In The End Box Set by Stevens, GJ (read 50 shades of grey .TXT) 📗

in a national emergency. To defend the country, but in reality we just drilled until our operations were muscle memory.

Never in my seventeen years of service had we exercised on New Year's Eve.

All that said, the weather was clear. Cold and cloudless. I'd want to be up in my Merlin rather than trying not to fall asleep in the mess any time, plus I'd have a great view when the hour struck.

Still not briefed and following the pre-defined route, we were flying over Plymouth when the ground just went dark. I'd never seen a power cut from the sky before, the ground just shades of black. It reminded me of the desolate Afghan countryside; each moment I expected tracer rounds to light up the night while I hoped they weren't in our direction.

The power was still out by the time we landed at Culdrose half an hour later. My mind kept asking if being scrambled and the power going out were connected.

We had seen the naval station from miles away, could make it out from the depths of the darkness. Apparently the only place on the horizon to have decent backup generators. The clear weather and half-moon helped; so did the apron awash with blinking anti-collision lights.

Headlights from trucks and Land Rovers ran around the base, a procession leaving through the main gates; the only other lights in the dark night. If this was an exercise, then everyone in the Royal Navy seemed to be playing their part.

We finally got our orders as we touched down. We were there to transport VIPs, but we had to wait, we had to stay in our seats and keep the rotors spinning. No mention of the reason why.

I gawked out from the windows, shivering after being told in no uncertain terms not to stow the gun so we could pull the door closed to let the heat build. I was pissed because I could have been up in the air or back at the mess stealing forty winks. There was no enjoyment in waiting, but it was part of the job.

Crates were loaded, ours one of thirty choppers sitting on the tarmac in the same position. This would blow the fuel budget alone; would cost us another exercise or two. I just hoped it wouldn't cross over into tomorrow. The roster only had me on shift for five hours more.

Stubbs had his eyes closed, within seconds pulling his usual trick. He was an ex-marine and could fall asleep with the flick of a switch.

Spicer pulled up from around the machine gun and leaned through to the cockpit. We'd been crewed together for almost three years, which was unheard of in the service. Stubbs, in the seat next to me, had been on the team for just a few months, but we hadn't bonded in combat.

Spicer was the only rating on the crew. We'd shared a full tour of Afghan and had become friends, despite his rank. Living in a tent twenty-four seven, flying every other moment and putting your lives in each other's hands every day kind of did that. I'd got us out of situations so many times with my hands on the stick. He'd shot our way out of trouble more than I could count. I couldn't do his job; didn't have the balls to pull the trigger.

I remember those first few shots in anger. Remembered how he'd changed, withdrawing for days, but he'd pulled himself out with a little help of our ribbing and a reliance on his drills and training.

I told him of my plans for tomorrow, today now. A meal and a few glasses of wine. He told me of his night of movies. His two young daughters, twins, too, cradled in his arms.

I told him to stop being such a sentimental twat, before quickly shutting my mouth and elbowing Stubbs in the ribs as three Land Rovers pulled alongside.

There were only three passengers, the other two Landy's full of Marine escorts with full kit, as if they were about to set out on a week-long expedition.

A commodore, rear and full admiral shuffled into their seats. The guards were acting like we were back in Kandahar, not on the Lizard Peninsula. We could have taken the escort too, but more trucks arrived and filled the rest of the load space with nameless document boxes and weapon crates.

The fuel tanks were topped off, the bird heavier than I'd felt her for a long time and we left within an hour, although it felt like we'd been sitting there for much longer. We lifted, being none the wiser, but that wasn't unusual either.

Keeping questions to ourselves, we were like cadets again with these bigwigs in the back. I had a promotion board assessment in two weeks’ time; captain was on the cards and a wrong word now could scupper the chances. It was still all about who you knew in this world and I hoped the new rank would mean less night shifts, in peacetime at least. I was getting too old for the night-time work. Not the shifts themselves, but the time away from my family.

Lifting from deck and out into the darkness it was clear to see the power hadn't returned. The only lights were those moving along the roads, most heading north in the same general direction as us. The ground was a tapestry of red lights snaking around like spidery nerves.

Passing Plymouth, the power cut had worsened. We hit Exeter before we saw street lights and buildings lit. The M5 motorway was at a standstill, both sides of the road full of cars trying to go in the same direction; six long lines of stationary tail lights.

We settled back down on the ground at Yeovilton, ours among only a few of the line of Merlins which stopped, the rest heading onwards. They were going