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

Forty-five seconds later, the aircraft made its first steep bank and positioned them for a run down the northern side of a wide valley.

Rob imagined the laser flashing across the approaching terrain. This was where the system came alive, down with the trees.

Under the enemy’s nose.

Strapped into his dark cave with no windows, Millie grimaced.

“Come on, Mills,” said Brighty. “It’s not that bad. At least we’re not on our way to Tbilisi to drop the bomb. Imagine low-level for four hours.”

“The aircraft wasn’t designed for this,” Millie said.

“Well, as ever, ours not to reason why, eh?”

The Vulcan dipped sharply and rose again; Millie scanned the height readings. He rotated the black dial to get an idea of the terrain around them. Two thousand and thirty-four feet to their left, three hundred and sixty-one feet to their right. As usual the system was taking the Vulcan down one side of a valley.

According to Belkin, the error would occur down in the one hundredths of a per cent. And even less frequently, it would occur in a situation that would cause an irrecoverable situation. He’d added up over a year of RAF flying, but the chances on an individual flight were extremely low.

As far as they knew.

Millie looked over his shoulder. The curtain separating the rear bay from the cockpit was tied to one side. He could see Rob, thankfully looking forward.

When had he let his friend down? When did their relationship become so bad, he’d cut him out of important conversations?

Another sudden plunge, and Millie snapped his head back. But the aircraft levelled off. He switched the dial to the first position, looking directly down. Three hundred and sixteen feet. He took another deep breath and checked his watch.

Eight more minutes of this.

Mary May knocked on the Milfords’ front door. It flew open.

“Mar! My favourite gorgeous person in the whole wide world.” Georgina beamed at her.

Mary burst into tears.

“Oh, blimey. Mar, whatever is wrong? Come here.” Georgina stepped out of the house and enveloped Mary in her arms.

“Nothing. It’s nothing, really. Just silly marriage stuff.” She wiped away her tears, delving into her cardie for a tissue. “I didn’t mean to cry. I feel embarrassed.”

“Nonsense. Get in here, my lovely.”

Mary stepped into the married quarter.

“What you need, young lady, is gin. What do you say that we set up a couple of chairs in the garden, get ourselves G&Ts and you can tell me all about it?”

The Vulcan worked hard. They entered a steep valley complex, and the huge delta wings rolled with strong rudder and throttle input to negotiate the tight turns.

Rob tried not to fight it, allowing his body to ebb and flow with the movements.

He learned in the single seats to roll with the aircraft and resist the temptation to lean upright.

He kept half an eye outside and half an eye on Speedy, who looked relaxed, with his hands on his thighs.

But it all looked good. Guiding Light, back in its natural habitat, was performing well, as expected.

They rolled level and went over a small ridge, the aircraft rising and dipping before sweeping over a long reservoir.

Four minutes until the end of the fifteen-minute stretch he promised Millie would be the extent of their run at three hundred feet.

The aircraft flew across a flattish area of plain between two sets of hills. They were about to enter Snowdonia.

He retrieved the chart from the side of his seat and checked the route. The computer had taken them slightly away from the intended path, but that was part of its method; it would choose the best route and get them to the fixed waypoints.

A large wood passed underneath; the ground became more undulating. The aircraft rocked and bumped as the autopilot responded to the instructions from the computer.

Three more minutes.

He thought about where he would command the system to go back to one thousand feet. He wanted to be level and avoid asking for height changes while banked.

He turned the chart over in his hands. His eyes searched ahead of the aircraft’s track, looking for a feature he could use to initiate the climb.

Typically, they were flying toward a fold in the paper. He opened the map up, orientating it to show a good thirty miles ahead, then refolded it.

“Something up?” Speedy asked, leaning across, peering at the chart.

“No, I just—”

There was a loud bang. Rob smashed down into his seat. The chart fell from his hands as a violent, crushing weight forced his body ever lower. His helmet struck something hard, and his sight began to turn grey. He felt woozy.

The aircraft creaked around him. He struggled to get upright, to see clearly, to urgently assess the situation.

The g-force subsided. He pushed himself back up in his seat.

Looking out, all he could see was sky.

“What’s happening?”

As he regained full vision, his eyes darted to the artificial horizon; they were seventy degrees nose up, and rolling.

Shit.

Speedy shouted something at him.

Was he injured?

They must have hit something.

No hesitation, Rob.

He grabbed the stick and hit the cancel button.

Nothing changed.

“Groundstrike!”

He finally resolved what Speedy was yelling.

The sky outside was replaced by green and yellow hills as the aircraft rolled all the way over.

They were upside down, and still rolling.

Another loud bang behind them; it sounded like the main spar.

The aircraft was about to break up.

He and Speedy were hanging in their straps, with the Welsh hills above them. They couldn’t even eject now.

Shit. SHIT.

But they had some height on their side.

Rob stared at the Guiding Light panel; it showed all nines. It was useless now, with the laser pointed into the sky. The altimeter needle seemed to be around two thousand five hundred feet.

But they were coming back down.

He tried the stick again, and the rudder pedals.

“Nothing’s working!”

He looked at the engine gauges; both the port side engines had wound down. They only had thrust on the starboard side.

He closed all four throttles, hoping to restore balance.

Keep working, he said to himself.

But there was no emergency drill to