Operation Lavivrus. John Wiseman

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      They moved on, slowly making their way to the side wall where the front section of an aircraft was positioned. The nose of the aircraft as far back as the cockpit was mounted like a game trophy coming out of the wall. The sleek shape painted blue-grey was complete with nose wheel assembly, refuelling probe, pitot tubes and tacan navigation system.

      ‘Believe it or not,’ said Chas, ‘this whole assembly retracts up into that hole, and these flaps seal it. Remarkable engineering, eh?’ He was gripping the landing gear and pointing to the dark aperture above it. ‘This is it, gents, courtesy of Messier-Hispano-Bugatti. Have a close look; it must be imprinted in your brain.’

      The nose gear consisted of a large tube of bright alloy, with a smaller tube of steel emerging from the bottom connected to two wishbones. A large squashy tyre was pinned between these, and four struts braced the large tube on all sides, disappearing up into the aperture. About two-thirds down the main tube were two smaller alloy cylinders that ran back at an angle, filled with hydraulic fluid. These activated the gear, and alongside these were two steering levers, each made of bright alloy.

      ‘Do you notice anything familiar on the gear?’ asked Chas. The two crouched and stretched, examining the assembly minutely.

      Chas put his hand on the hydraulic cylinder where the steering arm was connected. ‘Have a close look here.’ From either side the two stooped for a better look at where Chas was pointing. Lying snug between the two was a third aluminium cylinder twelve inches long and two inches in diameter.

      ‘That gentlemen is our device. Try and remove it.’

      The cylinder was so well concealed that the pair couldn’t get a good grip on the tube, and try as they might it never budged. ‘Imagine that with hydraulic fluid and accumulated grime on it,’ interjected Chas. It was a perfect fit and blended in superbly.

      ‘There are tremendous forces exerted on this gear on take-off and especially landings. That is why we have implanted the magnets. There are many metal components inside the alloy tubes, like springs and pistons, and these help keep it in position. What do you think? Could you position these in the dark undetected?’

      ‘If we are lucky enough to get this close I can’t see a problem,’ replied Pete. ‘We need to have a mock-up like this to train up the lads.’

      ‘We are lending you this complete mock-up. It’s going to be reassembled at your training area at Ponty tomorrow.’

      ‘I can see this area being very dirty, especially when they are flying on non-stop sorties, and this could be a problem if it leaves a bright cylinder amidst dirty, oily components. We will have to be careful not to leave any prints or signs of disturbance in the dirt either, which may alert them,’ offered Peter.

      ‘Try not to touch anything. Just place the device and maybe smear a little dirt on it which you can get from the main undercarriage.’

      The trio were so absorbed discussing the problems that they were unaware of a fourth man who had quietly joined them. He stood well back with hands thrust deeply in the pockets of his well-worn corduroy trousers. A few remaining strands of pure white hair were brushed smartly back over a shiny bald pate. A neatly clipped moustache underlined a strong Roman nose, with a pair of large framed spectacles sitting low on the bridge.

      ‘You can see why the size is so important,’ remarked Chas. The two lads tried again to prise the device off, but had no luck with the stubborn tube.

      The newcomer moved closer, standing braced with his hands still thrust deep in his pockets, ‘Having trouble?’ he asked.

      Captain Minter turned suddenly, grinning hugely as he recognised the familiar figure of Mr Ford. He felt like a naughty schoolboy caught smoking behind the bike shed.

      ‘Ah, Albert. Just finishing here. Meet Tony and Peter.’

      Peter attempted to clean his hands on the side of his jeans before shaking hands. ‘Please to meet you, sir. Peter Grey, and this is Tony Watkins.’

      Tony returned the firm handshake, surprised by the strength of it. Albert was a retired engineer, having worked with British Aerospace for more years than he cared to remember. He now worked on a consultancy basis with the School, giving them the benefit of his vast knowledge of missile guidance systems. In complete contrast to Chas, his verbal delivery was slow, enriched by a strong Cornish accent.

      ‘Nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you lads. I was tickled pink to get so close to you unnoticed, and heard you whispering,’ he drawled.

      ‘It’s an old SAS habit. It drives the missus mad. Every time I do something delicate, like changing a light bulb, I whisper. Can’t help it. It drives her nuts,’ replied Tony.

      ‘I’m just the opposite,’ replied Albert,. ‘I have worked in noisy machine shops all my life and we tend to shout, but it has the same effect on the wife, though.’

      Chas interrupted their banter on marital comparisons and said, ‘Albert, I have covered the placement of the device. Would you like to carry on and tell the lads how it works?’

      ‘Love to,’ replied Albert, taking a deep breath. ‘When the undercarriage is retracted it lies in this position.’ He indicated on the mock-up with a broad sweep of his hand. ‘It’s just above the pitot tubes and the tacan. The tacan relies on ground beacons, not radar. The pitot tubes feed the air data system with information like speed and temperature, and again they have nothing to do with radar or interfere with radio or radar reception. Now just here,’ he patted an area just below the front of the cockpit, midway down the fuselage, ‘sits the radar, and this feeds the missile guidance system, which enables the missile to hit its intended target.’

      Albert paused to let the info sink in before resuming. ‘Once the missile is fired, this equipment illuminates the target, feeding all the necessary information to the missile, such as direction, height, range and speed. It keeps the target pointed with, for want of another word, a beam, which the missile follows. Now with our little surprise package in position,’ he pointed to device on the undercarriage, ‘this beam is bent. The pilot thinks the target is still acquired when in fact the beam is off to one side. The missile follows the beam regardless and hopefully misses the target. In layman’s terms, this device tells a pack of lies to the missile, just like a drunken man tells his missus when he returns home late from the pub.’

      The silence that followed showed respect for the architects of such a scheme. Albert and Chas drew back to leave the soldiers with their thoughts and deliberations. For several minutes they were totally engrossed, running the scenario through their minds, searching for unforeseen hurdles. Finally they came to the same conclusion, and Tony was speaking for both of them when he said, ‘All we have to do is place it.’

      Nicotine addiction finally got the better of Chas and he said, ‘I’ll leave you in the capable hands of Albert and meet up with you in the missile section. See you soon,’ and he disappeared outside for a smoke.

      Albert led them through the maze of weapons to the opposite wall where impressive arrays of missiles were displayed. The exhibition represented the state-of-the-art weaponry required for hostilities on land, sea and air. Smaller examples were displayed on blanket-covered tables, with the larger ones housed in cradles on the floor. Some models were cutaways revealing complex circuits, sensors and guidance systems. They all had an explanatory plastic covered display card which gave the name and details of the missile. Under the bright lights they looked too polished and clean to be dangerous. Their sleek lines were a work of art СКАЧАТЬ