Operation HYDRAULIC - 4

Masirah was a hot and desolate place but, in context, regarded as more bearable than Khormaksar (Aden) but not as pleasant as Salalah to the South in Oman.  There has been a UK military presence on Masirah since the 1930s when it was used to support flying boats.  Later a permanent airfield was established which was leased from the Sultan.  The BBC had a relay station there and, I dare say, GCHQ had some business interest in that.

As with Akrotiri, ground crew had been pre-deployed and were there to greet us.  Accommodation was in an Officers’ mess, a small permanent building with a table in the hall which seemed to serve as a registry and post office.  There was  a dining room and a bar which had a patio and door marked TV Room.  Opening the door afforded a good view of the desert outside (see picture above).  The patio was paved in a chequered pattern and one could play a game of draughts using cans of Tennants (Anne’s Day) as chequers.  Winning or losing was of no consequence since local rules seemed to stipulate that you either drank what you won or drank what you lost.  Accommodation was in ubiquitous “Twynham Huts” – described by the Minister of War in 1959 as “for temporary use in the field and in emergency conditions.”  Several to a hut with no air conditioning and only a fan to keep the hot and humid air stirring, it was not a place in which a good night’s sleep, before yet another dawn departure, was likely.  A game or two of draughts before bed helped.  Actually, the operation schedule gave us 24 hours on the ground at Masirah and we were able to take advantage of the recreational facilities provided.  There was a golf course adjacent with oil-bound sand to make up the “greens.”  There was also a small swimming pool.  Local rules warned against swimming in the sea because of the danger of sea snakes, stingrays, sharks, and numerous other aquatic hazards.  Rick, our AEO, pointed out that the swimming pool was a relatively recent addition and that swimming in the sea had been normal beforehand.  Wild life enthusiasts could watch the turtles and I very much regret not having joined one those expeditions at the time.

 

In what seemed the middle of the night, I packed my wet towel in my suitcase and we began pre-flight preparation for a dawn departure.  The Masirah runway was only about 7000 feet long.  Compared to the 9000 feet at Akrotiri, this was a considerable operational disadvantage since fuel loads would be much reduced.  There was some “discussion” about take-off safety margins, which was, at the time, above my pay grade.  We went, anyway, and, as I said before, that was why we got Flying Pay!  Eddie, my Captain, wisely chose to handle the take off himself during which we used every available foot of the shimmering runway.  Once airborne, with the undercarriage and flaps up, the Victor accelerated nicely and with cool air coursing the cockpit, the heat and excitement of the take off was soon behind us.

Navigation aids, even in the Victor, were sparse.  Importantly, there was no long-range fixing aid, apart from the astronomical sextant, such as Loran and no short range VOR.  Navigation relied upon the ground position being calculated from heading and true airspeed modified by drift and ground speed obtained from the Doppler “Green Satin.”  Fixes could be obtained from the Navigation Bombing System radar provided there was something to identify within range so this was pretty useless over the sea.  Position lines could be obtained from the good old radio compass and, comfortingly, ground transmitters were pretty powerful in those days.  That said, our Navigators were highly skilled and were quite capable of achieving less than a 10-mile error after flying for 3 or 4 hours with nothing other than Doppler drift and the odd star shot to help them.

As far as I recall, refuelling went according to the route brief – there were no air traffic restrictions or weather hazards to interfere with the refuelling plan. As explained, the refuelling plan is designed to ensure that the receiver always has enough fuel to fly to a diversion airfield on route in the event of a malfunction or failure to take on fuel according to the plan.  Sometimes, however, in those days, because of the short range of the receivers, the vast distances covered and the lack of friendly diversions en-route, refuelling plans contained critical areas where receiver aircraft, temporarily, fell below their minimum diversion fuel. That said, the refuelling procedure was laconically mechanical and began 8 minutes before the planned bracket (the point at which it was planned for the receiver to be in contact with the tanker and fuel flowing from tanker to chick), with a warning for the receivers to close formation ready for refuelling.  Fuel was dispensed through two Flight Refuelling Mk 20B refuelling pods, one under each wing of the tanker.  The pod contained a hydraulically powered drum on which was stored the refuelling hose and the basket receptacle.  When ready to refuel, the hose could be “trailed” by releasing the brake on the drum and allowing the drogue to pull out with the help of the airstream.  The hose was then cunningly balanced against the airstream by the hydraulic motor trying, but not quite succeeding, to wind the hose back in.  Once the hose was at its full trail position it would be safe to call each receiver astern the respective hoses.  At this stage, an amber light in the rear of the pod would indicate that the hose had reached its full trail position but a red light, adjacent, would warn the receiver not to make contact yet.  As the bracket approached, the flying pilot would call on the RT, “ready for contact” and instruct the refuelling operator, the Navigator Radar, to extinguish the red light.  The receiver, after acknowledging, would make his approach to the hose.  All receiver aircraft had slightly different refuelling characteristics but the basic principle was the same – fly a steady constant line up the reference point of the hose and the aircraft at a steady speed until “contact” is made.  Avoid the temptation to fix on the basket and chase it at the last minute since this can lead to over controlling, oscillation and worse.  If you miss, drop back, re stabilise, and try again.  In the heat of the operational moment and with the end of the bracket approaching with the possibility of a diversion looming this advice is essential but sometimes hard to follow!  A successful refuelling contact involved flying one’s probe into the basket at a walking-pace over-take.  The tip of the probe would mate with the receptacle forming a mechanical lock (which could be overcome with sufficient force for withdrawal) which allowed respective valves to pass fuel between tanker and receiver (the receiver would have already readied his refuelling system to receive fuel whilst the tanker would have configured his to dispense).  The amber light would still be on at this stage and, before fuel could flow, the receiver would have to open the pod refuelling valve by pushing about 8 feet of hose back on to the pod drum.  At this point, the amber light would change to green and fuel would be flowing.  Phew, all round!  It was then just a matter of the receiver aircraft sitting in a constant comfortable position on the hose until the required fuel state was reached.  The fuel transfer rate was about 1000 pounds per minute, limited by the hydraulically powered fuel pump in the pod and the receiver’s capacity to receive.  As I said, flying in refuelling formation on the tanker varied in difficulty between aircraft.  Downwash from the tanker wingtips affected both lateral and longitudinal trim during the approach to contact.  The refuelling probe was offset and the tip out of view on approach, hence the importance of flying a steady approach on references (imagine your first attempts at parallel parking until your driving instructor showed you how to do it “by numbers”)!

The receivers would fill up in 5 or 6 minutes but, to maintain the integrity of the refuelling plan, would be held in contact until the geographic end of the bracket.

This procedure was followed 3 or four times on the relatively short 4-hour flight to Gan.  The RAF base at Gan is situated on Addu Atoll to the South of the Indian sub-continent at about Longitude 73°East.  Almost on the equator, it was rumoured that geostrophic force was so confused at that latitude that the direction of the vortex created by water leaving a basin down the plug hole, would be determined by the fickleness of the geostrophic force at that moment.  Originally exploited as a covert RN refuelling base, Gan was late taken over by the RAF and figured prominently as an important staging post for aircraft to the Far East up until 1976.  Sitting majestically 6 feet above sea-level, Gan boasted an 8500 feet runway and a wind direction that changed twice a year with the passage of the Intertropical Front.

To be concluded.