Rob looked at the sheet and notes; it was not a complex flight. The lines on the chart were mainly for show, as Red had written VFR—Visual Flight Rules—next to the flight description. Basically, go out west, drop to one thousand feet, briefly hand over control to Guiding Light, let the passengers see it working, then return.
Not a thorough test; just a pleasure flight for Stafford before he gets his sign-off.
“We have forty minutes. Rob, you need to get into Red’s coveralls.”
IN THE MAINTENANCE UNIT LAND ROVER, Rob was starting to overheat; Brunson’s flight suit was thick. As a precaution they’d decided he should have the helmet on with the visor down at all times.
He sat on a tin shelf under the canvas as the vehicle sped along the peritrack. Two MU pilots came along with him, including Durrant in the passenger seat up front. They both looked about Millie’s age.
After he’d first signed up, it was easy to get bored with the war stories from the veterans in the crew room, but now, in an old military vehicle, driving around a former World War Two dispersal airfield, about to climb into an aircraft with an unknown outcome, he felt he had a small glimpse of their once daily routine.
Eventually, they came to a stop.
The canvas at the back parted and Durrant’s face appeared.
“OK, we’re in position.” He looked at Rob. “When Red gets around this side of the jet, he jumps in and you jump out. Got it?”
Rob tried to nod, but the helmet moved slightly over the leather inner. Would it give him problems in flight?
They waited. After a few minutes, Durrant spoke again. “He’s on his way.”
Rob shuffled to the back of the wagon, waiting for his cue.
His heart was beating fast, but time slowed down.
“Come on,” he urged Red Brunson under his breath.
The canvas parted, and there he was. The tall American climbed in.
“Are you ready for this, buddy?”
Rob raised the visor and met Red’s intense gaze.
“Yes.”
“Make your case, convince them, scare them even. But don’t do anything stupid, OK? We need you back here in one piece. We’ll back you up, every one of us.”
“Really?”
“Everyone, buddy. Now listen, in case Kilton tries to override, I’ve added some steps to the checklist—”
“The circuit breakers?” Rob interrupted.
Brunson smiled. “Yep. Flip those breakers and only the captain’s side panel will work. No-one else will be able to engage or cancel.”
“They’re coming.” Ted Durrant spoke with urgency from the front seat.
Brunson looked back at Rob, eyes wide. “He still might try something. Your number one responsibility to me, Mary and everyone else is to stay safe. You understand, Rob?”
Rob dropped the visor and jumped out of the back, clutching his checklist and air chart.
He looked across. The short and stout Ewan Stafford waddled around in oversized flying coveralls, looking like a sack of potatoes. He and Kilton posed for a photograph by the TFU door. They were a couple of hundred yards away, which gave him just a minute or so.
The Vulcan stood proud on its landing gear; Rob ducked and walked underneath to the yellow crew ladder.
Once in the rear crew bay, he searched his paperwork for the additional checklist steps from Red, and located a small fuse block on the left side of the panels. He tried to open the fuse marked ‘7a’.
It wouldn’t budge. He lifted his visor to get a clear view.
The fuse case was flush with the wall; he needed a small flathead screwdriver.
He patted his coveralls, hoping Brunson kept a tool of some description in his pockets.
Nothing.
Rob looked around, as he heard Kilton’s voice carried on the breeze.
“Shit.”
He tried the trouser pockets of the suit and found a fountain pen. It would have to do. He pulled off the lid.
Placing his gloves and paperwork on the AEO’s station, he pushed the pen nib into the outside case of the fuse holder. Using the nib as a lever, he got the holder completely open and tipped out the fuse, before pushing it back in. His fingers were now covered in black ink.
He consulted the list again, smudging the paper with black as he did so. He opened two more traditional circuit breakers on a panel above the radar operator’s station before finally disconnecting a small wire underneath the Guiding Light readout panel.
Just as he had completed his extracurricular tasks, a shadow appeared below him.
He snapped the space-like visor back down and pushed the oxygen mask back into place, then quickly moved to the small steps, up to the cockpit itself.
He settled into the left hand captain’s seat while Ewan Stafford climbed fully into the rear crew area and stood aside to let Kilton up.
Rob hurriedly consulted Red’s list again. He opened two more circuit breakers above and to the left of his seat.
He exhaled, just as Stafford appeared next to him.
“Hello!” the managing director said cheerily. Rob pointed at the empty co-pilot’s seat on the right and Stafford made getting into it look like a trick Houdini would have struggled with.
Kilton appeared below him between the two seats, his head poking up into the cockpit.
Rob froze.
Kilton continued up the pilots’ ladder until his head was level with them.
“Red, you carry on with the pre-start, I’ll strap him in.”
Rob exhaled quietly and turned away from the pair to busy himself with the checks.
Kilton’s hands reached over Stafford, pulling on his straps, and in the process, he pushed against Rob.
The Vulcan cockpit suddenly felt more cramped than he was used to.
Kilton told Stafford which pins to remove to make the seat live and then where to store them. Meanwhile, Rob brought the Avro aircraft to life and prepared to start the engines.
To his relief, Kilton shuffled back down the ladder. An engineer stood on the crew-access ladder, ready to help him close and seal the hatch.
Once done, Rob craned around to see Kilton move to the Guiding Light position and strap himself in.
He quickly began the quick engine start sequence; he had a few seconds before Kilton would connect his PEC and access the intercom. Each of the four Olympus engines fired up, utilising a built-in procedure for the Vulcans that sat on standby with Britain’s nuclear deterrent on board. Something else Brunson had arranged in advance; no waiting for ground power units.
Rob was grateful for the noise and distraction of the auto sequence.
He got a good start on all four engines and continued with the after-start checks.
He would have to talk to ATC.
The engine noise whined in his head through the intercom and he considered taxiing without permission.
He looked down at the intercom control panel and realised with relief that he could isolate the rear crew. He set the switches, keyed his own press-to-transmit switch and requested taxi.
He exchanged hand signals with the ground marshaller and set about shifting the large aircraft from its resting place.
As he swung the Vulcan around and headed for the eastern end of the runway, Mark Kilton appeared next to him, again.
Rob kept his eyes front, but Kilton tapped him on the shoulder. He reluctantly looked around; Kilton tapped the side of his helmet and shouted over the din.
“Intercom’s not working!”
Rob nodded, and Kilton went back down into the dark.
He flicked the switch to bring the rear crew back onto the circuit.
“That’s better. I need to talk to Ewan. Red, power the laser on now, Ewan can watch the reading as we climb out.”
Without replying, Rob reached down to the Guiding Light panel on his left. He flicked the power on, ensuring the flight computer was not yet engaged with the autopilot.