Vince Book three

Vince - book three.

Published by Eric Bray at Smashwords

copyright 2011 Eric Bray

This collection of writings is purely a work of fiction.

One or two of the businesses mentioned, which take no significant or active part in the plot, are genuine, as are similar geographical locations. They are included merely for authenticity.

All characters and events are entirely a figment of my imagination, and as such, bear no intended resemblance to any person, dead, living, or not yet created, or event from the past, present, or future.

Finally - my apologies to the People of Anglesey, for the liberties I have taken with their country, their language, and place names.

I, the writer, retain copyright.

Vince. Book three of five, plus a related continuation, making six in the series!

I hope the spirits of Ron McNair and Jaques Costeau don’t mind me ‘borrowing’ them for a brief appearance. R.I.P, Sirs.

Chapter --------title

One----------28,000 feet.

Two----------Llyn Hafodol

Three--------The Wreck

Four---------Further South

Five---------Anglesey

Six----------Wednesday

Seven-------Anglesey

Eight--------A week later

Nine---------Mick and Harry

Ten----------Anglesey again

Eleven------Chris

Twelve------Hercules

Thirteen----Chris again

Fourteen----Llyn Hafodol

Fifteen------George

Sixteen------Chop Day

Seventeen---Chris

Eighteen-----Holyhead

Nineteen-----First Dive

Twenty-------Summer

Twenty-one--Three Years Later

Twenty-two--The Beginning of the End

*****

Chapter one.

28.000 feet.

Twenty-eight thousand feet. Three hundred and eight knots indicated on the a.s.i. Heading two seven two degrees, if the gyro repeater was to be believed, or just a tad north of west. The Pilot yawned, fighting the drowsiness caused by sitting for hours, gazing at the mass of dials two feet seven and a half inches from the tip of her nose, while the engines droned soporifically on. Outside the strip of small square windows, just above the bulbous nose of the aircraft was – nothing. Just the opaque white of the eight-eighths cloud cover they had been plodding through, seemingly forever.

The co-pilot stirred, groaned, and said Sorry, Cap, I’ve got to go again!

Ok. I’ve got the weight.

Bert squirmed out of his seat, stepping over, and simultaneously ducking under, the panels of switches, circuit-breakers, radio’s, and all the other junk involved in taking a Hercules, with it’s belly-full of goods, from one place to another in a safe and predictable manner.

Shall I bring you a coffee when I come back? Bert asked.

Please.

And one for me, too? Henry requested, from his position behind the pilots, where he monitored fuel consumption, engine performances, electrical power, and hydraulic pressures, amongst other ancillary items. But wash your hands first! I don’t want the trots too!

While we’re feeling chatty, how’re we doing? George asked.

I’ll tell you in a minute, Skip. Tony’s just finished plotting our position. Henry replied, as the navigator climbed down from his precarious position in the astrodome. If he’s got anything useful!

The intercom popped, as Tony plugged his headset in, at the plotting table. Not a bloody thing visible! He groused, I couldn’t even make out the sun! We’re picking up a bit of rime ice on the leading edges. The G.P.S. won’t lock on, as usual, so it will have to be a guesstimate - course, time, airspeed, and a bit of luck! He fiddled with dividers and a parallel rule, on the chart he had spread out on the plot. Assuming the wind is the same, - we’re about – here. Give or take. New course 269, Skip, and point of no return in twenty-eight minutes.

269?

That’s right, Skip, not quite 270. If you put the ‘W’ under the arrow, then ease it a smidgeon to the right, meaning we’ve turned – THAT – way, he gestured hugely to the left, that’ll do for now!

Harry chipped in. Are you sure? Last time you were navigating us, from Valley to Lyneham, by road, we went through the Mersey tunnel! If his guess is anything like, Skip, we’re just on the comfortable side of the fuel curve. We could do with a tail-wind, or a bit less height, where the engines are happier. He tapped a gauge. Number four has crept up another two degrees.

George let the irrelevant chatter wash over her, merely picking out the useful data, as she reached over and turned a knob on the auto-pilot six clicks to the left, while she watched the artificial horizon with one eye and the compass with the other. The horizontal divide between the upper blue, and the lower green, halves of the horizon’s display obediently leaned a little to the right, as the left wing dipped in response to the heading change. The gyro stepped round the required amount, before the dividing line matched up with the mark etched on the glass face of the instrument again. With the aircraft settled on its new course, she switched on the ‘de-ice’ circuit, and all the lights went out. Damn! She tried the back-up light, on a flexible stalk, but that was off too, so she felt for, and found, her flight bag, and removed the pocket torch she always carried for such occasions. She clicked it on, enabling her to see if the instruments were still working. Check the breakers, Henry! The auto-pilot has kicked out as well, so all I’ve got is the pressure and magnetic dials!

