The Final Flight

by James Blatch

  By the time Millie had negotiated the vehicle search and arrived at the tea bar, Rob was in animated conversation with Red Brunson.

  Millie took his mug to his desk and sat down by himself.

  An admin corporal arrived next to him and handed him a document.

  As usual, it was marked TOP SECRET. Inside the front page was a reorganised Guiding Light trials schedule. By the following week, when the second Vulcan was in service, they would double the hours flown.

  He tried to do the maths in his head, working out how little time he had left. Once TFU signed the project off, it would swing into production and quickly roll out to the waiting aircraft, both here and in the US.

  And buried deep within the circuits, a mistake. A calculation that came out wrong, or maybe just a fluctuating current between tiny electronic components that should be steady. Either way, something had sent a four engine bomber plunging to the ground and no-one except him seemed to care why.

  “Heard the news.”

  He looked up to see Rob smiling at him.

  “Hmm?”

  “Red and Jock are joining us.”

  “Yes, I heard. Is that exciting to you?”

  Rob grabbed a chair and sat down alongside Millie’s desk.

  “Come on, Millie. Of course it is. I’ve been dying to share this with Red. Just think, we’ll be flying with someone who rubs shoulders with the men selected to walk on the Moon.”

  “Just because he wears that fancy helmet doesn’t make him an astronaut.” Rob grimaced. “I’m sorry, Rob. Of course it’s exciting, especially for you. Keep close to Red. He’s a good man. And he likes you.”

  “You think?”

  “I do. For the same reason I like you. You’re very likeable.”

  “Don’t make me blush.”

  A shout came across the room. Rob stood up to join the other pilots in the weather brief.

  “When you get back, can you bring Red and Jock into the meeting room?” said Millie. “We need to start the induction.”

  Rob nodded and disappeared with a spring in his step.

  After they re-emerged, Millie gathered the new crew around the meeting table, with Rob, Speedy and Steve Bright, before closing the door.

  “Firstly, as the boss has no doubt explained, this project falls under ‘Top Secret’ and is subject to his philosophy of ‘Need to Know’, which is why a lot of this will be new to you.

  “Alongside the more public development of Terrain-Following Radar, we’re flying with a technology that does the same job, but uses light.”

  “Light? What do you mean?” Jock asked.

  “Laser,” Millie said, and looked up to enjoy the facial expressions he knew this would provoke.

  “Laser beams? Are you serious?” Red’s eyes widened.

  “Absolutely serious. The boffins at DF Blackton in Cambridge have created what may be the world’s smallest laser. It sits under the Vulcan’s nose, carefully hidden in the usual casing. Mirrors and a gimbal allow it to sweep the terrain ahead. It works not only as a range finder, but it also deduces the ground speed.”

  “Phew-wee…” Red whistled.

  “They’ve also designed a computer, running on microelectronics, that sits between the laser and the autopilot. We tell the computer where we want to be, using waypoints. It then uses the information from the laser to fly the aircraft at a pre-set height, as efficiently as possible.”

  “Just, wow,” Jock said.

  Red Brunson whistled again. “Incredible. I thought only NASA did stuff like this. I don’t even think they’re this advanced.”

  “They’re not. Your lot have signed a memorandum of understanding. They’re ready to hand the UK one of its biggest export orders in history, when it’s ready.”

  Millie glanced at Rob and Steve. “But, we’re not out of the woods on this one. We had a hairy moment a couple of weeks back and we’re currently no lower than a thousand feet above ground level.”

  Brunson frowned. “What sort of ‘hairy moment’?”

  Before Millie could answer, Rob stepped in.

  “Maybe something, maybe nothing, we’re not sure. The jet descended briefly and we switched Guiding Light off. But everything checked out afterwards. The thousand-foot AGL is just a precaution.”

  MacLeish leaned back in his chair.

  “Am I to assume that was the cause of the row in the mess and poor old Brian Hill’s disappearance?”

