As soon as he’d deselected the intercom to Homer, Roger Black bent forward over his flying course calculator, an analogue device designed to predict the course and speed the ship would need to achieve in order to generate the correct wind over the deck. He checked his calculations twice, then called through to the bridge. ‘Bridge, Flyco. I’ve got one Sea Harrier to recover in around five minutes. Request flying course of two seven five, speed eighteen.’
‘Flyco, Bridge. We’re well ahead of you. Turning to starboard.’
Black grinned. Already he could feel the faint vibration that told him the ship was increasing speed, and the bearing on the compass repeater was moving steadily clockwise. Malcolm Mortensen, the young lieutenant Officer of the Watch, was highly efficient and well attuned to the requirements of the Air Department. Black enjoyed working with him.
‘Flight Deck, Flyco. Stand by to recover one Sea Harrier, number two spot.’ Roger Black’s voice boomed out over the tannoy system, and two seconds later he received an acknowledgement from the FDO. Black glanced down at the deck to ensure it was clear and ready, nodded to Commander (Air) who’d just appeared beside him, and began looking out to the east for the returning aircraft.
In the Operations Room the RDF tube sprang to life again.
‘Homer, Tiger Two is visual and level at two thousand.’
‘Roger, Tiger Two,’ John Moore replied. ‘When ready, descend to six hundred feet and contact Flyco.’
‘Roger, Homer.’
In the descending Sea Harrier, Richter changed his UHF box to Flyco frequency.
‘Flyco, this is Tiger Two. Visual with Mother, request flying course.’
‘Tiger Two, Flyco, roger. Steady on flying course of two seven five, speed eighteen. Wind straight down the deck at twenty-three knots, gusting twenty-eight.’
In Tiger Two, Richter held two thousand feet and aimed straight for the ship, flying directly overhead. As soon as he’d passed, he throttled back slightly and began his descent, simultaneously pulling his Harrier into a hard port turn. He levelled at six hundred feet above the surface of the sea and continued the turn until he was flying parallel with the ship’s course and just off to the port side of the
Six hundred feet, four hundred knots, past the bow. Then throttle back to idle, airbrake out and bank left, hard, into a 4g turn. The speed bled down to three hundred knots, and he heard and felt the growl as the Pegasus hit idle. Then briefly downwind, looking left to check the Flight Deck before pulling the Harrier round into its final approach.
Richter wound on the power again and pulled back on the silver-coloured lever that controlled the nozzle angle, preparing the Harrier for transition to vertical flight. Astern and to port of the ship, steady on west and down to one hundred and fifty feet, he watched his airspeed carefully.
The most critical period during a carrier landing is when the Harrier’s weight is transferred from the lift generated by the wings to the delicate balancing act required to support the aircraft solely on the twenty-one thousand six hundred pounds’ thrust of the Rolls-Royce Pegasus engine. And the most dangerous phase of this procedure comes when decelerating from about one hundred and twenty knots down to around forty. The pilot must progressively increase engine power as lift from the wings is reduced, but ensure that the nose points into wind and that the angle of attack is within limits. Get this wrong and it bites: the aircraft will flip onto its back and hit the sea in a little under one second. Neither the pilot nor the aircraft will survive.
Richter checked the Flight Deck. As his Harrier approached the stern of the
Richter made his final landing checks, lowering the undercarriage and checking the engine temperature to ensure that he had sufficient thrust margin to transition the Harrier into a full hover. He was already ‘wet- committed’ – to stop the Pegasus overheating, a powerful pump forces water into the engine during a vertical landing. Once started, the pump cannot be switched off, and it runs for only ninety seconds, so Richter had to be on deck in under a minute and a half.
Toggling the speed trim backwards, Richter slowed the Harrier until he’d exactly matched the ship’s forward speed. He looked over at the Flight Deck, watching for the signals from the FDO, eased the control column over to the right, then almost immediately moved it left to stop the Harrier drifting too far.
Richter established his aircraft in the hover, checked the deck markers to ensure he was positioned correctly over two spot, then reduced thrust to start the Harrier in descent. Immediately the aircraft began losing height, Richter increased thrust again. This was essential to avoid the Pegasus engine pop-surging as it ingested its own hot exhaust gases, that were bounced back from the steel deck below.
The Harrier landed, as usual, fairly hard, bouncing a few inches upwards before settling back on the Flight Deck. Richter hauled the power back to zero, rotated the nozzles to the fully aft position, and wound a little power on again to move the aircraft away towards the parking area. This would avoid the heat from the deck melting or exploding the tyres on the Harrier.
The yellow-jacketed ground marshaller directed Richter forward and to starboard into a parking space, and then gave a balled fist gesture to indicate brakes on. Richter waited, engine running, until the ground crew had finished chaining his aircraft to the deck, then methodically switched off all the Harrier’s electrical systems and shut down the engine.
A detachable red ladder had already been secured to the side of the Harrier when Richter slid the canopy open, replaced the ejection seat and MDC – Miniature Detonating Cord – pins, and climbed out.
Chapter 8
Tuesday
In his cabin Richter peeled off his flying overalls and underwear, wrapped a towel around his waist and headed straight for the Two Deck showers. He ran the water hot and long, washing the blood off his hands and forearms. Fortunately most of it had dried before he’d pulled on his flying overalls at the airfield, and what stains there were on the material he’d easily brushed off.
Back in his cabin he dressed in 5J rig – black trousers, white shirt and black pullover – then looked at the plastic bag containing the clothes he’d worn at Matera. Richter was acutely aware that he had attempted to kill Lomas – and he hoped he had succeeded – in full view of a number of hostile witnesses. He had also, without question, left hairs, fibres and who knew what other trace evidence behind at the villa, in the Alfa Romeo and the Agusta helicopter that he had ‘borrowed’, and in the squadron briefing-room at Brindisi, not to mention the blood- stained Kevlar jacket he’d discarded. And there was absolutely nothing he could do about either the witnesses or this evidence.
But he could at least get rid of the clothes and the knife. What he needed was some kind of a weight that would take that specific evidence straight to the bottom of the Ionian Sea. There was nothing in his cabin that would help, so he locked the door and walked down to Five Deck, opened the bulkhead door and entered the hangar.
As always, it was a scene of coordinated chaos as maintainers worked on the Sea Kings, Merlins and Harriers. The helicopters were both parked and serviced at the aft end of the cavernous structure, where there was a little more width available, and the Harriers at the opposite end. With a full complement of aircraft on this ship, the hangar was always noisy and crowded, so Richter took care not to trip over or walk into anything as he made his way forward.
The squadron Chief Petty Officer who’d headed the team that had flown to Brindisi spotted Richter and immediately walked over to him.
‘You made it back, sir,’ he said.
