The Final Flight

by James Blatch

  “Anything I should know about?” he asked Jock MacLeish, looking toward Kilton’s side office. The door had a glass pane and there was some movement within.

  “Drama in the bar last night,” replied Jock in his soft Scottish lilt. “Never seen Kilton quite like it. He and Brian Hill at it full steam.”

  “What was it about?” Millie asked, fearing he already knew the answer.

  “Don’t know, as is the TFU way. They ended up in the car park. Obviously we all dived into the anteroom and tried to eavesdrop. All I can say is they had a fundamental disagreement about something. Hammer and tongs, they were.”

  “The car park? It was physical?”

  “Nearly.” MacLeish paused and had another look around. “Rumour has it, Brian’s gone.”

  “What? Gone?”

  MacLeish shrugged his shoulders. “That’s what I’ve heard. Gone. Persona non grata. No longer a serving member of TFU. Went too far with the boss and was shot before dawn, or at least turned away from the main gate and told to await his posting orders.”

  Millie stared towards Kilton’s office.

  “Where was Rob in all this?”

  “With us. Why?”

  “He wasn’t involved in the row?”

  “Nope.”

  “Milford. In here.” A shout from across the room.

  Millie exchanged a brief look with MacLeish before heading to Kilton’s office; the boss had already disappeared inside after barking his summons.

  Just as he got to the door, Rob arrived in the planning room.

  “Are you OK?” Millie mouthed.

  Rob nodded, but looked worried.

  Millie shut the office door behind him and stood waiting while Kilton finished a memo with his black-inked fountain pen. Millie could just about make out Brian Hill’s name in the subject heading.

  Kilton slashed out the words with short, sharp strokes.

  Millie looked through the glass pane in the door; a few faces stared back. Everyone on tenterhooks.

  Finally, the TFU boss looked up.

  “This nonsense from yesterday is dealt with.”

  “Nonsense, boss?”

  Kilton leaned back and deposited the fountain pen on his desk. “Your attempt to ground the most important military project on the planet with an unrecorded and unproven incident is not appreciated.”

  An image of Brian Hill’s car being pulled over at the security gate filled his mind.

  “There were four of us on the jet, sir. I may not have been capturing data but I made notes and each of the other men will corroborate what happened.”

  Kilton folded the memorandum and placed it in an envelope.

  “There are now three of you. Hill overstepped the mark last night and I consider him unstable and unfit to fly.”

  “Because he argued with you?”

  “It wasn’t an argument, Millie. He stepped out of line. Whatever happened during flying, it had unnerved him to the point that he was refusing to fly and I don’t need pilots who won’t fly.”

  “With respect, sir, was he refusing to fly or simply refusing to fly with Guiding Light?”

  “It makes no difference. There’s no place for pilots who want to be selective about the trials they carry out.”

  “With respect, sir, I still believe what I saw. The system fouled up, height readings displayed on the panel were incorrect and it placed the aircraft in a hazardous descent…” Kilton opened his mouth to counter him, but Millie pressed on. “And you are right. I didn’t record it and I suppose it’s true to say there is no firm evidence. But I’ve been thinking about this. What if it happened before, and we didn’t notice? What if we were at altitude and thought it was turbulence? Or maybe it happened before we had even started engaging Guiding Light with the autopilot? Unless someone was physically watching the entire time, we may easily have missed a similar event.”

  “Speculation, Millie. Not hard facts.”

  “But it’s out there, isn’t it?” Millie pointed to the planning room.

  “What’s out there? What are you talking about?”

  “The tapes. All the tapes we’ve filled with readings from Guiding Light. Including hours of it before we even connected it to the autopilot. If there’s something wrong, it’ll be buried in there. We just have to look carefully.”

  “We don’t need invisible numbers on a tape to tell us how an aircraft flies.”

  “With respect, sir—”

  “Stop saying ‘with respect’. I have no time for this. Guiding Light trials will continue unabated. If you are refusing to fly with it, then you are free to leave. Retire early for all I care.”

