World War Z Shorts: 'Lysanders'
RAF Fairford, England
Squadron Leader James Travis meets me in his office a short distance away from the busy flight line at RAF Fairford, still dressed in his flight suit as he returns from a training sortie. He is one of the few remaining 'Lysanders' remaining in active service. Our interview is punctuated by the comings and goings of jet and propeller driven aircraft.
I was a 19-year-old RAF cadet when the outbreak broke out in earnest, on a flying scholarship down at Little Rissington, near Brize Norton. Little more than a couple of runways, a temporary hanger for the Grobs, a few portacabin barracks for us and the main office building where we did out ground training and flight briefs. It was nice, quiet and basic. Until things started to pick up.
Weren't you called home before the outbreak?
No actually. We were part way through out flying course and, though things were getting a bit dicey and civilian air traffic was getting limited, we were RAF so we kept going. Eventually things got to dangerous to travel and the RAF were to busy to spare an armed convoy to get us home. Sorry, I should explain, by 'we' I mean the other cadets on my course; 'Comet', 'Bandit', 'Scotch' and 'Stalin'.
'Stalin'?
Our callsigns. -name redacted- looked like a young Stalin at the time and had an interest in Eastern European history during the 20th century, so the name stuck. I was 'Garfield' for… (he gestures to his ginger hair) …obvious reasons.
So what happened when the outbreak hit?
At first, nothing much. We didn't actually get much of it at first. There was an infantry and RAF presence nearby at Brize Norton, they were flying people north to safe zones around the place, but the most we saw of it was the occasional Zed pressed up against the perimeter fence or landing or take off. We'd just radio it in and someone would come and deal with it. They weren't just going to give a bunch of cadets and their adult volunteer staff pistols to deal with it ourselves. But no, for the most part everything was quiet, we'd watch the news and knew that eventually it was going to hit us, still surprised us when it did.
What happened?
We got the evacuation order at the same time as Brize did. We were woken up early in the morning, told to pack our bags, nothing more than a backpack and get the Grobs ready to fly, we'd be briefed once airborne. So we did just that. I jumped into my flight suit, packed a change of clothes and some essentials into my military daysack, threw it in the cargo area of my Grob and we started getting the birds ready to fly.
I'm sorry, 'Grobs'?
-He nods to a picture on the wall depicting two white light aircraft parked next to each other- The Grob Tutor and Prefect. They were very basic two seat trainers, essentially just meant for teaching the very basics of flying; up, down, left, right, how not to crash etcetera to RAF pilots and cadets. They were great little planes. The main difference was that the Prefect was newer with retractable landing gear and an all glass cockpit which included GPS.
Ok, I'm sorry, please continue.
No worries. Anyway, we fuelled the Grobs to the brim and I'd just done prefight when the Zeds breached the gate.
How'd they get in?
No idea. But I looked out over the wing and there were a group of them coming from the front gate. My instructor saw this and jumped out, told me to fire up the Grob, I was in a Prefect by the way, and taxi her out to the runway and that he'd meet me there before he ran off towards the office to get something. So, I taxied out with the other cadets and their instructors towards the runway, they took off and I was left holding at the end of the runway with Zeds closing in.
That must have been nerve wracking
It was.
Did your instructor ever come back?
He was on his way. I saw him running towards me from the office, dodging around Zeds until he tripped, and they fell on him. We'd been briefed on what happened why you got bite. (He shakes his head) He was an asshole, sure. But he didn't deserve that. Anyway, there was nothing I could do for him, so I just closed the cockpit canopy, gunned the engine and took off. Nearly hit a few Zeds going down the runway, but I got off ok. It was actually my first solo flight.
So, what then?
We were told to head north. So, we formed up in formation and headed for Scotland. Once we got past the Scottish Boarder we were intercepted by some Typhoons out of Lossiemouth and directed towards Dundee. Dundee airport was one of the other places you could do an RAF flying scholarship, so we were directed to them once we landed. We powered down, stowed the aircraft away and headed in for a post flight. That was when I got given my air cadet pilot wings by the chief instructor for soloing the first time. (He nods towards a blue RAF jacket hanging on a stand in the corner.) Still have them.
After that things quietened down, (He snorts.) well in terms of flying anyway. Things were crazy as people panicked and the government tried to get a handle on things. Eventually things calmed down and the RAF actually found a use for us.
And that's where the Lysanders came from?
Exactly. As well as losing aircraft and pilots, the RAF was running out of fuel. The Globe masters, Sentry's, Typhoons and Tornados, practically anything with a jet got grounded like they did in America. That left us with just the helos we had, the Hercules', the Tucano's and the Grobs. The problem was, the few safezones we had south of the Antoine line, mainly castles and such, needed specialist personnel; Doctors, engineers and the like, and most of those, even military, aren't parachute trained, and there was the risk of injury on landing even if they did.
That was where the Grobs came in handy. Like I said, the Prefect and Tutor were trainers meant for being flown by kids and people who'd never flown before. You could land them practically anywhere and, provided it was straight, relatively level and clear of Zeds and cars, you could take off again. Helicopters could do the same thing better, with more people and weight, and in less space, but they made a hell of a lot more noise and burned a lot more fuel. We could just glide in if needed and often did. Kind of like the Special Operations Executive did with Westland Lysanders during the Second World War, getting spies and downed pilots in and out of Nazi occupied France. Which is where the nickname 'Lysanders' came from by the way.
The brass took some convincing, but eventually they agreed. Stalin and I flew the first op the first April after the outbreak. Running a pair of Doctors down to Carmarthen.
Why did they send you and not the instructors?
The instructors were civilian contractors and were, understandably, not willing to go south of the wall, at first anyway. We were RAF cadets who'd proven we could fly and were willing. We got given commissions as Officer Cadets, we were later promoted to full Pilot Officers, and after some training ops north of the wall, set loose. The first run to Carmarthen was a great success, we got there and back no problems, and the rest was history.
We had a great operational record during the war. We'd fly every day to all parts of the UK and Ireland. I even flew into Winsor castle once at met the Queen before she died. Landed on the long driveway outside and taxied through the castle gates. I was dropping off a mechanical engineer and was set to fly back the following day and I was introduced to her. She awarded me my first DFC.
(He pauses for a moment before continuing.)
Anyway, we were kept busy during the war. Even after the fuel situation improved and more helo's started becoming available. That was what eventually killed us though, they could land anywhere, and we needed at least a rough airstrip or road. So they shut us down about a year before the war ended. Not all of us made it out of course, there were casualties on the way, but most of us transferred to other squadrons and aircraft while some of us retired…
(He is interrupted by the phone on his desk.)
Please excuse me. (He awnsers it.) Yes?... Ok… Right. We're on it. (He hangs and pushes a button on the phone.) A flight prep for sortie. B flight move to standby status. Briefing in 10.
(He released the button before standing from his desk and turning to me.)
I'm terribly sorry but I'm afraid were going to have to cut this short.
(He shakes my hand before rapidly departing, grabbing his flying jacket as he went.)
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