Test Dave Unwin. Images – Keith Wilson
The BAe Strikemaster is a personal jet that any well-heeled private pilot can own – and fly. And indeed, two were owned and operated in South Africa until a few years ago.
The BAC 167 Strikemaster has had a lengthy history with a number of African air forces – specifically the Botswana, Kenyan and Sudan Air Forces.
The Strikemaster is essentially an armed version of the Jet Provost T Mk 5. The Strikemaster was modified with an uprated engine, wing hardpoints capable of carrying four 500 pound Mk82 bombs, two machine guns under the intakes, uprated systems including tip tanks on the wing tips.
First flown in 1967, the aircraft was marketed as a light attack or counter-insurgency aircraft, but most large-scale purchasers were air forces wanting an advanced trainer, although Ecuador, Oman and Yemen have used their aircraft in combat. A total of 146 were built.
Our UK Contributor, Dave Unwin, has flown the Strikemaster a number of times – and in this detailed pilot report, puts us in the cockpit:
I smoothly open the throttle to 85% rpm against the brakes, release them, and as the jet bounds forward increase power to 100%.
With the wind straight down the runway the jet tracks straight and true as the airspeed builds. The ASI’s needle and the rudder come alive at roughly the same speed as the Strikemaster surges down Duxford’s runway.
Now the needle is moving faster than the second hand of a watch as the centreline blurs into a continuous white stripe. As the speed hits 90kt I ease the stick back and wait a second. After a momentary pause, the nosewheel lifts off, followed swiftly at about 105kt by the mains. The bumping, jolting sensation stops instantly, as our clumsy wheeled vehicle miraculously transforms itself into a lithe, vital creature of the air.
I’ve always liked tough, functional flying machines, and even on the ground the Strikemaster looks sturdy and practical, right down to the rugged-looking wide track undercarriage.
The mainwheels retract inwards into the wings, and the nosewheel backwards into the fuselage. G-UNNY is a Mk.87, one of six delivered to the Kenyan air force in 1970 and is owned by Transair boss Tom Moloney.
As he shows me around the aircraft I’m extremely impressed with its rugged construction and its overall condition.
The hinged nose cap is an excellent feature – it opens like a car bonnet to provide access to some of the systems.
The engine – a Rolls-Royce Viper 535 turbojet – is a thirsty beast, particularly when operated at low altitude, and even though the numerous internal fuel tanks have a total capacity of 1,227 litres, they are invariably supplemented by the tip-tanks which carry 436 litres. For ferry flights, either 227 or 341-litre drop tanks can also be fitted to the four underwing pylons, allowing up to 3,000 litres of fuel to be carried. This may sound like plenty, and when cruising at altitude it is, but at high power and low level it doesn’t last long.
The wing features a noticeable amount of dihedral and carries slotted flaps which cover about 60% of the trailing edge. They are hydraulically actuated, as are the air brakes, undercarriage and wheel brakes. The ailerons are purely mechanical, and feature balance tabs, as do the rudder and port elevator. The starboard elevator has a combined trim and balance tab.
Most military jets require a ladder to get into the cockpit, but as counter-insurgency aircraft may be operated from very basic forward airstrips, access to the cockpit is by climbing up from the back of the wing via walkways on the wings and on top of the air intakes.
I pause by the cockpit sill and view the Martin-Baker Mk.4 ejection seat with mixed feelings. Unlike later rocket-propelled seats, these use three cartridges and gives you everything it’s got in the first tenth of a second. It’s a fully-automatic seat – all I must do is pull either of the ominous-looking black-and-yellow handles. If we need to eject, the seat will probably save my life. However, my middle-aged spine is unlikely to enjoy a vertical acceleration of 80 feet/second!
Having settled onto the right-hand seat and adjusted the rudder pedals, I begin the complex process of strapping in. Along with the leads and hoses for the helmet and oxygen mask, there are leg restraints, a lanyard for the integral seat dinghy and the combined seat/parachute harness to connect. Tom has hundreds of hours on type and makes strapping in look easy. It’s not.
