The time dragged. The only sound was the steady drone of the engines. Twice I half-cut the same motor out. On the second occasion I did it when Tubby had gone aft to speak to Field. I held the wires together until the motor had cut out completely. Tubby suddenly appeared at my elbow as I allowed it to pick up again. ‘I don’t like the sound of that engine,’ he shouted.
‘Nor do I,’ I said.
He stood quite still, listening. ‘Sounded like ignition. I’ll get it checked at Gatow.’
I glanced at my watch. It was eleven-sixteen. Any minute now. Then Field’s voice crackled in my ears. ‘We’re over the corridor beacon now. Right on to 100 degrees. We’re minus ten seconds.’ I felt ice cold, but calm, as I banked. My stomach didn’t flutter any more. I leaned a little forward, feeling for the metal clips. One by one I fastened them together in their pairs. And one by one the engines died, all except the inboard starboard motor. The plane was suddenly very quiet. I heard Tubby’s muttered curse quite distinctly. ‘Check ignition!’ I shouted to him. ‘Check fuel!’ I made my voice sound scared. The airspeed indicator was dropping, the luminous pointer swinging back through 150, falling back towards the 100 mark. The altimeter needle was dropping, too, as the nose tilted earthwards. ‘We’re going down at about 800 a minute,’ I shouted.
‘Ignition okay,’ he reported, his hand on the switches. ‘Fuel okay.’ His eyes were frantically scanning the instrument panel. ‘It’s an electrical fault — ignition, I think. The bastards must have overlooked some loose wiring.’
‘Anything we can do?’ I asked. ‘We’re down to three thousand already.’
‘Doubt it. Not much time.’
‘If you think there’s anything we can do, say so. Otherwise I’m going to order the crew to bale out.’ I had kept my inter-com mouthpiece close to my lips so that Field and Westrop could hear what we were saying.
Tubby straightened up. ‘Okay. We’d better bale out.’ His face looked stiff and strained in the light of the instrument panel.
‘Get your parachutes on,’ I ordered over the intercom. ‘Field. You go aft and get the fuselage door open. We may have to ditch her.’ Out of the tail of my eye I saw the two of them struggling with their parachutes. Field shouted something to Westrop and a moment later the bags containing the other two parachutes were slid on to the floor of the cockpit. ‘Get back to the fuselage door,’ I told Westrop. ‘I’ll send Carter aft when I want you to jump.’ I glanced at the altimeter dial. ‘Height two-six,’ I called to Tubby.
He straightened up. ‘Nothing I can do,’ he said. ‘It’s in the wiring somewhere.’
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Get aft and tell the others to jump. Give me a shout when you’re jumping.’
He stood there, hesitating for a moment. ‘Okay.’ His hand gripped my arm. ‘See you in the Russian Zone.’ But he still didn’t move and his hand remained gripping my arm. ‘Would you like me to take her while you jump?’ he asked.
I realised suddenly that he was remembering the last time I’d jumped, over Membury. He thought my nerve might have gone. I swallowed quickly. Why did he have to be so bloody decent about it? ‘Of course not,’ I said sharply. ‘Get aft and look after yourself and the others.’
His eyes remained fixed on mine — brown, intelligent eyes that seemed to read my mind. ‘Good luck!’ He turned and dived quickly through towards the fuselage. Leaning out of my seat, I looked back and watched him climbing round the fuel tanks. I could just see the others at the open door of the fuselage. Tubby joined them. Westrop went first, then Field. Tubby shouted to me. ‘Jump!’ I called to him. The plane skidded slightly and I turned back to the controls, steadying her.
When I looked back down the length of the fuselage there was no one there. I was alone in the plane. I settled myself in my seat. Height one thousand six hundred. Airspeed ninety-five. I’d take her down to a thousand feet. That should put her below the horizon of the three who had jumped. Through the windshield I saw a small point of light moving across the sky — the tail-light of one of the airlift planes holding steadily to its course: I wondered if those behind could see me. In case, I banked away and at the same time broke one of the wire contacts. The outboard port engine started immediately as I unfeathered the prop.
