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

A box of microelectronics sits between the laser and a new flight control system which in turn talks to the rather older autopilot. The result is that the computer flies the aircraft at low-level, avoiding the ground while moving the aircraft in as straight a line as possible to the next waypoint.”

The professor nodded. “I see. So, an aircraft can fly automatically at low-level to its target. But what is the advantage over a human performing this task?”

Millie sat back. “Humans are frail and make mistakes. At least that’s the theory. The boffins are doing everything they can to write the crews out of the equation when it comes to flying these days. The real question is, why use a laser instead of a radar? Terrain-following radar is already developed and was to be deployed in the TSR-2. But it has a drawback. It makes a noise.”

The professor raised an eyebrow. “Radar makes a noise?”

“Not an audible noise, but it gives off energy. The exact type of energy the enemy’s aircraft defence system is looking for. Initially, we believed it would be too weak to be picked up. But it turns out the Soviets are rather good at this aspect of modern warfare.”

“So, this laser system solves a rather big problem for the RAF?”

Millie took a sip of tea. “Not just the RAF. If it works, this system will go into virtually every United States attack aircraft as well.”

“I see. And why do you need my help?”

“It’s flawed. We suffered a sudden height drop a couple of weeks back.”

“The sort of thing you’re testing it for? Why hasn’t it gone through the usual channels at Boscombe Down?”

“If this project was at Boscombe Down, I’m convinced it would have been grounded. But I now work at a new unit, cloaked in secrecy, somewhat autonomous from the rest of the RAF and it’s… not the same, shall we say. It’s almost as if it’s gone too far to fail. There’s so much riding on it. A massive export order for the UK, for one. And I have a boss who places human life further down the list of priorities when it comes to fighting the Soviets. So he’s prepared to press on.”

“Even so, won’t it be noticed if it goes into production? What happens when an aircraft crashes?”

“I might be wrong but my hunch is, they know it’s flawed. I think they would find a way of covering it up. The manufacturer is the sole expert on the system and will likely be consulted by any Board of Inquiry. As I found out, only they can analyse the height readings.” He looked at the pile of cardboard sleeves. “Until now.”

The professor sat up, grabbed a pen and started writing.

“Righty-ho. Let us sketch what we’re looking for. Firstly, height readings that vary significantly, and implausibly, from the previous and subsequent readings. Secondly, we should look at these… events and extrapolate the frequency. Of course, that depends on whether we see more than two or three events. We can’t extrapolate from fewer than three and, even then, the reliability of the extrapolation will be down to the sample size.”

“The more data, the more reliable the conclusion?”

“Indeed.”

Millie toyed with his moustache. “I’m working on that, but I may be about to run out of time.”

“Well, we can make a start, I suppose.”

Millie propped his elbows on the table and tried to read the professor’s notes, which appeared upside down to him. “There’s something else.”

“Go on.”

“This data was gathered at a safe height, a minimum of one thousand feet. Sometimes without the autopilot even engaged. In reality, this system will be used at low-level, very low and very fast. I need to be able to show what the effect would be from one of these ‘events’, as you call them, occurring at various phases of flight.”

The grandmother clock struck midday on the other side of the kitchen door; Millie glanced at his watch.

“Well,” said the professor, “once we know the frequency of the events, and the percentage variance, we should be able to apply that to different flying circumstances. In fact, this is precisely the type of exercise we set the boys. Usually it involves the weather for some reason. The chance of a certain type of weather event based on historic data which is then used to decide where to build houses, for instance.”

Millie frowned in confusion.

The professor smiled. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling. I’ll set this as a theoretical task for a couple of the boys. Leave it with me.”

“Thank you, Professor. When do you think you might have a result for me?”

Belkin stood up slowly. “It will take a few days, but I head to Devon for a fortnight on Friday, so it will have to be before then, otherwise you’ll be waiting rather a long time. Why don’t you call me on Thursday evening?”

“That sounds wonderful, thank you.” Millie nodded at the pile of Top Secret material on the professor’s kitchen table. “Can you destroy this after you’ve got what you need? Is that possible?”

Belkin scratched his chin. “Well, we do have a rather large and fearsome boiler in the department's basement. I dare say we could make use of the firebox. Unless you would need the physical evidence?”

Millie pondered. “I can’t be sure, but it’s probably better not to hold on to any of this material a second longer than needed.”

Belkin nodded. “The furnace it is, then.”

As they got to the front door, the old professor turned to Millie. “What exactly do you intend to do with the results, Squadron Leader Milford?”

“I think I’ll start with the station commander. If he buckles to my boss, I’ll go above both their heads to the government minister.”

Millie was dropped back at 47 Squadron. He didn’t go inside, but instead walked out to the Anson. JR peered into the radial engines, appearing to brush away some dirt.

“He returns! All go well?”

“Yes. Thank you so much, JR. You’ve no idea how grateful I am