Point of Impact

by Point of Impact (retail) (epub)

  ‘I find that hard to believe,’ Drew said with a smile.

  She laughed. ‘Oh, there were plenty of boys, but I never seemed to stay in one place long enough to make long-term friendships. Every time we moved on it would be the same. We’d write letters every week to start with, then once a month, then we’d stop altogether, except for a scribbled note on a Christmas card. After a while it hardly seemed worth the effort making friends in the first place.’

  ‘Stop, stop,’ Drew pleaded. ‘This is almost too sad to bear.’

  ‘Keep it up, Drew – a few more smart-arse comments and you’ll find yourself suddenly very alone on the hard shoulder of the motorway.’

  Drew threw up his hands. ‘Cast out into the frozen wastes of the unexplored territory of – erm – Northern England. I don’t know how I’d survive. This may come as a shock to a refugee from the Home Counties like you, but there are actually people out there, some of them human.’

  She signalled and pulled onto the hard shoulder. Drew played along, reaching for the door handle, but she accelerated away again. ‘That was just a warning. Now are you going to sit there taking the piss all day or do you want to hear the rest of this riveting story?’

  ‘Yes I do. I promise not to interrupt again.’

  ‘When I was seventeen my father finally took up a staff job in London, so I enjoyed a stable Home Counties home life for all of six months.’

  ‘Do you get on well with him?’

  ‘Better than most air vice-marshals I know.’ She laughed. ‘Yes, we do. We’re very close.’

  She didn’t speak for a moment. ‘You haven’t mentioned your mother,’ Drew said gently.

  ‘I know. I don’t really remember much about her. She died when I was seven.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  She shrugged. ‘It was a long time ago.’

  ‘I know, but it still hurts.’

  She looked curiously across at him.

  ‘We have that much in common,’ he said. ‘I was twelve when my mother died. No fun is it?’

  ‘No. Are you very close to your father?’

  ‘Not really.’ Drew changed the subject. ‘So did you join the Air Force despite or because of your father?’

  ‘I don’t know – a bit of both probably. I’ve tried to steer as clear of the family influence as possible, but it would be naive to think that it hasn’t helped.’

  She glanced across at Drew, trying to read his expression. ‘I’m not going to apologise for any of that, Drew. So don’t give me that “when I were a lad we lived in a cardboard box” look.’

  ‘I never said a word.’

  ‘You didn’t have to.’

  ‘So they taught you telepathy as well as flight engineering?’

  She smiled. ‘Anyway, I started off as a technician, partly to prove that Daddy’s girl didn’t mind getting her hands dirty, I suppose, but I soon found that I bloody loved it.

  ‘I applied to become a pilot as soon as the RAF was finally dragged kicking and screaming into the twentieth century – just in time for the twenty-first. And before you ask, I never, ever wanted to fly fast jets. Helicopters have always been it for me.’

  She waited for his rejoinder, but he was gazing intently at her face.

  ‘You are listening, aren’t you, and not just admiring the view?’

  Drew had been wondering what it would be like to kiss her neck, where it joined her collarbone beneath the tangle of blonde hair.

  ‘Absolutely, every word,’ he lied.

  ‘I was posted to 17 Squadron and did two three-month detachments in Northern Ireland. I also went on Desert Storm with 17, flying casualties back from the front line. I joined 33 two years ago… and that’s enough about me. What about you?’

  ‘I was born in Glasgow, but I hardly remember it. My parents moved to Liverpool when I was very young and I grew up there. My dad was a docker and he thought there’d be more work in Liverpool. Ironic wasn’t it?’

  Michelle smiled sympathetically and turned her head. Her deep-blue eyes at such close quarters were even more distracting.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be watching the road?’ he asked.

  ‘Well?’ she said after a brief pause. ‘What happened next?’

  Drew shrugged. ‘I left school as soon as I was sixteen.’

  ‘Back up a minute,’ she said. ‘What happened to childhood and adolescence?’

  ‘Not a lot,’ Drew said.

  Michelle gave him a curious look, but let it go.

