Escorted by the two tankers, the strike pair were finally on their way back to 'Mother' after their record-breaking long-range mission. Aboard the ship, the announcement of Recovery Stations echoed throughout the corridors and out over the flight deck.
Twenty miles out and descending at 6000 feet per minute, Carl Davis called Harry O'Grady.
This is Red Leader. We'll be with you in three minutes.
Roger Red Leader. Charlie time is 1750.
Making sure that the wheels of the first aircraft in a formation hit the deck at the stroke of Charlie time was more than simply a point of honour for the Fleet Air Arm. Anything else wasn't just sloppy - it could cause chaos to carefully worked-out recovery cycles. As the four Buccaneers descended through 10,000 feet in close echelon formation, Steve Park called the height.
On the bridge of Ark Royal, John Roberts was already anticipating the successful conclusion of the mission. He ordered his ship into wind.
Starboard Two Five, the Officer of the Watch responded. Steer Two Seven Five degrees.
With the jets now a good six tons lighter than when they were launched and a brisk 12-knot south-westerly, Roberts had been able to stop hammering the engines at 200 revolutions. As the old carrier heeled to port through the turn, she was steaming at just 17 knots for the first time in over two days. From the deck, the FDO confirmed to Flyco that the deck was ready to recover the jets. And behind John Roberts, facing back towards the stern of the ship, Little F leaned into his microphone and pressed transmit. His voice was amplified over the flight deck: Man the SAR. Stand by to recover four Buccaneers.
The orange sun was just beginning to set in the west. With the ship's long wake visible to their left, Carl Davis led the formation of Buccaneers into the slot down the starboard side of the ship at 650 feet and 300 knots as she steamed along the Designated Flying Course. The four jets were practically past her before John Roberts first caught sight of them snarling through in formation from his chair on the other side of the bridge. It was impossible not to feel stirred by their slick return. The heavy rumble from their eight Rolls-Royce Speys trailed the bombers, enveloping the ship. As they quickly overhauled the carrier, in the cockpit of each of the Buccaneers, the crews ran through their joining checks.
ADD ... On
Radio Altimeter... On
Harnesses. .. Locked and Tight
Carl Davis continued upwind of the ship before breaking left across her bows. He checked the Blow selector was on auto and, as the speed dropped below 280 knots, took his left hand off the throttle levers, reached forward and selected 15 degrees of flap and 10 degrees of aileron droop and tailplane flap. He glanced at the cheeses - the yellow flap and aileron droop indicators on the instrument panel - to check all three lift devices had deployed in synch: all increased the amount of lift generated by the big jet to enable it to stay safely airborne at slow speeds.
Blow's on, Davis confirmed. They'd got Boundary Layer Control. The hot air bled from the engines would allow the speed to drop further, to 127 knots on approach.
At the limit of the crosswind leg, Davis turned downwind, pushing a switch on the right of the throttle lever with his thumb to extend the airbrakes. At the back of the jet, the huge clamshell was forced open against the direction of travel by a powerful hydraulic jack. Inside the cockpit, Davis and Park could feel it bite, dragging speed from the jet as surely as the anchor of a ship. As they slowed through 225 knots, Davis reached forward and lowered the arrestor hook and the under- carriage. They heard them cycle and felt them clunk reassuringly into place beneath them.
Gear's down: Four Greens - three wheels and the hook.
At 200 knots Davis lowered the flaps and aileron droop another stage and their airspeed dropped to 160 knots.
Walkinshaw and Lucas followed them in 021. And behind them were the two tankers. As they flew the length of the carrier from bow to stern, the day-glo red of the ever-present SAR Wessex caught their eye as she hovered, on station between them and the deck. Even at 200 knots it took them just three seconds to travel the entire length of the deck they were about to land on. Ahead, running parallel to the ship's long white wake, 030 flew on past the round-down for ten seconds before banking and carving round in a slow, gentle 180-degree turn on to finals. Walkinshaw extended, continuing downwind for another fifteen seconds beyond where 030 had turned, to ensure a 45-second separation between his squadron Boss recovering on deck and their own arrival. 45 seconds to clear the deck and reset the wires. Behind him, the two tankers would do the same. And from every inch of outside space on the island, the packed audience of goofers watched their cir cuit, enjoying the spectacle of the Buccaneers' return. Sea King Observer Ed Featherstone had made a point of claiming a spot up there. He wanted to feel part of it.
Full flap, Davis confirmed over the intercom and checked he had the necessary 20lb per square inch of blow over the wings. The big grey bomber had now lost any semblance of stream-lining, her curved lines broken by all manner of inelegant protrusions. Beneath the high T-tail, the huge airbrakes jutted out at right angles to the fuselage. The flaps and ailerons, rectangular metal slabs, hung off the entire length of the wing's trailing edge. Below her, hanging limp like the legs of a bumble bee, was the undercarriage. And from the back of the fuselage the arrestor hook dangled beneath it all, looking scarcely substantial enough to bring the heavy aircraft to its imminent and violent standstill on deck.