I’m on it.

George settled down to hand-flying the big aeroplane with only a limited panel of working instruments. She had a magnetic compass, an airspeed indicator, a combined turn and bank and skid instrument, and a pressure altimeter. The ‘lean and skid’, officially the turn and bank instrument said she was left wing low, and sliding to the right, so she applied a nudge of right aileron, and left rudder, to centre the markers. Now the airspeed was decreasing, and the height was increasing, so she eased forward a little on the control column. Course 268, wings level, skid, speed, height, course, level, skid, speed, height, round and round, she scanned the dials, nudging the controls back and to, until she found the balance, then niggled at the trim controls until they stayed where she wanted them to be.

Ah, here we are! Henry fiddled with his test gear, speaking round the pen-torch he held in his teeth. Master fuse cartridge has blown! There must have been a power surge. Here we go, contact! Ignition!" The cockpit lights flashed back on.

Radio’s are back on. Henry called, and the strobes and nav lights.

-level, skid, speed, height, course, level – The gyro isn’t! speed, height, -

Just a mo, boss!

On the panel, a yellow ‘Master Caution’ warning light glowed sullenly, and a buzzer began sawing at their ears. George’s right hand flashed out to cancel the noise. –level, skid –

I got it, Boss, Number four’s red-lined while we were mucking about.

Bert? George called. Bert, back in your seat, pronto!

There was no response.

Tony! Drag Bert out of the loo. I need four hands up front, like now!

On the way, Skip.

-level, skid, speed, height, 267, nudge to the right, level, speed slow, nudge forward, speed, course 270, level, skid, speed slow, height reducing, Are we losing power on number four? course 269, level, Still no gyro skid speed low, height low, her left hand reached for the power levers, and nudged them up a percent or two, course 275, left a bit, A klaxon blared, as a scarlet ‘fire’ lamp illuminated.

Bert? She kept the scan going. Fly the aeroplane, number one rule! Engine fire in number four!

Henry leaned way over to check her display. Number four, Boss! he confirmed.

Shutting down number four! She selected the power lever for number four engine, with one finger.

Number four! Henry confirmed, and then pulled it back to idle.

Number four prop, feather!

Prop four! Henry cross-checked her. It was not a good idea to shut down the wrong one!

- level, speed, skid, left rudder to combat the asymmetric power of three engines, height, course, too far north, not level, too slow, skidding, height low, course creeping back, aileron to level, speed! More power –

Prop’s feathered, Skip.

Four, to fuel cut-off!

Harry pulled the throttle lever right back, to the detent.

Fuel cock, four. Her finger touched it.

Fuel, four. I can’t reach it without unstrapping.

Ok, I’ve got it! She reached, turned it off, picked up the drooping wing, where she’d inadvertently pulled on the control column. Bert! Where are you, damn it! – speed, skid, height, course, - Fire bottle, four! she pointed at the lever, I can’t reach it.

Nor can I, Boss.

Unstrap, and pull it.

Right, Boss.

Left aileron, left rudder. Rudder trim left, more, more. The strain came off her left leg. Left aileron trim, then some more rudder. She balanced the big aircraft in its new configuration, two engines on the left, one on the right.

Henry’s arm snaked round her head, and took hold of a lever mounted above it, on the roof. Number four fire bottle, Boss? Always cross-check.

She flicked a glance, That’s it, four.

He pulled the red knob down, to engage the valve, then turned it to the number ‘1’ mark. You’ve got more than max. continuous power on, Boss!

I know. Any less, and we go down, slowly, into any conflicting traffic. As soon as Tony comes back, tell him to call Shanwick, and tell them! level, speed, skid-

He’s here now, Boss.

The intercom popped as he plugged in Bert’s out of it, Boss. It’s more than the trots, it could be food poisoning, or his appendix. He’s green and white, and curled up in a ball, in agony!

Fire’s out, Boss. Henry called. Trying the gyro again.

Tony, call Shanwick and tell -! Another amber light flared, with a klaxon accompaniment, which she cancelled again. Now what? Her left hand flicked switches, seeking the answer, while her right flew the aeroplane. – level, switch, speed, switch, skid, switch –

Volts, Skipper! We’re running out of volts, the genny’s have gone off, too!

