Wenham took off his sunglasses, introduced himself, and shook Swan’s hand, looking him up and down at the same time. Foley did the same.
Wenham smiled. ‘Ever flown in an F-111 before, Mr Swan?’ The pilot teased, knowing full well, this suave and reserved looking Englishman, standing before him, had done no such thing.
‘Only on some weekends, to give my little Cessna a rest,’ Swan joked.
The three men laughed. Warming to his sense of humour, Wenham patted Swan hard on the back. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get ya to the Cape and in good shape.’ Wenham chuckled, realising his statement had rhymed, ‘Hell, what do ya know, I am just as good a poet as your old Will Shakespeare.’ The three men laughed again.
‘Yes, I’m sure that even the old Bard himself would have been impressed with that one. Thank you Major. It’s nice to know that I will be in safe hands being flown at over a thousand miles an hour, over the Atlantic. Especially by a poetic pilot, such as yourself.’
The three men spent the next ten minutes walking around the bomber, as Wenham explained different parts to his English passenger. At the cockpit and after climbing the ladder, they stood on the platform looking inside the aircraft.
Wenham gestured to some of the equipment. ‘This is where you will be sitting, Alex.’
Swan scanned the ‘office’ of the aircraft, with its array of switches and levers, and then stared at the grey coloured ejection seat, with its brown cow hide back cushion. He looked back at the pilot. ‘Standard issue, these cow hides, are they?’
Wenham sniggered. ‘Hell no. Our squadron name’s, The Buffalos, so all the airplanes in our outfit, have the buffalo skins, as a sort of mascot.’
Wenham suddenly took on a more serious tone. ‘So, why are you hitching a ride in a supersonic bomber, Mr Swan? My CO wouldn’t tell me, so I guess it’s some special mission, you’re on.’
Swan turned to him, with an equally serious expression. ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you either Major, but let’s just say, it’s a matter that could be out of this world, so to speak.’
He then looked on as a member of the ground crew opened a panel at the side of the plane, to load a box into the tight compartment. He secured it and looked up at Swan, giving a thumbs-up gesture. ‘Your clothes are all loaded, sir.’
Swan thanked the man, admiring the fact that the aircraft even had its own luggage area. The three men then walked into the hangar. Over the next twenty minutes, Swan listened as the two crew members, went over the safety procedures for flying at supersonic speed, how the G forces affected the body, and the experiences that Swan would be subjected to. He would even be expected to operate a few controls, and was briefed on how to do this, as Wenham explained about their functions. Captain Foley demonstrated how to use the oxygen mask and radio unit, and what to do if an emergency occurred in flight. Finally, as they were crossing one of the world’s mightiest oceans, Swan was shown how to operate the inflatable life jacket, attached to his suit.
With the briefing over, having also been shown the route Wenham would be taking, and his rendezvous points with the tanker planes, Swan was now ready. Holding his helmet under his arm, he walked out with Wenham and Foley, back towards the waiting F-111 aircraft.
Swan put on his helmet and allowed Foley to adjust it. He then climbed into the cockpit and sat in the crew ejection seat. Foley leant over him, and pulling the harness straps tight, clipped them all into position. Swan felt the tension, as the strap between his legs, pulled him upwards. He could also feel the straps over his shoulders. Foley then took hold of the small hose and a cable on Swan’s right side, connecting them into his mask. The SID man could now hardly hear anything, as Foley explained how to pull down the visor.
When Foley finished his pep talk, Swan nodded in appreciation. Wenham seated himself and plugged into the aircraft’s com system. ‘Do ya hear me okay, Alex?’
Swan replied excitedly. ‘Clear as a bell, Major.’
Foley gave Swan a thumbs-up sign. ‘Have a pleasant flight, Alex.’ He closed the canopy down over Swan’s head. Wenham pulled on his canopy and showed Swan how to secure it.
Swan copied the pilot’s actions, pulling a lever across and down, until a green light appeared, indicating his canopy was now secure. Swan looked out to his right side to catch Foley waving and smiling at him. He raised a gloved hand in response.
Wenham spoke to the tower. ‘London Tower, this is Rapier Two-Five, requesting permission to taxi, to runway-over.’
Swan listened, as Patrick Thomas gave Wenham instructions. After the ground crew had detached the generator hose and pulled away the boarding ladder, the flight line marshal waved his bats at the pilot. Wenham released the brakes on the wheels, and Swan suddenly felt a jolt as the machine started to roll forward, then turn to follow the yellow line markings on the tarmac floor.
In a few moments, they were moving slowly along the taxiway, and Swan noticed an Air France Caravelle with its flashing anti-collision light, waiting for the bomber to pass, as they arrived at the taxi slip to Runway One.
Wenham was given clearance from the tower for an immediate take off. He turned and spoke into his radio microphone to his passenger. ‘Okay, Alex, hold on good buddy. We’re about to light up the fires.’
Swan braced himself, as he watched Wenham push forward the throttle lever. Suddenly, he heard the two Pratt & Whitney TF-30 turbofan engines, amplify behind him, to churn out their 2,100 lbs of thrust. Then, as the afterburners glowed brighter, power shot out of the exhaust nozzles. Swan suddenly felt an assertive invisible force, pressing him into his seat, as the aircraft accelerated to a terrific speed, along the runway. In front of him, through the clear Perspex of the windshield, he saw the white centreline markings shoot under the nose of the plane, and a few seconds later, felt the aircraft become lighter, as it lifted off the ground to claw its way into the bright blue sky.
Chapter 43
At Weisemann’s bungalow in Titusville, Gunther Fleischer sat at a table. The bungalow was a simple, but sufficient dwelling, owned by NASA. The couple had now been in America for almost a month, and Fleischer missed his country. The news he received of his construction business being seized by the authorities, had only enraged him further. Looking to the future, he had decided to stay and see this mission through, the project to end all projects, but was unsure of staying around in the expected aftermath.
Fleischer opened a box, purchased on a shopping trip to a gunsmith. Carefully, he lifted out the brand-new Smith & Wesson P-38mm snub nose revolver, examining it. It had been a long time since he had held one in his hands, and had almost forgotten how heavy they could feel. Also, on the table, was a box of ammunition. He opened the breech and stared inside, but decided not to load any bulletin, yet.
Katrina Holz walked into the room, from the kitchen. She had fixed them both a cold orange drink, to quench their thirst, providing some relief from the blazing late July heat. Holz eyed the weapon in Fleischer’s hands. She hated guns, wondering why he had decided to obtain one, but she strangely also felt safe, as she observed her lover handle the weapon. ‘How does it feel?’
Fleischer waved it. ‘Slightly heavy, but it has a good grip.’
Holz changed the subject. ‘I was hoping, we could all go to the restaurant along the street, for dinner.’
Fleischer agreed. He reached for a bundle of documents on the table. ‘When Peter is off duty, I will need to discuss some sections in this manual for the Eagle Lunar Module. I need to be sure, he has done, what is necessary.’