Джеймс Блатч - The Final Flight

“Not one of your more adventurous ones, please. I need my stomach lining intact.”

“As you wish!” Millie went into the house and poured a second scotch, fishing a mixer out of the dresser cupboard.

When he returned, Rob and Georgina were laughing.

“I was begging Rob to bring over that gorgeous wife of his. It’s the weekend.”

“It’s Thursday, dear,” said Millie.

“That’s what I told her,” Rob said, “but she says Thursday is now officially the start of the weekend.” He winked at Georgina. “And I’d like to agree. Why do we fly on Fridays, Millie?”

“Something to do with serving Her Majesty and preparing for war, I believe, Robert. Here you are. Glenmorangie mixed with ginger ale. Sacrilege in some parts of Scotland, but perfectly acceptable in Wiltshire.”

As he handed over the drink, he nodded for Georgina to leave them alone.

She took the hint. “Right, well, the dishes won’t do themselves. I guess my weekend is on hold. Shout if you need anything, boys.” She disappeared into the house.

They sat quietly for a moment. In the distance, the sound of laughter floated through the air along with the now familiar sound of music.

Rob cocked his head.

“The peace camp,” said Millie, and gestured toward the trees at the back of the garden.

“Oh. Yes, I’ve seen them on approach. Kilton’s not happy.”

“When is he, Rob? When is he?”

Rob put his drink down. “I’m sorry about this morning, Millie. Kilton got the better of me when I was worse for wear in the mess. But I also think he’s right.”

“You do?”

“It doesn’t really matter whether I did or didn’t nudge the stick—”

“Can we both agree that you didn’t?”

“The point I’m making is that we don’t have any firm evidence and it’s a bit much grounding the project so quickly. We can’t give in at the first bump in the road. We need Guiding Light, Millie. There are countries relying on us to deliver it. NATO needs us. You have to keep going. In any case, it’s Kilton’s orders, so we have no choice now. Unless you’re planning on doing something silly?”

“Has he sent you here on an intelligence gathering mission, Rob?”

Rob put down his drink. “You asked me here.”

“I did. And I wanted to talk to you because, well, I suppose you’re right. We have no choice but to press on, despite the evidence we witnessed with our own eyes. But I intend to do my job, to examine Guiding Light thoroughly and pass it fit for production. Or not.”

“Of course.”

“What we need,” Millie continued, “is to ensure we get as much data onto the tapes as possible.” Rob looked confused. “I want to maximise our flight times. And bring some good old TFU independence to the project. Test crews putting Guiding Light through its paces without fear or favour.”

“Right,” said Rob slowly, “that’s what we’re doing, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know, Rob. I’m not sure the project is being examined completely without fear or favour, but we’re the men with our hands on the equipment. And we should not be afraid of doing what’s necessary.”

Rob furrowed his brow. “I don’t know about this, Millie. It sounds like you’re trying to work outside of the parameters of the project.”

“If that’s what it takes to do our job properly, should we not adapt?”

Rob put his glass down and shook his head. “Adaptation’s one thing, but it sounds to me like you’re thinking of something completely different. Working behind the boss’s back? I’m sorry, I really think it’s best to leave it be. I certainly can’t be a part of it. What would Kilton do if he found out? Seriously, Millie. He can be vindictive!”

“Which is why we need to put him aside, Rob, and work without fear or favour. If that’s what we need to do to save lives. And I believe it is.”

“You should stop saying ‘we’, Millie. This is your idea, not mine. Look, I know you’re getting cynical in your old age, but I still believe in the system. And that’s how it should be. It will fall apart if we go off on our own tangents. Really, you should take it from me. Whatever you’re thinking of, it’s a terrible idea.” Rob sat up and leaned toward Millie. “Why mess everything up over a whim? You’re months away from your cottage by the sea. Seriously, Millie, what are you thinking?”

“I’m not thinking about me, Rob. It’s not me losing anything that worries me. It’s the crews. Other men like us, who follow us. Our duty is to them.”

Rob stood up, drained his whisky and ginger. “Thank you for the drink, Millie.” He started to walk toward the side gate.

“Rob, please sit down.”

“I think not. I’m actually scared you might tell me something I’ll regret. Sorry Millie, it’s a no-go. Time to let it go. Leave the politics to Kilton. It’s for the best.”

“Whose best, Rob?”

His friend stood for a moment, looking unsure of himself, before disappearing down the side of the house.

MILLIE STEWED in his own thoughts for five minutes. Georgina appeared from the house with a whisky bottle in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

“You look like a tramp on a night out,” Millie observed.

She laughed. “Thanks. Rob gone?”

“Yes.”

She sat down next to him.

“Everything alright between you two?”

“Not exactly.”

“If it’s work stuff, I know you can’t talk about it, but… Maybe Rob’s changing. He’s not the green-around-the-gills pilot you took under your wing anymore.” She leant in toward him. “Is it time to let him fly the nest?”

“Can I have some more whisky?”

She passed the bottle over.

He poured an inch more scotch. “You might be right, dear, but it’s bloody inconvenient timing.”

“Why?”

“I really wanted his help, but he’s not playing ball.”

“There are other pilots at TFU. I’m sure someone will help you?”

Millie sipped the whisky, again enjoying the dulling of the senses that came with alcohol. “Not for this particular task. I need a close friend.”

Georgina narrowed her eyes. “Mr Millington, you’re not getting yourself into trouble, are you?”

“Absolutely I am.” He laughed.

She shook her head. “I’m serious, Millie. We have weeks left. Don’t do anything stupid. Especially don’t cheese off Mark Kilton. You know what that man’s like.”

“I have to do this.”

“Jesus, Millie, it sounds ominous.”

He smiled and patted her thigh. “Absolutely nothing to worry about. Really. It’s just boring old work stuff.”

LATER THAT EVENING, Millie sat at the bureau in the lounge and doodled some figures. He wanted to calculate how many height readings he’d end up with after recording one hundred reels.

From his memory, he understood the tapes recorded three moments in time every second, so just one twenty-minute tape would produce more than three thousand five hundred lines of records. More than a quarter of a million lines over one hundred tapes.

He stared at the result. It would take forever to look through them all. Even if he could get the numbers off the tapes.

Georgina appeared over his shoulder.

“I assume that’s not our savings?”

Millie laughed. “Sorry, no. Work. Just lots of numbers.”

“Oh, count me out. I don’t do maths. Your son inherited that talent from you.” She slumped down on the sofa and opened a copy of Woman magazine. Millie studied the front cover: a model with a brown bob of hair which, according to the headline, was a ‘go anywhere hairstyle’.

Georgina’s eyes appeared over the magazine. “Maybe Charlie could help with his bombe?”