H.F. is dead, Skip! Tony added, and there’s something burning, in the back!

Take a hand bottle, and go and check, keep me informed.

Boss!

Henry. Ram Air Turbine! She pointed at a black and yellow striped lever on the side wall, out of her reach on the co-pilot’s side.

Just a mo, boss, got to cut down on the drain, first! Henry was switching off unnecessary electrical equipment, and some that were, but they could manage without, for now.

Tony came on the intercom. Nothing’s burning, boss, but the main cables from the gennies are bloody hot. There’s a short, somewhere, and the insulation is smoking.

Stay there a minute, while we get the rat on line.

Henry leaned over the empty co-pilot’s seat, and pulled the handle, which extended a forward facing air-scoop into the airflow. A turbine, driven by the forced air, whined up the audible scale, spinning an emergency generator. Speed, Boss.

George glanced at her instruments, then realised he meant the generator was up to speed. Tony, pull the breakers!

Right Boss.

The voltmeter twitched, as the ammeter dropped back.

Isolated, Boss!

Stay there for a few minutes, to make sure nothing catches, and then come forward, into the driving seat.

Right, Boss.

Henry spoke. With respect, Boss, I think you’d be better with me in the right seat. I’ve a P.P.L. Tony is a better medic, and he knows the fuel panel. There’ll be less hassle if he stays in the back, saves him climbing in and out all the time.

She thought about it for a moment. –level , skid, speed, - Ok, do it that way, but don’t talk in abbreviations! When you said ‘speed’ just now, I thought you meant airspeed!

Roger, sorry, Boss. He paused, watching his instruments. The engines are starting to overheat, Boss, you HAVE to come back on the power!

- height, course – Tony?

Boss?

Are those cables cooling?

Yes, Boss, they seem alright

How far below was the opposing traffic?

Two thousand five.

"What lanes are there to the north?

From memory, nothing north for a good way. I’ll check when I get time.

Do it now! – skid, speed, height –

On the way.

"Boss, shall I transfer fuel from the outboards to inboard, then they will be good for another hour.

Do it.

George reached over to the transponder panel, next to the V.H.F. and U.H.F. radio panel, between the pilot’s seats, and selected the international code for radio failure, not knowing whether that was working, then dialled the U.H.F. set to the guard channel, 243 Megs. – level, skid – She flicked the microphone into place in front of her face, and then spoke to it. Pan, pan, pan, General call, this is Goldstream Three Two calling Pan. Respond please, over! – speed, height –

Boss, nothing to the north for two hundred miles. There’s a lane to the south, over.

Ok, I’m coming north to clear the lanes, then we can slow down, and let her lose height.

Tony measured with the tip of his pencil. North for ten minutes, or fifteen, if you can, will take us well clear.

Coming round. She tried the radio again, after checking the time, on her watch. Tony, check on Bert, while Henry is pumping fuel.

Boss.

She flicked switches again, trying the civilian V.H.F, which she set to the emergency channel of 121.5 Megs. She listened to the static, in case someone else was transmitting, then made her call again.

Goldstream, this is Clipper six eight crackle hiss. Over

Clipper, I’m receiving you broken, strength two. Can you relay a message to Shanwick for me, please, my H.F. is down, over.

Crack hiss fives, go ahead, over!

She radioed a brief message about the engines, the radio’s the generator, the crewman, her intentions, height, course, and approximate position."

Clipper, repeat the bit about the crewman, I got the rest, over

George repeated the missed part, and added that Shanwick should relay to Lyneham.

"Copied. Stand by this channel, for a minute.

Goldstream pan, this is Clipper six eight four.

Six eight four.

"Shanwick acknowledges. They have you on the edge of their radar coverage, tracking north. You are clear, repeat clear of traffic and free to descend as required, repeat, descend as required. Last reported cloud-base in your area was t’ree t’ousand feet, over!

Clipper, copied all, thanks, Radio is fives, now. Many thanks for your assistance, turning back onto course 269, and descending, over.

You’re welcome. Madam. Keep ‘em pedalling, in the back. I’ll stay on here for a while, but we’re going the other way. Out.

Tony, we’re -.

I heard, 269. We went north for six minutes, that means we’re -. He muttered -- working over his chart, drawing in the dog-leg on the predicted track I’ve done what I can for Bert, which isn’t much.