  There was a strained silence before he continued. ‘My teachers wanted me to stay on at school, take A levels and go to university, but I hated school so much I just wanted to get out. I tried a few dead-end jobs and then joined the Air Force, on a whim as much as anything else.

  ‘I learned my legendary driving skills ferrying aircrew to their aircraft and I guess I must have got the flying bug from them. I started going to night school to get the qualifications and came through the long route. After four years of graft, you realise that all you’ve achieved is the same starting point as a “chap” coming straight into officer training, which, by the way, I hated.’

  ‘So did I,’ Michelle said. ‘I’m no good with all the rules and regimentation. So where have you been so far?’

  ‘The usual circuit – RAF Arsehole-of-the-Universe, Lincolnshire, and then four years at Finnington.’

  ‘Four years?’ Michelle sounded surprised.

  ‘Yeah, it’s still my first tour.’ He hesitated. ‘I asked for an extension. I wanted to stay in the area because of my girlfriend, so they gave me another year. I’m being posted to Germany after we get back from Bosnia.’

  ‘And the girlfriend?’

  ‘She’s taken voluntary redundancy.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Drew shrugged. ‘It’s all right. How about you?’

  ‘Not at the moment thanks.’

  He laughed. ‘So why were you spying on me in my bedroom?’

  She cocked an eyebrow. ‘You’re all right in a Boy’s Own kind of way, but I could never sleep with a combat virgin.’

  ‘I’ve seen my share of action,’ he said. ‘So who’s the man in your life – a contract killer for the SAS?’

  ‘Not right now. Relationships do tend to get in the way of a flying career, don’t they? Or do I mean that the other way round?’

  They pulled up at the barrier at Finnington. ‘Here we are,’ Michelle said.

  ‘That’s another favour I owe you,’ Drew said. ‘Can I buy you a lunch in part payment?’

  She shook her head. ‘Sorry, I’m flying this afternoon and you’ve got a meeting in’ – she glanced at her watch – ‘exactly twenty minutes. Your boss wants to see you at twelve-thirty sharp for a briefing.’

  The guard waved them through and she accelerated away towards the operational area.

  ‘He means a bollocking,’ Drew said. ‘The accident investigators came to see me in hospital this morning. They claimed the ADR shows nothing wrong with the aircraft. They as good as told me I’d caused the crash. I can’t understand it. The jet just went out of control – no warning, no chance.’

  As Drew opened the car door, she put a hand on his arm. ‘Don’t worry about the investigation. You’ll come through okay.’

  He smiled gratefully. ‘Thanks. I hope you’re right.’

  * * *

  Russell looked up from a pile of papers as Drew entered his office, and motioned him to a chair. ‘With you in a moment,’ he said, pipe clamped between his teeth. ‘Everything from a requisition for Skyflash missiles to an order for toilet rolls seems to pass across my desk.’

  Drew smiled politely as Russell scanned and initialled each document in turn. After a few moments he signed his name at the bottom of a final paper with a flourish and consigned it to one of his four metal filing trays, lined up like soldiers on parade at the right-hand end of his desk.

  Russell laid down his pen. ‘Everything all right, Drew? No medical problems, no aches and pains?
’

  ‘None at all. I’m raring to go.’

  There was a silence as Russell puffed on his pipe.

  ‘So when can I get airborne again, sir? I know I’d normally be flying a desk for a fortnight after an ejection but, with a potential deployment in the offing, I was hoping you could shelve that.’

  ‘Sometimes I wonder why I bother,’ Russell said.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Do you ever read my memos?’

  ‘Absolutely, sir, every word.’

  ‘Then you’ll know that the procedure following an ejection has been changed.’

  ‘Perhaps you could refresh my memory, sir.’

  ‘The Tempest crash at Coningsby last year. Since then, no one who’s ejected or been involved in a major incident can fly again without the express permission of the head of AIB, Air Vice-Marshal Power.’

  Drew smiled. ‘I’m sure your word will carry a lot of weight in the Air Vice-Marshal’s deliberations.’

  Russell was unmoved. ‘There’s also the AIB investigation to consider.’

