13:00 hrs 27th October 1962 - RAF High Wycombe.
“Yes I understand, we’ll be ready” He replaced the phone on the receiver.
Air Marshall Kenneth ‘Bing’ Cross AOC Bomber Command surveyed his operations room, a hushed silence as the assembled staff eyed their veteran commander with apprehension. Bing closed his eyes, still fighting a sore head from the night before. “Right, give me my options”
Instantly the room sprang into action, staff officers calling out the status of the V-force order of battle. “Waddington wing, 44, 50 and 101 squadrons prepared and awaiting dispersal” “Coningsby wing - 9, 12 and 35 squadrons prepared and awaiting dispersal” “Scampton wing - 617, 83 and 27 squadrons prepared and awaiting dispersal”
A pause cut the air like a knife and Bing eyed his staff with suspicion.
“Sir, no word from Honnington or Wittering, we’re trying to make contact” Bing frowned, he would have to have words with both wings about their tardiness. He turned and saw a grim faced Wing Commander hovering over a desk, two phones in play. Bing eyed him, no words needed. “Sir, Feltwell, Hemswall and North Luffenham all reporting in, Thor missiles ready and I’m waiting on Driffield” Bing looked to the heavens and exhaled, not great but no need to worry the Americans just yet. “Tell all stations, we go to alert condition three as of now and get me a line to the Yanks at Strategic Air Command!”
He paused, “And a bloody brew wouldn’t go amiss either!”
14:00 hrs - RAF Coningsby.
The crew room was packed, a lazy haze of cigarette smoke hung permanently just above the heads of the Vulcan crews, nervous chatter joining the haze as the crews huddled and discussed the latest news. Vulcan Captain Flight Lieutenant Christopher Lomax was with his crew, recalled from weekend leave there was none of the normal grumbling that other recalls had brought. This one felt different, certainly the policeman knocking on his door was more serious than usual, barely enough time to get his grab bag. All crews were assuming cockpit readiness, wheels ready to roll at a moment’s notice. The news from the Cuba was grave. American ships holding a line of quarantine around Cuba and SAC had been at DEFCON 2 since the 24th October. The RAF were now moving to an enhanced state of readiness, a message to the Soviets. Chris joined his 9 Squadron colleagues as they trooped out the door onto the apron and made for the line of menacing Vulcan bombers, each loaded with one ‘Yellow Sun’ nuclear bomb, or a bucket of instant sunshine to the crews of the V-force. There was an unusual silence as the crew climbed into the belly of the aircraft, each taking their seats and carrying out the checks they knew off by heart. He picked up the checklist running down the list whilst his co-pilot Bob did the checks. “Flight instruments” “Check” “Navigation systems” “Check” “Engine tests,” No response but Bob flicked the switches and the four mighty Rolls Royce Olympus engines spooled up with the distinct growl unique to the Vulcan. Checks complete Chris and his crew began to wait, there was no radio to get the news, they waited for the order to disperse, fly or stand down. Chris closed his eyes and ran through the dispersal plan, RAF Leconfield up in Yorkshire only a short hop up country.
17:00 hrs - RAF High Wycombe
The operations room was at fever pitch, news had filtered through that the Americans had lost a U2 over Cuba and there were unconfirmed reports of a Soviet submarine sunk in revenge. Bing was at the centre of the web of information, a dozen phone conversations in play, intelligence officers pouring over documents filtering in from all corners of defence, operations officers reviewing battle plans. The next stage was clear, dispersal, the bombers were sitting ducks at the main operating stations and could easily be knocked out in one go. Approval for dispersal would need to come from the Prime Minister but this was a major escalation, one step from war. He was mentally running through the checklist, the last of the bomber squadrons had checked in and the Thor missiles stations were primed. Over a hundred bombers with crews in jets and sixty missiles fuelled, a coiled spring just waiting for the order to go. The AOC sat down and took a heavy drag on his cigarette, exhaling he leant back putting his hands behind his head as eyed the phone on his desk, this was a direct line to the Cabinet office. The phone rang. Bing’s eyes locked on the phone, his heart pumping and his teeth clenched as he answered the call. “Cross here” The calm tones of his boss, Air Chief Marshall and Chief of the Air Staff Sir Thomas Pike was on the line.
“Ken, the Yanks have taken out a Soviet submarine and SAC jets are in the air. The PM has spoken with the President and they’ve directly requested our support, you’re to disperse the V-force pending further orders” “Sir, understood, I will advise once complete” He placed the phone on the receiver and looked up, his operations room, was quiet, all eyes on him. “Disperse the squadrons, crews to remain at cockpit readiness, pending further instruction” The room sprang into action.