  “Yes—”

  “He overreacted,” said Rob, interrupting Millie. “The equipment was double-checked at Cambridge and the boss is on top of things. I think we should probably let sleeping dogs lie when it comes to Brian. We’ve moved on.”

  “Fine,” said Jock. “What would test flying be if there wasn’t the outside chance of plunging into the ground, anyway?”

  Rob turned to the two new trial pilots. “When was the last low flying you did?”

  Brunson shrugged. “When we practised for today’s gas bomb drop. What was that? A month ago, in a slow Argosy. I haven’t done much, to be frank.”

  “I’m definitely out of practice,” said MacLeish.

  “No problem,” said Rob. “I’ll arrange a couple of Vulcan training flights to get you into the swing of things. You can have your first experience of letting the computer take over.” He glanced at Millie. “I have to warn you, though. Flying hands-off at low-level takes some getting used to. Jock, you can fly with Speedy, Millie and Steve today, while Red and I get the gas bomb drop out of the way.”

  Millie sat back. The pilot side of things was not his area of expertise, but he was taken aback at Rob’s assertiveness. This was a sharp contrast to the timid young man who joined TFU the previous year.

  An hour and a half later the same group of men stepped out onto the TFU apron.

  “Man, I can’t get over how ugly that thing is,” Red Brunson said, looking across at the Argosy.

  Millie watched, curious, as two men in white coats and gas masks fussed around a crate being loaded into the cargo aircraft’s belly.

  “Those your gas bombs?”

  “Yep,” Brunson replied. “The real things today. Dropping them on a mock village at Porton Down.”

  “What’s actually in them?”

  “Chlorobenzalmalononitrile,” Brunson said with a flourish. “Took me a while to learn to say that.”

  “What the hell is it?” Millie asked as the last crate entered the Argosy.

  “Just makes your eyes sting. We’ve been told it won’t kill anyone unless we drop the crate directly onto their heads. In any case the village is populated by dummies.”

  “Just like this place then,” Jock said.

  The two crews set off for their separate aircraft. Rob and Red Brunson carried gas masks along with their helmets.

  TFU’s ageing resident loadmaster, Nigel Woodward, stood at the Argosy, in conversation with the Porton Down scientists. Millie smiled at the generational clash.

  They arrived at the Vulcan. Millie made sure he was the last to board, after Jock and Speedy completed their walkaround together.

  As Speedy instructed Jock on the differences in the cockpit from the standard production Vulcan, Millie loaded a reel of tape.

  Steve Bright stowed the yellow ladder and closed the hatch.

  Minutes later, the Vulcan came to life and the crew entered the closed world of the intercom.

  As they climbed out of West Porton, Millie powered up Guiding Light and began a tape.

  Over the intercom, Speedy thanked him and explained to Jock why the panel was now displaying height information.

  They headed west to their usual playground in Wales.

  The Vulcan shook the ground as it clambered into the air over the western threshold. Susie sat ten yards inside the double fence; she blocked her ears but could still feel the noise as it vibrated through her.

  The sound became more manageable as the white aircraft banked right and headed toward the clouds.

  Megan sat alongsid
e her, looking anxious. She pulled her knees up to her chin.

  “Are you OK?”

  “Yes.”

  They sat in silence for a little longer, watching a slower propeller aircraft lumber off the runway. After the Vulcan, it was like watching a tractor.

  “Argosy, I think,” Susie said. “Quite a new one.”

  “David said you’re a plane spotter,” said Megan.

  “It’s hard to ignore them. They can be quite impressive.”

  Megan flashed an angry look at her. “What’s that got to with anything? We’re here to end all this, not bloody celebrate it. I hate them.” Megan lay on her back and closed her eyes.

  Susie left it a moment before carrying on. “Anyway, the plan sounds good. I definitely want to help if I can.”

  Megan opened one eye and gave her a sideways glance.

