JET LAG! (39 page)

‘Thank God for that,’ murmured Stumpy, ‘I've never seen cloud like it. That must have been one hell of a storm. I don’t know about you, but the rear cockpit is covered in some sort of black dust.’

‘So is mine, it looks like ash,’ agreed Stumpy.

Todd was straining to look behind the aircraft and was puzzled by what he saw.

‘There's something odd, Stumpy. That cloud should go up to forty thousand feet at least – but there's no sign of any anvil – just a flat surface of black cloud as far as the eye can see. It's weird! What weather system could cause these amounts of thick clouds and bright blue above. There's no sign of any cirrus above us and this sunlight is blinding. What do you make of it?’

‘I'm just glad to be out of that shit. Shall we give someone a call now?’ Stumpy was monitoring his engines very closely and to his great relief, all read-outs were reading normal again.

However, Todd was still not totally satisfied, but nonetheless decided to initiate a distress call and get back to Marham ASAP - although he suspected that landing in this weather might pose insurmountable problems. If the cloud went down to surface level, then they may need to divert to a different airfield.

‘Let's check the fuel, Stumpy. My nav kit is all over the place. The GPS is dead, the Doppler won't lock on and the TACAN and Inertial Nav are playing up. The radar is useless through this cloud, so we might be diverting. Can you work out an endurance figure and I suggest we slow down to conserve gas. I’ll try the radio. Keep an eye out for the Herc as we circle – they should be through this murk pretty soon.’

Stumpy agreed with Todd’s suggestions and whilst he came back on the throttles, Todd tried the radios. First of all he dialled up Marham approach. He estimated that they were about thirty miles north of Marham and should be well inside radio range. He suspected that all flying would have been abandoned for the day, and the crews could well be sat in the squadrons playing Clag, a card game similar to Whist popular with aircrew when flying ops were impossible – Cloud Low Aircraft Grounded sourced the acronym. How he wished he was back in his own crewroom.

‘Marham approach, this is Purple Formation, two aircraft requesting radar to radar recovery and landing.’

He waited twenty or thirty seconds but there was no reply.

So he tried again.

Nothing.

‘That's odd Stumpy.’

‘Best you try a few other freqs. I haven’t got the C-130 visual yet.’

As usual, a circumspect Stumpy was unperturbed. So Todd selected a different pre-set frequency on the V/UHF radio box and tried again.

Nothing. Nada. No response.

So he tried another – and another and another.

No-one was at home.

This was now becoming a more than mildly disturbing situation.

Just then, Stumpy spotted the Herc climbing out of the thick cloud and steered towards their position - about three miles away.

Todd was relieved to see their compatriots safe and sound, and so gave them a call.

‘Purple Two  from lead, we have you visual and are closing on your position. Suggest you reduce to endurance speed. We might have a problem.’

The Air Marshal replied instantly from the co-pilot’s seat.

‘Roger Purple lead, what's the situation?’

Todd explained the lack of contact with the ground, and his father again suggested calling on Guard – the international emergency frequency. Todd agreed and transmitted his contact call on UHF – 243.0.

Nothing.

So he tried on 121.5 – the Guard VHF frequency.

Again nothing for about thirty seconds and then a weak transmission came through the cloud and ether.

‘Person calling on 121.5 megacycles, say your message again please?’

This was certainly not standard radio procedure and Todd was mystified. However, he was just glad to have received a response, so attempted to clarify the situation.

‘Station responding, this is Purple Formation, you are weak and barely readable. Please identify yourself and your location.’

There was a long silence, but then the voice broke through once more.

‘Hello Purple Formation, this is Bill Forbes and I'm at Peterborough in my shelter. How can I help you?’

The AVM got straight onto Todd.

‘Todd, keep an open mind. I think we are in serious trouble. We might not actually be home –
our
home that is. See what you can get from this chap without alarming him.’

Todd couldn’t believe his ears. Was what Jim Charles said actually coming true – were they in a similar but different reality? He needed to find out – and quickly. Their fuel was running low and they had to find a landing strip urgently.

‘Roger, Purple Two, understood. Break – good morning Bill, thank you for that. Are you saying that you are not at an airfield and do you know if the weather is bad all over the country today?’

Poor old Bill Forbes was completely fazed by Todd’s requests for information.

‘Look, Mister, I don’t know where you’ve been for the past five years, but yes, the weather is like this everywhere – all over Europe – and has been since the war of ’87. And no, I'm not at an airfield – I'm in the community shelter in Peterborough. There ain't no airfields round here – or anywhere for that matter – not since ’87 anyway.’

Todd was gobsmacked. Although he had half expected a reply revealing some new disaster for Purple – the shock was numbing just the same.

‘Oh fucking hell,’ muttered Stumpy – almost resignedly.

The AVM broke in once again.

‘He can't help us son, no-one down there can. We are going to have to find somewhere to put down on our own. A large civilian airfield – the M1 or A1 – a strip of road. Find out what the cloudbase is?’