17:10 hrs - RAF Coningsby
The cockpit of the Vulcan was stifling, even in the cold crisp Autumnal afternoon the cramped interior of the jet was uncomfortable. Chris felt himself begin to nod off, the boredom beginning to say his energy and that of his crew. Just as his eyes began to close the radio crackled into life and he heard the voice of the air traffic controller on the line. “9 squadron disperse!” Chris was instantly awake his hands on the controls and his copilot Bob running through the preflight checks for the second time that afternoon. It was like clockwork, one by one the Olympus engines began to purr and then roar as the Avro Vulcan became a living, breathing thing. He looked out of the cockpit, all around him Vulcans were coming to life and heading for the taxiway, they were all bound for different parts of the United Kingdom to await further orders. Chris and his crew were one of the first to reach the runway, the nose turned to line up with the runway, in the distance another bomber was already lifting clear and into the iron-grey Lincolnshire sky. The engines back to howl as they strained to be unleashed, air whipping into the intakes. The big jet lumbered down the runway, a marvel of British engineering she lifted clear and up into the heavens.
18:00 hrs - RAF Leconfield
The apron was a hive of activity as a dozen Vulcan bombers landed in an orderly procession and proceeded to various parts of the airfield. Chris smiled at this, little use in the event of a nuclear blast but if the airfield was suddenly attacked by sleeper Soviet agents it would hopefully mean some bombers might survive.
As Chris parked his Vulcan, ground crew descended on the big jet, armourers checking the defensive aid suite and the nuclear warhead. Airframe technicians checking every inch of the airframe and refuelling teams topping the fuel for the long trip East. Rock apes of the RAF Regiment were dotted all over the airfield, assault rifles ready to deter any attack on the airfield. Chris and his crew took the opportunity to step out of the aircraft for some much-needed air, there was no guarantee they would have this option for a while. Chris thanked the ground crew and wandered over to the nearest Vulcan, recognising the tail number of his close friend Bob. As he approached the Vulcan Bob spotted him and met him halfway, grinning he greeted him jovially, “About time mucker, thought you got lost en route!” “Got routed over bloody Leeds, right pain in the arse” They laughed, a rare moment of humour on such a tumultuous day.
One of the ground crew hurried past, Bob stopped him. “What’s the latest news?” The ground crewman was clearly stressed but stopped to speak. “A U2 was downed this morning and it’s not long been reported the Yanks took out a Russian sub in retaliation, assuming that’s why we’ve all been dragged up here” He scurried off without further ceremony. Chris whistled, this was serious and considered what could come next. Dispersal was the last step before war or if saner heads prevailed a climb down. He looked at Bob but didn’t have the words, the pause saying it all.
It was Tom who broke the silence. “Don’t worry mate, this will be over in a few hours and we’ll be in the Nelson for your birthday next week” He managed a half smile which Chris returned but this one felt different somehow, that pint of bitter not quite as real. “Best get back to it, I’ll be seeing you fella” They shook hands, each acutely aware this could be the real thing.
1815 hrs - RAF High Wycombe
Bing was pacing up and down his mind racing as he chain smoked his way through a pack of Marlborough. Since the order had been given to disperse there had been no further word from the Cabinet office but he knew that both Fighter and Coastal commands were on high alert, aircraft armed and in the air. The longer the crisis dragged on the harder it would be to de-escalate and the closer they would be to all out conflict. He was so intently focused he didn’t register the shouts of his Military Assistant until he appeared beside him, Bing started, dragged back into the room and reality.
“Sir, it’s the Americans, I have General Power from Strategic Air Command on the line” Bing hurried over and picked up the phone. “Cross here” “Bing, it’s Tom Power, how are you holding up?” “Tom, we’re good, a bit in the blind but I have my bombers dispersed and ready” He paused. “More to the point how’s things with you?” General Power didn’t mince his words; they’d known each other for years. “We lost the U2 this morning but the Navy took out a submarine that was attempting cross the enforcement line” Nothing Cross didn’t already know but he sensed there was more, the head of the SAC wasn’t calling him, for chit chat. “The Soviets and North Koreans are massing on the 38th parallel and major surface combatants are streaming into the Pacific” Another pause as Bing consumed this new information. “There’s more, Soviet bombers have encroached our airspace in Alaska and we’re detecting ICBM’s being readied” “Where does that leave us?” Cross asked without a moment’s hesitancy. “The President is talking to Khruschev but the Soviets are re positioning faster than we can react, I need you to be ready in case this does go South on all of us” Cross was silent a moment, weighing up the new information, “Don’t worry General, we’ll be ready” He replaced the phone, the tension of the call causing him to exhale. He looked around the room, once again eyes were on him looking for direction. The first thing was to be ready to go at a moment’s notice. “I want all crews back to cockpit readiness now”
1830 hrs – RAF Leconfield
Chris was back in the cockpit of the Vulcan, refuelled she was now ready for the long lonely trip to the Soviet Union. He mentally ran over his orders, his target memorised along with the route they’d have to take. Once the ordinance was dropped it was a run South maybe to Turkey or somewhere in the Middle East according to the orders but Chris and the rest of the V-force were realists, probably for 90% of the crews, this was a one-way trip. Hundreds of enemy fighters, countless SAM sites not to mention other nuclear blasts were between them and the targets, and what would there be left to carry on for or come back to? Chris gazed out of the cockpit window, thanks to the airfield floodlights he could just about make out the field beyond and he thought of home beginning to wonder if he’d ever see it again. The Vulcan’s were as ready as they’d ever be, 12 bombers fuelled and armed at Leconfield alone with dozens more around the country, crews ready and waiting.
