by Duncan James
Harry looked up.
“For God’s sake look where you’re going,” yelled Luke. “I’ll do the wireless.”
He fiddled about, as instructed by the man in the next aeroplane, and suddenly Harry shouted with glee.
“I can hear them! I can hear them! What a relief! Luke, put on your headset, and you’ll hear them, too.”
Quite soon, they were within sight of the airfield – they both recognised it at the same time. The instructor was busy instructing Harry what to do – “nose down a bit, reduce power, set 1250 revs, put on 5o of flaps, turn right ten degrees, cross the threshold at about 60 knots,” and all that sort of thing. It seemed to Luke that the ground was coming up at them rather fast, but he could see the grass strip that served as a runway. All the time, the instructor was flying in close formation alongside. Rather too close, Luke thought.
“We’ll be down in a minute,” Harry said to Luke. “This is the difficult bit, if I’m honest.”
“Don’t try to win the Air Force Cross or anything heroic – just get us on the ground.”
“I’m doing my best.”
“You’re doing a brilliant job,” said Luke encouragingly.
“But I’m not looking forward to this landing, quite frankly, in spite of the computer games,” said Harry. “Anyway - thanks for all your help. It’s been good knowing you.”
Luke thought that sounded a bit like an obituary, but said nothing.
“Pretend it’s an aircraft carrier,” he shouted as the ground rushed up to meet them.
The aircraft hit the ground with an almighty bang, and bounced back into the air. Luke wanted to shut his eyes, but somehow couldn’t. The instructor was shouting instructions all the time, flying very low just to one side and a bit behind them. They hit the ground again, and bounced again, but not so high this time. Harry pulled the throttle back, and they sank on to the grass. This time they hardly bounced at all, and Harry stood on the brakes as the boundary hedge got closer and closer. The old red Landrover, with its ladder and two fire extinguishers, appeared alongside, bouncing across the uneven grass. The instructor zoomed past, and climbed into a tight turn to go round and land behind them. A man from the back of the Landrover jumped across on to the aircraft, and wrenched open the door.
Soon, Harry and Luke were on the grass. The relief was tangible. They both had trouble standing, their knees felt so weak.
Harry threw up.
They looked at one another in disbelief, and an RAF Tornado, with afterburners going full blast, thundered over the airfield with wings swept, very low indeed, and pulled up into a near vertical climb, missiles glinting in the evening sun.
The two intrepid airmen embraced in self-congratulation and relief at still being alive.
“Your third landing was the best,” said Luke. “I reckon you can go straight to lesson twelve, after that.”
Harry grinned. “Thanks. There’s a loo in the Flying Training hut, by the way.”
“Too late for that, now!”
Luke Edwards was in a bit of a sweat, if he was honest.
***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Duncan James was an RAF pilot before eventually reaching the higher levels of the British Civil Service, in a career that included top-level posts at home and abroad with the Defence Ministry, and work with the Metropolitan Police at Scotland Yard.
A life-long and compulsive writer, he has produced everything from Government statements, Ministerial briefing papers, media announcements and reference books. As a public affairs consultant and freelance author, he was a prolific writer of magazine articles on a wide variety of subjects, as well as short stories and three novels.