While the other three Vulcans, XL426, XM584 and XM603 were being loaded up with 1,000lb bombs in preparation for bombing missions in support on British troops in Hell, XH-558 had received a different fit. In the forward part of the bomb bay was a reconnaissance crate containing a number of different radar, IR and visual sensors which would record the ground conditions below the bomber. They would record to digital storage in the aircraft, but could also download to ground stations. As well as the ultra-modern sensors in the bomb bay the Vulcan would be using its H2S bombing radar and a digital video camera someone had installed in the visual bomb aiming blister. Two air sampling pods were also being carried under the wings.
Unlike the Americans the RAF had not bothered to alter the tactical camouflage schemes of its aircraft, as yet. They did not have the manpower to spare at the moment, and to be honest were not really convinced that it was necessary. The most they were willing to do was to paint the two TSR. 2s into a similar two-tone grey to that worn by the Tornado GR. 4 and Buccaneer S. 2B and they hadn’t even done that yet. The aircraft had carried out their first strikes in their gleaming white prototype paint. Repainting the Vulcans wasn’t even on the cards, so the Vulcans were still resplendent in their green and grey wrap-around tactical schemes.
In the aft portion of the bomb bay was an additional fuel tank to reduce the aircraft’s dependence on air-to-air refueling, something that had not yet been practiced in Hell, at least not by the RAF. That was about to change. The Spams were counting on aerial refueling to get their bombers all the way up to Belial’s stronghold and they needed a test of the system to see whether it worked. XH-558 had got that job as well. Plus one or two more. The Vulcan currently had its H2S radar radiating as it closed with a tanker aircraft to top up its tanks before entering the Hellmouth. The first of three planned refuellings, two of which would take place in hell itself.
“You should see her soon, Skipper.” The Radar Navigator, Squadron Leader James Bolam reported.
Wing Commander Winters strained his eyes to see their tanker, reflecting on the fact that his eyesight was not quite as good as it had once been. There, he spotted an object ahead of them trailing a vapor trail.
“I’ve got her, Jimmy, shut down the radar so that we don’t microwave the crew.” Winter said.
“Right, David, let’s see if we can put all that refueling practice to practical use.”
“X-Ray Hotel Five, Five Eight, this is Spartan One, is that you lighting up my ECM display, over?” A voice in Winters’ and Maxwell’s ears said rather unexpectedly.
“Yes it’s me, Spartan One, good to hear your voice, Stu; I’d heard that you were back flying tankers.” Winters replied. “Are you ready to give me some fuel, over?”
“Yup, we have the centre hose trailing, now be gentle with me.” The tanker pilot replied, using a feminine voice to finish the sentence.
As XH558 closed in on the tanker it revealed itself as a hemp painted Victor K. 2, in this case XL231, Lusty Linda / Spirit of Godfrey Lee. The Victor was one of the many RAF aircraft that had been forward deployed to Basra airport, it had seemed appropriate to refuel one V-bomber with another one.
While Winters carefully lined up the Vulcan behind the Victor Maxwell maintained careful control of the throttles. The refueling probe made contact with the basket first time and the transfer began, though as usual aviation fuel leaked over the bomber’s canopy, partially obscuring the view. This was a problem which had first arisen during the ‘Black Buck’ missions of the Falklands War. The RAF engineers had never quite found out yet why the probes, which had been perfectly serviceable in the nineteen sixties until they had been removed, should now leak fuel like it was going out of fashion.
“Ooh, you are a big boy.” A sultry female voice said over the radio.
Winters looked at Maxwell somewhat surprised. Below him he could hear the rest of the crew roaring with laughter.
“Ah, do you have a split, sorry female crew member, Stu?” He asked.
“Wouldn’t you like to know, lover.” The same voice said.
“Err…can we land somewhere soon, Boss.” The Tactical navigator said, chocking back laughter. “I think I need to visit the bog.”
“I’m not landing so you can knock one out, Flight Lieutenant Pervert.” Winter replied laughing.
Once the tanks were filled up again Winters dropped back and took station off the Victor’s port wing.
“Thanks for the top up, Stu. I think we’re going to need it, over.”
“You’re welcome, Martin. Good luck, I would say ‘see you in Hell’, but I think that would be inappropriate, over.”
“See you when we come back out.”
Twenty minutes later, systems checks complete, Winters and Maxwell stared at the dark ellipse of the Hellmouth. They had seen it on footage from UAVs and combat aircraft and had it described by fellow RAF aircrew, but nothing really prepared them for the sight if the thing itself. Maxwell throttled back and engaged the filters that would protect the Olympus engines from the various kinds of filth found at low level in Hell.
“Oh well, here goes nothing.” Winters said as the Hellmouth began to fill his forward vision. “Hold onto your hats, lads.”
The change from the skies of Earth to Hell was sudden and rather unexpected, catching both Winters and Maxwell by surprise. There was no transition, one moment the Vulcan was in the clear blue skies of Iraq, the next in the red, cloudy murk of Hell. The Vulcan was already starting to climb when they saw another old aircraft making its landing run on the airfield at Hell-Alpha. One of the B-29s the Spams had brought back into service for second-line work. Both pilots peered hard at the veteran but it was too far away and the air was too foul to make out its name. They’d heard the Enola Gay was back in service and wondered if it had been her.
That made Winters reflect on something he had seen just before launching from RAF Akrotiri. Two Globemaster C. 1s; the new fifth and six aircraft; of 99 Squadron had landed, taxied to a remote part of the air station where they had been placed under heavy RAF Police and Regiment guard. Rumor had it that their cargo consisted of ‘special weapons’ and having seen the level of security Winter had no doubt that for once the rumors were true. It was logical of course, he did know that someone in the MoD had realized that it would be somewhat difficult to use the navy’s Trident missiles against Hell, so some of the Trident warheads had been remanufactured into free-fall bombs. AWRE Aldermaston and ROF Burghfield had used the most recent design of weapons as the basis of these new ones – the WE. 177A/B/C, and they were also working on a warhead for an extended range version of the Storm Shadow.
Hellmouth Air Traffic Control Center, Camp Hell-Alpha, Hell
Sergeant Stephanie ‘Stevie’ Moss liked being an Air Traffic Controller. It gave her a real feeling of power over the officers that flew the RAF’s aircraft. To help manage the flow of aircraft around the Hellmouth Number 1 Air Control Centre had deployed a Type 101 radar and a Tactical Air Control Centre. Some of the ATC staff were less than pleased to be deployed to Hell, but Moss did not mind, it would be the first chance for her to earn a campaign medal, and besides they did have the entirety of 1 Squadron, RAF Regiment defending the radar site, so she was not particularly worried.
She watched as the blip she had been expecting appeared out of the Hellmouth.
“X-Ray Five, Five, Eight, this is GCI. Welcome to Hell, gentlemen. You are clear to climb to operational altitude, over. Keep alert at all times, the air here is crowded and poor visibility means you will have very little warning of any aircraft out of their approved flight path.” There was a note of asperity in Moss’s voice, most pilots were doing their best in the unfamiliar conditions but there were some who just did what they wanted and left everybody else to sort out the problems.