The Final Flight

by James Blatch

  “I know what you’re saying, Professor, but I can’t see a less risky option. My alternative is to contact the government, and I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  “Well, permit me to make a suggestion.”

  “By all means.”

  “I will give you a telephone number. You should call it, I suggest sooner, rather than later.”

  Millie noted the number and a name on the bottom corner of his sheet.

  Leconfield Ho. Ger. 6672

  Ask for ‘A W Strutthers’

  “And who is this?”

  “That will be a matter for them to tell you, should they wish. But I promise you, the fact you have this number and name means you will be taken seriously and given a hearing at least. You may know the Oxford Maths Department has rather useful connections with some of the less well-lit areas of government. I have never given this number out to anyone who I didn’t consider a candidate for employment in such a place. But in your case, I believe this is warranted. I wish you good luck.”

  Georgina opened the living room door and walked past Millie as he finished the conversation.

  “Boring work thing,” he said and disappeared upstairs.

  Next to the old filing cabinet in the spare room, he pulled out a cardboard box labelled VEGETABLES. Under his old log books were the Guiding Light materials he had initially smuggled out of West Porton. He added his precious page of notes to the box, hiding them in the middle of the pile. He could study the statistical conclusions later.

  He stayed on his knees with the box in front of him for a moment, before digging the sheet out again, and tearing off the corner containing the number and name Belkin had given him.

  Millie left the house and headed down the hill toward the village.

  He entered the red telephone box, dialled 100.

  “Operator, how may I help you?”

  “Ah, yes. Could you connect me to the following number, please? Ger. 6672.”

  “That’s a London code. Hold the line, please.”

  After a few whirrs, the ring tone sounded, followed by the pips demanding money. He inserted tuppence.

  “Hello. Can I help you?”

  “May I speak to AW Strutthers, please?”

  There was a pause and the sound of rustling papers.

  “Please hold.”

  The phone clicked.

  “Hello? May I help you?”

  “Hello. Mr Strutthers?”

  “Yes. Can I help you?”

  “My name is Squadron Leader Christopher Milford and I think I need to report something.”

  “I see. A serving officer or retired?”

  “Serving.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m stationed at RAF West Porton in Wiltshire.”

  “I see. And are you calling us from a public telephone box?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I call you back in one hour?”

  Millie looked at his watch; it was 6.17PM. He didn’t think he could get away with being out that long.

  “Would it be OK to call me on my home number?”

  “As long as you are not overheard. Please have a pen and paper ready when we ring.”

  Millie gave the man his number and he hung up almost immediately.

  He walked back home, calmed by the assertiveness he had heard at the other end of the mysterious line.

  At home, he sat down in the living room, unsure of what to do with himself.

  Georgina breezed in.

  “Oh, hello. What are you up to?”

  “Nothing,” Millie snapped back.

  “Oh. It’s OK, Millie. I wasn’t accusing you of anything. Just wondered…”

  “I’m sorry. Have you had a nice day, dear?”

  Georgina dropped into an armchair. “Fine. A little boring. It has made me wonder what we’ll fill our days with, come retirement.”

  Millie studied his fingernails.

  “Millie? Are you listening to me?”

  “Sorry, yes. What were you saying?”

  Georgina rolled her eyes. “Really, Millie, sometimes you are off with the fairies. I was just saying, I don’t know how we’ll fill our days when we retire. I mean, you want to sail, but what will I do?”

  “I’m sure you’ll find something. You enjoy shopping.”

  “But with whom? We’re moving to the south coast. Mary will be up here, busy being an officer’s wife. Everyone we know who’s retired is scattered to the four winds. They don’t think about that when they post us all over the place, do they?”

  “I’m sorry, who’s being posted?”

  Georgina threw her hands in the air. “For goodness sake, Millie. I might as well be talking to the bloody wall.”

  The phone rang. Millie leapt up.

  Georgina stared at him.

  “Whatever’s got into you?”

  He looked at his watch.

  7.17PM exactly.

  “It will be for me.” He left the room and closed the door behind him.

  The caller spoke first.

  “Squadron Leader Milford?”

  “Yes.”

  “Someone will meet you. Will that do?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know St Mary and St Melor Church in Amesbury?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “8AM on Saturday morning. You will meet one of our staff members who is located close by. She will be instructed to wear blue and sit toward the rear of the church. A young woman with short dark hair. Please come alone and do not discuss this or any aspect of your concerns with anyone else.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Actually, I can’t be certain she has something blue to wear, so don’t be put off if she’s wearing something different.”

  Millie had no sooner agreed than the man hung up.

  The living room door opened and Georgina stood, one hand on the frame, with a bemused look on her face.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re hiding something from me, Christopher Milford.”

  18

  Friday 24th June

  Rob woke early.

  The sun streamed through a gap in the curtain, illuminating a swirl of house dust. He watched the slow rotation for a while.

  The sound of an early morning engine run drifted into the room.

  He still found it hard to believe that he was a part of it all. West Porton, TFU. Secret projects the outside world would be amazed to learn about.

