‘Wind’s over ten knots,’ Nick said, studying the emergency drills cards. ‘They’re over the limits for this.’
‘They’ve no fuel to go anywhere else,’ Drew replied. ‘They have to put it down here even if it’s blowing storm force ten.’
‘Cable rigged,’ came the call from ATC. ‘We’re ready for you.’
Drew pushed the radio button to talk to DJ. ‘Okay, you’ve only got one chance at an approach, so take it calm and steady. Without flaps and nose-wheel steering, this is going to be pretty hairy. Put it on the ground, slam the anchors on and hope for the best. You’re technically too fast for the cable and you may just rip it out of the ground. If that happens or you miss the cable, bang out immediately. Don’t hesitate for a second – you’ll be off the runway.’
‘Right,’ DJ replied. ‘We’re going in.’
Drew eased back on the throttles and watched as DJ’s Tempest swayed and lurched ahead of them towards the cluster of blue flashing lights by the runway.
Another gust of wind pushed DJ’s jet sideways. Beads of sweat broke out on Drew’s forehead as he saw it yaw away from the runway. DJ dragged it back, fighting the controls, but overcorrected and Drew saw the runway slip off to the other side. Even when DJ managed to get the nose back on the centre line, the lightest touch on the controls made it rear or drop away.
‘If you’re in doubt, bang out now, DJ,’ Drew said.
‘No, we’re going in. Hook down.’
‘I see your hook,’ Drew confirmed.
‘Okay. Here we go.’
The jet dipped and touched down just short of the runway. The landing gear bit into the soft earth and the jet wallowed and slewed, one wingtip brushing the ground. There was a dull thud as they lurched onto the tarmac, the impact on the right wheel pushing the jet back on line. It bounced a few feet back into the air and careered on.
‘Shit, they’re going to miss it,’ Nick yelled.
As the Tempest dropped back onto the runway, the trailing hook snagged the thick steel cable. Drew saw the jet lurch as the cable brakes bit. The nose-wheel compressed. Instead of bouncing back as the shock absorbers soaked up the impact, it simply collapsed and hit the runway, vanishing in a torrent of sparks and grey smoke.
The cable hauled the jet savagely from over two hundred miles an hour to a dead stop in less than a hundred feet.
As Drew swung his jet into a wide circle, Nick gave him a running commentary from the back seat, twisting his neck around to keep DJ’s aircraft in sight. ‘Escape platform going in now.’
Drew caught the movement out of the corner of his eye as the mobile steel platform, perched on top of a Land Rover, rammed into the side of the aircraft.
‘Canopy opening,’ Nick said. ‘DJ’s out. Ali’s still in there. No, they’re helping him out now. He doesn’t look too good.’
Drew levelled the wings as they completed the turn and saw DJ and Ali hanging onto the rail as the platform reversed away at top speed. The fire crews in their yellow space suits instantly doused the jet and its trail of spilled aviation fuel with foam.
As they came in over the runway Drew saw that the massive concrete blocks anchoring the steel cable had been torn half out of the ground by the force of the impact.
DJ looked up and waved as Drew waggled his wings in salute.
‘Nothing will be landing there for the next few hours,’ Drew said. ‘We’ll use the west runway.’
Two hours later, DJ and Ali emerged from the medical centre.
‘You beauties,’ Drew shouted. ‘Millions of pounds’ worth of damage and not a scratch on you.’
‘Only one,’ Ali said, pointing shyly to the two stitches on the bridge of his nose. ‘I forgot to lock my harness and slammed into my instrument panel.’ He held up his helmet, which was split down the middle like an Easter egg.
When they walked into the briefing room, they found the intelligence officer flanked by Russell, the authoriser of the flight and an American intelligence expert, who had driven over from Combat Operations Centre to sit in on the debrief.
They gave the basic information on the incident – location, height, speed – and were immediately interrupted by the American. ‘Were you breaking any of the rules? Did you overfly the Serb HQ or any of the politically sensitive zones?’
