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

“You know what I mean,” she said and playfully flicked some soap bubbles at him. “Do you still want to do it?”

Rob reached for his second crutch and hobbled out of the kitchen. “Bloody right I do.”

Outside, in the last days of an English summer, Rob climbed into the passenger side of Millie’s old Rover. He’d tried getting into the Austin Healey, but his inflexible plastered leg was having none of it. Georgina, back in her married quarter for ‘as long as she needed’ was pleased with the swap, and Rob had to admit she suited his little sports car.

Mary climbed into the driver’s seat.

“No driving, no flying,” he said. “It’s going to be a long winter.”

“On the other hand, you’re alive, Mr May.”

He smiled at the love of his life and leaned over to whisper in her ear. “I love you, Mary May.”

She laughed. “So you keep telling me.”

“Sorry,” he said, in mock protest.

“That’s OK. You can tell me again.”

She backed out and they set off toward West Porton. Minutes later, they arrived at the barrier which was rising as they approached.

“Good morning, Mrs May, Flight Lieutenant May. Are you happy you know where you’re going?”

Mary told the guard that she knew the way to TFU and they carried on into the station.

“Doesn’t feel like entering a prison anymore,” Rob said.

As they approached the edge of the airfield and the TFU buildings, Rob noticed one or two of his colleagues walking in. He was hoping to arrive early, ahead of everyone else, but it looked like he was the last.

They parked. Mary quickly made her way around the outside of the car. But as he went to open the door, Rob found it being opened for him by somebody else.

“Good morning, Flight Lieutenant. It’s good to have you back.”

Wing Commander Jock MacLeish greeted him with a beaming smile.

“Thank you, sir,” Rob replied to his new commanding officer.

With Jock and Mary’s help, he pulled himself upright and tucked the crutch under his arm.

They made their way to the double doors of TFU.

“I hoped we’d be the first here,” Rob said, again alarmed at the busy car park.

“No chance of that, Robert.”

Jock pushed open the door to the planning room.

“Welcome back, Rob.” Red Brunson was the first to greet him.

“Welcome back,” said the next man, and the man after that.

Each officer stood by the planning desk made the effort to personally greet him.

The admin team, including Jean and a group of young corporals—men and women—who Rob didn’t know were lined up on the way to the CO’s office.

“Welcome back, sir,” each one said as he passed.

Rob finally made it to the office. Jock closed the door behind him.

“So, this is your office now?”

“Certainly is,” Jock said.

“Feels odd, doesn’t it?” Rob looked around at the room that was once Mark Kilton’s lair.

“I’m used to it now. We’re working hard to move on.”

“It feels different,” Rob said. “Just walking in here.”

Jock took his seat behind the desk. “Good. We nearly lost TFU, but a few of us argued it still has a role. It just needs to do things… differently. Boscombe oversee us now. Projects are ultimately signed off by them when they’re happy. We’re free to concentrate on the flying, testing and evaluating. Leave the politics to the others.”

“Sounds ideal.”

MacLeish turned serious as he pulled an A4 report out of a desk drawer.

“How was the Board interview?”

“I couldn’t tell them much. I remembered snatches of it but… nothing solid.”

MacLeish nodded. “They did their best to piece it all together.” He opened the report. “You told them you were low, very low, and that you think Kilton and Stafford swapped places?”

“Yes, it’s a strange, cloudy memory. Quite surreal, actually, but I can see Kilton unstrapping Stafford.”

“They think you were ejected,” MacLeish said, then seemed to study him for a reaction.

It took Rob a second to understand the meaning of the sentence. “I was ejected? I didn’t choose to eject?”

MacLeish shook his head. “It’s a best guess, but Kilton had a badly fractured right arm and smashed up hand. The best theory they’ve got is that he was withdrawing it just as your seat fired and it suffered a glancing blow. It would have been very nasty for him. As for your route out of the aircraft, you appear to have missed the summit of a hill, floated for a bit under the canopy, and then bounced your way down on the other side. Bit of a mess when they found you, but you don’t need me to tell you that.”

“Why didn’t Kilton eject?”

“They can’t be sure, but they think a combination of his excruciating injury which took one arm completely out of action and the fact that as you ejected, it pushed the nose down from what was already a treetop-skimming height. As you know, you were found less than a mile from the crash site.” MacLeish paused for a second before adding, “It’s not in the report, but the chairman of the BOI did wonder about Mark’s mental state. I think we all know he carried some scars from the war.”

“And poor old Ewan Stafford?”

“A hapless onlooker who paid the price for getting into bed with Kilton.” MacLeish closed the report. “Of course what’s also not in here, and I doubt will ever be in any official capacity, is the fact that a young technician at DF Blackton has confirmed that Stafford was aware of the flaws of Guiding Light and he actively covered it up. We have to assume Kilton was in on this, rather than a victim of Stafford’s scheming, as it explains his extreme behaviour toward Brian Hill, Millie and then you.”

“All the same, quite a price to pay.”

MacLeish tapped the desk idly with his fingers. “The technician told us they calculated the odds of causing a crash if Guiding Light went into service with its gremlin. They worked out, with future crewing, it would lead to as many as 14.25 aircrew deaths a year.