As I banked out of the traffic stream a voice called to me — ‘You bloody fool, Neil. You haven’t even got your parachute on.’ I felt sudden panic grip me as I turned to find Tubby coming back into the cockpit.
‘Why the hell haven’t you jumped?’
‘Plenty of time now,’ he said calmly. ‘Perhaps the other engines will pick up. I was worried about you, that’s why I came back.’
‘I can look after myself,’ I snapped. ‘Get back to that door and jump.’
I think he saw the panic in my eyes and misunderstood it. His gaze dropped to my parachute still in its canvas bag. ‘I’ll take over whilst you get into your parachute. With two engines we might still make Gatow.’
He was already sliding into the second pilot’s seat now and I felt his hands take over on the controls. ‘Now get your ‘chute on, Neil,’ he said quietly.
We sat there, staring at each other. I didn’t know what the hell to do. I glanced at the altimeter. The needle was steady at the thousand mark. His eyes followed the direction of my gaze and then he looked at me again and his forehead was wrinkled in a puzzled frown. ‘You weren’t going to jump, were you?’ he said slowly.
I sat there, staring at him. And then I knew he’d got to come back to Membury with me. ‘No,’ I said. And with sudden violence, ‘Why the hell couldn’t you have jumped when I told you?’
‘I knew you didn’t like jumping,’ he said. ‘What were you going to do — try and crash land?’
I hesitated. I’d have one more shot at getting him to jump. I edged my left hand down the side of my seat until I found the wires that connected to the ignition switch of that outboard port motor. I clipped them together and the motor died. ‘It’s gone again,’ I shouted to him. I switched over to the automatic pilot. ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘We’re getting out.’ I slid out of my seat and gripped him by the arm. ‘Quick!’ I said, half-pulling him towards the exit door.
I think I’d have done it that time, but he glanced back, and then suddenly he wrenched himself free of my grip. I saw him reach over the pilot’s seat, saw him tearing at the wires, and as he unfeathered the props the motors picked up in a thrumming roar. He slid into his own seat, took over from the automatic pilot and as I stood there, dazed with the shock of discovery, I saw the altimeter needle begin to climb through the luminous figures of its dial.
Then I was clambering into my seat, struggling to get control of the plane from him. He shouted something to me. I don’t remember what it was. I kicked at the rudder bar and swung the heavy plane into a wide banking turn. ‘We’re going back to Membury,’ I yelled at him.
‘Membury!’ He stared at me. ‘So that’s it! It was you who fixed those wires. You made those boys jump-’ The words seemed to choke him. ‘You must be crazy. What’s the idea?’
I heard myself, laughing wildly. I was excited and my nerves were tense. ‘Better ask Saeton,’ I said, still laughing.
‘Saeton!’ He caught hold of my arm. ‘You crazy fools! You can’t get away with this.’
‘Of course we can,’ I cried. ‘We have. Nobody will ever know.’ I was so elated I didn’t notice him settling more firmly into his seat. I was thinking I’d succeeded. I’d done the impossible — I’d taken an aircraft off the Berlin airlift. I wanted to sing, shout, do something to express the thrill it gave me.
Then the controls moved under my hands. He was dragging the plane round, heading it for Berlin. For a moment I fought the controls, struggling to get the ship round. The compass wavered uncertainly. But he held on grimly. He had great strength. At length I let go and watched the compass swing back on to the lubber lines of our original course.
All the elation I had felt died out of me. ‘For God’s sake, Tubby,’ I said. ‘Try to understand what this means. Nobody’s going to lose over this. Harcourt will get the insurance. As for the airlift, in a few weeks the plane will be back on the job. Only then it will have our engines in it. We’ll have succeeded. Doesn’t success mean anything to you?’ Automatically I was using Saeton’s arguments over again.