The Final Flight

by James Blatch

  It included his name. Had Kilton tried to influence that?

  But there it was: the first reading. A short section of the Bible given to him by Jean what seemed like a year ago; but it was just a matter of days.

  He turned the page.

  Wing Commander Mark Kilton DFC would give the eulogy.

  He felt sick.

  “I can’t do this,” he whispered to Mary.

  She shushed him, with a strange urgency in her eyes. “Act normally.”

  It must have been a show for Georgina. Mary still hadn’t forgiven him; she still believed he was having an affair, but she wanted to put on a front, just for today.

  The organ stopped and the congregation stood up. Charlie supported his mother in her attempt to rise. Rob and Mary put out their hands to help.

  Georgina rose, unsteady.

  He wanted to sob, but he was in uniform, stifled by all those years of maintaining a stiff-upper-lip.

  After a moment, the coffin appeared in his peripheral vision and Mary broke down, lifting a hanky to her eyes.

  He fought back his own tears, tilting his head up to keep them from falling.

  Not in uniform.

  The stifling, suffocating uniform.

  Nigel Woodward caught his eye. The sergeant who’d almost ended his flying career by releasing that gas bomb.

  Everyone loved Millie.

  Rob concentrated on the precision of the pallbearers.

  Anything to stave off the tears.

  The vicar appeared and, after a brief word, they launched into a hymn.

  Christopher Milford and everything he stood for was writ large in every line:

  “I vow to thee, my country, all earthly things above,

  Entire and whole and perfect, the service of my love;

  The love that asks no question, the love that stands the test,

  That lays upon the altar the dearest and the best;

  The love that never falters, the love that pays the price,

  The love that makes undaunted, the final sacrifice.”

  Rob sang with his eyes fixed on the order of service. He kept his head bowed, humiliated by the words.

  In that moment, he had an awful realisation that he would go to his own grave knowing he had failed in the only task that had truly mattered to him.

  There would be no absolution.

  Kilton had ensured the victory was complete by leaving him no choice but to sign Guiding Light into service.

  But the real punishment was the guilt: already crushing him, and now a life sentence.

  The singing stopped. He sat down, consumed with his own thoughts.

  It was a moment before he realised they were waiting for him. The vicar motioned with his hands for Rob to take to the lectern that held the large bible.

  He stood and shuffled along the pew. The vicar put a hand on his arm as he passed.

  “The bible’s open at the right page.”

  Rob stepped onto the wooden plinth at the base of the lectern and found the start of his passage in the church’s ornate King James Bible.

  He took a deep breath and looked up.

  Straight into the eyes of Susie Attenborough.

  His mouth dropped open. He faltered, and snapped his head back down.

  Had he really seen her?

  She sat upright in a black dress and black-brimmed hat, next to Red and Sarah Brunson.

  He looked up again. She smiled at him, looking serene.

  Kilton sat directly in front of Susie, glaring at Rob.

  He recovered himself and looked down at the reading. But he couldn’t stop himself from looking again.

  This time, Susie had an admonishing expression on her face. She mouthed some words.

  “Get on with it.”

  The congregation shuffled at the awkward silence.

  Clearing his throat, and hoping his voice would carry further than the front pew, he read aloud, bringing as much measure and authority as he could muster.

  To his surprise, his voice sounded strong.

  “The righteous perish, and no-one takes it to heart; the devout are taken away, and no-one understands that the righteous are taken away to be spared from evil.

  “Those who walk uprightly enter into peace; they find rest as they lie in death.”

  He reached the last word and allowed himself a proper look at the congregation. His eyes swept across the packed church.

  He wasn’t sure exactly what to expect from his former colleagues.

  Judgement? Disappointment?

  What he saw was sympathy. Warmth, even.

  Red Brunson looked directly at him, confidence in his gaze.

  He returned to his seat.

  They sang ‘Jerusalem’. During the second verse, Mark Kilton made his way promptly to the lectern.

  He recounted tales of World War Two. Millie as an engineer who worked miracles to keep them flying day after day.

  He drew laughs with his accurate descriptions of Millie’s inability to hold his beer, and his natural clumsiness. He paid a warm tribute to Millie’s patriotism and sense of duty.

  Kilton’s eulogy went down well; had it not been in church, he may have received a round of applause.

  After he returned to his seat, the vicar’s voice shifted. He spoke with deep solemnity, in a serious and authoritative tone. Woodward and the pallbearers reappeared. As they manoeuvred to raise Millie to their shoulders, an overwhelming sense of grief and finality swept across Rob, and he couldn’t force back the tears any longer.

  Damn the bloody uniform.

  As the coffin was walked past, he turned. Red Brunson also had tears streaming down his face, as did Dave Berringer, George Taffter, Henry Wiseman, Leslie Owens…

  In fact, all his colleagues were weeping.

  Why had he even tried to keep it in?

  Georgina and Charlie followed the coffin, Millie’s widow slumped against her son. Rob and the others in the second row moved out to follow them.