Fuel’s transferred. I’ll climb over, now.

Before you do, we never got that coffee! – speed, height, - she rolled them gently into level flight, on the proper course, and settled the aircraft down again, before reaching for the three throttle levers and pulling them back to just less than maximum continuous power. Pushing right rudder to compensate for the change in yaw, she eased the nose down a little, to maintain airspeed, allowing the aircraft to sink slowly down the sky as she wound on some right rudder trim, or, rather, wound off the left rudder trim.

Temps are beginning to drop, Boss.

So are we, going down!

Stop before we get to the basement, Boss!

George eased in a little down elevator trim, to save having to hold the stick forward, still keeping the scan going, checking the balance instruments, in rotation. There was still nothing to be seen outside, except white.

Henry, can you fly on instruments?

No, sorry. I know the theory, but I’ve only five minutes in a Cessna 152, and I got vertigo. I can fly all day if I’ve got a horizon outside.

Tony, can you manage the fuel, keep track of our position, and look after Bert?

If you can keep this beast in the air, I can manage that little task. If I get stuck, Henry’s only an arm away.

Here’s your coffee, Skip. Henry passed her a steaming cup. Tony, yours is on the fuel desk.

Ta.

George fitted her cup into the receptacle near her knee, and then re-focussed her attention on the dials. Fly the plane first. – level, speed, height, course, -

They came out of the cloud layer at three thousand seven hundred and eight feet. George eased on some power, to check the descent, added a little up trim, a bootful of left rudder to counter the yaw, and then fiddled around until they were back in balanced flight with the three working engines. The temperatures stabilised just below the red lines. She sighed. Max continuous just about holds her level at this height. If I slow down much more, she gets awfully mushy in yaw, and the roll isn’t much better! Are you ready to take her, Henry?

He sighed, swallowed nervously, stretched, fidgeted, then placed his hands on the controls in front of him. I’ve got her, I think!

Take it slow and gentle. The response is a lot slower than a 152, and takes longer to start and stop. She relinquished the controls, but continued watching like a hawk for a few minutes, ready to take over if the workload got too much for him, and save them from any potential disasters.

Slowly, Henry settled down to his new task, the aircraft weaving and porpoising gently in his inexperienced hands.

Ten minutes later they were settled into their new roles, and George was starting to relax, finally drinking her, now cold, coffee.

The intercom clicked on, and a new voice said, OK, that will do. We’ll reel forward, and pick up where the airfield radar has you, twenty miles out.

The scene outside, and the instruments, froze as George jumped, and Henry swore. They had been so engrossed in what they were doing, they had forgotten where they really were!

The ‘window’ screens flicked to a new view, of built-up land, housing, industry, parks, fields, and then started ‘flying’ again. On the panel, the instruments jerked to new readings.

George grabbed the control column, and picked up the left wing, while pushing the nose down to level, before the lethal stall-spin developed. I’ve got it! She snapped.

Henry jumped again. Oops! Sorry Boss, I was caught out, then!

In their headphones, the voice on the ‘radio’ said Goldstream three two, London Radar, change now to Manchester on one one nine point eight five, over."

119.85 copied, Goldstream three two.

Henry clicked the radio channel selector to the new setting, and immediately, their headphones were inundated with a stream of instructions to other aircraft Eventually, the Controller paused for breath. Henry pressed the transmit button, and said Pan pan traffic!" then let go.

There was a moment’s silence while the controller mentally changed gears, then Pan traffic, is that Goldstream three two, over

Affirmative. Goldstream three two, on hand-over from radar, on wide base, two t’ousand feet, two hundred knots, over.

Roger, three two, I have your details, one engine out, and a medical case. You are number four, behind a 747 and two Tri-Star’s, one’s on half mile final, now.

Three two copied. Be advised we are using ram-air power, on landing the radios will fail, over.

Ah,- three two copied. On landing, take the first convenient starboard exit to clear the active, then stop and wait. A ‘follow me’ car will meet you.

Goldstream three two copies, first right, and wait for a ‘follow me’, -and have the runway visual, over.

Continue, break, Britannia, clear to land, first convenient left to exit, and call ground – George tuned out the flood of instructions, and waited for the next thing to go wrong, something always did!

Goldstream three two, turn heading zero seven zero, now, and reduce speed if you can. Number two to land, over!

Three two, heading zero seven zero, I can’t slow very much, she just sags down, over.

