John Davis - Seize the Reckless Wind

‘Look for another sucker who owns airplanes,’ Ed rumbled. He added: ‘If you sell her.’

‘You think that’ll be hard?’ Mahoney demanded.

‘Britannias?’ Ed said. ‘Nobody can make a living with these old things, except bus-stopping around Africa where nobody else wants to go.’

When they got to Lisbon there was a telex from Tex Weston offering to buy the aircraft for ten thousand pounds.

‘The bastard,’ Mahoney said.

He spent that day telephoning aircraft brokers all over Europe, but nobody wanted an old Britannia this week. He spent the next day selling a gold bracelet and feverishly telephoning freight agents, trying to find a cargo, because the most terrifying thing about owning an aircraft is how much it costs on the ground. The next day it took off for Nigeria with a cargo of machinery. Mahoney felt he had aged years. As soon as they were at a safe altitude he said grimly, ‘O.K., Ed, start showing me how to fly this thing.’

There was no cargo for the return flight awaiting them in Nigeria, although the Lisbon freight-agent had promised one. In desperation Mahoney went to the market place and bought seventeen tons of pineapples, as his own cargo.

‘So now we’re in the fruit business?’ Pomeroy said.

‘We’ve got to pay for the fuel somehow.’

‘Where to, boss?’ Ed said.

‘To wherever they like pineapples. To Sweden. And stop calling me boss.’

‘We ain’t got enough fuel for Sweden, boss.’

‘To England, then,’ Mahoney said.

As soon as they were airborne he climbed back into Pomeroy’s seat. ‘O.K., Ed, now you’ve really got to teach me to fly this bloody awful machine.’

‘Boss, you can’t operate this airplane with your private pilot’s licence, you’ve got to go to aviation school.’ ‘ Start teaching me, Ed!’

It was a hand-written letter, in a brisk scrawl:

The Managing Director

Redcoat Cargo Airlines Ltd

Gatwick Airport, England.

Dear Mr Mahoney,

I read your letter to The Times about the escalating costs of aviation fuel. I will shortly be floating a company to build aircraft which will be very economical on fuel, and I am seeking all the moral support I can get. Plainly it is vital to build these aircraft in (to quote your Times letter) a hostile world of oil bandits holding us to ransom with ever-increasing fuel prices, a world full of poor countries plunging deeper into poverty and despair because of oil prices, becoming ripe for communist takeover as a consequence. I would like to meet you. Rest assured I am not asking you, or Redcoat Cargo Airlines, for money. I will telephone you.

Sincerely,

(Major) Malcolm Todd

The telephone call, from a coin-box, was equally brisk. So was the meeting, in a pub called The Fox and Rabbit. Major Todd thanked him for coming, bought him half a pint and got straight to the point, as if rehearsed. He was a grey-haired man, mid-fifties, with a cherubic face and bespectacled eyes that seldom left Mahoney’s; he stood very still while he spoke:

‘I have a Master of Science degree and until the year before last I was in the Royal Engineers. Five years ago I was given the task of formulating a plan for moving British troops to various battle-zones in Europe, North Africa and the Middle East; I had to assume that the Channel, Gibraltar and Suez were blocked by enemy navy, our airforce fully engaged in challenging enemy airstrikes, and that all ports, airfields and railways in Europe were in enemy hands.’

Mahoney was intrigued. The Major went on: ‘After considering every form of transport – and of course all methods of breaking blockades – I and my staff concluded that the quickest, cheapest and safest system would be the transportation of troops and armour by airship.’

‘By airship ?’ Mahoney interposed.

‘Yes. We calculated that an airship with a lifting capacity of seven million cubic feet of helium – not hydrogen – could airlift almost a thousand men, at a hundred miles an hour, at a fraction of the fuel cost of any other vehicle, exposing the troops to less vulnerability-time en route. Remember that all airfields are assumed to be in enemy hands. An airship, however, can hover anywhere, like a helicopter, and lower its troops by scrambling net.’

Mahoney’s mind was wrestling with the image of being flown by airship into a hail of terrorist gunfire. The Major glared at him. ‘You’re thinking that because of its size an airship is vulnerable. But we’re talking about the airship as a troop carrier , not as an assault vehicle. As a carrier, it is no more vulnerable than a troop ship, or a train, or a convoy of trucks, and it goes much faster than all of them! A paratroop plane is also a big target for modern weapons, and when hit it crashes to earth with all her men! Whereas an airship, even if badly holed, would sink slowly as the gas escaped, giving the troops an excellent chance of survival.’ He paused briefly. ‘But there is another big advantage. Whereas your poor bloody paratrooper must often fly to his drop-zone through airspace dominated by the enemy, the airship can take a safe, circuitous route because it can stay airborne for days. To reach a battle zone in Germany, say, troops could be flown into the Atlantic, avoiding the Channel, swing over north Africa, and approach Germany from the east–even attacking the enemy from behind.’

Mahoney was fascinated. The Major continued:

‘Plus the advantage of costs. Such an airship would, on today’s prices, cost only about ten million pounds. A big troop plane, say a 747, costs sixty million pounds. The government, therefore, could afford to buy six airships in place of one 747. Expressed another way, it could afford to lose six airships before it cost the same as one 747. And the airship is really no bigger target for today’s weapons than a 747.’

Mahoney was intrigued – and almost sold on the Major. ‘What did the Army say?’

Malcolm Todd glowered. ‘My report was well received by the General Staff, but it’ll be years before it is implemented because of damn-fool politicians.’ He took a breath. ‘So, I decided to retire and devote myself to the resurrection of the airship commercially – as cargo -carrying and passenger aircraft. I formed a private company to consult aeronautical designers. We now have all the necessary designs. With modern technology we can build perfectly safe airships.’ He burrowed into his raincoat pocket and pulled out a large envelope, which he slapped on the bar. ‘Here is a summary of our achievements – please read them.’

He looked at Mahoney. ‘From your letter to The Times , it’s obvious that you’re concerned about the under-developed nations and how oil costs are crippling them.’ He tapped the envelope. ‘The airship is their answer. Uses a fifth of the fuel. It would enable them to exploit remote, mountainous, desert and jungle regions where there are no roads or airfields: the airship could simply hover to deliver the mining equipment or whatever, winch up the produce, and carry it away. It would revolutionize their economies!’

Mahoney was grappling with the enormity of the idea. ‘Marvellous,’ he agreed sincerely. He left out, ‘If it works.’ He had a feeling he would get an earful from the Major if he said that. ‘But what do you want from me?’

The Major suddenly looked thoroughly uncomfortable. ‘Not money.’ He cleared his throat. ‘But, in short, until I float my company on the Stock Exchange, I’m flat broke. All my savings, and my military pension, have been used up in research and in buying a lot of important tools and equipment that have come my way cheaply.’ He cleared his throat again. ‘I’m not asking for money, but Redcoat Cargo Airlines owns a chunk of farmland near Gatwick Airport, which has an old cottage on it, in disrepair. I would like to rent it.’ He blinked. ‘I confess I will be unable to actually pay any rent until happier days come along. But meanwhile I undertake to make the cottage fully functional again.’ He smiled for the first time. ‘I am an engineer, and as good with my hands as I am with my head.’