest pitch of efficiency. ‘Okay,’ he answered. ‘We’ve plenty of time. I’ll fix airworthiness tests for the latter part of next week.’ He eased the control column forward and we slid down towards the rounded brown humps of the downs. Ramsbury airfield slid away beneath us, the Kennet showing like a twisting ribbon of steel in the cold light of the sinking sun. Membury opened out on the hill ahead of us. The two outboard motors started into life.
‘Ready to land?’
We nodded.
Saeton looked down through the side ‘There’s a bottle of whisky down there.’ He grinned as we peered down at the felted roof of our quarters. ‘Pity Diana isn’t here to see this.’ He said it without thinking. I glanced at Tubby. His face gave no sign that he’d heard, ‘Better get your undercarriage down,’ Tubby said.
Saeton laughed. ‘If you think I’m going to prang the thing now, you’re wrong.’ His hand reached down and found the undercarriage release switch automatically. He pulled it up and glanced out of his side window. Then he turned quickly, peered down at the lever and jerked at it. In the tenseness of his face I read sudden panic. I turned to my own side window and craning forward, peered back at the line of the wing. ‘The starboard wheel is down,’ I reported.
Saeton was flicking at the switch. ‘It’s the port wheel,’ he said, staring out of his window. ‘The bloody thing’s jammed.’ I don’t think he was frightened for himself. The panic that showed in his face was for all our achievement that could be set at nought by a crash landing.
‘I told you we ought to check over the plane,’ Tubby shouted back, peering forward over the lever.
‘That’s a hell of a lot of use now,’ Saeton’s voice rasped through his clenched teeth. ‘Neil. Take over. Climb to 7,000 whilst we try and sort this bastard out. Tubby, see if she’ll come down on the hand gear.’
I felt the control column go slack under my hands as he eased himself out of his seat. I took hold of it, at the same time reaching out for the throttle levers. The engines responded to my touch and Membury dropped away from us as I pulled the control column back and climbed under full power, banking steadily. Saeton and Tubby were trying to wind the port wheel down, but the handle seemed to be alternately jamming and running free.
At 7,000 feet I levelled out. They had the floorboards up and Tubby was head down in the gap. A steady blast of bitterly cold air roared into the cockpit. For an hour I stooged round and round over Membury. And at the end of that hour Tubby straightened up, his face blue with cold and stood there blowing on his ringers. ‘Well?’ Saeton demanded.
Tubby shook his head. ‘Nothing we can do,’ he said. ‘The connecting rod is snapped. A fault probably. Anyway, it’s snapped and there’s no way of lowering the port side undercarriage.’
Saeton didn’t speak for a moment. His face was grey and haggard. ‘The best we can hope for then is to make a decent pancake landing.’ His voice was a flat monotone as though all the weariness of the last few weeks had crowded in on him at this moment. ‘You’re absolutely sure there’s nothing we can do?’ he asked Tubby.
The other shook his head. ‘Nothing. The connecting rod has snapped and-’
‘All right. You said that once. I’m not that dense.’ He had pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket. He handed it to me. I took one and he lit it for me. It was a measure of his acceptance of the facts of the situation. He would never have smoked in the cockpit unless he had abandoned all hope.
‘The light’s fading,’ I said. ‘And we haven’t much gas left.’
He nodded, drawing in a lungful of smoke.
‘Better make for Upavon,’ Tubby shouted. It was an R.A.F. Station and I knew what was in his mind. There would be crash squads there and ambulances.
‘No. We’ll go back to Membury,’ Saeton answered. ‘You two get aft. Have the door of the fuselage open. I’ll take you over the airfield at 3,000 feet. Wind’s easterly, about Force 2. Jump just before I cross the edge of the field.’ He climbed back into his seat. ‘All right, Neil. I’ll take over now.’ I felt the pressure of his hands as he gripped the other control column and I let go of mine. Tubby started to protest, but Saeton rounded on him. ‘For God’s sake do as you’re told. Jump at the edge of the field. No point in more than one of us getting hurt. And as you so tactfully point out, it’s my fault. Of course we should have checked the plane.’ Out of the tail of my eye I saw the starboard wheel folding into the wing again.
‘I’m sorry, Bill,’ Tubby said. ‘I didn’t mean-’
‘Don’t argue. Get aft. You, too, Fraser.’ His voice was almost vicious in his wretchedness. And then with that quick change of mood: ‘Good luck, both of you.’
I had hesitated, half-out of my seat. His face was set in a grim mask as he stared straight ahead of him, thrusting the control column forward, dipping the nose to a long glide towards the airfield. Tubby jerked his head for me to follow him and disappeared through the door that communicated with the fuselage. ‘Good luck!’ I murmured.
Saeton’s eyes flicked towards me and he gave a bitter laugh. ‘I’ve had all the good luck I need,’ he snarled. I knew what he meant. Whether he came out of the plane alive or dead, he was finished. For a moment I still hesitated. I had a crazy idea that he might intend to crash the plane straight into the ground.