With a gentle twist of his wrist to the right, Davis levelled 030's wings into wind and settled on to finals, losing a last 10 knots of excess speed to fly down the 4-degree glidepath at datum speed of 127 knots. With her nose high, airbrakes out and engines turning at near 85 per cent rpm - fast enough to deliver thick dollops of power quickly enough to get out of trouble - 030 sat comfortably at the back of the drag curve, stable and descending through the last three-quarters of a mile towards the 3 Wire. Davis kept his eyes locked on the meatball shining from the projector sight to the left of the wires. The white light meant he was within a few arc-seconds of the required 4-degree glideslope.
One Two Seven ... One Two Eight... One Two Seven. Over the intercom, Steve Park called the speeds in his warm Scottish burr. No more than one knot either side of the 127 knots was good enough. The familiar electronic tone of the ADD provided an even more insistent reminder of his speed and angle of attack. The picture ahead looked good. Ark Royal's deck was stable. With the wind travelling down the angled deck, the black smoke from the funnel was streaming out to starboard and away from his flight path. His gloved hands rested on the throttles and stick ready to make any necessary corrections. But the big jet was settled and trimmed. Nearly flying herself. From the side of the flight deck, the LSO, focused on the approaching Buccaneer through the cross-hairs of his red Perspex sight, confirmed the approach was good over the RT.
Roger. Centreline.
Alongside the LSO, the four 2-inch-thick arrestor cables were tensioned, raised on bowsprings three inches above the steel of the deck. The Flight Deck Party stood safely behind the Wing Tip Safety Line that marked the outer limit of the angle, all eyes on 030's insect shape. Behind the thick armoured glass in Flyco, Wings followed her approach, his hand hovering near the red wave-off button. When things went wrong they did so late and quickly. After what appeared to be a slow, gentle descent, the grey bomber seemed to balloon in size as she streaked over the round down, her speed relative to the deck suddenly strikingly evident.
Within seconds of 1750 QUEBEC - Charlie time - the tip of 030's arrestor hook scraped into the deck a couple of yards behind 3 Wire. And as it grasped the thick cable, the tyres of the Buccaneer's main gear smacked into the steel ahead of it, the powerful hydraulic oleos soaking up and absorbing half a million foot-pounds of energy to check and halt the bomber's descent. A moment later, the nosewheel crashed into the deck. The arrestor gear screamed as the wire rope was pulled out from below deck behind the big aircraft. And Davis and Park were thrown forward against their straps, their massive momentum and energy fighting to keep them moving forward even as 030 slowed from over 120 knots to a standstill underneath them. It took a blink over a second. But the moment Davis felt the retardation bite, he pulled the throttles back to idle. Applause rippled across goofers.
The green-waistcoated Hook Men ran forward from behind the safety line to take control. Below decks, the arrestor gear pistons, forced against the limit of their travel, relaxed, pulling the Buccaneer backwards a few feet to release 3 Wire from the grip of her hook. In the cockpit, Davis pulled the yellow and black hook toggle to retract it. Then, reaching just below it, he flicked the flap and aileron levers to zero to clean up the wings.
Outside, the Hook Men signalled to the Wires Director ahead that 030 was ready to taxi and, to the Flight Deck Engineer Officer astern, to reset 3 Wire. While Steve Park switched off his systems in the back of the cockpit, Davis reached down to his right to fold the wings, before, with a touch of power, he taxied forward, marshalled towards Fly 1 over the bow of the carrier. Behind them, 3 Wire slithered back along the deck to take its place parallel with the others, ready for the arrival of the next aircraft.
On sight, called 'Boots' Walkinshaw over the RT as 021 settled into her approach.
Roger. Centreline, came the acknowledgement.
Seven minutes later, all four Buccaneers were safely on deck. Wings got up, put his head through from Flyco to the bridge and informed John Roberts.
Recovery complete, sir.
Thank you, Wings.
They'd done it. Smiling broadly, Roberts got up from his chair and handed control of the ship to his Executive Officer, Willie Gueterbock. Ark's Captain had a surprise in store for the crews who'd just completed the longest mission ever launched from the deck of a British aircraft carrier.
In Belmopan, news of the 809 NAS overflight reached Richard Posnett in the early afternoon. Before joining the colonial service, the new Governor had served in the Royal Air Force. Without knowing the details, he had some understanding of the kind of effort that must have been involved in putting jets over Belize City from such a long distance away. Writing a few lines in recognition of that, he thought, might not be a bad idea. In any case, drafting them would provide welcome relief from the incessant press enquiries he'd endured since arriving in country just two days earlier.
And in Cambridgeshire that evening, just off the A1 dual-carriageway, the four Harriers of No. 1 (Fighter) Squadron at RAF Wittering declared themselves to be operationally ready to deploy across the Atlantic.