‘I think I’ve got it.’
They were set. Dibbens sat back for take-off as Reeve swung round on to the runway centreline. Then he released the brakes and opened up the throttles and 598 produced an astonishing noise that cut through the night for the first time. The blistering, grating roar of the engines was flattened out by the intake resonance to create a ghostly howl. And the bomber quickly gathered speed along the Tarmac.
A minute later, the eleventh Victor followed them. Then, barely twenty minutes after the first of the V-bomber fleet had begun her take-off roll, the last of them, 607 with Martin Withers at the controls, got airborne. Vulcan 607 hadn’t wanted to leave the ground. At rotation speed Withers had pulled back on the stick, expecting the familiar eagerness to fly, and she’d just continued barrelling along the runway. Filled with fuel and loaded with bombs, both Vulcans were well over their maximum take-off weight of 204,000lb. Add to that two new weapons pylons made of reinforced steel joists, the Dash 10 pod, a sixth crew member, even fresh layers of paint and it was probably over two tons. The excess alone was greater than the entire normal bomb load of an old American B-17 Flying Fortress four-engined heavy. But as the Olympus 301s powered her faster and faster down the runway, the big delta wings had eventually found purchase. Now airborne, she felt familiar again. As they climbed out of the rough cradle of mountains around the airfield, the undercarriage locked up with a comforting clunk and 607 accelerated away into the black sky.
As the crew ran through their post-take-off checks, Withers climbed straight along the track of the runway centreline of 140 degrees for fifteen miles before turning south on to a heading of 230 degrees. Two minutes ahead of him on board 598, the scene was very different.
At Wideawake, the rumble subsided to leave in its wake an eerie stillness. Those who’d witnessed the departure were still transfixed, moved even, by the overwhelming, visceral power of the armada going to work. The hot scent of jet engines lingered in the air a while longer, but after the intensity of the last few hours, Ascension seemed once again to have become a tiny isolated rock in the middle of the Atlantic.
Jerry Price didn’t have long to savour the satisfaction of getting the formation into the air safely. A few minutes at most. Then things started to go wrong.
Vulcan crews were used to the red pressure-warning light coming on. Sometimes a depressurization horn too. They usually ignored them. The big delta could climb too fast for the cabin pressurization system to keep up with it. This time, though, they knew it was the DV window Reeve had been wrestling with before take-off. As soon as the bomber had started gathering speed the air had begun whistling around its edges. When they passed through 10,000 feet and the cabin began trying to pressurize, the air just bled out. While the noise of the wind rose alarmingly, Reeve was trying to work out a solution. Not a problem, he thought at first, it’s perfectly logicaclass="underline" seal it. In the back they pulled sandwiches out of the ration tin and Reeve tried to stuff their cellophane wrapping in the gap. No good. Cursing, he tried to plug the hole with his flying jacket without success. Vulcan 598 continued to climb and the spiteful sound of the rushing air was becoming overpowering. And it was getting cold too. Approaching 20,000 feet, keeping their place in the stream of jets flying south, the outside air temperature was dropping to minus 30 Celsius. Barry Masefield turned to Jim Vinales to his left. Despite the oxygen mask, Vinales could see the colour had drained from the AEO’s face.
‘Oh my God,’ Masefield said, speaking for all of them, ‘this is going horribly, horribly wrong.’
It was really just a matter of time now. Masefield pointed out that by breathing 100 per cent oxygen through the masks, as they’d have to, their supply wouldn’t last. On top of that they needed to cruise above 30,000 feet, where the air was even colder than at their current altitude. Despite the layers of insulating, protective clothing they all wore, the six of them would freeze to death if they continued. There was no way they could go on.
Just four minutes after taking off, Reeve reluctantly pressed the RT button to transmit.
‘Blue Two unserviceable. Returning to base. Blue Four, you’re on.’
On board 607, the message was greeted with silence. Martin Withers had been looking forward to a beer with Monty in the Exiles Club. After the initial drumbeat of adrenalin subsided, he sat at the controls, rapidly adjusting to the new reality. A sixteen-hour operational mission now lay ahead. He gathered his thoughts for a moment then spoke to his crew: ‘Looks like we’ve got a job of work to do, fellas…’
Dick Russell immediately started thinking about the tanker plan – what he was there for. It was one thing sitting off until the Primary had refuelled successfully, then returning home. But now they were the Primary. The success of the operation depended on flying formation in the dark for the next seven hours and, just two weeks earlier, Withers had never really done any night formation flying.
Here we go again, thought Hugh Prior at the new development, practising the aircrew’s studied indifference to adverse circumstances. But this time his resignation was tinged with satisfaction. We’ve got it!, he thought smiling to himself as he picked up Reeve’s transmission.
Minutes later, as his co-pilot, Pete Taylor, reorganized the Vulcan’s cramped cabin after take-off, he began to realize that something was up. Condemned to the jump seat, he had been disconnected from the intercom when the news came through. He reattached his PEC to speak.
‘Have I missed something?’ he asked brightly.
Meanwhile, Bob Wright started to think about how he was going to squirm into his immersion suit.
Twenty minutes later, Red Rag Control received another unscheduled RT message from the formation. As soon as the Victors were settled into the climb the Nav Radars tested the refuelling equipment. In the back of White Four, XL163, Alan Bowman, 57 Squadron’s boss and head of the Victor detachment on Ascension, watched with a sinking feeling. As the Nav Radar played with the HDU controls in an effort to trail the hose, it was clear that nothing he tried was working. White Four had been tasked with the ultimate long-slot position. After a final Victor–Victor transfer from Tux, they would fly on with the Vulcan for the final refuelling before the bomb-run. That knowledge only made their disappointment more acute as they reported that they were unserviceable and turned back towards Wideawake estimating that they’d be on the ground again at 0006. With RT communication stripped to the bare essentials, no further direction was necessary. Steve ‘Biggles’ Biglands in Blue Three, one of the two Victor airborne reserves, smoothly took their place.
Of fourteen Victors on Ascension, two had now failed. Two had replaced them. A minimum of ten Victors were needed to make the refuelling plan work. Jerry Price had run out of options. If there was another failure they’d have to abort the mission. But, for the time being, while it might be delicately balanced, they were still on top of it. Price sent a flash signal to Northwood HQ informing them that the formation was airborne.
Once again, the flexibility of the Victor force – and the margins built into the mission plan – was keeping the thing on the rails. But only just.
Chapter 32
Airborne for less than half an hour, John Reeve’s Vulcan had used little of the 74,000lb of fuel in her tanks. Unlike the Victor, the Vulcan can’t jettison fuel. Still above the big jet’s maximum weight for even an emergency landing, Reeve had no choice but to stay in the air to burn it. The technique was straightforward. They could climb at maximum power in a tight spiral, or descend in corkscrew with the airbrakes out and even the landing gear down to increase the rate of fuel burn. Distressed, angry and strapped into a cold, noisy cabin, the crew of the lame bomber faced a bleak prospect. As they coiled upwards Reeve started having trouble with his communication equipment.