  Millie’s mouth fell open.

  He shook off the shock and gathered his thoughts.

  “I don’t understand, Mark. We’re test crews. We’re supposed to evaluate in a sober and unbiased fashion and report results. You’re asking us to ignore the results?”

  “What results, Millie? You forgot to run the tape, remember?”

  “I didn’t forget. We’d come to the end of the low-level section and I assessed it wasn’t worth loading a new tape at that point. It was unfortunate.”

  “Yes, well, the evidence we do have is of an effective and functioning piece of equipment. If you have any further issues, you are free to bring them up at the project meeting on Thursday.”

  “I’d recommend we suspend the flying until then, boss.”

  Kilton snapped forward on his chair. “No. Millie. Aren’t you listening to me? You will fly the hours as laid out in the trial.”

  “I’m sorry, Mark. I’m going to say this again, but with respect, you have no alternative explanation for what happened.”

  “Not true—”

  “What was it, then?” Millie interrupted him.

  Kilton ignored him. “You’ve flown more Guiding Light hours than anyone else, Millie. You know it’s safe. We can discuss yesterday’s events, along with all the reporting, on Thursday. In the meantime, we continue. Is that clear?”

  Millie left the room.

  As he made his way between the planning desks, he looked at the security cabinets that contained the hours of height readings from previous Guiding Light flights. In the early days of the project, he remembered seeing large green-lined sheets of paper from a computer. The readings from the tape turned into lines of small, typed numbers. Just a few minutes flying filled up a dozen sheets.

  Poring through them would be a superhuman task.

  He arrived back at the tea bar.

  “Everything OK?” Rob asked.

  “Mr Kilton doesn’t believe there’s anything wrong with Guiding Light.”

  “Yes,” Rob said with a nod. “I got that impression last night.”

  Millie drummed his fingers on the bar. He beckoned Rob away from other ears. They stood by the window, looking out onto the pan. The white Vulcan from yesterday’s flight was being towed out of the hangar.

  “Look, I can’t change his mind today. He’s ordering us to continue flying. But Thursday’s meeting is crucial. He’s got some other explanation for the incident but wouldn’t say any more.” He looked at Rob. “You and I need to be crystal clear about what happened. Write down your account. I’ll get Brighty to do the same. You’ve heard about Brian Hill?”

  Rob paused and spoke quietly. “Yes, I was there, but Millie…”

  A corporal approached.

  “Look,” said Millie. “It’s just us now Rob. What we say matters more than ever. We need to stick together.”

  “I think I should—” Rob started, but the corporal was nearly upon them and Millie cut him off.

  “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. I’ve got your back, Rob.” He accepted the tasking sheet.

  In the project box were the words ‘Guiding Light Low-Level Phase III’.

  “Here we go, that didn’t take long.” Millie looked across to the waiting jet.

  He checked the crew list.

  May (Captain)

  Johnson (Co-Pilot
)

  Milford (AEO)

  Bright (NAV)

  “Speedy Johnson,” he said looking at Rob, “one of Kilton’s gang.”

  “Gentlemen. What a privilege. Time to let an old fart in on the big secret.” Johnson had appeared next to them, out of nowhere.

  Millie turned to look across at Kilton’s office. The TFU commanding officer stood in the doorway, watching.

  Kilton retreated into his office and closed the door behind him. He picked up the green telephone on his desk and dialled the operator.

  “Ewan Stafford, please. DF Blackton in Cambridge.”

  He doodled on his blotting pad while he waited to be put through.

  He’d been a fighter pilot long enough to know that he had to take care of all the angles.

  It was the one you never saw that got you.

  “Good morning, Mark.” Stafford sounded chipper.

  “What do I need to know about Guiding Light that you haven’t told me?”

  The briefest of hesitations.

  “What do you mean?” said Stafford.