Drew answered for them. ‘No. We’d been down to low level on our initial circuit but not below the minimum, and we’d been on Static CAP at fifteen thousand feet for over twenty minutes when we were fired at.’
The debrief continued for some time. Finally the American exchanged a questioning glance with the British officers and then said, ‘Thank you. That’s all, unless you’ve anything further to add.’
‘I certainly have,’ Drew said, ignoring Nick’s warning nudge. ‘Why wasn’t that Serb firing position engaged?’
‘We couldn’t get any authority from the UN,’ the American said evenly.
‘What’s the point of a Combat Operations Centre that has no authority to carry out combat operations, even when its forces are being fired on?’
The American held up his hand. ‘I’ve got every sympathy with you, really I have, but until the UN either gets off its ass or delegates authority to us, our hands are tied.’
Russell called Drew over as the others headed for the Mess. He waited until they were out of sight. ‘I know exactly how you feel, Drew, but there’s no point in taking it out on them. They just do what they’re told like the rest of us. As usual the politicians are the problem and we can’t do much about them.’
‘DJ and Ali could have died out there today,’ Drew said. ‘We’re putting our lives on the line just so that the politicians back home can wrap themselves in the flag and pretend they’re doing something, but it’s a farce. We’re not doing anything at all. We’re not stopping them from flying and, even when they fire at us, we’re not allowed to fire back. We might as well go the whole hog and paint targets on the jets.’
Russell nodded his agreement. ‘I know. The only response after the last incident was that General Higgins wrote a strong letter to the Serb leader.’
Drew stared at him and then burst out laughing. ‘A letter from General Higgins? That must really have frightened them.’ He rubbed his face with his hand. ‘They’re not just firing at us, they’re firing at undefended villages, raping the women, murdering their men. What are they going to have to do before we can act?’
‘Believe me, Drew, there’s nothing I’d like better than to see the squadron let off the leash, but we don’t make the decisions. Do the job you’re ordered to; that’s all any of us can do. In the meantime,’ he said, ‘I’m afraid you’ve got another task lined up for tomorrow. The members of the Board of Inquiry are flying in to take your formal statement about the crash in the Eden Valley.’
Drew was incredulous. ‘In the middle of combat operations? Well thanks for letting me know. I’m glad I’ve got plenty of time to prepare.’
‘If you’re telling the truth,’ Russell said, ‘you shouldn’t need any time to prepare.’
Drew found Nick, DJ and Ali in the mess, just draining the first bottle of champagne. Drew bought another one and sank his glass at one gulp.
Nick raised an eyebrow. ‘Trouble?’
Drew nodded. DJ and Ali slipped discreetly away, not forgetting to take the bottle with them.
‘What’s on your mind, Drew?’
‘The Board of Inquiry’s going to interrogate me tomorrow.’
‘That should be fun. Do you want me to mark your card?’
‘You haven’t been before one, have you?’
‘Not on my own account, no, but I had to give evidence on behalf of another gung-ho pilot when I was on 13 Squadron.’
Drew gave him a withering look. ‘So what’s the story?’
‘It’s a bit like a court of law: you give your evidence under oath. Because no one’s been killed, your judges will just be two aircrew – a squadron leader and a flight lieutenant – almost certainly the two
you’ve already had the pleasure of meeting. There’ll also be an engineer there to advise them on technical details, and a stenographer.
‘You sit facing them. They’ll listen to your statement and cross-examine you. It can be quite daunting, especially if there’s any hint that you may be found negligent – which there is in this case.’
Drew bristled. ‘Thanks a lot.’
‘I’m not saying I think that. I’m just repeating what they’ve already told you. As I said, if there’s a chance you could be found negligent, they’ll warn you as soon as you sit down that you could be court martialled.’
‘Any other cheerful stuff you think I should know?’
‘Only that when they get round to announcing their verdict it’s absolutely final. This isn’t good old British justice. You can’t get it declared a mistrial. You won’t get a campaign going to Free the Finnington One. There’s no right of appeal at all.’
