Джеймс Блатч - The Final Flight

The TFU boss ducked under the rotor blades as the helicopter engine wound down.

The farm sat deep in a valley. Kilton’s eyes searched the surrounding hillsides for signs of the crash, but there were only specks of yellow flowers and white dots of sheep.

An officer in the uniform of RAF West Porton security police was waiting at the farmhouse gate.

“Just so you know, sir. The farmer, Davies, is chuntering about compensation. Says he’s had to move his horses into a nearby livery, which is, and I quote ‘not cheap’.”

“Naturally. He’s hoping the Ministry of Supply will buy the farm. Where’s the crash site?”

“You can’t see it from here, sir. It’s about a two-mile journey by Land Rover. Your guests are waiting in the farmhouse.”

They continued through a small kitchen garden toward the ramshackle grey-tiled home.

The farmer appeared in the doorway. “You in charge?”

“Don’t worry, Mr Davies. You’ll be recompensed for your losses and inconvenience.”

“I should hope so.”

Kilton waited for a moment before Davies invited him in. Sitting at the table in the dimly lit kitchen was Ewan Stafford, one of his technicians, and a man with Group Captain stripes on his day uniform.

Stafford introduced them.

“Mark, this is Group Captain Gordon McClair from Bomber Command.”

“Sir,” Kilton said and extended his hand to the senior officer. “I assume you’ve been appointed to the Board of Inquiry?”

“I’m chairman. I’m expecting a pilot from Boscombe and an engineer from ETPS at Farnborough to join me from tomorrow. In the meantime, perhaps you’d like to tell me why I’m here?”

Kilton looked around and waited. It took a moment for the security officer to take the hint.

“Is it possible we may give the gentlemen some privacy?” he said to Davies.

The farmer did not look pleased at being asked to leave his own kitchen, but slowly withdrew and headed off toward the garden. The security man closed the door behind him.

Kilton turned back to the group. “The Vulcan was equipped with a highly secret system called Guiding Light. It’s classified as ‘Top Secret’. It’s a matter of national security that knowledge of its existence is confined to as few people as possible.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that already,” the group captain said.

“It’s also highly specialised. The panels require experience to install and remove correctly. Which is the subject of this meeting.”

“This is Stephen,” Stafford said, “he’s one of our technicians.”

The group captain nodded to the young man before turning back to Kilton. “You realise the bodies are still in the wreckage, Mark? Are you telling me that you want to pull out panels before recovering your fallen comrades?”

“Yes.”

“Right, well I also have to think about the integrity of the Board of Inquiry. The wreckage is now evidence. There must be a clear separation between TFU and the BOI. I’m content to allow Mr Stafford’s technician to help us identify what pertains to the system, provided the lead engineer at the site says it’s safe to do so. But we’ll keep all recoveries secure at Farnborough after that.”

“I want one of our security officers to guard it,” Kilton said.

“That won’t be necessary. We’ll organise the security. Don’t worry, Mark, we’re used to keeping things under lock and key at Farnborough.”

“Then you could examine it as a priority and return it to us for disposal.”

“Fine.”

“Right. Well, let’s get this over with.” Kilton stood up. The group trudged through the garden toward a pair of Land Rovers with blue lights on top.

The journey took fifteen slow minutes as they inched up the rocky path toward the site.

Kilton got his first view of the downed Vulcan as they rounded a small rise. The blackened remains were scattered in an elongated triangle pattern. The heavier parts had continued higher up the hill, but the main fuselage seemed to be largely intact in the centre of the debris field.

They left the vehicles a hundred yards short of the first piece of aircraft. A squadron leader with an engineering badge on his camouflage fatigues greeted them.

“Good morning. As you can see the site is barely accessible. We can’t get the low-loaders anywhere close, so recovery is going to take a while, I’m afraid. We’ve already recovered Squadron Leader Johnson’s body and ejection seat, but they were way down the hill. Our priority now is the bodies in the fuselage, but it’s not straightforward.”

“You have a new priority for now, Squadron Leader,” said Kilton. “We need to remove certain items from the aircraft this morning.” He looked beyond the engineer to the wisps of smoke from the wreckage.

“The base of the wreck is still hot. I can’t send my men in I’m afraid. Also, sir, with respect, I think we should remove the men before we move other parts of the wreckage. It’s a matter of dignity.”

“And this is a matter of national security. What’s the state of cockpit and rear bay?”

The engineer looked across at the group captain.

“It’s OK, Michael,” said McClair. “Mark here is overseeing an important project. They have instructed us to make it a priority.”

“I see. You’d better follow me, then.”

As they got closer to the wreck, Kilton stared into the twisted fragments. It took him a second to realise what he was seeing in the centre of the mess: human legs.

“Christ.”

“We don’t normally leave them in there this long,” said the engineer. “But we also want to extract bodies as completely as possible, while disturbing little for the investigators. And that takes time. Now, the cockpit panels are roughly together there.” He pointed toward the front section of the site. Rolled over on to one side was the back end of the nose section. Kilton could see where the canopy once was.

The group walked further around.

“Jesus!” the group captain said as they came across an outstretched arm.

“And the rear bay panels?” said Kilton.

“Indeed,” said the engineer. Just back from that arm, facing upward. I think that’s one set of panels. However, the others—”

“That’s them,” Kilton said. Despite the charred and blackened metals, he recognised the distinctive Guiding Light switches and dials.

“Well,” the engineer said, “they should be safe to access if they’re clear of the centre section.”

“Who will remove them?” McClair asked.

“We can have a go, as long as it’s a standard fit.”

The Blackton technician stepped forward.

“There’s nothing standard about it. I installed these panels at Warton using specialised torque retainers. They’re also on spring mechanisms to protect them in flight. I’ll need to remove the retaining assembly before anything else.”

The squadron leader looked across to the BOI chairman, who nodded.

Kilton watched carefully as the engineer led the technician, step by step, toward the remains of the rear bay.

When he arrived, just beyond the outstretched arm, he crouched down and began work on the fixings.

The men watched as he worked, carefully removing eight long bolts.

Kilton turned toward Stafford and made a small motioning movement with his head.

Stafford walked over to the group captain.

“Sir, you’re going to need some information about Guiding Light. Perhaps now’s the time for me to brief you?” He looked over his shoulder at the small group of engineers from the recovery team. “Perhaps over here?”

Stafford led him away from the wreckage and they stopped on the path fifty yards down the hill.

Kilton looked back to the technician; the squadron leader in charge of the recovery crew stood over him as he worked.