Debut for a Spy (24 page)

“Dunsfold tower, Hawker X-ray requesting permission to hover on the grid.”

“Hawker X-ray, you are cleared to hover. Passing you over to Bill Bedford who will monitor. Switch to alternate frequency.”

I switched the radio over.

“Bill here, David. We can dispense with the formalities at this level. When you're ready. Check nozzle lever back to stop.”

“Nozzle lever back.”

“You'll need full throttle to unstick. Then drop it back to catch the hover as quickly as you can. I don't want you in orbit.”

“Roger, Bill. Here goes.”

I eased the throttle forward. The engine noise increased greatly, but except for a slight shudder nothing happened. More throttle. Careful. I don't want to shoot up in a burst. Throttle nearly at maximum. Suddenly I felt the shift. I was up! Ease back on the throttle. She wobbled a bit, but I didn't want to make corrections at this altitude. Let the auto-stabilizers handle it.

“That's fine, David. You're at five feet. Now ease off the throttle and set her down gently.”

I moved the throttle marginally. Nothing happened. I moved it again. I sank down more quickly than I would have liked. My instinct told me to shove the throttle forward, but I refrained. I felt the bump when I touched the ground, and I knew I bounced a bit, but I eased the throttle back to idle.

“Good work, David. You did right. Don't overreact on the throttle. Get used to the bounce – It happens quite often. Now, repeat that procedure several times to get the feel of it.”

I did it four times more, each one smoother and easier than the last. I began to feel confident until I realized that this was like a baby's first steps. I had a long way to go to the Olympics.

“Now take it up to 50 feet, hold the hover for a moment, then bring her down.”

I did everything the same way, just allowed 831 to climb to 50 feet and held it. I looked around for orientation. I couldn't see the grid under me, so I checked for stability by looking at the buildings nearby. In the trees on the left a house gable. Pens and Nissen huts on the right. I wasn't wandering. Down we went.
“Repeat that a few times.”

Four more. The confidence returned, but I realized I wasn't flying. The aircraft was flying itself. I was back on the grid.

“Now take it up to 50 feet, hover, move the stick a little to port, then center it.”

I took it up again, gently pushed the control column left and back. The aircraft wobbled left, then steadied.

“Now try a slight lean to starboard, then fore, then aft. Get the feel of the controls in the air. Good. Now give it a bit of right rudder, and she'll turn around for you. That's it. Now left rudder for the other way. Fine. Now, listen carefully. I want you to drop the nose just a bit and hold the stick there. You'll move forward a little. Go about 20 yards, then hover.”

I moved the stick forward carefully. The nose dropped, and I began to move. I gauged where I was in relation to the buildings, then eased the stick back.

“That's good. Now, a little rudder, turn her around, and bring her back to the grid, and land.”

A little right rudder, and when I had sighted myself on the buildings I eased up, then nose down until I saw the grid disappear, and stick back. Throttle back, and down we went, this time with hardly a tremor as we touched.

“Jolly good, David. Now, do you want to quit, or do want one more step?”

“Let's go on.” My bravado was not mirrored in my intestines.

“Okay. Listen carefully, and you're on your own. When I've finished speaking, switch to the tower frequency, because you'll have to get permission from them. Then, lift to hover at 50 feet, take her down the runway gently at 50 feet, turn around at the end of the runway, bring her back, and land. Any problems?”

“Nope. See you later, alligator.”

I switched the radio over as I caught the look on Bill's face, and I laughed in the face mask.

“Dunsfold tower, this is Hawker X-ray.”

“Hawker X-ray, this is Dunsfold tower. Pass your message.”

“Dunsfold tower, Hawker X-ray requesting permission for a hover pass over runway 25.”

“Hawker X-ray, hold for incoming aircraft on runway 25.”

“Hawker X-ray. Roger.”

I squinted through the heavy perspex to see a Hawker Hunter two-seat trainer land gracefully, then taxi off.

“Hawker X-ray, this is Dunsfold tower.”

