Love You Dead

46 Sunday 1 March

‘Remember,’ Johnny Spelt had said earlier that afternoon to the director of the Latest TV crew who had been shadowing them for the past week, making a documentary about the Kent, Surrey and Sussex Air Ambulance service, ‘the pilot is always the best-looking person aboard the helicopter!’

In the rest room at the rear of the hangar at Redhill aerodrome, where the duty crew relaxed between call-outs, the pilots in green and the medics in red jumpsuits were seated around the table, ribbing Spelt for his remarks.

‘Best-looking?’ said Dee Springer, a short, ginger-headed Australian who was over in the UK on secondment, training for a career as a flying doctor back in her homeland. ‘In yer dreams!’

‘So in that case,’ said Declan McArthur, a tall young doctor with a shaven head and easy smile, ‘I guess we’re going to have to switch roles, Johnny!’

‘Haha!’ He bit into his cheese and pickle sandwich. It had been a long day and they were all tired. In an average twenty-four hours the Air Ambulance was called out five times. But today, in addition to interviews with the documentary film crew, they’d done five on their shift alone — the last to a motorcyclist suffering severe head injuries after a collision with a van in Eastbourne. They’d flown him to the best specialist unit for head trauma in the south-east of England, St George’s in Tooting, and had only just returned. In thirty minutes they would be going off duty. Exhausted, they were all hoping there would not be another call.

The best chance patients have of recovering fully from severe head injuries is to be treated within four hours. Had the motorcyclist been transported by road, by the time the ambulance had reached and transferred him, it would have been a good four hours and probably longer. The helicopter crew had him on the operating table in just under ninety minutes.

‘Declan,’ the former military pilot said, good-humouredly. ‘You want to take the controls? Be my guest. So long as I’m not on board when you do.’

‘Wuss!’

‘Live dangerously for once, Johnny,’ Dee Springer said.

‘Live dangerously?’ the pilot retorted. ‘I flew missions in Afghanistan. OK?’

‘Respect!’ Declan McArthur raised his hands.

‘Yeah, I’ll grant you that!’ the Australian said. ‘So don’t you find this work a bit tame after a war zone?’

‘You know what I like about this job?’ Johnny replied.

‘No, but I think you’re about to tell us,’ said Declan.

‘It’s very nice to land a helicopter without anyone shooting at you.’

Suddenly the purple phone in the room rang.

‘Bollocks!’ the doctor said, checking his watch as he walked over to answer it. ‘Just a few more minutes and we’d be off shift! Typical!’

‘Bad attitude!’ chided the pilot.