  And not just a part of it, but an important part.

  Mary was in the kitchen in her nightie when he came down the stairs.

  “Will I see you tonight?” she asked.

  “Happy Hour on a Friday. I’m expected to be there.”

  “But it’s not a formal do, is it? Do they need the mess secretary to help them drink?”

  “We’ve been over this, Mary. The boss will probably be there and at the moment, yes, I think I should, too.”

  He decided against a bowl of cereal and made for the door.

  “We can do something tomorrow,” he said as he left.

  “With Millie and Georgina?” Mary called after him, following him out.

  Rob pulled back the canvas top of his Austin Healey.

  “What is it, Rob? Why are we suddenly not friends with Millie and Georgina? You and Millie were so close.”

  “It’s complicated.” He climbed into the car and drove away before Mary had a chance to reply.

  In the planning room, Rob spotted Speedy Johnson at a desk. As he went over, he also checked for Millie. No sign.

  “Speedy. Now might be a good time to see the boss about our suggestion?”

  They headed over to Kilton’s office.

  The boss was head down in paperwork as usual.

  “Yes?” he said, without looking up.

  Rob cleared his throat. “Speedy and I think it might be a good idea to take Guiding Light back down to three hundred feet.”

  Kilton stopped writing and looked up. He tapped the
pen on the table and leant back.

  “Obviously, you’ll want to clear it with the station commander,” Johnson said, “but from our point of view it’s behaved impeccably and there’s no reason for the safety margin.”

  “No abnormalities?” Kilton asked.

  Both men shook their heads.

  “We’ve only got a few flights left, boss,” said Rob. “I think it would be a display of our confidence in the system.”

  Kilton smiled. “Good. I agree.”

  “And the station commander?” Johnson asked.

  “It’s my decision, Speedy. I run TFU.”

  “Very good.” Johnson grinned. He and Rob headed out.

  “Boys,” Kilton said as they reached the door. “Keep your wits about you.”

  The sky was blue with dusty white streams of high cirrus clouds. Millie sat on the bench in front of the TFU offices, in full flying clothing. The planned departure had been delayed because of some mysterious admin task handed to Speedy and Rob.

  His mind was on tomorrow’s clandestine meeting.

  He watched as a Shackleton with lethal whirring propellers taxied onto the edge of the apron. A marshaller walked toward it, chocks in hand.

  The flight-line was busy. Kilton had always ensured Friday was a normal flying day at TFU.

  Millie lifted his face to the warm sun and raised his life vest to generate a breeze around his face. Then closed his eyes.

  He saw a vision of a young woman in blue, kneeling in an empty church. He didn’t yet know her name, but it was as if he suddenly had a friend, someone to help him. Someone on his side.

  Rob and Speedy bustled out of the building, helmets in hand. Steve Bright joined them.

  “Let’s go,” Rob said and Millie followed them out to the waiting jet.

  “Joining us today, Brighty?” Millie said. “An almost full size Vulcan crew.”

  “Yeah, I think they’re playing it safe, just for this one.”

  “Really?”

  “Just this one, I think.”

  Minutes later, panel lights flickered on as the Vulcan woke from its slumber. A growing whine outside signalled the engine start.

  They held for a while as a queue formed at the threshold. It was approaching lunchtime and Millie realised he should have brought something to eat.

  Eventually the acceleration force pushed him forward in his rear-facing seat as they thundered along the runway and up into the summer sky.

  Thirty minutes later, they descended to the entry gate for the low-level run west of Shrewsbury.

  Rob pointed the nose at a distinctive oxbow loop on the River Severn. He levelled the Vulcan at one thousand feet.

  Carefully managing the thrust and attitude, he settled them at two hundred and seventy-five knots.

  “Ready.”

  He could see from the modified panel to his left that Millie had activated Guiding Light some time back, as he always did, so it was just a case of Speedy connecting it to the autopilot.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that sensation,” Speedy said over the intercom as the control column moved independently.

  Rob lifted his fingers from the stick.

  “All yours, Speedy.”

  Rob watched as the more experienced pilot’s hands loosely covered the throttle and stick as he took control. Or what passed for control while a laser, a computer and a mechanical autopilot did the actual flying.

  After thirty seconds, Speedy seemed to relax and rested his hands on his thighs.

  “Shall we take her down?” Rob asked.

  Speedy gave a thumbs up. Rob reached down to his left.

  The aircraft descended until it plateaued at five hundred feet.

  The ride was stiffer, the large jet reacting more quickly to changes in the terrain beneath. They rolled right, then gently left; nothing too dramatic, but a distinctly busier sensation. With the ground closer, everything felt faster.

  Rob enjoyed the sensation, grateful for the return to proper low-level.

  “Let’s take her all the way,” Rob said. A moment later, the aircraft sunk to three hundred feet above the grassy plains as they approached the first set of hills.

  “Hey! Height!” Millie’s voice sounded over the intercom.

  Speedy and Rob exchanged a look.

  “Oh, did I forget to mention it, Millie?” Rob said. “We’re cleared back to three hundred.”

