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

about when they would come for them, armed with an eviction notice.

So far they’d been left alone.

She knew that would change once the direct action began.

Millie arrived at TFU with a plan. A vague, not-thought-through plan. But at least it was a plan.

The map tables were empty as the pilots and some navs were at the morning weather brief.

He walked over to the admin office and ensured the Vulcan they were allocated was not needed too soon after they were due to return.

Rob appeared along with other aircrew as the met brief broke up.

Millie fixed an amiable look on his face. Rob looked nervous, but he greeted him loudly and asked if he wanted a tea.

He accepted the offer and his face brightened. They moved to the tea bar together and Millie kept up the conviviality, chatting about the cricket.

“Sobers was magnificent at Lord’s apparently. One hundred and sixty-three not out.”

Rob looked a little uncertain, as if he wasn’t sure what was going on. But he joined in.

“It’ll be hard for us to win the match from here.”

“Indeed,” said Millie. He paused and put a hand on Rob’s back. “It’s better to be on good terms, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

Speedy Johnson announced himself in the room and Millie took them over to a planning table. He spread out a chart that covered most of Northern England with the dramatic brown relief of the Lake District prominent in the top-left corner.

He pointed at the middle of the hills. “The Lakes. We need some big dips below us.”

Speedy peered at where Millie’s finger had landed.

“Wales has dips, famous for it. And it’s a lot closer.”

Millie nodded. “It does, but we need to cover as much different terrain as possible. We’ve done Wales a lot recently. Time for a change of scenery.”

Speedy shrugged. “All good with me. It’ll give Brighty something new to plan.”

Rob kept quiet.

The group broke up and Millie found Steve Bright to brief him before moving to the admin office. While the flight lieutenant stood over him, he withdrew eight blank tapes from the secure cabinet, placing the cardboard sleeves into his flight case.

An hour later, Millie stood on the edge of the TFU apron in his flying coveralls, helmet on, his oxygen mask hanging loosely by his chin.

He realised he was pacing and made an effort to keep his feet planted, concentrating on the ballet of manoeuvring aircraft in front of him.

A roar caught his attention and he watched an English Electric Lightning thunder along the runway. Its silver wings glinted in the sunshine as the pilot pulled it into a vertical climb and rolled around three hundred and sixty degrees. He smiled as the aircraft became a small silver dart and disappeared into a layer of cloud.

A moment later, Steve, Speedy and Rob appeared by his side and they walked toward the white, delta-winged Vulcan. Speedy climbed in while Rob set off around the aircraft, peering into the undercarriage recesses and checking various nooks and crannies.

Millie followed Steve Bright into the rear bay and settled in.

After agreeing that Bright would carry out the post hatch checks, he strapped himself in and set about organising the tapes.

He removed one from its sleeve and pre-loaded it, glancing across at the navigator as he did so. It wasn’t so unusual, but ordinarily he loaded the reels only when needed during the flight.

Steve Bright was busy with his own preparation; a longer trip to a less visited part of the country for the young navigator.

Rob’s head appeared in the hatchway.

“Ready to go?”

“Yep!” the navigator replied.

Rob climbed the next few steps into the cockpit and Bright checked the hatch was closed and latched.

They brought the Vulcan to life. The pilots weren’t on the intercom yet, but he could hear them proceeding through the various checklists.

Ticking sounds and various mechanical whirrings preceded the familiar spooling up of the engines.

A few minutes later, they bounced along the runway before the aircraft pitched up and Millie and Bright were pressed forward against their straps.

Millie moved a hand forward and flipped the master switch on the Guiding Light panel.

It was unusual to power the system up so early. He knew the smaller repeater panels in the cockpit would also come to life; he could only hope neither Speedy or Rob would pay any attention to them at this stage in the flight.

He started the tape running.

After twenty minutes, an orange indicator blinked out and it was time to switch to a fresh tape.

Millie opened the metal flap over the reels; his hand was trembling.

He removed the full take-up reel, then switched the empty reel onto the take-up spindle. He reached down and retrieved a new blank reel from his flight bag.

In his peripheral vision, it seemed like Steve Bright was looking at him.

He glanced across, but in fact Bright was staring at his chart with his finger poised on the next waypoint.

Millie quickly dropped the new tape onto the spindle, closed the flap and restarted the data recorder.

He sat back, relieved.

The change took ten seconds; it had felt like ten minutes.

He put a white sticky label on the reel and marked it, simply BLANK ‘A’.

A nonsense label that meant something only to him.

He retrieved a brand new pocket-sized notepad and opened it, noting down the date, time and location for the recording. He paused for a moment; even this note could be used against him at some point. After hesitating, he completed the entry anyway. There was no way around it.

He looked at his watch and checked the navigation plan. He had time for two reels more before they reached the entry gate.

Sitting back, he let the static whine from the intercom wash over him. It was warm inside from the time the aircraft had sat on the ground. He closed his eyes.

“You still with us, Millie?” called Steve Bright.

Millie woke.

“Falling asleep in a nuclear bomber? And we’re only going to Keswick, chap. Not Vladivostok.”

Millie looked at his stopwatch. Eighteen and a half minutes