Warsaw Concerto by James Philip

Author:James Philip [Philip, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-08-29T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 28

Saturday 17th December 1966

RAF Nutts Corner, County Antrim, Northern Ireland

The bleak, windswept vista of the airfield was a grey panorama framed in the east by the mist-shrouded Belfast Hills as Commonwealth One – the designation of any RAF aircraft carrying either the Monarch or the Prime Minister – flared out and splashed down onto the main runway of the old Second War base which had been serving as Ulster’s primary ‘air hub’ since 1946.

The specially modified C-130 Hercules transport touched down and ran out smoothly, slowing gently without any of the excitement of the hard-braking short-landing juddering halt within a quarter-of-a-mile, for which the type was famously capable of in an emergency. The man at the controls, Wing-Commander Guy French, VC, Officer Commanding No. 10 (Transport) Squadron, responsible for the global transit of British and Allied VIPs, led by example and on his ‘kites’ all passengers ‘got a featherbed ride’. Occasionally, Guy French allowed a particularly gifted pilot to sit in the left-hand seat but whenever his never-ending battle with ‘red tape’ permitted he invariably pulled rank and ‘flew the mission’.

The ’modifications’ to this particular aircraft mostly related to the installation of state-of-the-art US Air Force navigation and communications equipment, a brand new ‘anti-collision’ radar system and two under-wing pods – ‘chaff’ dischargers – for employment in the eventuality that anybody was so crass as to aim a surface-to-air missile at the aircraft. Otherwise, much to his chagrin, the aircraft offered only bargain-basement comforts to his passengers. Within the cargo bay a dozen moderately comfortable forward-facing ‘normal’ airline passenger seats had been bolted to the floor behind the aircrew compartment bulkhead, otherwise the Hercules was ‘as standard’, unpressurized, a little draughty and at this time of year a tad chilly even with the cabin heaters full on.

“We’re down safely, Prime Minister,” Guy French reported laconically over the cabin intercom speakers as the aircraft slowed and began to turn to the right, the pitch of its four Allison T56-A-15 turboprops falling, the inners barely idling now. “It will take as three or four minutes to taxy over to civilisation. The ground controller assures me that the reception committee has unfurled a barrage of umbrellas and is standing at the ready, Ma’am.”

Despite herself, Margaret Thatcher smiled.

Beside her, her husband chortled contentedly.

For his part, Viscount De L’Isle, the Secretary of State for Defence was of that older generation who still believed that every flight one survived was a ‘good one’. The rather bumpy ninety minute ‘hop’ from Brize Norton had done little to assuage his general ‘mild peakiness’ due to a persistent heavy head cold. Although Ian Gilmore, his number two at the Ministry, had offered to stand in for him today; he would have none of it.

During the flight Margaret Thatcher had sounded out De L’Isle’s thoughts – now they had all had a proper opportunity to think about it - on the implications of the Soviets’ renewed bellicosity in Central Europe. Unsurprisingly, they both seemed to be of the same

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.