  “You really want to be with us? It’s no picnic you know.” She closed her eye again.

  “It’s why I’m here.”

  “I wondered that.”

  “Wondered what? Why I’m here? Why are any of us here?”

  “Different reasons.”

  Susie paused. “Well, I’m not sure about others, but I’ve had enough of marching and waving banners. I’m here because it’s up to our generation to do something.”

  “Even if that ‘something’ lands you in prison?” Megan asked, still on her back with her eyes closed.

  “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “Really?” Megan propped herself up on her elbows.

  “Not a big deal. A few of us took matters into our own hands in Trafalgar Square last year.”

  “And you went to prison? Actual prison?”

  “I was arrested, held in a police station for one night, transferred to Holloway for a second night. Then they paraded us into magistrates’ court, fined us, and that was it. As I say, no big deal.”

  Megan lay back down.

  A moment later, a shadow flashed across them, followed by a roar as the Argosy swooped across the camp.

  Susie followed it around as it drew a wide arc in the sky, just above the trees. An object fell from its open rear cargo doors.

  “Blimey.”

  “What?” Megan asked without looking.

  “That aircraft just dropped something. Is that Porton Down?” She could make out a series of low buildings in a field that backed onto the UK’s chemical weapons centre.

  “They gas animals in that place,” Megan said, sitting up. “Perhaps they bomb them now as well.”

  The aircraft carried out two more runs over Porton Down, releasing one more object. It took a wider arc south and descended, turning back toward West Porton. As it levelled out on the far side of the airfield, it pointed directly at them.

  Susie squinted, studying the flight path as the Argosy descended even lower.

  “What’s happening now?” Megan said.

  “It’s OK.”

  The aircraft travelled straight across the runway threshold and directly over the peace camp.

  The engines sent powerful reverberations through the ground, and both women flinched as it tore overhead and pitched up into a steep climb.

  The rear doors were still open and Susie could see a figure inside. From behind him, an object moved and the man leapt out of the way. A pallet, with what looked like a black barrel strapped to it, fell out of the opening.

  She watched in horror, looking below the falling object to see who was in danger.

  “Watch out!” she screamed, leaping to her feet.

  The pallet hit the ground and smashed into several pieces; the barrel split in two or three parts.

  As far as she could see it hadn’t hit anyone.

  But as the aircraft noise dimmed, a hissing sound emanated from the barrel, along with a plume of white smoke.

  “Get away from it!” Susie screamed.

  A stinging sensation in her eyes. It started as an annoying tickle, but soon became a powerful irritant. Susie closed her eyes tight as the gas caught in her throat and she doubled over, coughing. Screams sounded across the camp, then moaning and coughing.

  Susie gripped Megan and walked as fast as she could while virtually blinded.

  She tried to open her eyes as they hurried away, alongside the fence, but another blast of irritant hit her, and water streamed down her face.

  “Jesus Christ.”

  She forced her eyes open.

  Megan’s hand went limp. She dropped to the ground, hands over her face.

  She looked in a bad way; incoherent and wailing.

  Around them, people ran in different directions. Most campers escaped the field through the main gate.

  Susie dropped next to Megan

  “We have to get out of the field.”

  “No! Leave me.” She curled up and began rocking.

  Susie hauled Megan to her feet and set off with her under her arm.

  As they neared the gate, Susie tasted fresh air again. The gas was dispersing.

  They joined the others, spilling on the road.

  A police siren wailed in the distance.

  Someone had brought a bucket of water over, and the group splashed the cool liquid over their faces.

  Susie looked at their puffy red eyes. Men and women, crying and wailing.

  Her throat stung, and the acrid gas in her lungs triggered a coughing fit.

  She squatted down and spat onto the road, desperate to clear the metallic taste from her mouth. “Christ alive.”

  Eventually she regained control over her breathing and stood up.

  A green military Land Rover with a blue flashing light arrived and two soldiers jumped out.

