That was it; the physical and communication connections between the two aircraft were broken, the tanker pilot needing to focus on the next bomber that required his services and already moving forward into position. One Vulcan aircraft, from the third flight back, was already returning to base. The connections linking the probe and drogue had shattered, allowing tons of fuel to wash over the cockpit of the bomber. With an extremely restricted view, and the pilot unable to clear the fuel from the window, along with a flameout in one of the engines, the bomber broke off immediately before the problem was exasperated further, and the aircraft and crew were lost. Four attempts later, the engine was reignited. Disappointed, but alive, they had headed back to RAF Waddington.
Merritt would hold a steady course at the same speed until all three aircraft had been topped-up. Once ready, the flight would climb back up to their cruising height and continue as planned. Within the hour, mid-air refuelling was complete, and the three aircraft climbed back to their optimum cruising altitude of 13,000 metres.
“Romeo-One-One, Juliet-One. Over.”
“This is Romeo-One-One. Go ahead. Over.”
“Ugly Duckling positive. I repeat, Ugly Duckling positive. Over.”
“Roger, Juliet-One. Out.”
“Is that it?” asked the co-pilot.
“Yes, it’s a go.”
The Platypus in the skies over West Germany had done its job, and HQ had just informed the Vulcan captain that the enemy had been sighted and were on the move. The mission was a go.
The navigator plotter, who was sitting behind the pilot and co-pilot in a separate area facing rearwards, spoke to Merritt on the internal comms.
“Stay on course zero, four, nine. Three hundred kilometres, twenty-one minutes.”
“Roger. Do we still have company?”
“Yes,” responded the navigator radar. “Both are with us.”
The three crewmen were sitting in a line, on rearward-facing, green, metal, bucket-like seats, the yellow steel-rung ladder that led to the cockpit behind them.
“What’s below us?” asked the pilot.
The nav-plotter adjusted the flexible lamp that shone down on his charts.
“Bilbao will be coming up on our left; then open sea. The Bay of Biscay will be below us in two minutes.”
“Roger.” Merritt turned to his co-pilot. “Adam, if you reach back, there’s a flask in my bag. Should still be warm.”
His co-pilot reached behind and in between the large ejector seats. It was difficult to move in the cramped confines of the cockpit, perched on the nose of the thirty two-metre long aircraft. He fumbled in the bag and extracted the flask. On opening the top, a spiral of steam drifted upwards, only their facemasks preventing the aroma from tantalising their nostrils. He poured the hot liquid into the screw-top container he had removed from the flask top and passed it to the pilot who removed his mask, sniffed the coffee before taking a drink, then handed it back. The smell of the coffee was a significant improvement on the other smells: of sweaty bodies, electronics and worn leather seats. The mug did the rounds of all the crew. The fifth member in the back of the cockpit, the airborne electronics officer, the AEO, finished it off. In the dark hole of the rear cabin, the AEO then placed a pan on an electric heater. The contents were tomato soup, the smell mixing with stale sweat and fumes; a small treat they would allow themselves. The Vulcan carried a crew of five: the captain, who was also the pilot of the aircraft; the co-pilot, assisting the pilot in the control of the aircraft, but also responsible for control of the fuel supply and communications with the outside world. Further back, there were three additional crew with equally important roles to play: the AEO had numerous responsibilities on-board. His key role was the operation of the Electronics Warfare suite. If required, the AEO could use Electronic Counter Measures such as initiating active jamming of the enemy’s radar, detecting enemy fighters, controlling the launch of anti-radar missiles, and the launching of defensive countermeasures such as ‘chaff’, hopefully confusing any inbound enemy missiles. The navigator plotter, sitting on the right side of the plane, was in charge of getting them onto the target and back home again. Although he would spend hours preparing the flight plan before he took off, he would be kept busy throughout the entire flight ready to plot any changes that were forced upon them due to weather or enemy activity. The last, but not the least, was the navigator radar. Control of the bombing fell to this officer. He would also assist the nav-plotter with his navigation of the aircraft.
This flight had three Vulcan B2s. Behind those were three more flights. Up until 1970, the Vulcan had carried the Blue Steel nuclear standoff missile, until the British Polaris submarines took over that strategic role, leaving the Vulcan to carry the WE.177B, a half-kiloton nuclear bomb, in a tactical nuclear strike role in support of NATO. The Squadron on this occasion though, was not carrying nuclear bombs, but each aircraft carried twenty-one 450-kilogram conventional free fall bombs.
Between the twelve aircraft assigned to this mission, they could drop 85,000 kilograms of conventional bombs on their intended target. Unfortunately, one of their number was on the way back to the UK.
Tactical nuclear strikes were now the provenance of 50 Missile Regiment, Royal Artillery, using the nuclear tipped Lance missile. The RAF Sepecat Jaguar and Tornado aircraft could also be used to deliver tactical nuclear bombs if called upon. After taking off from RAF Waddington, the Vulcans had flown southwest, knowing that Soviet spies would be monitoring all of Britain’s key airfields. The intention was to convince the Warsaw Pact that the aircraft were flying to RAF Akrotiri in Cyprus, a base that had housed two squadrons of these V-bombers up until 1975. Activity at the RAF base was already being accelerated, giving the impression that these aircraft were indeed heading back to their old base. Three other Vulcan bombers were already flying towards RAF Akrotiri. These three remaining aircraft were in no condition to go into battle. Therefore, they were being used for an equally important role: one of deception. There was even some concern that these three, most well over twenty years old and the least airworthy of the aircraft available, might not even make the flight. But it was a gamble that was considered worthwhile.
After an uninterrupted flight, Merritt’s trio of bombers headed further to the east, planning on circumnavigating the outskirts of Paris. The French Government had been reluctant to allow nuclear capable aircraft to fly through their airspace, concerned that, if picked up by the Soviets, they would respond with a pre-emptive nuclear strike of their own. But the British, along with other NATO countries, had convinced them that the subterfuge would work. A raft of distractions and misdirection had been set in motion. Only time would tell if they worked.
The AEO monitored his equipment closely. Should the equipment detect radar lighting the aircraft up, he could not only inform the pilot of that danger, but also let him know which quadrant the radars were in. The pilot could then simply veer away on to a new course. Their biggest threat would be the Soviet fighters with a look-down/shoot-down capability. One of the latest Soviet fighters, the Mig-29 Fulcrum, would be out hunting for NATO bombers of all types. Finding the Vulcans would be the icing on the cake for the enemy. At high level, each Vulcan’s electronic countermeasures supported each other, but down in the weeds, the Vulcan bomber and its crew would be isolated, on their own. One of the weaknesses of the Vulcan when low-flying had been their lack of ability to jam. With height, the footprint of their electronic jamming was wide enough to be effective, but at low level, it would be no greater than the radius of the aircraft. In fact, it would serve to highlight the bomber, not protect it. But lessons had been learnt from the attack on the runway at Port Stanley in the Falklands. In preparation for the bombing of the runway at Port Stanley, the Vulcan had been given a hotchpotch of add-ons to improve its defence. The ALQ-101 electronic countermeasures pod was one of them, taken from a Buccaneer aircraft. Now, they had a chance. When the time came, their ability to jam the enemy radar, such as the Soviet surface-to-air missiles like the SA-2 and SA-3, drop chaff and manoeuvre out of trouble ensured the crew had a good chance of coming out of this alive. They even stood a chance against the Shilka, the dreaded ZSU 23/4.