He topped up the glasses and signalled to the barman for a refill. ‘There, that cheered you up didn’t it? Let’s have another bottle and forget about it.’
* * *
Drew was called in to see the Board at ten the next morning. A room on the base had been hastily cleared and Squadron Leader Gordon and Flight Lieutenant Millns sat facing him across their makeshift desk – two canteen tables pushed together. Their backs were to the window, casting their faces into shadow. The engineer sat behind and slightly to one side of them, while the grey-haired stenographer occupied neutral ground, sitting at the end of the table at right angles to the others. She kept her eyes downcast, her only movement her fingers tapping at the keys.
As Nick had predicted, the opening salvo from Squadron Leader Gordon was direct and to the point. He raised his eyes from the documents in front of him. ‘Are you 4213432, Flight Lieutenant Andrew Miller?’
‘Yes.’
‘Under Queen’s Regulations, I must warn you that this investigation may result in you facing a court martial and that anything you say may be used in evidence against you at that subsequent court martial.’
Drew took a deep breath. ‘Thank you, sir.’
Gordon glared at him. ‘I know that combat aircrew traditionally feel resentment and impatience with any insistence on adhering to procedures, but even in combat the correct procedures are still important. It isn’t just paperwork – there’s a reason for it.’
He waited for a response, but Drew remained silent. ‘Right, let’s get on. You are entitled to have a lawyer present during these proceedings.’
Drew raised an eyebrow. ‘Gióia isn’t exactly Lincoln’s Inn, I’m afraid, sir. I think I’ll have to manage without.’
After Drew had sworn an oath to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, Gordon began his most searching examination to date.
He did most of the questioning himself, with Millns only chipping in occasionally. The engineer sat behind them, leaning forward from time to time to whisper into Millns’s ear. He in turn would scribble a note to Gordon, who took in the contents and then raised the point as if it had just occurred to him.
Drew’s dislike for Gordon went beyond his growing hostility to the establishment. He contested every claim that Drew made and constantly disputed his version of events. But Drew kept his tone neutral as he laid out the events leading to the crash for what seemed like the thousandth time.
After two and a half hours, Gordon glanced at his two colleagues and then said briskly, ‘Thank you, Flight Lieutenant. We have no further questions. If you have anything to add to your own previous statements, however, this is the moment to do so. There will be no further opportunities.’
‘All I can add is that I carried out every aspect of that sortie in a routine, professional manner. A fault developed in the Tempest, forcing myself and my navigator to eject from the aircraft. My own informal enquiries lead me to believe that this is far from an isolated occurrence with the Tempest, as the incident reports held by the AIB make clear. Instead of reaching for the traditional standby of pilot error, I strongly suggest that the Board of Inquiry searches for a more plausible reason for the eighteen loss-of-control incidents involving Tempests RS1s and RS3s recorded in the last two years. Investigation of all incidents is apparently being handled directly by the head of the AIB.’
Gordon remained unmoved. ‘That concludes the proceedings for this morning.’ He looked significantly at the stenographer, who folded her hands in her lap. ‘However, off the record, I have to say that I find your attempts to shift the blame for this accident absolutely reprehensible. These veiled hints at some high-level conspiracy of silence, based on little more than rumour and innuendo, do you no credit whatsoever, Flight Lieutenant. My job is to view the evidence dispassionately and objectively, and that is what I shall do. Good morning.’
Drew saluted mechanically and strode out. If there had been little doubt about the verdict of the Board of Inquiry before, there was none at all now. As he marched towards the crew room, his footfalls echoing from down the bare breeze-block corridor, Drew knew that his only hope was to discover the truth for himself. If it was left to Gordon, he would be facing a court martial before the year end.
Nick was waiting outside for him. He took one look at Drew’s face and shook his head. ‘I’m not even going to ask how it went. Let’s get down to work. We’ve a mission to fly tomorrow and some serious preparation to do first.’
Drew went back to his quarters and sat on his bed. Furnished only with an iron bedstead, a wooden table, a chair and a metal wastepaper bin, it was as sterile and impersonal as a prison cell.