  “Is everyone alright?” one of them shouted.

  He got a chorus of anger from the protestors in return.

  “What do you bloody think?”

  “What the hell was that?”

  “Are you bombing us, for Christ’s sake?”

  The men didn’t answer. They scanned the crowd, then jumped back into their vehicle and drove onto the field. More sirens in the distance. A white ambulance rolled up, followed by another.

  Susie walked to the field entrance and watched the two soldiers. They put on gas masks and slowly approached the remains of the crate and barrel, turning the debris over with their feet. They picked up the bigger pieces and loaded them into the back of their wagon.

  The ambulance crews began to inspect the injured.

  The Land Rover appeared at the gate and eased through the crowd onto the road before driving off.

  “That’s the evidence gone,” Susie said. She looked at Megan, who didn’t seem capable of speech.

  Susie got down on her knees next to her.

  “I think it was just tear gas. It’s gone now.”

  Megan didn’t respond.

  She encouraged her to her feet. Slowly, they made their way back into the field where Susie sat Megan in the entrance to her tent and went off to fetch her water.

  David was already at the plastic water barrel.

  “Megan’s taken it badly. I’m worried about her.”

  “Not surprising with her background.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He moved away from the crowd around the barrel and beckoned her to follow. “She was orphaned in the war. House bombed in London. She and her brother lived, but both parents died.”

  “Christ.”

  “Like I say, she rarely talks about it. Keeps it all inside.”

  Susie took Megan fresh water and sat with her for a while, but she was unresponsive. Eventually she left her to sleep it off.

  Millie was pleased with himself. The flight was purely a familiarisation for the new pilot, Jock MacLeish, and so no official tapes were due back. That gave him ample time to build up his stock. He was onto his fourth reel as they descended toward the circuit at West Porton.

  “Something’s happening down there,” MacLeish said over the intercom from his right hand seat in the cockpit.

 
; Millie and Bright, with no usable windows, just looked at each other.

  “What?” Bright said.

  “Loads of blue flashing lights at the peace camp. Looks like they’re being evicted.”

  After taxi, Millie let Steve Bright open the hatch and attach the ladder. He followed him out, holding onto his flight case, replete with his haul of fresh reels.

  As he walked into TFU, it was clear something was up. Loud laughter emanated from corners of the room. Broad smiles on faces.

  Millie walked straight to his locker. First things first.

  The pile of reels was getting large, but there was nothing he could do about it for now.

  He closed the locker just as Speedy Johnson walked past him toward the equipment hatch.

  “What’s going on? Do you know?”

  “Apparently Red and Rob accidentally gassed the hippies.”

  “What?”

  Speedy continued to the hatch as Rob walked back into the main planning room. One of the pilots slapped Red on the back, laughing.

  Millie walked over to Rob. “What happened?”

  “Silly old Nigel Woodward removed all the safety pins from the spare bomb, just before we flew over the camp, and it rolled out.”

  “How exactly did it roll out? Did he launch it?”

  “Red may have performed a rather steep pull-up, you know, just to wake them up. Unfortunate timing.”

  “I see. Was anyone hurt?”

  “Apparently not. But the gas escaped and set off a bit of coughing.”

  Millie looked around at the pilots hugging the tea bar. A few more slaps on Red’s back.

  “And this is apparently a cause for celebration? You could have killed someone.”

  “Steady on, Millie. It was an accident. No-one was hurt. Well, not seriously.”

  Millie was still in full flying gear, holding his helmet and oxygen mask. It was too warm in the room and he headed off to the equipment hatch.

  Jock was there when he arrived.

  “Heard the news?” Jock asked.

  “Yes. Not sure I can join the celebrations though. Unprofessional, if you ask me.”

  Jock nodded. “I agree. Doesn’t seem the right response, does it?”

  “It wasn’t like this at Boscombe Down. We took it seriously, someone dropping a clanger like that would be for the high jump.”