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

“Then what?”

She faced him. “You have to retrace his steps.”

“What?”

“I’m serious. It’s the best way. The most accurate, and the one that involves the fewest other people. Could you land at RAF Abingdon? Would that be a normal thing to do?”

Rob exhaled. “Maybe. If I was in a single seater. Something like a Hunter. I could call it a practice diversion. The trouble is, I’m down to fly the Vulcan this week. Every day.”

“What about JR? Can he fly you in? That would be better. He can take you exactly where Millie went. That’s what you need to do. You need to stand where he stood. You’re bound to find something. Some clue to where he actually went.”

“But how would I do that? I’m expected in work every day, all day.”

“Aren’t you ever sick?”

He put his head in his hands. “Christ, Susie, you’re asking a lot. You’re asking me to call in sick, then sneak onto the station, fly off with a Maintenance Unit pilot, land at another RAF station and then… god knows what.”

“It’s no more than Millie did. Alone. Without your help or anyone else’s at TFU.”

He sat in silence for a while.

Susie touched his hand. “Rob, why are you doing this?”

“For Millie, I guess.”

“And for you, right? You’re also doing this for yourself.”

“What do you mean? I’m being selfish?”

“Not at all. I’m just pointing out that you’re carrying a lot of guilt and I think this is a way out, at least I think you’ve convinced yourself it is. Try to imagine for a moment that you back down now, before we’ve tried everything. You’ll have the rest of your life to reflect on that decision and, believe me, that stuff can eat away at you.” She gestured to the remnants of the peace camp. “There was a woman here who had some sort of regret inside her. Something she didn’t want to think about. I was never sure what it was, but I think she lived with it every day. She was cold and distant most of the time. You could mistake it for confidence, but when that gas bomb hit, she crumbled. Unable to cope. Funnily enough, it was the most human I ever saw her. And let me guess, it’s the same for Mark Kilton? Cold and distant? His generation, from the war, they bury so much that after a while they bury themselves. It’s no way to live, Rob. This choice today, it could affect you for the rest of your life.”

“It’s such a gamble. So much could go wrong,” Rob said quietly.

“It could. True. But living with the consequences of doing nothing and letting Kilton walk all over Millie’s name and reputation might be worse for you. Save yourself from a lifetime of not being able to think about Millie and your role in his death.” He winced in the shadows. “Rob, trying and failing is very different from not trying at all. You can stand up high and tell Millie you did everything in your power to honour his legacy, but giving up… That’s another matter. You would be choosing to comply with an authority you know to be wrong. You’d find it hard to look in the mirror ever again.”

She looked away across the field to the fences that surrounded the airfield. “My father came out of the First World War like that. Part of a generation of British men who don’t look in the mirror. This whole head-down, get-on-with-it, stiff-upper-lip stuff. It has a function because it allows you to carry on in desperate times, but believe me, it’s not without consequences. You’ll pay the price with the rest of your life.” She turned to him. “And so will your children.”

The Moon crept up beyond the trees; the orange glow gave way to a silvery light that played across her face.

She reached across and brushed a tear from his cheek.

“I’ll need to go back and talk to JR as soon as possible,” said Rob. “This is going to take some planning.”

Headlights swept across the airfield to their right, and a vehicle approached the fence. She grabbed Rob’s hand and lowered him to the ground behind the trunk.

They lay still, next to each other. He basked in the warmth of her body, his heart thudding in his chest. Susie wrapped an arm around him.

The vehicle moved away and they stood up.

“You can talk to JR tomorrow. We’re running out of time so don’t dilly-dally.”

“It might actually be easier if I go and see JR now. I’ve got a front door key for the mess at home.”

Rob pulled up in front of the house; there was a light on downstairs.

He breezed in, picked up his mess keys from a set of hooks just inside the back door.

He looked across to the lounge where the light was on, and hesitated.

On the kitchen table was a half drunk cup of tea. He touched it.

Still warm.

Rob stood and listened carefully, but the house was silent.

He turned and left for West Porton.

After fiddling with the mess side door, he made his way along one wing to the central lobby to identify JR’s room number.

First Floor, Room 12.

The place wasn’t completely quiet; he could hear some laughter coming from somewhere. A few of the boys playing cards, no doubt.

Next to a batting room on the first floor was a door with the number ‘12’, and the label SQ LDR JL RICHARDSON DFC.

Rob tapped gently, but got no response and tried again more firmly.

Eventually, he heard some movement. The door opened to reveal a surprised-looking old pilot in a red silk dressing gown.

“Flight Lieutenant May.” JR glanced down the corridor. “Twice in one night. I suppose you want to come in?”

JR’s room was large, with two single beds and a basin.

“Nice,” Rob said, looking round.

“I bagged it when TFU was just a twinkle in Mark Kilton’s eye. They’ll get me out of it in a wooden box. Smoke?” JR offered him