Джеймс Блатч - The Final Flight

The meeting broke up, and he trudged back to the planning room.

Glancing at the flying programme, he saw, for the first time since its inception, two Guiding Light flights were scheduled for the same day: one in the morning with him, Speedy Johnson and Red Brunson and a new young navigator, followed in the afternoon by Rob, Jock and Steve Bright.

Frustratingly, Bright would be in charge of the reel changes in the afternoon.

He lingered on Steve Bright’s name, recalling his comment about Millie’s piece of paper.

“Is that for today?”

He looked around, trying to see if Bright was somewhere he might speak to him alone. As his eyes swept the room, Red Brunson appeared and announced their own pre-flight brief.

IT TOOK them an hour to plan the trial and another thirty minutes to dress and prepare for the flight. Millie was happy to let the new young navigator look after the hatch.

As soon as the wheels tucked up into the belly of the Vulcan, he flicked the master switch on the Guiding Light panel and started a tape.

By the time he was required to gather height readings, after their descent into the Welsh hills, he had two more reels for his own collection.

During the official stretch at one thousand feet, Millie watched the orange digits as carefully as possible, waiting for a stream of numbers that made no sense. Several times, he’d seen moments of what looked like anomalous readings, but they were too fleeting to be sure.

The aircraft buffeted along the contour of the ground below. It was impossible for him to tell whether they were exactly tracing the ground level or occasionally deviating. The pilots would have a better idea, but only if they were looking.

He glanced across to the new nav. An eerie green light projected onto his earnest face from the radar hood in front of him.

In the dark of the Vulcan’s rear bay, Millie went back to his task of monitoring a system he was certain hid a fatal flaw.

He drummed his fingers on the black top below the panel. The engine noise grew and he felt the nose pitch up as they climbed out of low-level.

He stopped the recorder, labelled the official reels and set it going once more with an unofficial tape.

Millie daydreamed about the moment he could march into the station commander’s office with proof, in black-and-white, that Guiding Light was unfit.

He tightened his straps and locked his chair in place as they joined the West Porton circuit. They were back on time, ready for the Vulcan to be fuelled and prepared for a second trial.

Time was no longer on his side.

The nose gear unfolded with loud clanks, just a few feet below his seat.

The main gear met the runway with a squeal and they taxied in.

Two tasks ahead. Get the tapes to Belkin and decipher that second field.

INSIDE TFU, Steve Bright was nowhere to be seen.

Millie rid himself of his flying clothes and equipment, and stowed the tapes.

At his desk, he ate the sandwich Georgina had made for him and got on with his paperwork.

At 2.30PM, he finally heard Steve Bright across the room, but he was already with Rob and the others, planning the afternoon trip.

Two hours ticked by before they returned, from Scotland. It would have been a perfect opportunity for him to gather more data.

He watched Bright as the crew arrived back into the planning room, hair matted with sweat. The group stayed together as they changed and headed out to the mess bar.

Millie packed his bag, checking it for secret project papers before following them.

The mess was busy, and his eyes stung from the amount of smoke in the air. He made his way to fire exit and pushed it open, before searching the growing crowd of officers.

Steve Bright was there, in the centre of the room, laughing and talking with a small group.

Millie ordered a drink and joined them.

He sipped his beer and bided his time.

Just before 7PM, the group broke up and Millie followed Bright out into the lobby. Checking no-one was too close by, he called out.

“Steve, can I have a quick word?”

The nav stopped by a portrait of the Duke of Edinburgh in full RAF flying clothing, standing in front of an Avro Anson.

“What is it, Millie?”

“What did you say when you stood over me earlier?”

Bright looked perplexed.

“When?”

“In the met brief.”

Bright shook his head. “No, sorry, can’t remember.”

Millie looked around again before retrieving the piece of paper from his pocket.

“Oh, that. Yes, I just wondered if that’s where we were going today, but clearly not.”

“I don’t understand. What did you mean?”

Bright looked at the paper again. He pushed Millie’s hand further away as if to try and focus on it.

“Coordinates, aren’t they? Lat and long.”

Millie looked back at the digits.

15105550114922

15105550114810

“Really? I don’t recognise them.”

Bright shrugged. “Well, maybe not. At least I’m not sure what the ‘1’ at the beginning is. But ‘51 05 55’… What’s that?” He tilted his head up toward the ceiling. “Somewhere north of here? Midlands? And… He studied the paper again. “‘1 49 22’. That’s west. Maybe Cheltenham? Trust me, Millie, I’m a navigator and I know latitude and longitude when I see it.”

Millie stared at the figures.

“I see. But like you say, there are too many digits.”

“It’s your note, Millie. Can’t you ask whoever gave it to you?”

He wasn’t sure what to say, and so said nothing. Bright smiled and took the sheet from his hand, scrutinising it.

“Look, there’s a ‘1’ at the start and a ‘1’ in the middle before the long. No idea what that means, sorry chap.”

He handed the paper back to Millie, leaving him alone, staring at the numbers.

More people arrived from the bar and he pocketed the sheet before heading to his car.

As he drove up to the central road that ran through the station, another car pulled alongside him.

Steve Bright motioned for Millie to wind his window down. He leant across and wound down his own passenger side window.

“Probably the hemisphere!” he shouted.

“What?”

“The ‘1’s on your sheet. Probably represents north, south, east or west. Maybe ‘0’ would be south and the opposite east or west?”

“Right.”

Bright laughed. “Normally there would be letters to show the hemisphere. North, south, east, west. But maybe your example uses numerical labels. Where did it come from, anyway?”

There was a beep behind them as someone else pulled out of the mess car park.

“Never mind,” Bright finished and wound up his window before pulling ahead.

BY THE TIME Millie arrived home, even Georgina seemed to notice his raised mood.

“Good day at the office, dear?”

“Something like that. Don’t look so surprised. They do still happen, occasionally.”

He took her hand and pulled her close.

She laughed. “Millie, whatever’s got into you?”

He kissed her and tilted his head. “Shall we go down to the Railway Hotel for dinner tonight?”

This time she raised both eyebrows. “Well, I had a pie out, but it’ll keep.”

“Excellent. Saves on washing up.”

“Are you going to let me know what we’re celebrating?”

“As you note, my dear, just a good day at the office.”

Each time he approached the main gate, Millie studied the security officers as they busied themselves with the car in front. The routine involved a cursory look into the boot, but occasionally he saw a man lean in and give a more thorough search.