“Hawker X-ray. Pass your message, Dunsfold tower.”

“Hawker X-ray, you are cleared to hover pass on runway 25.”

“Roger, Dunsfold.”

I gave Bill a thumbs up, pushed the throttle and rose up. Holding at 50 feet, I dropped the nose and began to move, slowly at first, then I pushed it down a touch more and went a bit faster. As I approached the end of the runway I eased the nose up, applied some left rudder and swung around. I was just dropping the nose for the return pass when the radio crackled to life.

“Mayday! Mayday! Airforce Delta Bravo Tango! Flame-out! Two miles east of Dunsfold. Request emergency landing! ETA 40 seconds!”

The tower jumped in.

“Hawker X-ray abort landing – repeat – abort landing! Clear main runway! Delta Bravo Tango cleared for straight in approach!”

Reflexes overrode thought. I banged the undercarriage up, fed on throttle and eased forward on the nozzle control lever. In two seconds I was zipping over the startled heads of the crew around the hover grid, speed increasing rapidly. I remembered about Bill's problem with yaw, so I kept it straight as I held the stick back to gain height. Glancing at the airspeed indicator I was shocked to see I was already over 200 knots. I eased the throttle back, then put the aircraft into a turn and bank left. The altimeter said 2300 feet. My thought processes began to function and I took stock. I was in an experimental jet fighter 2300 feet above the English countryside hurtling along at a cool 240 knots. Let's see
– that's about 275mph or 440kph. The fastest I had ever flown in the Harvard IV was about 180mph.

Now what, smartass?

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Moscow
,
U
.
S
.
S
.
R
. –
the
same
day

The Zil limousine moved swiftly along
Leningradsky
Prospekt
, traveling northwest out of the city toward the airport. Nalishkin was honoured that the head of the Directorate had accompanied him, though he knew this wily old bird well enough to realize that it was not out of any sense of regard.

When the thick plate glass partition closed, isolating them from the driver, Nalishkin knew the real reason was at hand.

“The truth, Volodya. What are your chances of success?”

“The truth, Comrade General. Excellent. It is planned to the finest degree. We have safeguards and back-up plans in place. They will not expect it, I assure you.”

“You understand that failure will be on your head? I will disavow everything connected with the project. It will be your problem and yours alone.”

“And if it succeeds?”

“Then promotions, decorations, privileges – for you and for me, Comrade Colonel. I will rise above Dmitrienko, and then I will crush him. What about his bitch of a granddaughter? Is there any sign of weakness?”

“None, Comrade General. She performs her duties with a zeal I find surprising, regardless of how demeaning. I felt sure I would prove that she is just using her grandfather's influence. I can't seem to break her down.”

“Pity. I was hoping it would give us a lever, a chink in the bastard's armor. I've always suspected he was up to something, but I can't find it. Worst of all, the prick is in my way. This had better succeed, Volodya.”

“Have no fear, Comrade. It will.”

General Rastvorov grunted. Nalishkin was reminded of a saying told
to him by his father.

Stand well back when you let go of the bucket. Rastvorov knew that one too.

*

Over
Dunsfold
,
Surrey
–
the
same
day

I eased the throttle back as the airspeed touched 240 knots. Looking left through the perspex canopy I could see the triangle of runways at Dunsfold. Two miles away, I guessed. There appeared to be an aircraft on the main runway. Correcting my heading to parallel the airfield, I glanced again. The aircraft was gone. I keyed the mike. Be calm.

“Dunsfold tower, this is Hawker X-ray.”

“Hawker X-ray, this is Dunsfold tower! Pass your message!”

Why did he sound so excited?

“Dunsfold tower, Hawker X-ray requesting some talkdown assistance to facilitate return and landing aircraft.”

“Roger Hawker X-ray. All other aircraft, clear this frequency! Emergency! Repeat, clear this frequency!”

A pause. Different voice.

“David, it's Bill Bedford. Do you read me?”

“Loud and clear.”

“Do you want to eject?”

“Wot, and bang me 'ead on the canopy? Not on your Nellie. Let's get her down.”

