Джеймс Блатч - The Final Flight

After they re-emerged, Millie gathered the new crew around the meeting table, with Rob, Speedy and Steve Bright, before closing the door.

“Firstly, as the boss has no doubt explained, this project falls under ‘Top Secret’ and is subject to his philosophy of ‘Need to Know’, which is why a lot of this will be new to you.

“Alongside the more public development of Terrain-Following Radar, we’re flying with a technology that does the same job, but uses light.”

“Light? What do you mean?” Jock asked.

“Laser,” Millie said, and looked up to enjoy the facial expressions he knew this would provoke.

“Laser beams? Are you serious?” Red’s eyes widened.

“Absolutely serious. The boffins at DF Blackton in Cambridge have created what may be the world’s smallest laser. It sits under the Vulcan’s nose, carefully hidden in the usual casing. Mirrors and a gimbal allow it to sweep the terrain ahead. It works not only as a range finder, but it also deduces the ground speed.”

“Phew-wee…” Red whistled.

“They’ve also designed a computer, running on microelectronics, that sits between the laser and the autopilot. We tell the computer where we want to be, using waypoints. It then uses the information from the laser to fly the aircraft at a pre-set height, as efficiently as possible.”

“Just, wow,” Jock said.

RED BRUNSON WHISTLED AGAIN. “Incredible. I thought only NASA did stuff like this. I don’t even think they’re this advanced.”

“They’re not. Your lot have signed a memorandum of understanding. They’re ready to hand the UK one of its biggest export orders in history, when it’s ready.”

Millie glanced at Rob and Steve. “But, we’re not out of the woods on this one. We had a hairy moment a couple of weeks back and we’re currently no lower than a thousand feet above ground level.”

Brunson frowned. “What sort of ‘hairy moment’?”

Before Millie could answer, Rob stepped in.

“Maybe something, maybe nothing, we’re not sure. The jet descended briefly and we switched Guiding Light off. But everything checked out afterwards. The thousand-foot AGL is just a precaution.”

MacLeish leaned back in his chair.

“Am I to assume that was the cause of the row in the mess and poor old Brian Hill’s disappearance?”

“Yes—”

“He overreacted,” said Rob, interrupting Millie. “The equipment was double-checked at Cambridge and the boss is on top of things. I think we should probably let sleeping dogs lie when it comes to Brian. We’ve moved on.”

“Fine,” said Jock. “What would test flying be if there wasn’t the outside chance of plunging into the ground, anyway?”

Rob turned to the two new trial pilots. “When was the last low flying you did?”

Brunson shrugged. “When we practised for today’s gas bomb drop. What was that? A month ago, in a slow Argosy. I haven’t done much, to be frank.”

“I’m definitely out of practice,” said MacLeish.

“No problem,” said Rob. “I’ll arrange a couple of Vulcan training flights to get you into the swing of things. You can have your first experience of letting the computer take over.” He glanced at Millie. “I have to warn you, though. Flying hands-off at low-level takes some getting used to. Jock, you can fly with Speedy, Millie and Steve today, while Red and I get the gas bomb drop out of the way.”

Millie sat back. The pilot side of things was not his area of expertise, but he was taken aback at Rob’s assertiveness. This was a sharp contrast to the timid young man who joined TFU the previous year.

An hour and a half later the same group of men stepped out onto the TFU apron.

“Man, I can’t get over how ugly that thing is,” Red Brunson said, looking across at the Argosy.

Millie watched, curious, as two men in white coats and gas masks fussed around a crate being loaded into the cargo aircraft’s belly.

“Those your gas bombs?”

“Yep,” Brunson replied. “The real things today. Dropping them on a mock village at Porton Down.”

“What’s actually in them?”

“ Chlorobenzalmalononitrile ,” Brunson said with a flourish. “Took me a while to learn to say that.”

“What the hell is it?” Millie asked as the last crate entered the Argosy.

“Just makes your eyes sting. We’ve been told it won’t kill anyone unless we drop the crate directly onto their heads. In any case the village is populated by dummies.”

“Just like this place then,” Jock said.

The two crews set off for their separate aircraft. Rob and Red Brunson carried gas masks along with their helmets.

TFU’s ageing resident loadmaster, Nigel Woodward, stood at the Argosy, in conversation with the Porton Down scientists. Millie smiled at the generational clash.

They arrived at the Vulcan. Millie made sure he was the last to board, after Jock and Speedy completed their walkaround together.

As Speedy instructed Jock on the differences in the cockpit from the standard production Vulcan, Millie loaded a reel of tape.

Steve Bright stowed the yellow ladder and closed the hatch.

Minutes later, the Vulcan came to life and the crew entered the closed world of the intercom.

As they climbed out of West Porton, Millie powered up Guiding Light and began a tape.

Over the intercom, Speedy thanked him and explained to Jock why the panel was now displaying height information.

They headed west to their usual playground in Wales.

THE VULCAN SHOOK the ground as it clambered into the air over the western threshold. Susie sat ten yards inside the double fence; she blocked her ears but could still feel the noise as it vibrated through her.

The sound became more manageable as the white aircraft banked right and headed toward the clouds.

Megan sat alongside her, looking anxious. She pulled her knees up to her chin.

“Are you OK?”

“Yes.”

They sat in silence for a little longer, watching a slower propeller aircraft lumber off the runway. After the Vulcan, it was like watching a tractor.

“Argosy, I think,” Susie said. “Quite a new one.”

“David said you’re a plane spotter,” said Megan.

“It’s hard to ignore them. They can be quite impressive.”

Megan flashed an angry look at her. “What’s that got to with anything? We’re here to end all this, not bloody celebrate it. I hate them.” Megan lay on her back and closed her eyes.

Susie left it a moment before carrying on. “Anyway, the plan sounds good. I definitely want to help if I can.”

Megan opened one eye and gave her a sideways glance.

“You really want to be with us? It’s no picnic you know.” She closed her eye again.

“It’s why I’m here.”

“I wondered that.”

“Wondered what? Why I’m here? Why are any of us here?”

“Different reasons.”

Susie paused. “Well, I’m not sure about others, but I’ve had enough of marching and waving banners. I’m here because it’s up to our generation to do something.”

“Even if that ‘something’ lands you in prison?” Megan asked, still on her back with her eyes closed.

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Really?” Megan propped herself up on her elbows.

“Not a big deal. A few of us took matters into our own hands in Trafalgar Square last year.”

“And you went to prison? Actual prison?”

“I was arrested, held in a police station for one night, transferred to Holloway for a second night. Then they paraded us into magistrates’ court, fined us, and that was it. As I say, no big deal.”

Megan lay back down.

A moment later, a shadow flashed across them, followed by a roar as the Argosy swooped across the camp.