Джеймс Блатч - The Final Flight

“Red!” Kilton shouted.

Rob raised his hand away from the control column he was shadowing. He pulled his oxygen mask away from his face. Cooler air washed over him and he raised his visor and turned toward Ewan Stafford.

The stout businessman’s eyes bulged over his own mask.

“What’s going on?” Kilton shouted over the intercom from the back. “For the last time, Brunson, climb this aircraft to a safe height.”

But the next voice he heard was Stafford’s.

“Mark. Red Brunson isn’t here. I think we have a problem.”

Stafford didn’t take his eyes off Rob, and Rob continued to stare back at him, no longer covering the controls. Any serious problem from Guiding Light now would consume all three of them.

Rob raised his hands up to emphasise the situation.

He pushed his loosely hanging oxygen mask over his mouth and spoke, with no attempt to disguise his own voice. “I think we’ll stay low,” he said, slowly and deliberately.

The aircraft continued to clank about in the thick surface air, but despite the rough ride, Mark Kilton had unstrapped. His face appeared between Rob and Stafford at the top of the pilots’ ladder.

Rob moved his right hand to the control column; his left hovered over the Guiding Light control panel by the side of the seat.

Rob reattached his oxygen mask and faced front. “If you try to take control, I’ll push us into the ground. If you try to cancel Guiding Light, I will push us into the ground.”

He could hear the desperation in his own voice.

Kilton shook his head, contempt burning in his eyes.

“Are you out of your mind, May? How the hell did you get in here? Where’s Brunson?”

“Red thought it best that I got a final chance to demonstrate Guiding Light to the only two men who can stop it.”

“Did he? Well, that’s another career ended. What is wrong with you stupid people? Now, for Christ’s sake, get us away from the ground.”

“Is there a reason why we shouldn’t be putting Guiding Light to the test, sir? Do you need me to climb away and leave this to some other crews?”

“Climb the bloody aircraft to one thousand feet as ordered. That’s a final warning, May.”

There was the merest edge of desperation in Kilton’s voice. Rob enjoyed it. He saw an image of him standing naked in front of Kilton in the changing room.

“I’ll ask again, boss. Why do you need me to climb? Is there a problem? Is there a specific reason why we shouldn’t trust Guiding Light to keep us safe at low-level?” He looked across at Stafford as he spoke and then noticed Kilton looking at the flying controls. Instinctively, he turned back to the front and covered the throttle and control column with his hands.

They swept left into a valley, then rolled right. The hills had become steeper. So far, the nimble airframe was coping well.

“Ewan, pull the stick back,” said Kilton.

Rob looked across at the Blackton MD. “We’re doing three hundred and twenty knots at three hundred feet. If you try to fight me for it, it will all be over in an instant.”

Stafford’s eyes were still bulging; the man looked terrified. He looked down at the stick and then back to Kilton and shook his head.

“Right,” Kilton said. “Stafford, get out of that seat.”

Kilton stripped off his rear crew harness.

Rob looked across, alarmed to see Stafford actually unstrapping. Eventually, Stafford’s hands moved to the five-point quick release; he seemed to be having trouble.

The TFU boss heaved himself up the ladder, shoving Rob in the process. Rob held the stick firmly, ready to fight physically for control if necessary, but Kilton ignored him and fumbled with Stafford’s straps, eventually freeing the civilian.

Stafford extricated himself from the cockpit and disappeared behind into the gloom. Did he know how to put on the rear crew harness that Kilton had discarded somewhere? No time to brief him now.

Kilton clambered through and got himself into the co-pilot’s seat.

While the TFU boss fiddled with the ejection seat pins and switches, Rob tried to anticipate his next move.

He needed to make it too risky for Kilton to attempt to take control.

He moved his hand down to the panel by his left side and dialled the target height down to one hundred and fifty feet. The aircraft suddenly lurched down and Kilton looked up in alarm.

The ground flashed past, and Rob realised he had set the Vulcan on a flight path at the extremes of its abilities; he could not afford to take his attention away.

“Robert,” Kilton spoke calmly, with a softer tone. “I know you’re upset. We can talk about this. In a moment, I’m going to take control and I need you to keep your hands away from the controls.”

“Sorry, sir, I don’t think the promise of a talk is enough.”

The aircraft continued its descent. Rob saw Kilton in his peripheral vision, tensing himself, just as the jet levelled again. The manoeuvre sent both men up in their straps.

Rob heard a clunk behind. He craned his neck around to see Ewan Stafford recovering himself, after being knocked off his feet.

An image of Millie flashed into his mind.

“We’re at the mercy of Guiding Light, now.”

Rob nodded ahead at the unreal sight of mountain sides looming above them and the aircraft rising and falling to avoid the higher trees.

“Even the slightest aberration from the laser and we’ll be dead in an instant. You might get a chance to eject, I suppose.” He looked back toward Stafford, who had now got himself into a seat, and had managed to connect his PEC. “But as you’ve taken Mr Stafford’s ejection seat, he will of course go down with the jet, should Guiding Light have any issues.”

“For Christ’s sake, Mark,” Stafford squawked over the crackly intercom, “take over control. I’ve had enough of this.”

“Then you agree there’s a problem?” Rob asked.

“Shut up, Ewan!” Kilton barked.

Kilton twisted in his seat, his eyes burning into Rob.

“This is simple, sir. If this system is safe, as you and Mr Stafford have told us, then there will be no issue. We have full tanks and we can fly for three hours at this height, just as RAF jets would be required to across the Soviet Union.”

“This is dangerous, May, and you know it.”

“Dangerous, sir? Is it?”

Kilton stared at him.

“I’m waiting,” Rob added, liking the way he sounded in control.

Kilton shook his head, smiled and grabbed the co-pilot’s control column, wrenching it back toward him.

The Vulcan’s nose pitched up.

“NO!” screamed Rob, and he rammed his column forward in an explosion of anger.

He must have taken Kilton by surprise, as the column moved all the way forward, Kilton’s hand slipping from its grip. Suddenly, they were plummeting again, the ground filling the windshield.

Shit.

Rob eased the stick back and looked across; Kilton was pale, his hands in the air.

“OK, OK, OK. For Christ’s sake, May, you nearly killed us.”

Rob looked down to check that Guiding Light had remained engaged. It had.

He looked across in time to see Kilton’s hand move back to the control column. Rob shook his head, and flexed his fingers, as if to demonstrate his readiness to dive them into oblivion.

But Kilton simply pressed the autopilot cancel switch on the far side of the column.

Nothing happened.

Rob felt the control move. The autopilot was still in control, still connected to Guiding Light.

Red’s tricks with the circuit breakers had worked. By following the scrawled checklist, he had disabled all the safety systems that would normally cancel the automations.

“It’s no good, sir. You’re along for this ride whether you like it or not.”