“Sir Sydney will be relieved. How do you want to do this?”

“I'm about two miles southeast of the airfield. I'll bring her around and line up on the runway. You can talk me down.”

“
Do you want to attempt a conventional landing?”

“That's a negative. I don't know the landing characteristics. Let's bring her in vertically.”

“Roger, David.”

“Turning 90 degrees to port. I can still see the airfield.”

“Roger.”

I watched carefully. I wanted to make the next turn to line up
– I didn't want a lot of corrections and I certainly didn't want to go around again. Now.

“Hawker X-ray turning on final.”

“Roger. We have you at 2.5 miles from the runway. Decrease speed to 200 knots.”

“Roger, Dunsfold.”

I eased the throttle back.

“Speed 200 knots.”

“Descend to 200 feet.”

“Roger.”

I inched the stick forward, checking the altimeter and sighting visually. I centered the stick when I reached the height.

“Hawker X-ray, you are over the perimeter track.”

“Roger.”

Bill spoke very quietly.
“Now gently, David. Ease the nozzles back to reverse thrust.”

“Roger.”

This was the tricky part. My heart was pounding, my hands sweating in the gloves.

I lifted the lever back and through the gate. The forward speed ceased quickly, but the nose went up and the aircraft wobbled unsteadily. It started to sideslip.

I applied more throttle, adjusting the control column. It steadied, holding in a hover. Easing the nozzle lever forward through the gate, I was stationery.

“Well done, David! Undercarriage down, and bring her in.”

“Roger.”

I lowered the undercarriage and looked out to check my bearings. I was almost over the tower. There was a large, delta-winged RAF aircraft near the hangar. Looked like a Javelin. Must have been the one in trouble. Tilting the nose forward I inched toward the hover grid, reducing power slightly as I went. Over the grid at 100 feet I held for a moment, then eased the power off and let her settle. When she touched I dropped the throttle back and shut her down. I couldn't move, not even to open the canopy.

I heard the ladder bang as it was placed, then the canopy was popped from the outside, and there was Bill Bedford.

“Good Lord, David! Are you all right?”

I unsnapped the mask.

“I think so. That was some lesson, Bill. Do you do that for all of your first-timers?”

He started to laugh in relief, and so did I. Gingerly I climbed out. I was shaking. I took the helmets off, then grinned as best I could.

“Is that enough for today, or would you like me to try for the world's airspeed record before I go home?”

He had sobered up.

“David, when I heard that Mayday call I didn't know what to tell you to do. I was afraid I'd make you panic, and then you might have gone in. But you're safe, and you saved the aircraft. Do you know how much she's worth?”

“Nope. No idea.”

“Give or take a million pounds sterling. But they don't like to insure experimental aircraft. And I hate to think of the set-back to the program. Come on! Let's change! I'm buying!”

*

Half an hour later we were back at the Compasses. We'd parked, and Bill held the door for me. I guess I expected it to be quiet by 4 o'clock, so when a wall of cheering hit me I was taken aback. Then someone started singing 'For he's a jolly good fellow' and I was surrounded by airfield personnel. I was bewildered. “What on earth for?” I shouted to Bill over the din.

“You brought their aircraft back. They want to thank you in their own way.”

A drink was pressed into my left hand, and my right was continually being shaken. Some faces I knew, most I did not. Then there were two fellows in RAF flying coveralls.

“We're the crew from the Javelin you cleared for. Just wanted to add our thanks. Understand it was your first time in the kite. Quite an adventure, what?”

“Nothing compared to yours. Glad you got down in one piece.”

Then there were my fellow North Americans.

“That must answer your question, David,” grinned Reeder. “You must have had… what… a 20 minute conversion before the shit hit the fan?”

Several other people exchanged good-humored remarks, and then they began to leave with waves and 'Cheerios'. Bill and I were sitting to have a few quiet minutes before we left. I was feeling pretty drained, but there was something at the back of my mind which had been pushed out by the excitement. It took me a moment to think of it.