Finally strapped in, I familiarise myself with the controls and instruments. The cockpit is typical of a military jet of this vintage, and initially looks quite cluttered and confusing. There are knobs, buttons, levers and handles everywhere, plus myriad toggle switches. The basic ‘six pack’ of flight instruments follows the traditional RAF arrangement, and are in the centre of the panel, surrounded by a white line to delineate them from the other dials.
The Jet Pipe Temperature, rpm, hydraulic pressure and fuel gauges are mounted in a neat column to the left of the flight instruments, with the various other dials scattered about. Intriguingly, the flight instruments follow the same format as a Spitfire Mk. I, and are not ‘standard’ by current conventions, as the VSI, altimeter and T&S are all in the wrong place. However, the most surprising item is that the attitude indicator is not colour-coded, and this aircraft was built in 1976!
In common with many other British fighter designs, the stick articulates at about the midpoint. It is quite tall, because as the controls are purely mechanical (no hydraulic-boost) the stick loads are quite heavy at high indicated airspeeds. A long control stick gives the pilot more leverage.
For the right-seat pilot, the elevator trim wheel, throttle and flap lever are situated on a neat centre console that extends aft between the ejector seats. This also carries the HP fuel cock and two large buttons (one red, the other green), which operate the undercarriage. For the P1 all the controls detailed above (except HP fuel cock) are duplicated and situated on the left cockpit sidewall.
With the ejection seat’s safety pins stowed, Tom presses the starter button, the engine rpm winds up towards 15%, and somewhere behind us igniters crackle and fuel turns to flame, flooding through the engine. The revs continue to rise, the JPT needle springs to life and we watch intently to ensure it doesn’t exceed 710°C and settles below 600. Outside, a banshee-like screech splits the air as the jet idles and Tom completes the post-start checks.
With the numerous gauges indicating that the systems are functioning normally, Tom presses a button, the canopy smoothly slides shut and we set off.
The nosewheel only castors, so directional control on the ground is by differential braking and rudder. It’s quite a long taxi to the runway, and although we started with 2,000lbs showing on the gauge, by the time we are ready to line up I’m sure that the needle has dipped fractionally.
All jet engines have an almost insatiable thirst at low level, and even taxiing out at idle rpm consumes about 6lbs/minute (the fuel gauge is in pounds). Before lining up we review the takeoff brief and ejection envelope. These Mk.4 seats are cleared for 0ft/90kt; they have a ground-level ejection capability, provided that the airspeed is above 90kt and the aircraft is in level or climbing flight. Therefore, below 90 we will stop on the runway, while an emergency above that speed will require immediate ejection. My straps are already tight, but I instinctively give them an extra tug.
The takeoff run in a jet is a very different experience from flying, for example, a powerful taildragger. There is no thrashing prop, roaring motor or airframe vibrations – just a sensation of something spinning somewhere behind you, which is generating inexorable thrust.
One final bump and we’re airborne, a quick dab of the brakes to stop the still-spinning wheels, and I press the large red ‘retract undercarriage’ button while gently checking forwards to hold the aircraft down until we have 200kt. The wheels fold neatly away into the seamless metal skin with three delicate thuds, and we continue to accelerate.
As the needle of the ASI reaches 200kt, I ease the stick back to hold that speed and the Strikemaster begins climbing like a rocket. I am momentarily confused when, despite blipping the button on the stick top back, the stick forces in pitch remained unchanged. Tom laughingly points out that the button on the stick top actually fires the rockets, and the large trim wheel is the only way to trim the aircraft in pitch.
