Danny takes his place on the Squadron.
cockney steve - welcome - I'll try to live up to my illustrious predecessors !
Chugalug - No 4: Love me, love my aircraft ! (Same with me !) D
Before we go back to the technical details of the Vengeance, a few more words on the human side of the story.
We lost no time in getting down to buisness. Dual instruction was obviously impossible with the limited controls in the back seat. Really, that didn't worry anyone, for there were no dual Hurricanes - or Spitfires (then) - or most other single-engine things, for that matter. You simply read the book, had a good luck round inside and out, climbed in and off you went.
But they thought they might as well use what they'd got. So the new boy was put in the back seat, put his stick in its socket, an experienced (five hours on type) pilot took off, cleaned up, trimmed it and handed over. My mentor was Reg Duncan, and the date 5th January '43.
I was agreeably surprised. The thing was much heavier on the controls than the Spitfire, of course (is there anything that ever flew which isn't heavier ?), but it was far from the BT-13 feel-alike I'd been expecting. It would turn quite nicely on the stick alone, seemed very directionally stable (that huge fin and rudder), but rather heavy on the elevators. All in all, I could get used to this. Later I found that, for all its bulk and formidable appearance (see Chugalug's #2549 and the marvellous video clip), the thing was completely docile and very easy to fly. I poled around for twenty minutes or so, then Reg took it back and landed. Now I was a fully qualified Vengeance pilot !
Back to details of the beast itself. The electrical system (24v DC) was unremarkable in itself, but the fuel pumps gave us heart-stopping moments. They were immersed in the tanks, the fuel kept away from the electrics by seals of the new wonder material - neoprene. This was fine in theory, until Sod's Law kicked in (if a thing can go wrong, it will). The fuel got past the neoprene to the sparks, a circuit shorted, the main fuse blew, all the pumps stopped, the engine quit and the pilot bawled "PUMP!"
The back-seat man didn't need telling twice. Swinging his seat sideways, he set to work with both hands on the "wobble", a few long seconds and the engine would pick up. Then they had just the trap tank fuel (perhaps 20 minutes) to get down. The pilot made doubly sure to get in first time, for there was no certainty that, if he had to go to full power on a missed approach, the pump would get enough fuel to the engine. Naturally, this meant that you always flew with a passenger, for a lone pilot could not hope to land unless he had three hands.
In the early days, everyone had to "wobble" home at least once (and luckily we were never far from a strip - they were all over West Bengal). Then a replacement engine-driven pump for the trap tank solved the problem. Tail-end Charlies no longer displayed their blistered palms as badges of honour.
In retrospect, I now wonder how that "mod" was put in so quickly. Perhaps the Double Cyclone (which was used in many American types) had a standard power take-off for this purpose, and the VVs simply blanked it off till they needed it. (This is why some "plumbers" on this thread would be so useful, for the gaps they could fill in our technical knowledge).
Having got the thing into the air, liifted wheels and flaps, and quietened the engine down a bit, you stretched out in the luxuriously large cockpit and surveyed your domain. With canopy open, there was a beautifully cool breeze. And (sometimes) wearing a Mae West, over that a parachute harness, and over that the seat harness in an aircraft on whose wings you could fry eggs, you were suitably grateful.
Climb was slow in comparison with what we fighter boys had been used to. In formation with a bomb load it felt like zero - 500 ft/min, I suppose. Life was simple when you were on your own. You had trims on all three axes, and quite a bit of dihedral on the outer wings. Trimmed, it would more or less fly itself. The engine was cruised at 1850 rpm (the magic figure for all the American radials I flew) and enough boost (32-34 in) to give about 160 mph. At that, the engine rumbled along contentedly, albeit rather roughly. The Wright "Cyclones" were never as smooth as their arch-competitors, the Pratt & Whitney "Wasp" family of engines, but none the worse for that.
A mixture control on the throttle quadrant "leaned out" the engine to run smoother and save fuel. The two-speed supercharger was always left on "low". Now there was nothing to do but watch the fuel and engine, and navigate.
Watching the fuel sometimes meant running a tank dry to check the exact rate of consumption. The engine would cut. No drama: a change of tank and a booster pump would shortly restore normal service. Your pillion passenger resented these episodes (especially over shark-infested waters) and would make that clear with many a lurid oath.
When not on "ops", there was a lot of spare passenger room around and behind the back seat (more if the guns had been taken out). I believe the record was five on board (plus kit). This was very dangerous; these extra people had no restraints (often no parachutes) and were bound to be injured in any but the slightest accident. But all this was long ago, before Health & Safety had been thought of.
Dogs travelled from time to time. The animal was put in a parachute bag (that wonderful all-purpose brown canvas holdall) and zipped in with just his head sticking out. He couldn't get out or move about the aircraft, and the bag plus dog could be carried about by the straps. Hopefully he was parachute-bag trained ! As a rule he seemed to fly very well and to enjoy the experience.
No one worried about what all this extra weight in the back might be doing to the C of G. Having no guns or ammo helped, of course, the pilot simply trimmed nose-down and accepted a less stable ride.
Enough for the time being,
Regards to all,
Danny42C
We had wooden aircraft and iron men !
Last edited by Danny42C; 19th May 2012 at 18:31.
Reason: Add Title.