Cold Peace

His phone rang, and Priestman grabbed it. On the other end of the line, Corporal Groom from the control tower asked, “Sir? Could you come to the tower immediately, please? We have a problem.” 

Priestman left everything on his desk. Emily was due back in the ambulance later this afternoon from yet another medevac, and as he took the stairs two at a time he was already imagining some calamity that would prevent her from returning. As he entered the control tower, he was surprised by an alarmed voice crackling loudly over the intercom. It filled the entire room. “He’s doing a loop right in front of me!” 

“What’s going on?” Priestman asked coming up beside Squadron Leader Garth, who was standing behind the seated controller and assistant.

“The incoming BEA flight claims a Soviet fighter is doing aerobatics in the air corridor in front of him.”

Priestman cursed under his breath. Was this a coincidence or a calculated escalation? The Soviets had played silly games with the Spitfires at the end of January. At the start of March, they’d beat up the airfield — and also flown dangerously close to an inbound American passenger flight. This might just be part of that pattern. Before jumping to any conclusions, however, he asked, “Are we sure the BEA airliner is in the corridor? There’s no chance he’s off course, is there?”

“Now he’s rolling off the top!” The BEA pilot reported loudly over the intercom.

“None whatsoever, sir,” S/L Garth answered in his deep, reassuring voice. “I checked the radar myself before calling you up here. He’s smack inside the corridor and steady on course. He’s passed Frohnau and is approaching Spandau now.”

“So, very close to the Soviet airfield at Staaken.” Priestman grasped the situation.

Before anyone could reply, the BEA pilot exclaimed with a loud shout. “He’s coming straight at me!” The sound of aircraft engines screaming reached a crescendo and then faded on the microphones. “He passed just feet overhead!” The BEA pilot reported, adding angrily, “I’ve got nine passengers on board. Can’t you put an end to this madness?” 

“Can we do anything, sir?” Garth asked softly.

“I’ll do what I can. Maybe you or Wilkins should man the radar.”

“I’ll go, sir!” Wilkins jumped up and went to the radar room.

Meanwhile, Priestman ordered Groom to connect him to Triple Two Dispersal and then asked Garth to find out if the BEA airliner was being confronted by a single aircraft or a section. 

“Cutty Sark to Bealiner Seven-Seven, is the fighter alone or operating in pairs?” Garth asked in his slow, inherently calming voice.

“I’m not sure — what? OK, my second pilot says he’s alone. Now he’s doing climbing rolls on our left.” 

Priestman addressed Corporal Vincent who was sitting on the far side of Flight Sergeant Hart looking shocked. “Get me a connection to Staaken, Corporal Vincent, and I need Borisenko as well.”

Vincent nodded and picked up her phone, while Groom reported, “I’ve got Triple Two Dispersal, sir.”

Priestman took the receiver from him. “Priestman. How fast can you get a section airborne?”

“We’re on fifteen minutes readiness,” Benny answered. 

“You’re going to have to be faster than that. I want you airborne in two minutes. The BEA flight is being harassed by a Soviet fighter. Scramble and report back to the tower once you’re at the head of the runway ready for take-off.”

“Yes, sir!”

Over the intercom, the BEA captain exclaimed, “He’s stall turning. Coming back towards us.” His voice switched to a yell. “He’s sheering in—”

The explosion seemed to shake the entire tower. The clock read 1:57.

After a moment of stunned silence, Garth pressed the microphone button. “Come in, Bealiner Seven-Seven!” Nothing. “Bealiner Seven-Seven this is Cutty Sark. Do you read me?”

“Oh, my God!” Someone whispered, speaking for them all.

“Smoke, sir!” Flight Sergeant Hart pointed out of the window. Two columns of smoke could be seen rising north of the airfield.