  Within a few minutes, the large congregation had filled one half of the graveyard. Rob and Mary stood close to Georgina, staring at the coffin which was now on the ground next to the freshly dug grave.

  Rob looked around again, desperate to see her.

  Eventually, he spotted Red, towering over the crowd, leaning down, talking to someone.

  He wanted desperately to join them, to find out who Red thought she was.

  And why was she here?

  The congregation closed around the grave. A breeze flapped at the dresses and the women held one hand on their hats.

  The vicar projected his voice to the furthest reaches of the graveyard.

  “I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord. He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live. And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.”

  Millie had been a more regular churchgoer than he or Mary. Rob could only hope this meant something more than a few stirring words.

  The pallbearers stood either side of the grave and lifted the coffin. Rob’s legs wobbled and he clutched at Mary. She squeezed him tight and tears fell freely from his eyes.

  Goodbye, old friend.

  As the vicar spoke, a low rumbling began behind them.

  “We therefore commit his body to the ground. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. In sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life.”

  A thunderous noise erupted above them, and the sun was blotted out as a huge Avro Vulcan swept over and pulled up, climbing toward the clouds.

  “Christ, that was low,” he said to Mary.

  They were all hit by a blast of following air. Hats flew off in the swirling vortexes, grit and dirt kicked up from the ground, and men and women plugged their ears, too late against the roar.

  The flypast had been recklessly low, and the vicar and crowd had ducked. But as they rose up again, gathered their hats, and picked the dirt from their eyes, laughter and cheers rippled forward from the back of the crowd.


  Georgina turned, smiling at Rob.

  “What fun!” she mouthed at him, and he broke into a broad smile.

  The coffin was lowered. The vicar picked up a clump of earth and dropped it. Georgina and Charlie did the same.

  Mary used her hand to guide Rob a step forward; he bent down to scoop up his own fistful of soil.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, with a cracked and weak voice, as he released the earth onto the coffin of Christopher Milford.

  As they walked from the grave, Rob pressed himself close to Mary, wrapping an arm around her, pulling her tightly against him.

  “I’ve never needed you more,” he said.

  She pushed her arm around his waist; it felt good.

  “Are we back together?” he whispered.

  She looked at him, their faces an inch apart. He smelt her sweet breath and wallowed in a moment of intimacy.

  “Everything’s changed. Just act normally, follow along.” She snapped her head forward and unentangled her arm, looking nervous.

  Confused, Rob looked around, searching for Susie. Finally, he spotted her next to Red Brunson. They were already through the gate, ahead and beyond the policemen who were waiting for him.

  He couldn’t take his eyes from Red and Susie together, but as he and Mary arrived at the police car, a door opened, and they were ushered into the backseat.

  The security men climbed into the front, and the sergeant in the passenger seat turned to them.

  “You’ll be dropped at the officers’ mess. We will wait outside until you wish to leave, at which point we will escort you off the station. We can give you a lift somewhere nearby.”

  Before Rob could answer, Mary spoke up. “I’ve arranged a lift from the mess with Lieutenant Brunson.”

  “Fine, but we’ll still have to escort the vehicle off the station. It’s our orders.”

  “I understand,” she said.

  Rob stayed silent.

  They passed through the gates to RAF West Porton; the car drove directly to the front door of the mess.

  Rob climbed out, as mourners walked past from the car park.

  Inside the mess, they made their way to the large anteroom, securing the early pickings at the buffet and wine. But Rob wasn’t hungry.

  The room filled quickly and the chatter level rose.

  Rob tried to talk to Mary again, but she warned him off with a stern look and a shake of the head.

  Before he knew it, the room was packed, and Rob could see only the few people directly around him, and there was no-one he knew well.

  Red Brunson appeared, pushing through the throng.

  Brunson’s eyes locked with Rob’s but then darted to his left, urging Rob to look behind him.

  Mark Kilton followed him.

  Rob stiffened.

  Kilton stopped to talk to a group; he was only a few yards away.

  From behind Red’s frame, Susie Attenborough stepped out.

  Red ushered her forward.

  “This is Susan Wilson. She worked with Millie at Boscombe Down.”

  Susie put out her hand. Rob stared, eventually taking the cue and shaking it.

  “Hello,” he managed.

  “I’m so sorry for you all. I hadn’t seen Millie for some time, but he was the perfect gentleman and we are all very upset.”

  “He was,” said Red.

  A waiter appeared with a tray of white wine. Susie took a glass, along with Mary. But Red Brunson sipped from an orange juice.

  “I’m flying later,” he told Rob, and looked at him, apparently waiting for a reaction.

  The final flight of project Guiding Light.

  Rob stared at Susie, but she was looking elsewhere.

  There was some shuffling in the crowd to their right as Georgina arrived into the room with Charlie. Kilton left the nearby group to greet them.

  A moment later, a cheer went up, and Rob turned to see Jock MacLeish arrive, all smiles as he received several slaps on the back.

  “What’s that about?” he asked Red.

  “The flypast,” Red said, beaming.

  “Low, loud and probably illegal,” one of the TFU pilots nearby said. “But just about the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Millie would have loved it,” Rob said, laughing.