  “One of my crews is complaining that it nearly killed them yesterday. Are they overreacting?” Another hesitation. “Christ, Stafford. What do you know about this?”

  “What happened?” the Blackton MD asked in a low voice.

  “It tried to descend them into the ground in Wales, apparently, and now a couple of the girls have got their knickers in a twist. Something we could do without. What are you keeping from me?”

  “I don’t know, Mark. Can we look at the data?”

  “Apparently not. Christopher Milford failed to record it. Which is the only good news.”

  “Good news?”

  “Stafford, do you understand what’s going on here? We stall the project now, we lose it. Every bloody day we get one step closer to the Soviets finding out. Too many people already know about it on our side and I don’t trust half of them. Plus, I’m not sure you should trust the Americans, at least until they’ve paid for it. They’re already trying to build their own version, you can bet on it.”

  “I’d like to see them try.”

  “Don’t be naive. They would save themselves a fortune. And if they get close before the deal goes through, they’ll drop the purchase in a flash. Downing Street is counting on that investment and they’re counting on me to deliver it. The clock’s ticking, Stafford, so no more bollocks from you please. Is there something I need to know?”

  Stafford paused and then spoke so quietly, Kilton had to press the receiver to his ear to hear him.

  “We haven’t seen anything like this since early testing.”

  “Like what?”

  “In the early days we got short bursts of incoherent data from the laser, but that was months ago and on our test rig. The problem went away.”

  “Apparently, it’s back. What do we do to eliminate it, without stopping the project? We’ve got nearly two hundred hours of tapes here. Can you take a look to see if this has happened before? Millie thinks there may be something buried in the existing readings.”

  “He’s right. The answer will be in there somewhere. Send them over and we’ll take a look at them this week.”

  “This week? I’ll send them in a car now and you’ll bloody well look at them today.”

  “OK. And Mark, probably best to take some precautions, you know. Look after the men.”

  Kilton glanced into the planning room and saw May and Johnson hunched over a desk. “Leave that with me.” He hung up. “Bloody sergeant pilots.”

  For a moment he tapped his pen on his desk, then got up and headed into the planning room and spoke quietly to May and Johnson.

  “You can keep it above one thousand feet today if you want.”

  He started to turn back to his office.

  “So, there is something wrong?” Millie said, just loud enough that Kilton couldn’t ignore him.

  Kilton turned on his heels and walked up to Millie. “No, but if you’re scared, keep her above one thousand. And this time, try not to run out of tapes. It is, after all, your only job on board, Millie.”

  Millie stared at the orange numbers. They updated rhythmically, clicking between one thousand, and one thousand one hundred. The descent into low-level had been tense, but at least they had a safety margin. Seven hundred feet higher than yesterday. Should be enough time to catch any sudden plunges.

  He switched the dial and checked the other readings; everything looked normal.

  He glanced at his stopwatch. Sixteen minutes since he’d loaded the first tape. Nearly time for a change.

  Mustn’t miss anything this time.

  He felt the aircraft pitch nose down and his eyes flashed to the height reading. One thousand three hundred and twelve feet. He didn’t blink until they levelled out just above one thousand.

  It was just doing its job.

  “Did we just go over a ridge?” he called up to the pilots.

  “Affirm,” Speedy Johnson replied.

  They rocked in their seats as the jet banked, descended again, and levelled out. It was a bumpy ride even at one thousand feet, as Guiding Light still followed the contours of the ground below.

  “The valley’s coming up,” Rob called over the intercom.

  So they were nearly there, the place where it happened yesterday. It was a deliberate move to fly the same route, agreed by the entire crew, but at a safer height. If it happened again, this time Millie would have the evidence.

  He looked at Steve Bright, who was unusually quiet. Bright looked back at him and Millie unlatched his oxygen mask, gave him a reassuring smile and mouthed, “It’ll be alright”.

  He latched his mask again and when Brighty turned back to his screen, Millie stole a look at the hatch. Was it clear of obstacles? Would they get it open in time from one thousand feet?