The only personal item was a picture in a small gunmetal frame. He picked it up. The black-and-white photograph was fading with age and cracked at the edges from the years he had carried it in his wallet.
Two faces stared out at him: a woman and a boy barely recognisable as the man he had become. Though he knew it as well as his own, Drew looked long and hard at the woman’s face. Her skin was tight-drawn and almost translucent, and the eyes had a bright, fevered look, as if burnished by the disease that was eating away at her. It was the only remembrance of his mother that he possessed.
In a few weeks it would be ten years since Drew’s graduation parade. Unlike his peers, he had had no family or friends to see him marching past. His father was still in Glasgow, too drunk or indifferent to make the journey, and his mother was already seven years dead. As he thought how proud she would have been if she could have been there, tears stung Drew’s eyes.
The career he had built had been a validation of her struggle. Now he was about to place it all in jeopardy. He desperately hoped that she would have approved.
Chapter Thirteen
Drew had an air of grim determination the next morning. He resisted Nick’s efforts to draw him out, answered his questions distractedly or not at all and ignored the customary banter as the crews jostled in the changing room before the flight.
‘What the hell is it, Drew?’ Nick finally asked in exasperation. ‘Pre-Mission Tension or what?’
‘Something like that.’
Their mission was to CAP over a refugee centre on the outskirts of a village a few miles from Gornji Vakuf which had been coming under increasing Serb attacks. As Drew flew low over the operating area, he could see the narrow roads choked with refugees streaming away from the burning village to the north, the front line marked by a pall of smoke.
He grew even more withdrawn as he watched the devastation, but changed in an instant as their radar picked up a contact. He called AWACs as they flew to intercept.
‘Request authority to engage.’
‘No authority yet. Sunray has referred it to Gotham. Monitor and report.’
Drew swore. ‘Not this bullshit again. You know where this aircraft is heading – all the intelligence reports tell us that.’
AWACs did not reply.
‘Four miles ahead, ten left of nose,’ Nick called, talking Drew into visual contact with the target.
A few seco
nds later he saw the Serb aircraft. ‘Tally.’ The Super Galeb bomber was coming in on a course that could only lead to one destination.
Still there was silence from AWACs and Drew watched helplessly as the Serb aircraft neared its target. As it reached the perimeter of the refugee camp, it began firing its guns and rockets.
Drew grabbed the radio. ‘Target now attacking the camp. Repeat, request authority to engage.’
He could see sticklike figures scattering in panic as explosions burst around them. One huddled figure, clutching a small, dark shape to her shoulder, was blasted apart by a direct hit from a rocket. All around her, others sprawled in the mud and lay still.
Staring in horror at the scene unfolding in front of him, Drew scarcely heard the laconic tones of the AWACs controller, ‘Trying to get authority at this time. Stand by.’
‘People are being slaughtered down there. We are tasked to protect that camp. Do you want to wait until there’s no one left to protect?’
‘There is no authority to fire as yet.’
‘Bollocks. Engaging the target.’
‘Drew, this isn’t a good career move,’ Nick said from the back seat.
‘Just sit back, Nick,’ Drew said grimly. ‘Unless the Serbs send a SAM up to see us, that’s all you’ve got to do.’
Ignoring the increasingly urgent calls from AWACs, he sent the Tempest spiralling down into the six o’clock of the lumbering Super Galeb as it turned for another strafing run. There was a high-pitched beeping as the Sidewinder’s sensors locked on to a heat source – the Serb aircraft’s engines. It was just half a mile short of the refugee camp when Drew pulled the trigger and yelled, ‘Fox Two! Fox Two!’
The missile came off the side of the aircraft with a roar like an express train leaving a tunnel. The flare faded as it streaked away from them, weaving like the head of a cobra as it sped towards its target. Then there was a blinding flash as it detonated, followed immediately by a second, even bigger fireball, as the Super Galeb blew apart.
There was nothing left of the Serb aircraft but a corona of debris, spattered across the sky.
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