The Final Flight by James Blatch (books to read in your 30s .TXT) 📗

over a desk. “Leave that with me.” He hung up. “Bloody sergeant pilots.”

For a moment he tapped his pen on his desk, then got up and headed into the planning room and spoke quietly to May and Johnson.

“You can keep it above one thousand feet today if you want.”

He started to turn back to his office.

“So, there is something wrong?” Millie said, just loud enough that Kilton couldn’t ignore him.

Kilton turned on his heels and walked up to Millie. “No, but if you’re scared, keep her above one thousand. And this time, try not to run out of tapes. It is, after all, your only job on board, Millie.”

Millie stared at the orange numbers. They updated rhythmically, clicking between one thousand, and one thousand one hundred. The descent into low-level had been tense, but at least they had a safety margin. Seven hundred feet higher than yesterday. Should be enough time to catch any sudden plunges.

He switched the dial and checked the other readings; everything looked normal.

He glanced at his stopwatch. Sixteen minutes since he’d loaded the first tape. Nearly time for a change.

Mustn’t miss anything this time.

He felt the aircraft pitch nose down and his eyes flashed to the height reading. One thousand three hundred and twelve feet. He didn’t blink until they levelled out just above one thousand.

It was just doing its job.

“Did we just go over a ridge?” he called up to the pilots.

“Affirm,” Speedy Johnson replied.

They rocked in their seats as the jet banked, descended again, and levelled out. It was a bumpy ride even at one thousand feet, as Guiding Light still followed the contours of the ground below.

“The valley’s coming up,” Rob called over the intercom.

So they were nearly there, the place where it happened yesterday. It was a deliberate move to fly the same route, agreed by the entire crew, but at a safer height. If it happened again, this time Millie would have the evidence.

He looked at Steve Bright, who was unusually quiet. Bright looked back at him and Millie unlatched his oxygen mask, gave him a reassuring smile and mouthed, “It’ll be alright”.

He latched his mask again and when Brighty turned back to his screen, Millie stole a look at the hatch. Was it clear of obstacles? Would they get it open in time from one thousand feet?

Almost certainly not.

He went back to the Guiding Light panel and stared at the numbers.

The Vulcan was banked again by the system and Millie steadied himself.

“Here we go,” called Rob.

Millie had a copy of the route on a chart clamped to his desk. The valley was relatively flat, which was another puzzling aspect to the laser’s failure to read it accurately.

The numbers stayed steady, hovering between one thousand and ten, and one thousand and thirty. The system treated one thousand as a ‘not below’ mark and it was working well.

“We’re through,” Rob called. The aircraft rolled onto a new track and into another valley.

“There you go, fellas,” said Speedy. “Nothing to worry about.”

A few moments later Millie felt a jolt as Speedy disconnected the autopilot and took manual control, climbing them out of low-level.

Millie smiled to himself as Rob relayed instructions to his co-pilot.

The Vulcan climbed to nine thousand feet for the transit home. Rob switched off the oxygen and all four of them broke out the cigarettes.

As they swept into the circuit at West Porton, Speedy spoke over the intercom.

“Hello? We have visitors.”

“What?” Millie asked, from their dark rear bay. They had a couple of small porthole windows but they were inconveniently high and pretty useless for looking out.

“You won’t believe it, but some campers have set up in a field at the end of the runway.”

“Inside the wire?” Bright asked.

“No, just outside.”

Brighty laughed. “A nice quiet spot with four engine jets climbing out, fifteen inches outside your tent.”

On the ground, after the shutdown, Millie again waited for Rob. He watched as Johnson hauled himself out of his seat and disappeared down the ladder.

Rob appeared and Millie extricated himself from the Vulcan.

As they walked back to TFU, Millie gave Rob a little pat on the back.

“Look at you, giving instructions to the famous Speedy Johnson.”

Rob couldn’t hide his smile. “Can’t quite believe it.”

“Well, believe it, Rob. You’ve earned it. Time to start believing what it says on your job description. Test pilot.”

Rob smiled and they arrived back at TFU, the door wide open in an attempt to get some circulating air inside.

Millie climbed out of his suffocating flying coveralls.

By the time he looked up, Speedy and Rob were talking to Kilton in the doorway to his office.

Millie started to walk over, not wishing to miss another important conversation, but as he approached, Kilton gave Rob a pat on the back and the ad hoc meeting broke up.

Millie ate a sandwich at his desk rather than join the others in the mess. He found a hot meal on a hot day too soporific.

At 2PM, the typist he’d ordered from the admin pool appeared. She was a smartly dressed middle-aged woman, in a floral pattern dress that reminded him of Georgina’s wardrobe.

With no project material allowed out of TFU, they went into a side room. Millie watched while she typed up his handwritten account of yesterday’s incident. He clarified the odd word in between the rhythmic clicks of the typewriter.

“Finished!” the woman announced, pulling the last sheet from the machine.

“Thank you.” Millie scanned the final page. “Very good.”

As she headed out, he made his way over toward the group of pilots. Rob was trying on Brunson’s mirrored visor USAF flying helmet with others laughing at him.

Millie coughed to get his attention. “Can I have a quick chat?”

Rob leaned forward and wrestled the helmet from his head.

“Erm, about to go flying actually. Can it wait?”

“It’ll be brief, I promise.”

Rob followed him to a quiet corner.

Millie tapped his sheaf of papers. “Don’t forget your report of what happened yesterday.”

Rob nodded but said nothing.

“Try to make it as convincing as possible. Look, I’ve used