  A couple more men from TFU joined them, ushering their wives away.

  Rob got a few polite greetings from his former colleagues. But no-one asked him where he had been or what was happening to him.

  The temperature in the room rose. He felt dizzy.

  He stood alone in a crowd.

  Red was talking to Susie. Mary moved away.

  Either it was his imagination, or the other chaps around him were turning their backs on him, one by one.

  He was now boxed in with Red and Susie.

  Red grabbed his arm to get his attention.

  “How you doing, buddy?”

  Rob’s head swam. “Not good. I think I might faint.”

  Red’s grip on his arm became firmer. Susie moved alongside him.

  “Susie…” His voice cracked.

  He leant forward, but she pushed him away.

  “We don’t have time for that. Listen. My people. They’re not going to do anything.”

  “I know.”

  “You should have told me,” Red said to him. “You shouldn’t have done this alone. What were you thinking?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think I could say anything to anyone. And now it’s too late.”

  Susie’s hand appeared on his arm. “Not necessarily.”

  Rob looked back at Red. “But the final flight. It’s today, isn’t it?”

  One of the men with his back to them leaned over.

  “Kilton!”

  Red spoke with a sense of urgency. “Do you want a last chance? It won’t be easy and it’s risky, but it’s up to you, buddy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Red continued. “Say yes. You’re going to have to trust me. And I tell you now, it might not work. In fact, I don’t think it will work. But it’s all we can think of. Only Kilton can stop the project. That’s how it’s all set up. That’s how everything at TFU is set up. So you have to change his mind.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “What if you could take him flying? Him and Ewan Stafford?”

  “What?”

  Susie slipped away; the three men turned and faced in, and immediately fell into conversation about Millie’s obsession with scotch.

  Kilton walked past, nodded at the men, but didn’t make eye contact with Rob.

  Red looked back at Rob.

  “You need to be ready and you’ll need to do exactly what we say, when we say it. OK?”

  He was pushed over to a new group to talk to. He caught up with Jock MacLeish and congratulated him on the flypast. Jock winked and downed another glass.

  After Rob had been there for an hour, two security force officers appeared in the doorway. He watched as they made their way to Kilton, who pointed directly at Rob.

  Red came across.

  “Time to go, buddy. Are you ready?”

  “What for?”

  “You’ll find out soon, I promise. For now, just do what we say. This is gonna be tight.”

  The wives appeared. A group of TFU officers moved toward the door. In the lobby, they waited for the security men.

  Rob stared at the oil paintings of senior officers standing beside fighters and bombers of years gone by.

  Each one staring proudly into the distance.

  The men who had nursed new aircraft into the world.

  Wartime aces and post-war test pilots.

  Heroes of the work, whose diligence ensured the safety of ordinary squadron pilots and crews; the men who would climb into the machines for decades after those first tentative flights.

  Mary looked worried.

  “Are you OK?”

  “I lost my way, Mary.”

  “What?”

  “This i
s what we do here. We make things better, not worse. That’s what Millie was trying to tell me.”

  She held his hand.

  “I know, darling. And the boys want you to have one more chance.” She paused. “But you don’t have to do it. You don’t have to if you don’t want to. And if you do, you promise one thing, Flight Lieutenant May?”

  “What?”

  “You come back to me,” she whispered.

  A security officer reached Rob. “Let’s go.”

  The group followed into the car park.

  Red’s estate car was parked back to back with an RAF Land Rover. A couple of men in fatigues were working at its rear, pulling a canvas over and tying it down.

  As they got to the car, a few things happened at once.

  With the security guards watching, Rob was ushered into the back of Red’s car. Confusingly, the back seat was completely folded flat, and he wasn’t sure where to put his legs.

  Then there was a scream.

  He whipped his head around to see Susie on the floor, holding her ankle. The security guards bent down to help her.

  At that same moment, Rob felt a firm grip on his arm. He looked up to see one of the NCOs in the back of the Land Rover pulling him roughly back through Red’s car. He landed with a thump in the dark interior of the wagon. As the canvas came down over the back, Rob glimpsed the back seats going up and someone he didn’t recognise, but who was about the same size as him, pulling on his RAF cap and settling into Red’s back seat.

  It was the last thing he saw before the Land Rover engine started and the vehicle pulled away.

  One of the men with him peeped through a tiny crack in the rear canvas.

  “OK. The women are now getting in. Police are watching. Stand by.”

  There was a tense pause.

  “They’re going for it. Yes. They’ve got into their wagon, and Red’s pulled away.”

  “Superb!” one of the men in the back said. “You owe me a pound.”

  After several minutes of driving, the vehicle stopped.

  Rob heard the Land Rover doors open at the front. Light flooded in as the canvas at the rear was pulled to one side.

  An ageing warrant officer looked in.

  “Your stop, Flight Lieutenant May.”

  Rob climbed out and found himself at the back of the ramshackle Maintenance Unit. The men led him inside, where a small team had assembled to greet him. He glanced around; there were eight or so men looking at him, but no-one he knew well.