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

back against the walls with suited men and gowned women filling the space.

A waiter arrived with a tray of glasses containing room temperature white wine.

Millie enjoyed a long glug; he needed some fortification for the moment later when he would have to exit the RAF station.

The women headed over to an open window; Millie and Rob followed.

Red Brunson and his wife joined them.

“Howdy folks! Anyone else enjoying the warm wine?” Brunson said.

The group laughed. Georgina straightened her back; Millie realised she’d never been introduced.

“Red, can I introduce my wife, Georgina? Georgina, this is Red and Sarah Brunson. Red’s on an exchange with us from Edwards Air Force base in California.”

“California? Gosh, how glamorous,” she said while shaking both their hands.

“Don’t get carried away,” Sarah Brunson said, “this ain’t the California The Beach Boys sing about. We’re a hundred miles from the coast in Nowhere USA. Salt flats and shacks. That’s Edwards.”

“Well, it still sounds more glamorous than Salisbury.”

“Honey, I could not wait to get out.” She looped her arm through Red’s. “Just had to buy the right ticket.”

Millie wanted to enjoy himself, but he had a task to carry out first.

As the group got into conversation, he removed his wristwatch and dropped it into his jacket pocket.

Noticing the glasses were getting low, he tapped Rob on the shoulder.

“Sortie to the bar?”

Rob nodded and followed Millie through the crowd to replenish the drinks. Once at the bar, Millie pulled his sleeve up, revealing his bare wrist.

“Feel naked without it.”

“Your watch?”

“Silly thing. I left it in the office. Would you mind if I fetched it?”

Rob shrugged. “Fine. I’ll see you back with the girls.”

Millie marched out of the mess, climbed into his car and drove toward the main guardroom. He parked a short distance away—not so close that it would attract any further attention from the police—and got out, locking it behind him.

In the guardroom, he signed out the keys to TFU.

The sergeant asked to see his identification, which Millie couldn’t remember happening before, but then he was in his civilian suit.

With the keys secured, he got back into the Rover and drove through the centre of the station to the airfield fence.

A security officer stood outside the open gate to the TFU car park.

Christ, they’re everywhere.

He drove in, with the security man watching him but making no attempt to stop the vehicle.

For the second time that evening, Millie found himself sweating. He quickly retrieved the five cardboard sleeves containing the reels and climbed out of the car.

He didn’t look back, carrying the tapes in front of him as he marched up to the TFU front door.

Inside, he went straight to his locker and placed the tapes under his day jumper. Moments later, he drove back down to the mess and rejoined the group, feeling significantly more relaxed.

Georgina shot him a quizzical look.

“Rob says you’ve been off to fetch your watch.”

“Yes, dear. Left it in the office.”

“Do be careful. It was your father’s.” She pulled up his left sleeve; it was bare.

“Where is it, then?”

He retrieved it from his pocket. “Here.”

“Really. You are odd sometimes, Millington.”

He found his wine and topped up the alcohol buzz.

The Mays smiled and laughed with the Brunsons. Millie felt Georgina watching him.

“What?”

“Will you miss it?” she asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“Just think, we’ve stood in the corner at these events in Hong Kong, Nairobi, Singapore—”

“Church Fenton.”

“Ah, yes. Yorkshire. Not quite as exciting, but we’ve had some fun, haven’t we?”

“Yes, we have. I’ll not forget the cannon battle in Tengah.”

Georgina laughed out loud. “Oh, god. That was something. Didn’t one of them explode and hurt someone?”

Millie laughed at the memory. “Rusty Brown. Set fire to his hair, as I recall. Quite exciting.”

“Dear old Rusty. Where’s he now?”

“Dead. Meteor ploughed in. Cyprus, I think.”

They stood quietly for a moment.

The Brunsons and Mays burst out laughing.

“Getting on great guns,” Georgina said. “It’s their turn to have all that fun now.”

“Lucky things.”

Across the room, Mark Kilton stood next to Gilbert Periwinkle the station commander, chatting to a man with a gold chain around his neck and a small, plump wife. He supposed it was the mayor and mayoress, invited to keep the peace with the locals.

Periwinkle looked uncomfortable, as he usually did. The man lacked charisma and authority. Probably the qualities Kilton looked for in his own commanding officer.

The evening wore on. The Brunsons, Milfords and Mays stayed together, getting progressively more tipsy.

“Now here’s a conspiratorial little group, if ever I saw one.”

Kilton.

“Hello, Mark. How are you?” Georgina leant over to kiss him on the cheek.

“Now, Georgina, I need your help. Who do you think we should appoint as the new mess secretary?”

“Well, someone you trust, as I assume you’re still president of the mess committee?”

“Indeed I am. But I need a number two to do all the work.”

“Well, don’t look at Millie, for goodness sake. He falls asleep in the evenings as it is.”

“Yes, well, I believe this is beneath his dignity. How about you, May?”

Rob straightened his back.

“You think my husband’s undignified enough to do the job?” Mary asked, and the group laughed.

“Yes,” Kilton replied and drained his wine.

“I’d be honoured,” Rob said.

“Well, I haven’t made my mind up yet, May. Just keep your powder dry and you might just make it.”

Kilton moved off. Georgina raised her eyebrows at Millie and leaned over.

“That man doesn’t do anything by accident. Looks like young Rob has caught his eye.”

6

Sunday 12th June

The phone rang three times before Millie was properly awake.

Georgina groaned.

“What time is it?”

Millie clambered out of bed.

“Eight-thirty.”

“Ugh.” Georgina rolled over and pulled a pillow over her head.

Millie hurried downstairs and took the call.

“Mr Milford, Leonard Belkin. I hope I haven’t called too early for you?”

“No, no, that’s fine. I was getting up, anyway.”

“Right, well I thought I might not catch you tomorrow. Would now be a good time to report?”

“You’ve looked at the tape already?”

“You’ll be pleased to know the tape has been read successfully.”

“That’s marvellous, thank you.”

“They had to transcribe it from binary, which took a while, but it’s