“Bill, I caught sight of a gable, obviously on a building at the south of the airfield near the hovergrid. It's partially hidden by the trees. It seems to be all alone over there. Can you tell me anything about it?”

“You must mean the cottage. It was on the land where the runways are, and when they built the airfield they moved it over there rather than knock it down. It's been used from time to time as a residence and for storage, but it hasn't been occupied now for some years. Why do you ask?”

“Just curiosity. Is it possible to have a look at it?”

“By all means,” he smiled, “but haven't you had enough for one day?”

“I might forget about it tomorrow, and I have an idea that I should check out.”

In five minutes we were back through the gate and around the perimeter track to the old house. We passed several areas back in the trees which had tarmac leading in to them.

“Part of the aircraft dispersal areas from the Second World War. The sort of thing the P1127 would do away with. Won't be necessary to have squadrons all grouped around a highly visible airfield like this. Weapons today would obliterate it.”

We parked on the perimeter and walked toward the two-story cottage. The rust-colored shingling was in a terrible state, which meant rainwater was probably leaking into the house in torrents. There was a small out-building connected to the house on the right, but what I was interested in were the windows in the gable on the second floor. The glass had been broken out, and the attempt at boarding them up looked pretty flimsy.

“What are you looking for, David?”

I took a position on the ground.

“Stand here, Bill. Put your back to the windows, face this line, and tell me what you see.”

He did as I had directed.

“Well?”

“Well – nothing. Only the hovergrid. Just a hole in the ground. No buildings, no hangars, no tower. Nothing.”

“Now tell me what you'd see from that window up there if XP831 were on the grid and being test-flown.”

“Oh! I see what you mean. It would be a ring-side seat for all of the hover trials. But this is inside the security fence and it's patrolled at irregular intervals.”

“That wouldn't stop a determined spy. It's a natural – the house has been here for years and yet it supplies the perfect vantage-point and good cover both day and night. Can we get in?”

We walked around to the door. It was latched, but with minimal pressure it gave, and we were in. The smell was awful
– years of animal and bird droppings, wood decay and mildew from leaks and moisture. I looked around on the lower level, but I most wanted to see the room with the gable window. We went on up.

One window frame was still in place, and the boarding over that window had been pried back at the left side. Indeed there was a perfect view of the hovergrid, and at this height even the mesh itself could be seen clearly. The remnants of the window frame masked the opening completely from the outside. I asked Bill to have a look.

“I agree that it's possible, David. But we have nothing tangible to back it up. It's still only a theory.”

I was looking through the debris on the floor. Dead leaves, broken glass, twigs, ticking from a long-destroyed mattress. I stirred it around with my foot, moving it here and there. Something caught my eye. I stooped to pick it up with my handkerchief.

“That might do it, Bill.”

He examined my find.
“Yes, indeed.”

It was a plastic cap from a 35 millimeter film canister.
“Someone's been up here taking pictures. I'll turn this in and see what Hammond can find out from it. Bill, Security should be told to examine the fence around here for marks of entry. If they're careful I'm sure they'll see signs.”

“I'll take care of that part. Who do you think it is?”

“Most likely the Soviets. I just wish I knew what they were going to try. It's like trying to plug the holes in the dyke before the water comes through.”

“I'll suggest they put more men on guard duty. The inner fence around the hangars, the assembly areas, and the experimental design office are all well-lit and carefully patrolled, but we don't want to take chances.”

We left the cottage after a last cursory look around, following the perimeter track back to the hangar. I got out and met Bill behind his car. He stared at me for a long moment.

“Bit more than meets the eye, aren't you, Major Baird?”

I shook his hand with an embarrassed grin.

“See you in the morning, Bill.”

“0930 hours, old chap.”

I stepped back and saluted, climbed into the Jag, and drove away. I wondered what the aviation history books would say about Bill Bedford, the pioneer test-pilot of the VTOL era.

Facts, skills, accomplishments – undoubtedly. But the humor and warmth of the real man would be hidden between the lines. A pity.