Джеймс Блатч - The Final Flight

In his peripheral vision, it seemed like Steve Bright was looking at him.

He glanced across, but in fact Bright was staring at his chart with his finger poised on the next waypoint.

Millie quickly dropped the new tape onto the spindle, closed the flap and restarted the data recorder.

He sat back, relieved.

The change took ten seconds; it had felt like ten minutes.

He put a white sticky label on the reel and marked it, simply BLANK ‘A’.

A nonsense label that meant something only to him.

He retrieved a brand new pocket-sized notepad and opened it, noting down the date, time and location for the recording. He paused for a moment; even this note could be used against him at some point. After hesitating, he completed the entry anyway. There was no way around it.

He looked at his watch and checked the navigation plan. He had time for two reels more before they reached the entry gate.

Sitting back, he let the static whine from the intercom wash over him. It was warm inside from the time the aircraft had sat on the ground. He closed his eyes.

“You still with us, Millie?” called Steve Bright.

Millie woke.

“Falling asleep in a nuclear bomber? And we’re only going to Keswick, chap. Not Vladivostok.”

Millie looked at his stopwatch. Eighteen and a half minutes gone. Time to change reels again.

As he removed the second tape, Steve Bright turned to him again.

“We’re not there yet, Millie.”

He felt a spike of adrenaline in his stomach.

He looked up and smiled. “I know, just making sure we’re ready.”

Bright gave him a thumbs up.

Had Rob heard the exchange on the intercom?

Fourteen minutes later, they began their descent, and Millie swapped out the second reel, taking advantage as Steve Bright’s attention switched to the nav-radar.

He quickly marked up his second tape and loaded the first of the official reels for today’s run.

The Vulcan settled at one thousand feet straight and level. Millie glanced at his copy of the route. They should be about twenty miles north of Bassenthwaite Lake. He felt a jolt as Guiding Light engaged. The ride became bumpy as the computer, with none of the finesse of a human, mirrored the contours of the ground beneath them.

“Tape running, Millie?” Rob called over the intercom.

“Roger,” Millie confirmed.

The ride became more undulating as they continued deeper into the valleys and hills of the Lake District. In the dark confines of the rear crew area, Millie started to feel nauseous.

After nineteen minutes of being heaved around, he was able to occupy himself briefly, changing another reel. As they passed the thirty-minute mark and began to climb out, he changed once more.

He had two official tapes to enter into the system, and he was onto his third unofficial tape.

On the transit home, he recorded one more reel, labelling the four sleeves BLANK ‘A’, ‘B’, ‘C’ and ‘D’.

Ten minutes out, as they descended into the West Porton circuit, he powered down the Guiding Light panel, loosened his straps and tried to stretch in the limited space.

SUSIE WATCHED the white jet sweep directly overhead, her eyes following its wide arc around the airfield. The plane’s landing gear unfolded as it travelled south before banking again, lining up to land.

It arrived over the fence and she watched it descend toward the runway, where it seemed to loiter in the air for a while before finally settling on its wheels with a screech and a puff of smoke.

David and his bushy beard appeared next to her.

“They take off heading that way and land coming back,” he said.

“Wind. It must have changed during the day.”

“Ah, I see. And that’s a Victor, I think.”

“Avro Vulcan,” she corrected him.

He raised his eyebrows. “No, I think the Vulcan looks different, has a high tail at the back.”

“The Victor is the one with the high tail, David. The white aircraft that’s just landed is an Avro Vulcan. It’s distinguished by its delta-shaped wing. Unique in bombers, I believe.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure, David. It’s a bloody Vulcan.” She smiled at him.

“Hmm.”

She laughed. “Sorry. Don’t mean to sound bossy. I grew up with three brothers and a father in the Navy. I can identify most cars, ships and planes. I could probably name you the England team for the World Cup as well.”

“A tomboy? Fair enough.”

They headed back toward the tents.

“So, David, what are we doing here? I mean, I know we’re a protest camp, but what are we actually going to do?”

He reached into the back pocket of his shorts, produced a small packet of tobacco and began rolling a cigarette.

“Keen, aren’t you?”

“Just don’t want to waste my time.”

He studied her. “Well, we’re alerting the world to a new technology that’s doing god knows what with aircraft capable of dropping nuclear bombs.”

“OK, but that sounds rather… passive.”

He smiled at her.

“Maybe, but it’s important. We’re also disrupting the military as they prepare for an unthinkable and unwinnable war.”

“How?”

“What do you mean, ‘how’?”

“How are we disrupting the military? I mean, we haven’t exactly shut down anything or stopped anything happening, as far as I can see.”

The smell of burning paraffin drifted over, and a noise rose from their left. They looked to see a dark grey Canberra taxiing. Inside the cockpit, the pilot looked directly at them, and Susie could have sworn he was laughing under his mask. She waited for the noise to dissipate, but as the aircraft turned onto the runway, the engines wound up into a scream. The Canberra rolled forward, disappearing behind trees.

Susie shrugged. “As I say, we don’t appear to be disrupting very much.”

He lit his cigarette.

“Well, we don’t know that for sure. For a start, our very presence here is bringing attention—"

“We’ve got to do more than that, surely?”

“Let me finish. We’re bringing attention to an installation the government seems desperate to keep out of the public’s eye. Plus, they may have modified their behaviour. Do you think they would parade anything secret in front of us? We have no idea how much activity they have curtailed because we’re here.” He sucked on his cigarette. “You seem impatient, I hope you’re not thinking of leaving us?”

She shook her head. “No. Well, I can’t stay forever. It’s just that if there’s something going on that needs to be stopped, I think we should stop it. I didn’t come here to watch planes.”

He smiled at her before looking around.

“Not everything worthwhile involves a set of bolt croppers, Susie. Some things require a little more subtlety.” He moved off toward the wigwam. “Patience is a virtue.”

BACK IN THE PLANNING ROOM, Millie sat at his desk, flight case by his feet.

He had already logged the two official reels into the project cabinet, leaving six in his bag, each filled with height readings from Guiding Light.

He tried to concentrate on some paperwork, but he found it hard. His eyes kept drifting down to the case containing the illicit reels.

He wanted to go to the loo, but was reluctant to leave it unattended.

“This is silly,” he muttered to himself.

Kilton emerged from his office, in blue coveralls and orange Mae West life jacket, holding his gloves and flying helmet.

“Ready?” he called over to a group of pilots at the tea bar. Rob left the group, also dressed to fly. The pair of them disappeared through the airfield door.

“Appraisal trip with the boss, apparently.”