  “What? No. No. That’s ridiculous. Who cleared us? No-one spoke to me.”

  “We met with the boss this morning. Sorry, I should have told you.”

  “The staish signed it off, Millie,” Speedy said. “We need to get back down. It’s no good loitering at one thousand feet. We need to test this thing properly.”

  “What the hell? You spoke to Kilton about this, but forgot to talk to me? And no brief for the flight? We’re supposed to be a project team, for god’s sake, Rob! And I’m supposed to be project leader.”

  “Sorry, it was a genuine error,” Rob lied. “But we do need to trial Guiding Light properly. We haven’t got it for much longer and we all need to have faith in the system.”

  “Faith? Jesus, Rob, you were on board when it failed last time, and don’t give me that blarney about hitting the stick accidentally. Neither of us believe that.”

  “That’s enough.” Speedy’s voice came over the intercom. He had his head turned, glaring back at Millie below. “We’re airborne. Save it for the ground.” He turned back to face front.

  Rob concentrated on the picture in front of him; it was relatively flat for the moment and the ride was smooth, but it was about to get interesting. Should he concede and move them back to one thousand feet?

  He adjusted the intercom to cut Millie and Bright out of the loop. “Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to spring this on him?”

  “It’s done. Let’s just concentrate on the flight,” Speedy said, staring forward.

  Rob opened the intercom to the rear bay again. “We’re watching everything, Millie. Worry not.”

  “Rob…” Millie’s tone had changed; he spoke quietly. “I’m begging you. Now’s not the time to put your trust in this system. There’s something wrong with it.”

  Rob looked across at Speedy, but Speedy shook his head.

  “Sorry, Millie. I promised the boss we’d carry this one out at three hundred. Tell you what, let’s run in at three hundred for the first fifteen minutes, and we’ll go back to one thousand as the hills steepen. How about that?”

  “Promise me you won’t take your eyes off the view outside? First sign of anything and you cancel?”

  “Of course.”

  They crossed a hatched pattern of arable fields that stretched over the Welsh border, with rising ground ahead.

  Forty-five seconds later, the aircraft made its first steep bank and positioned them for a run down the northern side of a wide valley.

  Rob imagined the laser flashing across the approaching terrain. This was where the system came alive, down with the trees.

  Under the enemy’s nose.

  Strapped into his dark cave with no windows, Millie grimaced.

  “Come on, Mills,” said Brighty. “It’s not that bad. At least we’re not on our way to Tbilisi to drop the bomb. Imagine low-level for four hours.”

  “The aircraft wasn’t designed for this,” Millie said.

  “Well, as ever, ours not to reason why, eh?”

  The Vulcan dipped sharply and rose again; Millie scanned the height readings. He rotated the black dial to get an idea of the terrain around them. Two thousand and thirty-four feet to their left, three hundred and sixty-one feet to their right. As usual the system was taking the Vulcan down one side of a valley.

  According to Belkin, the error would occur down in the one hundredths of a per cent. And even less frequently, it would occur in a situation that would cause an irrecoverable situation. He’d added up over a year of RAF flying, but the chances on an individual flight were extremely low.

  As far
as they knew.

  Millie looked over his shoulder. The curtain separating the rear bay from the cockpit was tied to one side. He could see Rob, thankfully looking forward.

  When had he let his friend down? When did their relationship become so bad, he’d cut him out of important conversations?

  Another sudden plunge, and Millie snapped his head back. But the aircraft levelled off. He switched the dial to the first position, looking directly down. Three hundred and sixteen feet. He took another deep breath and checked his watch.

  Eight more minutes of this.

  Mary May knocked on the Milfords’ front door. It flew open.

  “Mar! My favourite gorgeous person in the whole wide world.” Georgina beamed at her.

  Mary burst into tears.

  “Oh, blimey. Mar, whatever is wrong? Come here.” Georgina stepped out of the house and enveloped Mary in her arms.

  “Nothing. It’s nothing, really. Just silly marriage stuff.” She wiped away her tears, delving into her cardie for a tissue. “I didn’t mean to cry. I feel embarrassed.”

  “Nonsense. Get in here, my lovely.”

  Mary stepped into the married quarter.

  “What you need, young lady, is gin. What do you say that we set up a couple of chairs in the garden, get ourselves G&Ts and you can tell me all about it?”

  The Vulcan worked hard. They entered a steep valley complex, and the huge delta wings rolled with strong rudder and throttle input to negotiate the tight turns.

  Rob tried not to fight it, allowing his body to ebb and flow with the movements.

  He learned in the single seats to roll with the aircraft and resist the temptation to lean upright.

  He kept half an eye outside and half an eye on Speedy, who looked relaxed, with his hands on his thighs.

  But it all looked good. Guiding Light, back in its natural habitat, was performing well, as expected.

  They rolled level and went over a small ridge, the aircraft rising and dipping before sweeping over a long reservoir.

  Four minutes until the end of the fifteen-minute stretch he promised Millie would be the extent of their run at three hundred feet.