In the cramped pilot’s cockpit of the BR-101 prototype, Kershaw checked the frequency on his transmitter, then spoke into his mask. ‘Brinton Tower, Brinton Tower. Angel One receiving — Over.’
There was a second of static, then a voice was heard in his headphones. ‘This is Brinton Tower. Receiving you loud and clear Angel One — Over.’
Kershaw smiled. ‘Roger, Brinton. Heading on course, two seven zero degrees. Speed: Five hundred and ninety knots, ETA: Eleven zero eight. Requesting permission to land.’
Brinton Tower came through his headphones. ‘Roger, Angel-One. You are clear to land on Runway Two Three. Wind is south-south westerly, Speed: Sixty eight knots. Cloud base: Six thousand — Over.’
Kershaw acknowledged: ‘Roger Brinton. Descending on final approach.’ He stared ahead through the windshield and the clouds passed by, then suddenly, the black and white threshold markings of Brinton’s Runway 23 lay ahead, with the green bordering lights disappearing into a perspective distance. The pilot pushed a lever on his right console to feel the undercarriage lower beneath him.
He spoke to his colleague through his mask. ‘Soon be down, Sandy.’
His navigator responded, as he watched the rising Cumbrian countryside rise up outside of his canopy. Kershaw pulled down the throttle and pushed a smaller lever to the side of the handle to lower the flaps. As the aircraft slowed, he brought the nose of the plane up slightly and selecting another lever, watching as the nose drooped on its hydraulic mechanism to give him more visibility. The black tarmac of Runway 23 now covered his windshield, and with hands firmly on the control column, he eased the aircraft down, the tyres skidding as they gripped the surface. The white centre markings whizzed by underneath the plane, as Kershaw levelled the big silver machine. He then pulled another lever, which opened up a small outlet below the fin to enable a buff coloured brake chute to open like a huge flower, slowing down the aircraft. ‘Angel-One landed. Permission to exit runway, Tower.’
The tower acknowledged. ‘Roger, Angel-One. Use Exit Two. Taxiway is clear to hangars.’ The controller then decided to break radio protocol. ‘Welcome back. It’s great to see you again,’ he said excitedly.
As the BR-101 slowed, Timmy Bell flew low along the runway in his fighter, and as he passed over Kershaw and Ludlow, put it into a climb, waggled his wings, then put on the afterburners and disappeared into the clouds. Kershaw smiled, shaking his head. He knew that Bell was a showman, and he looked forward to their drinks in The Ploughman after their shift.
A few minutes later, the BR-101 moved in from the airfield and approached the hangars. It was finally home and as they turned off the taxiway into the dispersal area, the crew saw the crowd of people eagerly awaiting the plane’s arrival. The sleek shape drew nearer to them, and now only a few feet away from the red rope barrier, Kershaw applied the brakes and the aircraft stopped. He shut down the systems and, almost simultaneously with his navigator Sandy Ludlow, opened up his canopy. They unbuckled themselves from the seats and climbed out of the cockpits to descend the blue boarding ladders that had just been placed into position by the ground technicians. As they climbed down, the Brinton crowd cheered, giving the two airmen a most hospitable welcoming.
To acknowledge the crowd, Kershaw and Ludlow gave a mock bow, causing them to go wild with admiration. Then, Kershaw shouted to them. ‘This is your plane, ladies and gentlemen. We just have the privilege to fly it for you.’
Howard Barnett approached the two men and shook their hands. ‘Well done Eddie, Well done Sandy,’ he gestured, smiling at them. He went over to a table where some technicians were looking over a microphone. ‘Is the PA up now, gents?’
One of them nodded to him. ‘You’re all good to go now, HB.’
Barnett acknowledged Henry Brinton as he approached the table. He beckoned to Kershaw and Ludlow to also come over to them. Now satisfied everything was ready, he spoke into the microphone. ‘Good Morn… Hang on…’ He looked at his watch, realising that both hands were pointing straight up and the second hand was just moving onto the twelve. ‘Please excuse me. I’ll start again. Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the BR-101 naming ceremony. In a few moments, our owner and son of our late founder, Henry Brinton, will have the honour of officially christening our latest design. I would just like to say a few words of my own to thank all Brinton’s employees for your dedication and commitment throughout this project, and your determination to see it to this stage. I understand that you will be aware that we are currently going through a phase that is both challenging and worrying to us all, and hopefully the powers that be eventually see this beautiful machine for what she really is capable of, and not just how much she is costing them.’
There followed cries of hear, hear and claps and cheers from the crowd. Barnett nodded in appreciation. ‘So with no further ado, I hand you to Henry to carry out the christening ceremony. All yours, Henry.’ He handed over the microphone and a large sheet of paper to his boss then took a few steps back.
Henry Brinton stepped forward, holding a large rolled up sheet on plastic, and waited for the clapping to cease. ‘Thank you everyone, and thank you HB for some very meaningful sentiments there. As you all know, as some of you have been here since long before I was having my nappy changed, it has always been a tradition since Brinton’s first plane, that my late father Sir Ronald has given each design a name beginning with ‘R’. So to continue with this tradition, we have all agreeably chosen on a name that is clearly fitting for this particular design. A name which matches the BR-101 to its capabilities as a supersonic strike aircraft that is swift, powerful and effective. There is a sword still used as standard issue by the British Army, although this sword is now mainly used for dress purposes in parades and such like, but in its heyday, it was used as the main combat weapon of every soldier in battle. A weapon that was most feared by any enemy, and the sword I refer to is also the name of our new plane. So I officially name the British Aviation Consortium, of which of course our historic company plays a major part: Model number BR-101… the Rapier.’
He peeled the adhesive back off the clear sheet holding, placing it onto the nose of the aircraft. When he had finished, it revealed the italic words of BR-101 Rapier in red, entwined with the famous ceremonial sword in black.
Chapter 5
Later that day, Barnett glanced at the recently returned prototype sitting on the rain swept, dark grey floodlit tarmac outside The Magic Box. Following the earlier naming ceremony and after shutdown of the engines, her cooling ducts still showed signs of escaping heat. The two blue boarding ladders were still in place by the side of the crew compartments, awaiting the technicians who would be conducting ground tests in the morning.
Although proud of his new machine, his face displayed a hint of sorrow. Since the fatal accident of his number two, James McGregor, there had also been a number of small incidents that niggled him; the latest being the recent sudden death of dear old Agatha, who for twenty years had been faithfully cleaned the Brinton offices.
Last month, the Personnel Department had announced that she had got news of her daughter falling off a horse at her Montana home, where she lived with her wartime GI husband, and Agatha had been asked over on an all-expenses paid visit to see her. Shortly after her arrival in the old, gold-rush famous Lewistown, she had crossed a road to get some flowers in a shop, forgetting that in America traffic comes from the opposite direction to what it does in England. At the inquest, the coroner had kindly added, ‘the consolation is that at least she didn’t feel anything, when that big, red Dodge Land Truck had hit her at sixty-two miles per hour.’