Roger three two, continue. Break, British six six, clear to land, left to exit, expedite, there’s a sick bird coming in behind, over.

Six six, I have spare fuel, and can go round if it’s helpful, over?

Negative, there’s a stack building behind, it won’t help, thanks!

Rog, six six to land.

George guided them onto the runway heading, coaxing the Herc to keep flying a little longer. Flaps quarter!

Quarter flaps coming down Henry checked he had the right lever, before moving it.

George battled to keep control, as the flap on one side came down, and the other didn’t. Flaps up! she snapped. Flaps failure starboard!

Shit! Flaps up selected. Henry checked what breakers he could see from the front seat. Looks alright. Must be another spanner in the works! then pressed the transmit button, Tower, Goldstream three two has a no flaps condition, too, over!

Copied no flaps, check your gear is selected down, three two.

Three two, gear is up until I cross the fence, in case she stops dead, over! George responded.

Copied.

I can’t see anything on the panel, saying why there’s no flaps. Tony spoke.

The radio spoke again to someone else. Shuttle six eight four, be ready for a go-around, over!

Six eight four. He was resigned to a lengthy wait.

"Six six, clear of the active, and switching to ground, over.

Six six, break, Goldstream three two, clear to land, as previously instructed, over.

Goldstream three two, to land. George said to the radio, then to Henry, put your hand on the gear lever, and when I say, pull it out, then press down, got it?"

That one? Out then down.

That’s it. George eased a smidgeon of power off, and held the nose up, pressing right rudder to stop the yaw. What’s the height?

Sixty feet, Boss, and a hundred and sixty knots.

George eased back a little more on the power, but the aircraft began shuddering, and the stall-warning horn bleated intermittently, so she pushed a fraction of power back on. That’s all she’ll take!

I noticed! Henry said, his mouth dry. I’m glad you’re driving!

You admit there’s something I can do better than you, then? It had been a long-standing joke between them.

Not at all, but there are some things you can do better than anyone! Henry sought an escape route.

I might not be able to bench-press three hundred pounds, but -.

Nor can he! Bert was suddenly well again, now that his part in the ‘game’ was over.

Gear down, now! George ordered.

Henry pulled the knob out, and then pressed down, and they heard and felt the rumbles and clunks. Three greens. Gear down. He reported, as George pushed full power for a moment because the aeroplane tried to fall out of the sky too soon, her left leg quivering on the rudder pedal as she held it against the asymmetric thrust. The view showed them crossing the ‘thresh-hold’ of the runway, so she pulled the power off again, changing legs as the Herc tried to yaw the other way. She let the nose dip, watching the view, as Henry called fifty feet. She waited. Thirty feet. George eased the stick back, in the ‘flare’, checking the descent with the wheels just skimming the tarmac. As the nose settled, there was a loud bang! from outside, and the Herc jolted and tried to weave to the right. She caught it with rudder. Tyre burst, starboard cluster! she called. Number one engine, to idle, number two and number three engine, reverse thrust, no wheel-brakes until we have to! She set the levers on the power quadrant, as she said it, then opened the throttles for the two inboard engines, so they forced air forwards, not back, until the speed decayed. As it did so, the ram-air turbine whined down, then all the lights went off, and the headphones fell silent as the power failed. When they were slowed down, she changed the thrust back to forward propulsion, and turned them off the runway, as instructed previously. Once well clear, she brought them to a halt, and applied the wheel brakes. They performed the normal after-landing checks, although most of the equipment it referred to wasn’t working, lacking electricity, then waited for the ‘follow me’.

Instead, their headphones popped, and the Examiner said, Ten minutes, to powder your noses, then debriefing. Set everything as you would when parked on the hard-stand.

A few minutes later, the crew emerged from the Link trainer. George was wearing a newspaper tri-corn hat, with sellotape braid, Henry was tapping his way with a ‘white stick’, and Tony had a pirates eye-patch, all made by Bert while he was playing invalid in the back of the ‘sweat-box’. The examiner took one look, and found other things to do, while the other operators whistled and cheered.

George gave them a bent-spine, chest and backside stuck out, splayed finger, wildly exaggerated parody of an Army salute, with many ‘bounces’, while Henry tapped his way into the ladies loo. He was promptly thrown out again by a couple of WAAF’s who were having a sly smoke in the no-smoking area. His white stick followed closely behind, tied in a knot, just as the C.F.I came in, expecting to see the rough notes and the results. After a sweeping glance, he fought down a grin, and regained his