Debut for a Spy (22 page)

“Exactly! Now this engine which Bristol's have developed, the Pegasus, is a marvel. The first one we put in the airframe, however, was barely able to generate enough thrust to get the thing off the ground. We stripped everything from the aircraft we didn't need. They even suggested I go on a diet.

“
Ironically, I had broken my leg in an auto accident just before that first attempt at a hover, and the cast weighed almost enough to keep me on the ground. Thank the Lord it didn't. Anyway, we lifted off with an installed thrust of barely 10,000 pounds, and that's about what the aircraft weighs. You can see why we had to strip the extra weight off.”

“I'm gathering that this has changed a bit.”

“It's changed a lot. In fact, the first prototype, XP831, has just had a new engine installed, the Pegasus 3, and this gives us 13,500 pounds of thrust. It's made a remarkable difference. Now we can fly it like a real aircraft.”

He stood up.
“Let's go introduce you to our babies.”

We left the building, walking past the parking area toward one of the hangars. The main doors were closed, but we entered through a small door inset into the larger one. The lights were on, and there, centered on the floor, were two P1127's.

At first glance they had a bug-like appearance, similar to huge moths at rest. Compared to the Hawker Hunter fighter which sat nearby, they were not nearly as sleek or streamlined. Instead, they had an almost dumpy look. Bill had been watching my face.

“Don't worry, David. Even I thought it was an ugly brute, and that I'd never be able to make friends with a thing like that. But it’s grown on me for the past two years, and I've got a lot of respect for it. Remember that it looks like this because of its vertical take-off requirement – the configuration of engine placement, cockpit, type of wing and tail plane, have all contributed to its appearance. But let me tell you something. You see that pretty Hunter over there? This stubby little thing can leave that fighter standing still, and we're years away from the finished product. Just you wait and see what this baby will do.”

We went over to the closest aircraft, XP831, and Bill explained details as we walked around.

“I'm sure you've noticed that there is no conventional jet-pipe at the tail. Instead, these rotating nozzles, two on either side, are what provide the lift when they're pointing down and the thrust when they're pointing backward. That's the beauty of this aircraft – its simplicity.”

“It can't be all that simple if it’s been flying for two years and there are still modifications to be made.”

“Now, now, old chap,” he admonished, “remember that we're in uncharted territory here. It hasn't been done before in this particular form. For example, look at the intake nozzles. They've tried various materials and designs to get it right. Last December one of the damn things came off when I was flying, and I nearly bought the farm.

“It happened in the second prototype, XP836. I was losing control stability at 200 feet, trying to get it down at Yeovilton, and it kept rolling on me. I ejected at a 30-degree roll angle and touched the ground seconds after the 'chute opened. The aircraft crashed into a storage barn and burned. Closest call I've ever had. But the failure of that nozzle brought about the present inflatable rubber intakes, and that's cleared the problem.”

“Nice way to find out. I thought research and development was all done in labs these days. I didn't realize that so much of it was done while flying the aircraft. Isn't that dangerous?”

“Of course it can be, old chap. We do try to minimize the odds. But it also makes the job fascinating, don't you think?”

The hazel eyes glinted, and I wondered at the combination of methodical technician and dare-devil flyer which made up a test-pilot like Bill Bedford. The two elements seemed a contradiction, yet without them both the experimental test-pilot could not exist. A special breed indeed, I realized.

“You should have a look in the cockpit, David. Run up those steps and climb in.”

I did as I was told, except that I didn't run. The step-ladder arrangement was made of aluminum (the Brits add an 'i' and call it aluminium) and not very secure. The canopy was open, and it was easy to climb in.

It was a relatively small cockpit. I was surprised at the lack of instruments on the panel – there didn't seem to be many more than there were in the Harvards I had flown. I said so to Bill who was crouched on the top step of the platform beside me.

“You're absolutely right, old chap. The only instrument you wouldn't see in a conventional aircraft is that nozzle angle gauge on the right. But you should have seen the cockpit when we first took her up in 1960. There was nothing in here except the seat, the throttle box and the stick. They wanted us to see if it worked before they put any details into it. Once we got it to hover 12 inches off the ground, they knew they had an aircraft.”

He pointed to the throttle box lower down on my left side.

“Now this is where the magic is. The lever on the left is the throttle, of course. The one on the right is the nozzle selection lever, or vector thrust control. When it's fully back the nozzles point downward at an angle of 82 degrees to the fuselage. That's straight down to the ground. Advance the throttle to full, and she lifts off the ground and continues to rise until you pull the throttle back to maintain height. Then you're in a fairly stable hover.”

“What about attitude control? Surely the ailerons and rudder have no effect in the hover.”

“Absolutely correct. We've got puffers in the wing tips, the front and rear of the fuselage and crossways in the tail. They get air from the cold side of the engine – the compressor. They're linked to the pedals and stick, so the aircraft will behave in the hover just as it does in conventional flight using the same control motions. There is a measure of auto-stabilization, but this can be overridden by the controls if necessary.”

“You make it sound so easy, Bill.”

“It is now, but we had to find this all out by trial and error. We've got the vertical aspects pretty well in-hand, but some conventional flight characteristics we're still trying to perfect without compromising VTOL performance. We'll get there.”

“How do you shift to conventional flight from the vertical?”

“
Simplicity itself, provided you don't rush it. Having achieved the hover at the height selected, move the nozzle selection lever gently forward to about twenty degrees. The aircraft will move forward without losing height. With each successive move forward of both lever and throttle, more and more lift is achieved by the wings. When you have accelerated to 160 knots the aircraft is completely wing-borne, and the nozzle control lever may be pushed fully forward. Then it's a conventional aircraft.”