  ‘But it’ll be months before their report’s complete.’

  ‘Quite so,’ Russell said, ‘but the forty-eight-hour signal carries an imputation of possible pilot error which may give the Air Vice-Marshal pause for thought.’

  Drew tried not to show his exasperation. ‘Surely you’re not going to ground me on the basis of that?’

  ‘As I’ve reminded you, it’s not my responsibility. I will, however, be arguing your case quite forcibly. We’re short enough of aircrew as it is without having experienced pilots sitting twiddling their thumbs.’

  Drew was amused by the idea of Russell arguing forcibly with any senior officer. But his look was respectful as Russell delivered the final part of his sermon.

  ‘I’ve got complete confidence in your ability, Drew, but I must warn you that my confidence is not shared by everybody on the station. You’re your own worst enemy sometimes. That air of impatience, arrogance even, does not go down well.’

  Drew kept his expression neutral. ‘Thank you, sir, I’ll take that on board. Will that be all?’

  ‘For the moment, yes, but I hope to have Air Vice-Marshal Power’s verdict later on, so don’t go too far away.’

  * * *

  Drew found Michelle in the crew room.

  ‘How do you manage it?’ Jumbo asked him as he made his way over. ‘We go out and do our job every day and nobody even notices. You go and throw a thirty-million-pound aircraft away and you’re suddenly a hero.’

  Michelle grinned. ‘I hope you’re not coming to me for sympathy. I’ve been getting that shit for years. When are you going to get back in the air?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Drew said. ‘It’s up to your father.’

  ‘My father? It’s nothing to do with him yet, is it? The AIB always takes months to grind through its investigations. Even if they’re going to blame you – which I’m sure they won’t – they can’t ground you till the accident report’s complete.’

  Drew shook his head. ‘They’ve changed the system. Every time you eject now you need the head of AIB’s permission to get back in the air. I’m surprised you hadn’t heard.’

  ‘Really,’ Michelle said. ‘Have you ever seen anyone eject from a helicopter? It’s a bit like sticking your head into a food processor. I’m surprised you hadn’t heard.’

  ‘Point taken,’ Drew said. ‘It all changed after a crash at Coningsby last year. The guy had been involved in an incident in Wales six months before. He’d been told that a lot of blame was going to be laid at his door and warned that he might be court martialled. Even though the results of the Board of Inquiry hadn’t come out, he was sent back flying again.

  ‘A few weeks later, he was just coming back after a normal sortie over the North Sea and forgot to put his landing gear down. He hit the runway at a hundred and fifty miles an hour, with no wheels. He slid off to the side and the aircraft flipped over. He didn’t stand a chance.

  ‘The Board of Inquiry thought that he might have been distracted, worrying about the report on the previous crash. As a result, the Chief of the Air Staff has now given your father sole authority to make the decision about when a pilot who’s lost an aircraft can go flying again.’

  ‘Let’s hope he’s in a good mood at the moment then,’ Michelle said, getting to her feet. ‘See you later, Drew. Right now we’ve got a couple of your mates from the squadron to torment. We’ve found a lovely bit of the Lake District to go and hide in. See you in the Mess for Happy Hour?’

  ‘What? Yes. Great.’

  ‘Loosen your bullets, Flight Lieutenant,’ Michelle said. ‘I’m only talking about a drink.’

  There was laughter from Drew’s mates, who were hanging on every word. As she picked up her maps she gave him a gentle smile and whispered, ‘See you later.’

  Everyone headed for the changing rooms to prepare for their sorties, leaving Drew sitting on his own in the crew room. He settled down with the papers, alarmed to see that his name figured prominently in all of them. He threw them into a heap and stared out of the window.

  Russell bustled into the room, clutching a sheaf of papers.

  ‘Ah Drew, there you are,’ he said, as if it was a major surprise. ‘I’ve got good news and bad news. Which would you like first?’

  Drew said evenly, ‘I just want to know whether I can go flying again, sir.’