1845 hrs – RAF High Wycombe
The situation was grave, more news was filtering in from all corners of NATO. There were reports of Soviet naval units steaming out of ports into the North Atlantic and Baltic as well as hundreds of bombers in the air. Intelligence from Germany indicated a heightened level of action amongst the Soviet Army on the borders between East and West, tanks and artillery manoeuvring into war positions. NATO assets were on the move, the Americans had hundreds of warplanes in the air, carrier groups were assuming war positions and dozens of divisions were mustering along borders between NATO and the Warsaw pact. Kenneth Cross was silent, his mind which had been racing to keep up with events was now strangely still, as if he’d come to accept the path that now seemed inevitable.
One of his principal staff officers, John, a fellow veteran of the runs over Germany during WW2 came over and passed him a brew, breaking the silence. “Well, we’ve had better days haven’t we?” Ken glanced at him, smiling slightly and appreciating the humour that broke the tension. “Remember Norway John? When we landed the Hurricanes on the Glorious?” “How could I not remember, that was sheer lunacy but we all made it!” “I don’t know why but I feel the same now as I did just before we flew out to the carrier, do or die and there was no alternative” “There was an alternative, surrender to the Germans and miss out on the rest of the war” “That was never really an option though was it?” Bob paused for a moment then looked Cross dead in the eye “Not really, no” The silence that followed was broken by the phone on his desk ringing.
18:55hrs - RAF Leconfield.
Christopher was at the controls of the Vulcan, his eyes closed as the day had taken it’s toll. The radio squawked into life, piercing the silence.
“SCRAMBLE SCRAMBLE SCRAMBLE”
Instantly Christopher was awake, switching on the mighty Olympus engines whilst at the same time shouting into his own radio for his Navigator to confirm the codes received. Christopher was on autopilot, the mighty Vulcan was already taxiing to the runway as he and his co-pilot ran through the last checks. Hack the clock he thought, 120 seconds to get airborne. The intercom was a constant buzz as the other crew members checked in that systems were online and ready to go, they’d practised a hundred times or more for this and it was like clockwork. The Vulcan lined up on the runway, first in the queue and pointing away into the East. The Vulcan hummed and then howled as the power reached a crescendo before the brakes were released and the engine roared as it was unleashed. Christopher was acutely aware that speed was a necessity, even now Soviet nuclear warheads could be inbound for the United Kingdom with only minutes or even seconds to get airborne. The runway was a blur and then lift off as Christopher and his co-pilot pulled back on the throttles and the Vulcan lifted off into the heavens. He glanced at his watch, 110 seconds to get airborne, not a bad effort. Behind him the other Vulcans were lined up and taking off just behind, no waiting around today.
As soon as the bomber was airborne, Christopher set a course for the North East and the designated holding area known as 8 East, even though they were airborne there was still no clearance to proceed East and prosecute targets. No sooner than they were airborne the radio squawked into life. “Positive Release Message, Positive Release Message” Christopher exchanged glances with his co-pilot, this changed things completely and they were now authorised to proceed East. Followed by “Authentication, Tango Romeo Alpha Foxtrot Alpha Lima Golf Alpha Romeo, I say again Tango Romeo Alpha Foxtrot Alpha Lima Golf Alpha Romeo” Within seconds the Navigator was checking the codes were authentic from the sealed envelope onboard. “Codes authentic” the Navigators voice was shaky in his ears. Christopher was silent for a moment, the enormity of what was happening was sinking in. “Roger, set a course for the East Navigator” The plane banked East in the clear Northern sky for the long lonely mission.
© October 2026 Jack Harding