After a fantastic flight, its back to Duxford to see if I can land it. Established on downwind at 1,000ft and 150kt for a left-hand circuit to Runway 24, I ease the power back while maintaining altitude, then as the airspeed dips below 140kt, press the large green button to lower the undercarriage. As the wheels extend into the airflow, I nudge the power up to compensate for the increased drag while concentrating on holding 140kt and 1,000ft. The jet trembles slightly as the wheels lock into place, the first stage of flap goes down, and the speed bleeds back to 125kt.
As I am sitting in the right-hand seat, I lose sight of the runway as I pass the numbers, but Tom tells me when to turn base. Established on final, with the airspeed sinking towards the target airspeed of 115kt, the approach feels slightly flat, but this is because it is vital to maintain at least 55%. Below 55% it will take several seconds for the engine to ‘spool up’, and until it does the aircraft will continue to sink. If you’re more used to flying piston-powered propeller-driven aeroplanes, this is most certainly an important point to bear in mind!
Under Tom’s prompting I pull the power off as we cross the fence and round out. The first landing works reasonably well, and I smoothly increase the power for a touch-and-go. As we’re still travelling at about 80kt we accelerate rapidly down the runway and back into the air.
Dab the brakes, press the button, and we’re quickly approaching 1,000ft as I’m swinging the Strikemaster onto the downwind leg. Under Tom’s careful tutelage this second circuit is a tidier affair than the first, and I’m already feeling increasingly confident. After another reasonable landing, I open the throttle for a third and final circuit. This time it all clicks into place. Tom is not only a successful businessman and fine pilot but he is also an excellent instructor – and I notice with surprise that I’m at exactly 1,000ft and 150kt as we commence the downwind leg.
I still need his help in calling the base leg, as I simply can’t see the runway, but the speeds and heights at the various parts of the circuit have become more precise as I’m setting the power much more quickly and accurately. The needle of the ASI is nailed to the 125kt mark on base, and it drops neatly back to exactly 115 on final.
A squeeze of throttle to arrest the sink rate, pinch it back off on short final and then ease it back to the stop as we sail over the fence.
Round out, wait and the mainwheels sink softly onto the tarmac. I ease off the back pressure on the stick, and with a gentle jolt the nosewheel is suddenly rumbling along the runway. What a day – but I want more and – almost a decade later, get the chance. On a brisk and blustery day at North Weald I meet up with Tom and photographer Keith, who will be flying in a Jet Provost Mk.5 with Steve Hunt. Today’s Strikemaster -G-CFBK – was built in 1976, and is an ex-Saudi Air Force Mk80A, although confusingly it is in Kuwaiti Air Force markings.
The JP accelerates away, and although we’ve given it a good head start, it is immediately apparent that we have a lot more thrust – about 40% to be precise. The Jet Provost is often described unkindly as having ‘constant thrust-variable noise’, but BAC designed the Strikemaster to be operated from relatively short, unprepared strips. Even at MAUW it can be airborne in fewer than 500m.
It is considerably more powerful than its training cousin, but the underwing pylons mean it has a lot more drag. Consequently, although we accelerate faster, take off quicker and climb better than the JP, once straight and level the JP is clearly faster as it has much less drag. Tom slips smoothly into formation and our tight two-ship formation heads east at 220kt. There’s a lot of cloud about, but we eventually find a large enough hole in which to do some formation loops. Steve and Tom are flying precisely, like the consummate professionals they are, and it shows. But we have an interesting problem.
We need a hole that will enable us to loop in formation without pulling too much G (otherwise, Keith’s camera will get very heavy!), and at the same time we need to stay below 10,000ft. Tom is concentrating hard, but I know he’s enjoying himself immensely, and as we zoom up into another loop he suddenly says, “this is just such great fun” – and I can only agree with him. It really is tremendous sport!
Unfortunately, the fuel state is constantly diminishing, and soon the gauge indicates a return to North Weald would be prudent, particularly as we’re a fair way down wind – and it’s pretty windy.