  Almost certainly not.

  He went back to the Guiding Light panel and stared at the numbers.

  The Vulcan was banked again by the system and Millie steadied himself.

  “Here we go,” called Rob.

  Millie had a copy of the route on a chart clamped to his desk. The valley was relatively flat, which was another puzzling aspect to the laser’s failure to read it accurately.

  The numbers stayed steady, hovering between one thousand and ten, and one thousand and thirty. The system treated one thousand as a ‘not below’ mark and it was working well.

  “We’re through,” Rob called. The aircraft rolled onto a new track and into another valley.

  “There you go, fellas,” said Speedy. “Nothing to worry about.”

  A few moments later Millie felt a jolt as Speedy disconnected the autopilot and took manual control, climbing them out of low-level.

  Millie smiled to himself as Rob relayed instructions to his co-pilot.

  The Vulcan climbed to nine thousand feet for the transit home. Rob switched off the oxygen and all four of them broke out the cigarettes.

  As they swept into the circuit at West Porton, Speedy spoke over the intercom.

  “Hello? We have visitors.”

  “What?” Millie asked, from their dark rear bay. They had a couple of small porthole windows but they were inconveniently high and pretty useless for looking out.

  “You won’t believe it, but some campers have set up in a field at the end of the runway.”

  “Inside the wire?” Bright asked.

  “No, just outside.”

  Brighty laughed. “A nice quiet spot with four engine jets climbing out, fifteen inches outside your tent.”

  On the ground, after the shutdown, Millie again waited for Rob. He watched as Johnson hauled himself out of his seat and disappeared down the ladder.

  Rob appeared and Millie extricated himself from the Vulcan.

  As they walked back to TFU, Millie gave Rob a little pat on the back.

  “Look at you, giving instructions to the famous Speedy Johnson.”

  Rob couldn’t hide his smile. “Can’t quite believe it.”r />
  “Well, believe it, Rob. You’ve earned it. Time to start believing what it says on your job description. Test pilot.”

  Rob smiled and they arrived back at TFU, the door wide open in an attempt to get some circulating air inside.

  Millie climbed out of his suffocating flying coveralls.

  By the time he looked up, Speedy and Rob were talking to Kilton in the doorway to his office.

  Millie started to walk over, not wishing to miss another important conversation, but as he approached, Kilton gave Rob a pat on the back and the ad hoc meeting broke up.

  Millie ate a sandwich at his desk rather than join the others in the mess. He found a hot meal on a hot day too soporific.

  At 2PM, the typist he’d ordered from the admin pool appeared. She was a smartly dressed middle-aged woman, in a floral pattern dress that reminded him of Georgina’s wardrobe.

  With no project material allowed out of TFU, they went into a side room. Millie watched while she typed up his handwritten account of yesterday’s incident. He clarified the odd word in between the rhythmic clicks of the typewriter.

  “Finished!” the woman announced, pulling the last sheet from the machine.

  “Thank you.” Millie scanned the final page. “Very good.”

  As she headed out, he made his way over toward the group of pilots. Rob was trying on Brunson’s mirrored visor USAF flying helmet with others laughing at him.

  Millie coughed to get his attention. “Can I have a quick chat?”

  Rob leaned forward and wrestled the helmet from his head.

  “Erm, about to go flying actually. Can it wait?”

  “It’ll be brief, I promise.”

  Rob followed him to a quiet corner.

  Millie tapped his sheaf of papers. “Don’t forget your report of what happened yesterday.”

  Rob nodded but said nothing.

  “Try to make it as convincing as possible. Look, I’ve used the Board of Inquiry format.”

  “We should include everything?”

  “Yes, absolutely.”

  “All possibilities?”

  “Yes, I suppose so. But just make sure you describe what happened and what you saw. OK?”

  “Sure.”

  “I know you’re busy, but it is important to me. To all of us.”