Derek Robinson - Hullo Russia, Goodbye England

There was little flying at Kindrick: just a few air tests to doublecheck the servicing. The Vulcans that had been elsewhere were returned to the base. Aircrew and groundcrew were recalled from leave; major overhauls were postponed. Extra attention was paid to QRAs, but then QRAs always got high priority. One afternoon the Vulcan crews sat in their cockpits for an hour and then were released. And that was as far as the impact of the Cuban Crisis went. Bomber Command was on a very discreet alert. Extra police patrolled the airfields, but the bases were not locked up tight: personnel came and went. The newspapers got very excited. Kindrick remained calm.

Skull decided not to take his anxieties to Pulvertaft. The station commander was a group captain looking forward to making air commodore; he didn’t question RAF policy. So Skull sat in his office and wondered how two billion people had allowed themselves to drift into a situation where two men, seven thousand miles apart, might blow the planet to bits.

He was drinking coffee when he heard that America had gone to DefCon 2. Just a hiccup away from war.

Doing anything was better than nothing. He called Freddy Redman’s office. Mr Redman wasn’t there, he was making a tour of bomber airfields, in fact… There was rustling of paper. “He should be at Kindrick about now.”

Skull went to the window. Freddy was getting out of a car, shaking hands with Pulvertaft. Skull went downstairs, Freddy saw him from a distance, waved, beckoned. When they met, Freddy shook hands and said: “Lunch, sandwiches, you, me and Silko, out there, by the Vulcans. It’s a treat I’ve promised myself for weeks. Can you lay it on? Splendid fellow.”

An hour later they were walking along the taxiway. Silk, as junior officer, carried the sandwiches and a flask of coffee. For once, the wind had dropped and the airfield was silent. “Glorious,” Freddy said. “Pure fresh air. Beats London, I can tell you.”

“Last time I did this I met a Yank on his way to shoot himself,” Silk said. “Talked him out of it. Damn glib, I was.”

“Captain Black?” Skull asked.

“That’s him. Got posted home.”

“Where, alas, he did in fact shoot himself. Karl Leppard told me. No known reason.”

“He wasn’t too thrilled about bombing East Berlin,” Silk said. “He had qualms. I had qualms once. Big as barnacles.”

“Tell me this, Freddy,” Skull said. “How can we have a strategy of deterrence and a policy of secrecy at the same time?”

“Nobody knows,” Silk said. “All the boffins are baffled, take my word. Now can we talk about sex?”

“You’re proposing we drop the secrecy?” Freddy said to Skull. “Let the Soviets know exactly what we’ve got? The Cabinet would have a fit. The Opposition would have an orgasm. Nato would have kittens.”

“And civilisation might survive. Just consider –”

“He’ll bore you to death, Freddy,” Silk said. “I had it from him, both barrels, at four in the morning. God, I’m hungry.”

“You can’t have deterrence and secrecy,” Skull argued. “If the Soviets won’t attack us because they’re afraid of our weaponry, then the more they know, the greater their fear. A secret deterrent is a contradiction in terms!”

“You’d show them everything,” Freddy said.

“I’d have a Soviet general living on every bomber base. No secrets, no misunderstandings, no doubt in anybody’s mind about what would happen if.”

“Interesting.”

“Secrecy isn’t a weapon. We don’t want the enemy to guess what we’ve got. He might guess wrongly.”

“Life is a lottery,” Silk said. “Take my wife…”

“Let’s be specific,” Freddy said. “The QRA system: you’d tell the Soviets how that works?”

“They know already,” Skull said. “How many bomber fields have main roads running past them? Anyone with a stop watch can time the scrambles. We want them to know.”

They had reached a line of Vulcans. “Magnificent beasts,” Freddy murmured. “You chaps don’t know how lucky you are…” He walked to the nose of the first bomber and enjoyed the great sweep of the wings. “Incomparable,” he said. “Destined for the scrap-heap all too soon, I’m afraid.”

Silk was chewing the inside of his lower lip. His teeth nipped the skin. “Scrap-heap?” He tasted warm and salty blood. “Don’t be bloody silly, Freddy.”

“No joke, old chap. Vulcans were made to fly so high and so fast that they were untouchable. No longer. Soon you’ll switch to low-level attacks. Probably high-low-high: high approach, go low to slide under the radar and release Blue Steel, then high, lickety-split.”

“Under the radar,” Silk said. “Christ Almighty. They’ll be chucking vodka bottles at us.”

“Gary Powers was ten thousand feet higher than you when they clobbered his U2. And that was two years ago.”

“ Exactly ,” Skull said. There was a note of triumph in his voice. “The Soviets demonstrated their deterrent power, so we took them seriously. That’s how deterrence stops wars!” He tried to kick a dandelion and missed.

“Nobody’s going to scrap the Vulcan,” Silk said. “It’s a winner. How can you scrap a winner?”

“I’ll tell you how,” Freddy said. “The oxy-acetylene cutters burn through the wing roots and the wings hit the concrete with a bang that breaks your heart. Now let’s eat before you pair destroy my appetite entirely.”

“If you scrap the Vulcan we bloody well deserve to lose.”

They sat on the grass and worked their way through the sandwiches. Nobody spoke.

Freddy lay on his back and watched a highflying buzzard make large, slow circles. Silk chewed a toothpick to tatters. Skull found himself thinking about his pension, felt slightly ashamed for not worrying about Cuba, then felt annoyed. He’d earned a pension, hadn’t he?

“In an ideal world, Skull,” Freddy said, “life would be a damn sight easier without secrets between us and Moscow.”

“But,” Skull said. “Here comes but.”

“Their bombers aren’t a patch on the Vulcan,” Silk said. “That’s no secret.”

“But it’s not an ideal world. And one reason we’ve got to keep our defences secret is the famous four-minute warning. In itself it’s fine, we’d certainly get four minutes’ notice of an attack. But how many Vulcans could respond?”

“QRA works,” Skull said. “Airborne in under two minutes.”

“And how long does it take to prepare the kites?”

“Hours and bloody hours,” Silk said. “Fourteen fuel tanks to fill, pre-flight checks. Make the sandwiches, Hoover the carpet. Then you’ve still got to kick the tyres.”

“And remember Blue Steel,” Freddy said. “A couple of hours’ work there. That HTP: nasty stuff. Can’t be rushed.”

“There’s two hundred and thirty gold studs connecting the weapon to the bomber,” Silk said. “Bugger-up one connection and the whole thunderbox has to come off and start again.”

“Well done, Silko,” Freddy said. “Full marks.”

“I read it in Woman’s Own . Very hot on stand-off missiles, they are.”

“We’ve still got loads of Thor missiles,” Skull said. “Thors never sleep.”

“But they can’t be kept in immediate firing condition day and night,” Freddy said. “The fuel is very volatile, liquid oxygen, it leaks out, you’ve got to keep topping it up. Face it: Thors or Vulcans, the unhappy fact is that if we want to retaliate effectively, we must have several hours’ warning first. Not a secret we’re about to tell the Soviets, is it?”

“We’re all doomed. Well done, Freddy,” Silk said. “Drinks on you.”