Chas answered through a curtain of smoke, exhaling forcefully. ‘Good point, Tony, but the clever thing about the placement is that on the ground it is nowhere near the weapons guidance system. You will see shortly how well it fits in position, and unless they have to service the nose wheel assembly it will go unnoticed. As for the missiles going astray, they will probably think we have developed a new counter-electronic measure. The device is completely passive until activated by the aircraft; it’s not switched on till the aircraft switches on its target acquisition radar.’
He opened up the book again to display the aircraft pull-out, and pointed. ‘The device is planted here on the nose wheel, and it’s only when the undercarriage is retracted that it comes in close proximity to the guidance system. They can only check the aircraft on the ground, so I think we have an excellent chance of getting away with it.’
They both pored over the diagram, noticing the position of the bay that held the electronics of the missile guidance system. It was directly above the recess where the nose wheel was stowed when retracted.
‘You put it in the right place and we will do the rest,’ added Chas between puffs on a rapidly diminishing cig.
‘What about the missile itself?’ enquired Peter. ‘Do we do anything to it?’
‘We have an Exocet in the hangar to show you, and our man, Mr Ford, will brief you on this. He is not available till three, so we will look at the undercarriage first. But in answer to your question, no, you don’t touch anything else. Just place the device in the correct position, and everything else is history,’ he said dramatically, stubbing out the remains of his cigarette. ‘Follow me, gents, and let’s see what we’ve got.’
They retraced their steps down the corridor and went through the large pair of double doors into the hangar. It was a massive structure illuminated by endless rows of fluorescent lights hanging down on chains from the cross-girders that supported the steeply angled roof. The walls were of red brick, giving way to corrugated sheeting at ceiling height, with a pair of huge sliding doors at the far end. The sheeting was painted in a fresh green colour, giving the vast area a pleasant, light atmosphere. The floor was painted red, and in neat rows, as far as the eyes could see, were mortars, artillery pieces, missiles and tanks.
Not many people were allowed in this hangar, and Tony thought the public would love to see this display. It was the best in the country, indeed probably in Europe.
‘This is superb,’ commented Peter. ‘Who uses this lot?’
Chas was leading them to the right between a row of mortars and tanks. He stopped by a multi-barrelled mortar, resting with his left leg up on the base plate with both arms folded over the sights bracket.
‘Basically we study weapon systems here. We obtain weapons and equipment from all around the world and evaluate it. We strip it down, test it and fire it. Most of this kit here is Warsaw Pact, but we look at everything. Anything new, we procure and test.’ Tony and Peter could detect the satisfaction that Peter got from his job, and were impressed by his enthusiasm and knowledge. They felt like rats in a cheese factory.
‘Officers study here for their degrees. They have to write a thesis on a particular subject. Also a lot of research is carried out here and improvements are made to existing equipment. This mortar is interesting. We just acquired it from Afghanistan. It’s the only one outside of the Soviet Bloc. I think some of your chaps were involved with its procurement.’
‘What will you do with it?’ enquired Pete.
‘We will strip it down, look at the workmanship and design, then we will take it on the range and check it for accuracy, range, penetration and all that sort of thing. Then back to the workshop and strip it down again, testing for wear and strength, and also durability’.
‘Sounds interesting,’ enthused Tony. ‘I would like a job like that myself.’
‘There you go, Tony. Get a commission, sit for a degree, and you can,’ mocked Peter.
Tony went red, his anger mounting. ‘I don’t like it that much, Pete. Somebody’s got to look after you.’ This was said with venom, prompting Peter to quickly change the subject. ‘What’s that over there?’ he said, pointing to a large artillery piece.
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,