The Final Flight

¹³ SUNDAY 19TH JUNE

Just after 7AM. Susie heard a noise in the corridor outside. Doors clanged, and she heard the familiar voices of her campmates.

Finally, her own door swung open. A young police constable stood in the frame.

“Out to the front desk, please. Queue for your personal effects.”

She emerged and saw her earnest peace colleagues, looking worse for wear, shuffling to the front of the police station.

She joined the queue to retrieve personal effects.

At the front, Megan was arguing.

“You’re supposed to charge us. What about the trial?”

“You’re being released without charge, miss. Be grateful.”

Two constables ushered them out onto the street. The group trudged back to the camp; a walk of three miles.

The field was a mess. Tents collapsed, clothes strewn around the entrances. They had combed the place.

It didn’t take them long to discover the rucksack of tools was missing.

But the wigwam still stood. Susie wandered over.

“How long do you think they’ll let us stay here?” she asked David.

“We’ve paid the farmer enough to make it worth his while. They won’t get us out without a court order.”

“Do we need to stay now?” Susie asked, glancing toward Megan, who was bent over a stack of boxes. She straightened her back.

“As long as they’re there, we’re here. But you’re free to leave any time, Susie. This isn’t the police station.”

She went back to her boxes, which appeared to be filled with old clothes.

David gave Susie a sympathetic smile as she backed out of the wigwam.

Many were folding up their tents, preparing to leave. It was clear only a hardcore would remain.

With Megan preoccupied, Susie wandered out onto the main road and walked back to the village phone box.

After waiting an age for a teenage girl to finish her call, she entered and paused before dialling, waiting for the girl to leave the immediate area.

Roger answered.

“In on a Sunday, Roger? Don’t you ever take a day off?”

“Not when there’s such excitement in the West Country. Well done, my dear. Plaudits all round. The hairy blond one is in custody. Caught, as planned, red-handed.”

“What will happen?”

“He’ll be held long enough for us to thoroughly drain him of anything useful. After that, it’s up to the plod and West Porton.”

“And what about me?”

“I said well done. What else do you want? A bit soon for a medal.”

“I mean, shall I pull out?”

“Maybe. What’s the situation? Have they gone home?”

“Some have. But the leaders are still here.”

“Then I suggest you stay put. Sorry, love. You must miss a soft bed. How was the police cell, anyway?”

“All part of being on active field service. You should try it sometime.”

“My time will come. Hopefully in a four-star hotel rather than a field.”

She ended the call, too low on energy for another back and forth.