Bill Forbes had been listening in.

‘Hey, mister – are you saying that you are in an aeroplane?’

Todd tried to remain calm.

‘That's correct Mr Forbes. We are two aircraft, one Tornado jet and one Hercules transport and we need to land very soon.’

Forbes was incredulous.

‘Who are you kidding mister. There ain't been NO aeroplanes since ’87. Ain't been no aeroplanes anywhere – except maybe in China – they got off lightly.’

Todd was now getting the picture, but persisted.

‘Yes, Mr Forbes, we are aeroplanes and we NEED to land. Can you tell me how high the cloud is from the surface?’

Forbes laughed.

‘How should I know Mister, I ain't been out for three years. No-one has. Got no masks or nuclear kit and I ain't going outside for you. It's five degrees below out there.’

Todd’s sense of despair was growing with every word from Forbes. But he needed to know what had happened in 1987.

‘Mr Forbes, I can assure you that we are flying and you probably wouldn't understand my explanation as to how and why – but could you please humour me and explain what happened in ’87.’

Forbes was becoming impatient, but decided to go along with Todd for the time being.

‘Can't stay on this radio for too long – the batteries are weak. Only speaking to you because you're the first folks we've had on this radio in over a year. Anyhow, in ’87 them Nazis started a war with America and Russia. Hitler had just died and there was some sort of power struggle, and everything just went crazy in a few days. Nuclear bombs and missiles just flew everywhere and Britain, Europe, most of Russia and the USA were destroyed. Millions were killed – and then those Arabs started to join in and China bombed them and that's all I know. It's been nuclear winter for five years and only a handful of people are alive. Many of us are sick and many have starved to death – it's so cold and dark that nothing will grow. And now you come up with this cock and bull story about aeroplanes. I've a mind just to cut you off, Mister!’

‘No, please don’t go, Bill. I'm sorry to have upset you, but I am not lying. One more thing, can you tell me. Did Germany invade Britain in 1940?’

‘Of course, you fool. They made us all Nazis and to be frank, we are better off now than when those murdering bastards were in control. Those bloody Yanks learned too late and those Kennedy’s have a lot to answer for.’

Todd was dumbstruck and out of things to say.

The Air Marshal chimed in.

‘Bill, this is Henry Morrissey. Can you answer me one more thing? Is it possible to live on the surface – anywhere in Europe?’

‘Look Henry, I don’t really know anything. All I can say is that I heard rumours on this radio that there are people in Iceland who are free from cloud and ash and living free. That's all I know?

‘Thank you Mr Forbes. We shan’t trouble you anymore. Good day to you.’

Todd was jolted into action by his father’s interruption.

‘What are you saying – that we should give up?’

‘No, son, it's obvious that from this poor man’s explanation and the weather we have experienced first-hand, that we cannot land here. We must head north. The C130 can make Iceland – but I'm afraid that you must make your own arrangements. What is your endurance, son?’

The C-130 started to turn onto north and commenced a slow climb to conserve fuel.’

Both Todd and Stumpy were astounded by the callousness of the Air Marshal’s unilateral actions.

‘We’ve only got about ninety minutes fuel remaining – we can't possibly make it. It must be a thousand miles to Reykjavik! That's at least an hour further than we’ve got fuel for. For Christ sake, dad, you can't just leave us!’

The AVM was matter of fact.

‘It's your call, son. You can land and take your chances, follow us and ditch in the Atlantic when you run out of fuel – or head for the Faeroes, they might be in the clear. And you're correct, it's one thousand miles and we cannot waste fuel waiting for you. I've got a plane full of men and women to consider.’

Todd was now thinking on his feet, but Stumpy interjected.

‘Why couldn’t we both land somewhere and then you could pick us up. You’ve got plenty of fuel.’

‘Certainly not in England, Stumpy, but maybe in the Shetlands or Orkneys. If the weather clears and we can get down safely, it's a possibility. But I must consider the people in my charge first.’

Todd was furious. He'd had just about enough of his father.

‘It's a bit fucking late for that now, you scheming, unfeeling bastard.’

‘I can understand your distress, son, but I have made my decision. Either follow us or go down and try your luck on the surface. Purple Two listening out.’

Todd tried to persuade his father to change his mind, but all they received over the radio was static. The AVM would not reply.

Bill Forbes had been listening to the exchange and made one very weak transmission as Stumpy turned north to follow the C-130.

‘Good luck, Purple – whoever you are……you’ll need it.’

55 - 4

Somewhere over Norfolk

8 September 1992

‘Affirmative, Purple Two, loud and clear. What now?’

‘I suggest you call Marham on the approach frequency and see if we can get an answer? I think that we might be home.’

Stumpy pointed the Tornado away from the huge Cu-Nimb cloud and towards Marham, whilst Todd handled the radios. The weather was clear and bright away from the storm and Todd smiled contentedly to himself as he selected the frequency for Marham.