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

at the end of the short path that led to her front door.

Mark Kilton emerged, looking grave.

The whisky tumbler fell from Georgina’s hand and smashed on the hard kitchen floor.

“Please, god, no…”

She blinked back the first of the tears, before straightening her top and opening the front door.

Kilton stood, stiff back, hat tucked under his arm.

Silence.

He lowered his head.

“One hundred and twelve days, Mark,” said Georgina. “The old bugger only had another one hundred and twelve days to retirement.”

He looked up and stared deep into her eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Georgina. I’m so sorry.”

She tried to hold it off, but the collapse was coming.

She bent forward and clutched her head. Tears flowed between her fingers.

Kilton held her shoulders.

“He was a fine man, Georgina,” he whispered. “A fine man. Let us be proud.”

Kilton guided her inside the house.

She looked back at him. “Rob?”

“Alive. Shaken, but alive.”

“He was with him?”

“Yes.”

Mary was in the kitchen, staring at the broken glass. She looked up and put a hand to her mouth.

“Georgina. No!”

“Rob’s OK. Isn’t that wonderful news?”

Mary’s arms stretched out and they fell into a tight embrace.

Rob sat at a worn kitchen table in a dark farmhouse kitchen, nursing a lukewarm cup of tea.

Someone would have to move the bodies off the hillside. They would secure the crash site, throw a cordon around the secret military equipment, whatever was left of it.

The farmer appeared in the doorway.

“So what happened?”

Rob shook his head. “I’m not sure. We struck the ground, I think, and bounced back up, but it disabled us.”

Again, a vision: Millie and Bright scrambling to evacuate.

The terror in their eyes.

They knew they were going to die.

He didn’t expand on his answer, and the farmer didn’t pursue the conversation.

A distant beating in the air.

Rob rose from his seat.

“I think that’s my helicopter.”

Immediately beyond the house was a small cottage garden, and beyond that, a paddock with two horses.

“Is it possible to move the horses?”

The farmer bustled out, pushing past Rob, and waddled up to the paddock. The horses, perhaps sensing food, came to greet him. He unlatched a five-bar gate and let them through to a narrow garden that ran down the side of the house.

Rob scanned the sky. A yellow dot, growing larger; an RAF Wessex, with the word RESCUE emblazoned on the side. It came to a loud hover just short of the paddock, dust and soil swirling in the downwash. The machine inched forward before settling down on its vast wheels.

Rob gathered his helmet and harness and thanked the farmer, who handed him his bundled parachute, tied with a cord.

As he left the kitchen and made his way to the open gate, a small contingent of soldiers jumped out of the Wessex. A sergeant with a moustache met him as he approached the paddock.

“Flight Lieutenant May?” he shouted over the noise of the whirring blades.

Rob nodded.

“Where’s the crash site?”

He pointed at the farmer.

“A few miles away. He’ll tell you.”

“OK. Thank you.” The sergeant then looked him up and down. “Rescue 3 has instructions to take you back to West Porton, unless you need urgent medical treatment?”

Rob shook his head. “I’m fine.”

As the helicopter sped above the Welsh borders, Rob stared out of the only window, blind to the rolling countryside.

He saw only the wreckage, the outstretched arm.

The winchman shouted over the intercom.

“About forty minutes.”

Susie sat on a bench opposite the phone box, waiting for a quiet time to make her daily call.

After a procession of pram pushers, she got her chance.

“Any news?” Roger asked in his sing-song voice.

“Nope. I really don’t see the point of being here.”

“You’re protecting England’s precious military assets, my dear. One more week, they think. So be a good girl and sit tight.”

“Fine.”

“There is one more thing. A minor task for you.”

“Oh, yes?”

“You’re to meet an RAF chappie, a squadron leader. He has something for us. Listen to him and report in afterwards.”

“Oh. That’s odd, isn’t it?”

“It happens from time to time. Might be nothing, but he had the wherewithal to find the right number to call us, so they want him heard. Tomorrow morning 8AM, St Mary and St Melor Church, Amesbury. Choose a rear pew and wear something blue.”

“Something blue?”

“Yes, so he knows it’s you. He’s five feet nine, balding, and described himself as ‘podgy’. And be discreet, for god’s sake.”

The helicopter settled onto the taxiway across from TFU. Rob removed his helmet, thanked the winchman and climbed out. Two NCOs appeared next to him and carried his parachute, harness and helmet.

Mark Kilton stood at the door, waiting. He held out a hand; Rob shook it.

“How are you?”

“Fine.”

Kilton led the way into the planning room. Rob tried not to catch anyone’s eye, but Red intercepted him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Buddy, tough situation. Come and see me when you want.”

Rob nodded and followed Kilton into his office.

Kilton shut the door.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. We were at three hundred, as planned. It was all fine. I looked at the chart just for a few seconds and we struck the ground. It must have been a glancing blow, as we went back up. But the port side was wrecked and we rolled. Speedy ejected when we were banked over. Millie and Brighty got themselves out of their seats, but not much more…” He tailed off.

“Speedy had control?”

“Yes.”

Kilton made a note.

“Millie didn’t want us to go down to three hundred. In fact, he—”

“Of course he didn’t. We knew he was against it. But it’s what we agreed. You were right.”

Rob furrowed his brow. “But we didn’t listen to him—”

“Robert.” Kilton held up a hand. “We did. Look, there’s a procedure to follow. We will recover the wreckage and find out what happened. Do not, and I repeat, do not speculate to anyone about the cause, is that clear? Be especially careful what you tell Georgina. She doesn’t need an unpleasant situation made worse with ill-informed speculation.”

Kilton opened his office door and motioned Rob to leave.

“Can I go home?”

“We drink tonight for