The Final Flight by James Blatch (fastest ebook reader .TXT) 📕

A young police constable stood in the frame.

“Out to the front desk, please. Queue for your personal effects.”

She emerged and saw her earnest peace colleagues, looking worse for wear, shuffling to the front of the police station.

She joined the queue to retrieve personal effects.

At the front, Megan was arguing.

“You’re supposed to charge us. What about the trial?”

“You’re being released without charge, miss. Be grateful.”

Two constables ushered them out onto the street. The group trudged back to the camp; a walk of three miles.

The field was a mess. Tents collapsed, clothes strewn around the entrances. They had combed the place.

It didn’t take them long to discover the rucksack of tools was missing.

But the wigwam still stood. Susie wandered over.

“How long do you think they’ll let us stay here?” she asked David.

“We’ve paid the farmer enough to make it worth his while. They won’t get us out without a court order.”

“Do we need to stay now?” Susie asked, glancing toward Megan, who was bent over a stack of boxes. She straightened her back.

“As long as they’re there, we’re here. But you’re free to leave any time, Susie. This isn’t the police station.”

She went back to her boxes, which appeared to be filled with old clothes.

David gave Susie a sympathetic smile as she backed out of the wigwam.

Many were folding up their tents, preparing to leave. It was clear only a hardcore would remain.

With Megan preoccupied, Susie wandered out onto the main road and walked back to the village phone box.

After waiting an age for a teenage girl to finish her call, she entered and paused before dialling, waiting for the girl to leave the immediate area.

Roger answered.

“In on a Sunday, Roger? Don’t you ever take a day off?”

“Not when there’s such excitement in the West Country. Well done, my dear. Plaudits all round. The hairy blond one is in custody. Caught, as planned, red-handed.”

“What will happen?”

“He’ll be held long enough for us to thoroughly drain him of anything useful. After that, it’s up to the plod and West Porton.”

“And what about me?”

“I said well done. What else do you want? A bit soon for a medal.”

“I mean, shall I pull out?”

“Maybe. What’s the situation? Have they gone home?”

“Some have. But the leaders are still here.”

“Then I suggest you stay put. Sorry, love. You must miss a soft bed. How was the police cell, anyway?”

“All part of being on active field service. You should try it sometime.”

“My time will come. Hopefully in a four-star hotel rather than a field.”

She ended the call, too low on energy for another back and forth.

14

Monday 20th June

A call from Jock MacLeish marred Millie’s Sunday afternoon, informing him an all-personnel meeting would take place in TFU at 7.45AM the next day.

As he set off from home he had to hope whatever Kilton had planned would be over quickly. He needed to be on his way to the far side of the airfield before 8AM. After that, it got tricky. He would have to be in touch with ATC en route. The engineering Land Rover had a built-in radio, but he couldn’t very well take that and abandon it all day.

The planning room was packed out. From the most junior aircraft marshaller to executive officers like himself, they had summoned the entirety of TFU.

Millie looked across to the admin hatch, where he could just see reference to his trip to Wyton on a list pinned to the wall. It looked innocuous enough. Above the hatch was a clock displaying the local time. It was already 7.49AM.

Kilton emerged from his office and pushed his way into the centre of the room.

Back against the wall, Millie couldn’t see him, save the occasional glimpse of his bald head.

But he certainly heard him.

“One of you has given the enemy an advantage that could cost lives and freedom. One of you is heading to prison. You do not under any circumstances ever discuss any aspect of your work outside of these walls. IS THAT CLEAR?”

General mutters.

“PARDON?”

A louder “YES, SIR!” resonated from all quarters.

Kilton droned on about serving Queen and Country before eventually getting into announcements of new procedures, although he was vague on details.

Millie kept one eye on the clock and another on Nigel Woodward.

The forlorn-looking loadmaster was standing close to the airfield door with his head bowed, shuffling from foot to foot.

Writing off the chance of making it across the airfield in his own car, Millie had to get to Woodward before he said something.

By the time the boss had finished and stormed back into his office, it was 7.58AM.

Definitely too late.

He hurried to a phone on one of the aircrew admin desks.

“JR, it’s Millie. Look, I hate to ask, but is there any chance you could pick me up in one of your wagons, discreetly?”

They agreed to meet at the NAAFI shop at 8.45AM.

Millie headed to the airfield door and made his way to the cramped office used by some of the sergeants, close to the hangar entrance.

Woodward was sitting at a table on his own; Millie closed the door behind him. The loadmaster looked pale and frightened.

“It was you, wasn’t it Nigel?”

He didn’t respond.

“Your wife told me you’ve been drinking your troubles away at The Black Horse. And talking to strangers. In your state that’s not a good idea.”

Finally he looked up.

“Will I go to prison?”

Millie tapped the table while he thought quickly. He pulled out a chair and sat opposite Woodward.

“No-one needs to know. We didn’t lose anything. I can’t see any good coming from it.” Millie shuffled his chair close and looked Woodward directly in the eyes. “But you have to promise me you’ll go to the doctor. Get a full medical.”

Woodward nodded.

“You agreed before Nigel, but you haven’t been. Say it. You’ve got to promise me. I’ll book the appointment myself if needed.”

He shook his head. “I’ll go today.”

“Good. In the meantime, tell no-one you spoke to a stranger about TFU. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“It’ll blow over. But you’ve got to get yourself sorted.”

“What will happen to