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

Three hundred and thirty reels.

He called up the Blackton computer department again, and ordered four hundred and fifty blank reels.

The afternoon meetings were a distraction, as he and a small team went through future projects: a stronger braking parachute for the Vulcan, rough landing trials for the Argosy, a larger fin for the Blue Steel missile.

He made sure he paid attention to the important bits but as the clock approached 4.45PM he became anxious to get back to the planning room.

By the time he returned, Rob had left for the day.

“Damn.” He picked up his case and checked it for any documents that shouldn’t leave the building, then drove straight to the Mays’ small married quarter.

“Millie! Come in.” Mary beamed at him.

“Thank you, Mary. Is Rob home?”

“Not yet.”

“Oh? I was told he might be.”

“Well, the mess has become a bit of a habit for him.”

“Fair enough. But I would like to have a quick word. Would you mind sending him around when he turns up, as long as it’s not an inconvenience to you, of course?”

“I’ll send him over after dinner if he’s back in time.”

Millie drove the short distance to his own quarter, agitated that a conversation he wasn’t looking forward to would have to wait even longer.

Georgina was in the garden, table and chairs arranged for another al fresco dinner.

She smiled at her husband. “Make hay while the sun shines, Millington.”

By 7PM he was into his scotch, a Glenmorangie. He was savouring it on his tongue as a cough came from behind. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t get a response at the front door,” Rob said, after emerging from the side passage.

“Robert!” Millie smiled at him. “How the devil are you? Whisky or gin, dear chap? Please say whisky.”

“Not one of your more adventurous ones, please. I need my stomach lining intact.”

“As you wish!” Millie went into the house and poured a second scotch, fishing a mixer out of the dresser cupboard.

When he returned, Rob and Georgina were laughing.

“I was begging Rob to bring over that gorgeous wife of his. It’s the weekend.”

“It’s Thursday, dear,” said Millie.

“That’s what I told her,” Rob said, “but she says Thursday is now officially the start of the weekend.” He winked at Georgina. “And I’d like to agree. Why do we fly on Fridays, Millie?”

“Something to do with serving Her Majesty and preparing for war, I believe, Robert. Here you are. Glenmorangie mixed with ginger ale. Sacrilege in some parts of Scotland, but perfectly acceptable in Wiltshire.”

As he handed over the drink, he nodded for Georgina to leave them alone.

She took the hint. “Right, well, the dishes won’t do themselves. I guess my weekend is on hold. Shout if you need anything, boys.” She disappeared into the house.

They sat quietly for a moment. In the distance, the sound of laughter floated through the air along with the now familiar sound of music.

Rob cocked his head.

“The peace camp,” said Millie, and gestured toward the trees at the back of the garden.

“Oh. Yes, I’ve seen them on approach. Kilton’s not happy.”

“When is he, Rob? When is he?”

Rob put his drink down. “I’m sorry about this morning, Millie. Kilton got the better of me when I was worse for wear in the mess. But I also think he’s right.”

“You do?”

“It doesn’t really matter whether I did or didn’t nudge the stick—”

“Can we both agree that you didn’t?”

“The point I’m making is that we don’t have any firm evidence and it’s a bit much grounding the project so quickly. We can’t give in at the first bump in the road. We need Guiding Light, Millie. There are countries relying on us to deliver it. NATO needs us. You have to keep going. In any case, it’s Kilton’s orders, so we have no choice now. Unless you’re planning on doing something silly?”

“Has he sent you here on an intelligence gathering mission, Rob?”

Rob put down his drink. “You asked me here.”

“I did. And I wanted to talk to you because, well, I suppose you’re right. We have no choice but to press on, despite the evidence we witnessed with our own eyes. But I intend to do my job, to examine Guiding Light thoroughly and pass it fit for production. Or not.”

“Of course.”

“What we need,” Millie continued, “is to ensure we get as much data onto the tapes as possible.” Rob looked confused. “I want to maximise our flight times. And bring some good old TFU independence to the project. Test crews putting Guiding Light through its paces without fear or favour.”

“Right,” said Rob slowly, “that’s what we’re doing, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know, Rob. I’m not sure the project is being examined completely without fear or favour, but we’re the men with our hands on the equipment. And we should not be afraid of doing what’s necessary.”

Rob furrowed his brow. “I don’t know about this, Millie. It sounds like you’re trying to work outside of the parameters of the project.”

“If that’s what it takes to do our job properly, should we not adapt?”

Rob put his glass down and shook his head. “Adaptation’s one thing, but it sounds to me like you’re thinking of something completely different. Working behind the boss’s back? I’m sorry, I really think it’s best to leave it be. I certainly can’t be a part of it. What would Kilton do if he found out? Seriously, Millie. He can be vindictive!”

“Which is why we need to put him aside, Rob, and work without fear or favour. If that’s what we need to do to save lives. And I believe it is.”

“You should stop saying ‘we’, Millie. This is your idea, not mine. Look, I know you’re getting cynical in your old age, but I still believe in the system. And that’s how it should be. It will fall apart if we go off on our own tangents. Really, you should take it from me. Whatever you’re thinking of, it’s a terrible idea.” Rob sat up and leaned toward Millie. “Why mess