Back on the ground at North Weald we refuel and then taxi out for another flight. Our original plan was for me to fly a few circuits. However, it’s still blustery and the tower advises that the wind is now “290 at 28, gusting 35”. As North Weald has a Runway 31 this shouldn’t be a problem, but the airfield management has closed it for the day. Consequently, we must use 02, which has a near 90° crosswind that is gusting up to 35kt! Neither of us fancies me practising touch ‘n’ goes in these conditions (after all, I haven’t flown a Strikey for ten years), so we quickly modify the plan.
Tom will take us off and I’ll fly us out to the practice area where we’ll take turns in rehearsing Tom’s display. We scorch across the sky to Osea Island which we’ll use as the display line. There’s still a lot of cloud, so Tom runs through his ‘flat show’, which consists of a flowing sequence of aileron and barrel rolls, with a graceful wing over at each end.
I try to keep it smooth and flowing – but I’m not sure what the imaginary crowd would’ve made of my initial efforts. Tom is a fine and patient instructor, and after a few more goes I can sense that my display is getting a bit tidier – although I’ve still got a great deal of practicing to do before I can compete with him! His manoeuvres are so graceful that they seem effortless, and the G comes on so smoothly and steadily. In fact, I don’t think we ever pulled more than about 4.5G. However, unlike when flying something like an Extra (in which the G can be intense and immediate, but is generally only transitory) in a jet you can easily pull a sustained +6g, which is much more wearing.
The trick to avoid ‘greying out’ (as we weren’t wearing G-suits) is to strain and grunt. It’s not attractive, but it does work!
Tom recommends 250kt for an aileron roll and 300 for a barrel, and to ensure that the nose is well up at the start. As the Gs come on, I sink down onto my ejection seat. A bit more throttle to keep the rpm at 95%, then I keep rolling and pulling up, and up into a barrel roll. Sea and sky swap places as the Strikemaster slices through the sky, and after a full 360 I level the wings to the horizon and ease the power back. “How’s that?” I ask. “Better!” Tom replies, and I know he’s grinning under his oxygen mask. “Not good – but better!”
By coincidence I’d been reading Storm Front, which details how Strikemasters played a pivotal role in the defence of Mirbat in Oman during 1972. As I curve the Strikey around in a graceful wingover and the island fills the windscreen, it’s easy to imagine rolling in on a target and firing a salvo of SURA rockets. However, I can’t really imagine doing it below a 300ft cloudbase!
I could stay airborne all day, but low-level aerobatics mean the fuel is flowing to the engine like water through a fire hose. As the fuel gauge dips below the 1,000lb mark it’s clearly time to go back. Tom likes to be ‘on the chocks’ with 400lbs remaining, and I can see why. At low level, turbojets like the Viper really drink fuel, and even a slight delay (such as an aircraft with a burst tyre blocking the runway for a few minutes) can quickly turn a drama into a crisis!
I fly us back to North Weald, chucking in a few more rolls on the way, and then enter the circuit for a ‘run and break’ with 700lbs left. To be honest, I’m a bit slow with the throttle and nearly cock this simple manoeuvre up – only some timely prompting from Tom stops me busting Stansted’s airspace, as above North Weald its base is only 1,300ft. The windsock is thrashing around like a fish on a line as we turn final, but despite the powerful crosswind Tom makes a fine landing. I am impressed.
As we come to a stop outside the hangar Tom opens the canopy, closes the high-pressure cock, and the Viper dies away with an ever-decreasing whine. Oil and hydraulic pressures fall, lights flicker and fade, and gyros slowly spin down as the Strikey morphs from a fire-breathing creature of the air into a disparate collection of metal, plastic and rubber.
Having inserted the safety pins into our seats, we shake hands, carefully un-strap and climb down. BAC built 146 Strikemasters, and the type was operated by around a dozen different air forces, from Botswana to Sudan. In its day, it was a potent COIN (counter-insurgency) aircraft, and it remains a real ‘big boys’ toy for those of us lucky enough to play with these delightful ‘spoils of war’.
