Planes were turned round and sent home as quickly as possible. C-130s would leave behind fuel not needed for the return trip to the mainland and aircraft were unloaded on the taxiways, but the volume of men and materiel threatened to overwhelm the limited facilities at the small airfield. During April, over 9,000 troops and 5,000 tons of cargo were flown in. The Commander of Base Aerea Militar Malvinas, Commodore Héctor Destri, called for help.
Major Héctor Rusticinni of the Fuerza Aerea Argentina flew into Stanley on 15 April. He was boss of the training squadron at the Air Force school for non-commissioned officers in Ezeiza, south-west of Buenos Aires, and his organizational talents were what Destri needed. Rusticinni felt strong emotions as he stepped off the transport plane into the watery sunshine of BAM Malvinas. Responsibility for communications, food, clothes, shelter, armament, transport and maintenance on the base was now his. Argentina, he felt, had won back what was rightfully hers.
The change in the tone of the Argentine occupation was also showing itself to the residents of Stanley. Some were being singled out for thorough house searches. Peter Biggs and his pregnant wife Fran were visited every couple of days – perhaps because the Argentinians found plenty to interest them. A keen diver, Biggs found his scuba gear was quickly confiscated. So too was the Morse key he kept in his workshop – left over from his time working in radio. Often there’d be a thump on the door in the middle of the night. Biggs would open it up to eight armed troops who’d go through the house, even taking up the carpet. While the soldiers conducted themselves with a veneer of respectability Biggs found it hard to contain his anger, but tried to debate what was going on with any English-speaking officers.
Like Biggs, John Fowler, the islands’ Superintendent of Education, had more than just his own safety to worry about. His wife Veronica had given birth to their son, Daniel, on 13 April, just two days earlier. Now as mother and child recovered from the labour back at home, the BBC World Service reported that the US Secretary of State Al Haig’s shuttle diplomacy was faltering. And Fowler, who’d already lost half a stone in weight since the invasion, could only see war ahead.
On high ground at the back of the town, anti-aircraft guns were now in place.
A full flying programme for the Vulcan training culminating in day and night bombing runs on the ranges had been written up and distributed. The crews flew twice on the 15th, persevering with the air-to-air refuelling qualification. Monty was getting it right about 50 per cent of the time. Martin Withers and Dick Russell were having a little more luck. Between them they were working out a technique that played to the strengths of each of them. Withers, unencumbered by the muscle memory accrued over years flying Victors that hampered Russell’s efforts, would make the contact. From the second sortie on, that was something he was achieving with increasing and reassuring regularity. The AARIs had been right about that. Once a contact had been made Russell would take over, flying the ten, fifteen or twenty minutes of smooth formation flying that a successful fuel transfer required. He was pleased to note that the Vulcan, lacking the distinctive high T-tail of the Victor, was actually the easier of the two V-bombers to fly in the tanker’s slipstream. A problem was beginning to emerge, however, and that afternoon John Reeve and his AARI, Pete Standing, were to get an indication that it could actually scupper the whole project before a single bomb was dropped. In the morning, Reeve had flown his first wet contact, transferring 2,000lb of fuel into the Vulcan’s tanks. As he broke contact, fuel spilled back over the bomber’s windscreen. Mick Cooper was standing on the ladder between the pilots and watched as the glass immediately turned opaque. Like trying to look through a toilet window, he thought. Not ideal when you’re flying so close to a 70-ton tanker that you can hear the roar from its jet pipes in your own cockpit. They tried a further five contacts during the afternoon sortie, each time suffering fuel spills on disengaging. On the sixth attempt, Reeve misjudged the power and overshot. But it wasn’t contact between the two big jets that was the biggest danger. As the nose of the Vulcan reached for the underside of the Victor, the trailing cone-shaped drogue scraped down the side of the bomber’s fuselage and into the starboard engine intakes. Inside the cockpit there was a loud physical thump as the numbers 3 and 4 Olympus engines, starved of air, coughed and flamed out. The rpm spooled down immediately and, without power, the two engines’ alternators tripped off-line, causing a red warning light to come on ahead of the pilots: electrical failure. Reeve yanked the handle to release the RAT to restore emergency power to the jet.
Captain to crew, we have a failure on 3 and 4 engines, he called and applied full power to the two remaining engines on the port side, stamping on the rudder to keep her straight.
Losing two engines on a Vulcan should be manageable. She’s blessed with deep reserves of power and because of the layout of the engines, built into the wing root with all four tucked in close to the fuselage, even losing both on one side doesn’t cause overwhelming asymmetry. But as Reeve gunned the throttles on the two good engines, one of them faltered. If we’re down to one, thought Mick Cooper, it’s time to sit by the door with my parachute. But it stayed with them. And as Barry Masefield tripped all the non-essential electrics and hit the AAPP – Auxiliary Airborne Power Pack – with his right hand, Reeve held the lame bomber in a gentle descent to begin the relight drills. In the thicker air below 30,000 feet Masefield began reading from flight reference card 25: Altitude. Airspeed. Windmilling speed. LP cock. From the front, Reeve provided the required responses: HP cock shut, throttle back adjacent engine as required.
Relight button, press and hold in.
Throttle. After five seconds move very slowly towards the idling gate.
Reeve nursed the 3 and 4 engines back into life and made sure they were stable. The alternators were switched back on and they tried to continue with the sortie, only for Masefield to report that a number of small electrical failures persisted. Reeve decided to call it a day and they turned for home.