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

tight. He looked up to see Jock MacLeish.

“Very enjoyable, thank you.”

MacLeish raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Feeling better?”

“Yes, well, it doesn’t do to dwell on the past, does it?”

MacLeish didn’t look convinced, but he gave Rob a pat on the shoulder.

Rory Davies announced his presence in the planning room.

“Bloody hippies all over the bloody road. I nearly killed one of them.”

“You should have,” someone replied.

“Seriously. Idiots holding tents and bags, taking up the whole bloody street, ambling off to god knows where. They deliberately ignored my horn.”

“At least they’re leaving,” Jock said.

“About bloody time. Snivelling little pinko commies. A danger to society and menace to drivers. Good riddance.”

Rob watched the exchange without joining in. He wandered over to the planning desk. After yesterday’s return to flying status, they had handed him an unexciting trip in a Canberra, making polar diagrams with a newly fitted compass system. The trial would require nearly three hours of high level orbits over the same track north of Warrington.

The assigned navigator, a junior Flight Lieutenant called Watkins, joined him, and they planned the trip.

Rob looked up to see a group captain flanked by a pilot he recognised from Boscombe Down and another officer, without wings, striding past the desks.

Kilton emerged from his office, shook their hands, and ushered them inside.

As he closed the door, Kilton’s eyes swept the room. Rob looked quickly down at his flight plan.

“Board of Inquiry, I suppose,” Watkins said.

“I know who they are. Let’s just plan this thing and get airborne.”

After retrieving flying clothing and equipment, they walked out to the jet. Rob dropped his helmet and life vest by the open hatch before carrying out his walkaround checks.

As he rounded the nosecone, pressing the latch to ensure it was secure, Kilton walked out onto the apron with the group captain, and pointed at Rob.

The senior officer approached, leaving Kilton by the door.

“Flight Lieutenant May?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m Group Captain Gordon McClair. They have appointed me as the Chairman of the Board of Inquiry into the loss of Vulcan XH441.”

McClair had blue eyes and fair hair. He looked like he’d fit on the cover of a romantic novel, but the eyes were sharp and searching.

“Well, I don’t want to disturb you. I can see you’re about to fly, which is pleasing. I just wanted to hear how you are and whether you’re ready to sit down and go through the events with us.”

“I’m fine, thank you, sir. I had a sore back, but it cleared up over the weekend.”

“Good. Your boss tells me you’re an exemplary pilot and informally I thought you should know that we do have a very early indication of the cause. But of course I will need your version of events to corroborate. I don’t want you to unduly worry, though. Now, I’m in Farnborough tomorrow and back here on Friday. Can I slot you in then?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” McClair lingered for a moment. “Are you quite certain you’re feeling OK?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We want no more mishaps up there.” He glanced at the Canberra.

“It’s fine, sir. I went up yesterday and got it out of my system, so to speak.”

“Good. We’ll see you on Friday.”

McClair turned and walked back to Kilton with the stiff-backed gait common in many senior officers.

“He seemed nice,” the navigator said.

“Let’s go.” Rob donned his Mae West and climbed into the cockpit.

Fifteen minutes later, he signalled to the marshallers that he was about to perform a cartridge start. He pressed the button and looked over his shoulder as a stream of black smoke emanated from the top of the starboard engine. Back in the cockpit, he watched the revolutions climb, and the engine caught.

The flight was as uneventful as it appeared on paper.

During the slow, straight legs, it was hard to keep his thoughts only on the flying.

What if it was a trap? What if she was blackmailing him?

“You’ve missed it!” Watkins called over the intercom.

“What? Oh, sorry.” Rob looked down at the needles they’d set for the orbit. He banked left, glancing ahead to check the airspace was clear.

“Want me to count you down to the next turn?” the navigator called.

“No. It’s fine.”

He shook the errant thoughts from his mind and concentrated on the flight.

After two hours and seventeen minutes they departed the orbit track and headed south.

As soon as they’d shut down, the navigator opened the hatch to let some cool air in.

Rob followed him into TFU where Kilton’s secretary, Jean, was waiting for him.

“Wing Commander Kilton would like your logbook, please, Mr May.”

“Oh, I haven’t completed it yet.”

Jean just stood there. Clearly, she wasn’t about to leave without it.

He put his helmet down, and, still wearing the rest of his bulky flying gear, he leant over a desk and filled in the entry for the Canberra flight before handing it over.

“What’s this about?”

“No need to be nervous. It’s just part of the investigation.” She headed back to Kilton’s outer office.

As home time approached, MacLeish, Red and a few of the others headed to the bar for a couple of drinks. Rob joined them.

He downed his first pint and leant over to MacLeish.

“Jean took my logbook.”

MacLeish shrugged. “For the BOI?”

“Maybe. But she used the word ‘investigation’, which I thought was odd.”

“Ah. Then not the BOI. That’ll be the other thing. Millie’s locker and all that.”

MacLeish drank his beer and turned away.

24

Thursday 30th June

The following evening, Rob drove the Healey cross-country through the Winterbournes, a cluster of small villages littered with army buildings.

The Bell Inn was ancient, with a small wooden door, forcing him to duck as he entered.

An old man with a white beard nursed a glass of dark ale at the bar. A golden retriever slept at his feet.

Behind the bar, a short, stout woman regarded Rob over her half-moon glasses.

“What will it be?”

Rob scanned the draught beers.

“A pint of Harp, please.”

A stuffed fish sat in a glass case mounted on the wall above the bearded man. It looked like a pike: long, with nasty-looking teeth.

The landlady gave Rob