  ‘Well that’s the good news. I managed to persuade Air Vice-Marshal Power that you played too vital a part in the squadron to sit around the crew room reading newspapers all day, so you’re cleared to resume flying with immediate effect.’

  ‘That’s great news, sir. Thank you very much.’

  ‘The Air Vice-Marshal took a great deal of persuasion, however. He was very unhappy about the implication of pilot error in the initial report, but I’ve assured him that he’ll be given no cause to regret the decision.’ Russell’s voice caught at the memory of the conversation with Power. ‘I really had to go out on a limb for you over this, Drew, so don’t let me down.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t. I really appreciate what you’ve done for me,’ Drew said, not entirely believing him.

  ‘I’m afraid there’s still the bad news,’ Russell said. ‘The accident investigators have arrived to give you the third degree again. ‘They’re waiting in my office.’

  Squadron Leader Gordon and Flight Lieutenant Millns proved no more friendly than on their first visit. Drew repeated the details of the crash, but, the more he did so, the less convincing he knew he sounded.

  Gordon listened with impatience. ‘We know there was nothing wrong with the aircraft, Flight Lieutenant Miller – the ADR has already told us that. Why don’t you save yourself the months of waiting as the Board of Inquiry considers its verdict and admit what we both know to be the truth now? You simply cocked it up, didn’t you? You lost concentration or you pushed just a little too hard – perhaps showing off to that rather attractive helicopter pilot – and in the process you lost control of your aircraft. Isn’t that what really happened?’

  Drew watched Gordon as he spoke. Everything about him – the smugness, the ridiculous moustache, the pink jowls trembling with indignation – filled Drew with distaste.

  ‘I’m sorry to spoil your theory,’ he said wearily, ‘but that isn’t what happened at all. I don’t know why the aircraft went out of control but it certainly wasn’t down to any error of mine. I’ve replayed that sortie a thousand times in my head. Everything I did was by the book and well within normal operating limits. The fact that the jet is now a pile of scrap certainly indicates that there’s a problem, but you must look for the solution in the aircraft’s systems, not the conduct of the man flying it.’

  Gordon’s eyes drilled into Drew. ‘Your comments are noted, Flight Lieutenant Miller,’ he said. ‘The engineers will be examining the wreckage thoroughly. If your theory’s correct, we’ll certainly be able to prove it. At the moment, however, all the evidence points in exactly
the opposite direction. We will be interviewing you again, but for the moment I really don’t think we need detain you from your duties any longer. Good afternoon.’

  As Drew rose to go, John Millns buried himself in his notes, unable to meet his eye.

  Chapter Seven

  Drew called DJ over when he arrived back in the crew room from the sortie. He had a quick look around, making sure no one was near enough to eavesdrop. ‘DJ, I owe you an apology.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘That near miss before we went to Aalborg. I didn’t believe you at the time, but now I’ve seen it for myself.’ Drew hesitated. ‘Look, DJ, I need your help. The accident investigators don’t believe me any more than I believed you. They’ve as good as told me that I caused the aircraft to crash.’

  ‘So how can I help?’

  ‘I need to be able to prove that there was a fault with the Tempest, even if it didn’t show up on the ADR. I’m not sure I can convince the investigators on my own.’

  DJ looked embarrassed. ‘I don’t know, Drew. I’m not really sure about it myself now. I was just flying along and suddenly it went bananas. I thought I was doing it by the book, but I could have overcontrolled or something. To be honest, I don’t know what happened. I don’t even know how I pulled it out. I was panicking so much I even let go of the stick and it suddenly righted itself.’ He paused. ‘Apart from anything else, we didn’t file an incident report or anything at the time, so if I report it now we’re both going to get into some pretty serious trouble, aren’t we?’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right.’ Drew stood lost in thought for a few moments, while DJ studied the toecaps of his boots. ‘I could try a CONDOR report, I suppose.’

  ‘A CONDOR?’ DJ’s brow furrowed.

  ‘Those forms on the back of the toilet doors. With your cock-up record, I’d have thought you’d have known them by heart.’

  DJ grinned. ‘Never read them. I always take the Daily Mirror.’