“What about landing?”

“Almost the exact reverse of the procedure. Approach the landing point from a mile's distance, and ease the speed off to 200 knots. Descend to about 200 feet. Move the nozzle control lever back to the stop, then lift it through the gate to the reverse thrust stop. This puts the nozzles about 20 degrees forward of vertical. As the aircraft slows to the hover, increase the power on the throttle to compensate for the loss of wing-lift. Lifting the lever over the gate to the VTOL stop will maintain the hover. If you want to move forward slightly, tilt the nose down a bit and she'll move like a helicopter. When you're over the precise landing spot, ease off the throttle and she'll land gently. On touchdown, throttle back, then push the nozzle lever forward and use the throttle to taxi.”

“It sounds too easy, Bill. In fact, it doesn't seem to be as tricky as taking off and landing in a normal aircraft.”

“In many ways it isn't. You've got time to think here before you take the next step, and you can correct or even reverse your decision if you've made an error or you simply change your mind. In a conventional take-off and landing you don't have those options – you do it right the first time or you're in trouble, and you hope you’ve got enough lift to go ‘round again.”

“What about conventional take-offs and landings? Can you use it this way, and is it harder or easier?”

“One thing at a time, old chap. Let's address that a bit later. Now I see they want to tow XP831 out and down to the engine running pens for a test, so we'd best clear off. Out you get.”

We stood outside and watched while they towed the little craft out. I was amused when I saw the badge on the tractor. Massey-Harris, from Brantford in Ontario. I almost felt homesick, and mentioned it to Bill.

“Well, my dear chap, if you really want to feel nostalgic, let me show you something.”

He led me along to the area in front of the control tower.

“Do you know anything about Dunsfold Aerodrome, David?”

“No, nothing at all.”

We stopped in front of a white, hexagonal obelisk about four feet high.

“Have a look at the side face.”

I did so, and to my amazement read:

THIS AERODROME

BUILT BY

THE ROYAL CANADIAN ENGINEERS

ASSISTED BY

CANADIAN FORESTRY CORPS

RCASC

RCOC

MCMXLII

Above it was the RCAF badge. I was more than surprised. On the front face, below the badge of the Royal Canadian Engineers, was the official opening inscription, stating that on the 16th of October, 1942, Lieut.-General A.G.L. McNaughton, then General Officer Commanding Canadian Forces Overseas, had opened the new airfield and handed it over to the Royal Canadian Air Force. One facet had the Canadian Forestry Corps badge at the top, and the rest were capped by maple leaves.

“I had no idea, Bill,” I said, still surprised. “I thought the RCAF had flown from British airfields through the war.”

“All except this one,” he chuckled. “In fact, this was called 'RCAF Station Dunsfold' until it was handed over to the UK much later in the war.”

“What did they fly out of here?”

“In the beginning Mustangs and Tomahawks, but as time went by nearly everything that flew used the field sooner or later. Ernest Hemingway flew out of here as an observer on some ‘ops’ over Europe when he was a war correspondent.”

“
I wonder how many Canadians know about all this?”

“Probably only those who were stationed here. Come on, let's have a 'cuppa' at the canteen and then head to the pens.”

We walked the short distance to the canteen, just behind the air traffic control centre. Tea in hand, I was introduced to Bill's deputy, Hugh Merewether, and two American pilots from NASA, Fred Drinkwater and Jack Reeder. It was difficult to skirt the questions, especially from the Americans, and I signaled to Bill that we should escape as quickly as possible.

We drove down to the engine running pens in Bill's Austin.

“Phew,” I breathed, “that was tricky.”

“My fault, old chap. I should have realized that your fellow North Americans would have been curious. Sorry about that. Do you want to stay out of their way?”

“Not now that they've seen me. But next time I'll be ready for their questions. Why are they here?”

“We had a lot of help from NASA when we were doing wind-tunnel tests on models of the P1127. Merewether and I were actually over there, and we both flew the Bell X-14 to give us the feel of vertical flight. Ergo: quid pro quo.”

“Are the Americans developing the X-14?”

“No. The mechanics aren't practical. But it did fly, and it was an important step in vertical flight and thrust-vectoring.”

We parked near the pens and walked to the bay. XP831 was backed in, sheet-metal shrouds covering the exhaust nozzles all the way to the ground and to the rear of the aircraft. I noticed chains holding it down to the concrete decking in several places.

“This pen was built just for the P1127. It has steel mesh grids over an underground duct. It carries the discharge from the engines safely out with the nozzles in either position. This way we can run the engine up to test various components without it taxiing or taking off.”

Bill introduced me to Frank Cross, head of the experimental design office of Hawker's, and I watched while they plugged in the starting trolley of 2000 lb/sq. in. carbon dioxide canisters.

“Eventually we want to have self-starters on board, but to save weight for now we use this kick-start. I've got to climb in for a few minutes. You'll be better off in the observation booth.”

I went inside. There were two technicians bent over a panel containing numerous gauges, and they barely said hello. I watched through the tiny window. Bill was in the cockpit, and on his signal Frank Cross activated the starter. There was an instant whine which increased in dynamic and pitch. Cross pulled the starter hose from the engine nacelle and came inside. Picking up a headset and microphone he was soon talking to Bill, but because of the tremendous noise of the Pegasus engine I couldn't hear him.

For about fifteen minutes the Pegasus was run up and down with obvious instructions from Frank Cross. The needles on the gauges danced, and the technicians took note of the variations. Then the noise died away as Bill shut the engine down. I went out to watch him clamber down the steps.

“Everything seems in good order, Bill,” said Frank Cross. “If you're flying her this afternoon I'll get her pulled out.”