The Final Flight

²⁵ FRIDAY 1ST JULY

The HQ building was quiet. Rob walked down the lime green corridor and peered into the offices.

The second to last door on the left was open. Group Captain Gordon McClair sat with his back to him.

“Ahem.”

McClair whipped around.

“Flight Lieutenant May.”

Rob saluted.

“Have a seat.”

As Rob sat down, he spotted his handwritten accident report on the desk, with notes in blue ink added at various points.

“Thank you for your observations, May. Very thorough and very useful. And thank you for your honesty about the moments leading to the crash. You’re in a rather unique position as the only survivor and I appreciate your candour. It will serve you well through this process.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So, let us start at the beginning.”

For half an hour, Rob walked the chairman of the BOI through the Guiding Light project planning and execution. He explained the procedure of entering a low-level gate and how they handed over control to the system. For the moment of the crash, Rob slowed his explanation down, choosing his words carefully.

He explained how he had unfolded the chart, to ensure he could select a safe area for a climb back to one thousand feet.

“You were planning to ensure it would be a safe manoeuvre?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what were you looking for exactly? I mean, where would be an unsuitable place to ascend?”

“Well, you wouldn’t want to interrupt the autopilot if it was manoeuvring hard, which it often is at low-level. So somewhere flat below, ideally where you’re not climbing, descending or banking.”

McClair made a few notes. “I see. And is that the same for disengaging the system?”

Rob thought for a moment. “Yes. We select level flight usually before switching back to manual control.”

“What would be the result if you disengaged during a descent, for instance?”

“It’s not necessarily a terrible thing, but the aircraft would continue to descend unless you manually intervened. Which of course you would. You’d only disengage with your hands on the stick and throttle, ready.”

“Thank you, Flight Lieutenant. And just so I’m completely clear, squadron leader Johnson was the nominal handling pilot for this leg?”

“Yes. We still called it that, even though Guiding Light was actually handling the aircraft, it was your job to monitor and be ready to intervene.”

“But as you note here, Johnson was looking over to you at the time of the ground strike?”

Rob took his time. The memory was foggy and further blurred by the horror.

“I think he was looking at the chart, maybe to brief himself ahead of the climb out. But I’m not really sure why. I was about to brief him and give him a landmark.”

For the next twenty minutes, McClair pushed him on the final thirty seconds. Rob stuck to a flat monotone, treating the questions as an academic exercise, trying his best to distance his emotions.

But McClair’s questions made it hard.

“You communicated with Milford and Bright as they tried to escape? You saw them?”

“Yes, sir. We usually left the divider to the cockpit open, so I could turn back and see them.”

“Describe that to me, please.”

Rob looked down at the pen marks and scratches on the table. How many men had been through this before? How many bomber pilots in the war headed back down the aircraft to bail out, passing dead and mortally injured colleagues?

“Bright was out of his seat. He had his hands on the side of the compartment. Remember, we were upside down but still rolling. He hadn’t made any progress toward the hatch. He was pushed further away from it, as I looked. It was like a nightmare where you’re running through treacle trying to escape from someone.”

“And Squadron Leader Milford?”

Rob shook his head. “He looked paralysed. He just stared at me.” His voice finally broke.

McClair put his pen down. “Take your time, Flight Lieutenant. I know this must be hard.”

Rob took a few deep breaths.

“He was injured, a cut across his forehead. I think he was dazed. Even if the hatch was opened, Steve Bright would have had to manhandle him out.”

McClair made notes.

“I have just one more area I need to ask about. The timing of Squadron Leader Johnson’s ejection. Did you discuss it at all?”

Rob shook his head. “No. We barely said anything. It took me by surprise.”

“So he acted unilaterally?”

Rob nodded.

“Thank you, May. You’ve been most helpful. Do you have questions for me?”

“When will the report be ready?”

McClair shrugged. “We’ve only just begun the examination of the main wreckage, and I’ve an eye witness to speak to in Wales. After that we’ll put everything together, but it won’t be for some time, I’m afraid. You know how it is.” He shuffled his papers into a single pile. “But I don’t expect our conclusions to change.”

“I don’t suppose there’s anything else it could be.”

McClair furrowed his brow. “Has Wing Commander Kilton already spoken to you?”

“No. It’s just… It must have been Guiding Light.”

McClair leant back in his chair. “We wouldn’t normally discuss our early conclusions publicly, not that any of this will become public for some decades, of course, but Wing Commander Kilton is keen that I share our initial findings with you. I think he’s worried about your sense of guilt, being the only survivor.

“What I’m about to tell you is preliminary, but as I say, I will be very surprised if the conclusions change. Because of the sensitive nature of the project, we were required to retrieve the Guiding Light panels and equipment from the wreckage first. All of that has been thoroughly examined by technical experts at Farnborough with assistance from Blackton technicians. We are now certain of one fact. Guiding Light was not operational at the moment of ground strike.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Well, I’m not sure how familiar you are with the panel in the rear bay, but you might know there is a master switch. It was in the off position. So you see, you had a chart in front of you, not unreasonably planning ahead. Speedy took his eyes off the terrain, and at that moment, Guiding Light was disengaged. As you know, there’s no audible alarm and so neither of you noticed. But the aircraft was already at three hundred feet and descending, gently, so you suffered a glancing blow off the ground, enough to severely damage the elevons on the port side and fill the engines with dirt.”

Rob’s mouth hung open.

“Wing Commander Kilton suggested the conclusion might surprise you, but I was hoping it would reassure you. You could not have predicted it, and you were certainly acting appropriately, carrying out in-flight planning. It’s just a shame of course that Speedy Johnson chose that moment to become distracted from his task.”

Rob shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m having difficulty with this. You say the master switch in the rear panel was off?”

“It was most definitely in the off position. There are several possible explanations and they’ll be listed in the final report.”

“Such as?”

“Well, Squadron Leader Milford may have become disorientated. He was, after all, quite old to be flying about at low-level in the back of a Vulcan.” Rob shook his head, but McClair pressed on. “He may have inadvertently knocked it with something like the sleeve of a magnetic tape. Or, and I hesitate to suggest this is likely, but we have to consider the possibility that Milford did it deliberately.”

Rob stared, stunned to silence.

“As I say,” McClair continued, “I’m not a fan of that last possibility, but as I understand it, Milford had taken against the project and there’s a school of thought that he may have benefitted from a repeat of an earlier incident in which he believed Guiding Light had briefly suffered an aberration. The theory goes that he aimed to momentarily disengage, long enough for you two to notice and claim back control of the Vulcan. Unfortunately, neither of you was looking out at that very moment. But as I say, it’s far-fetched in my opinion and it may not even make it into the final report.”

Rob leant forward. “But Guiding Light was flying us. It can’t have been off. And Millie was right. There was something wrong. Something buried inside it that didn’t work.”

McClair shot him a look of sympathy. “I’m told you were close to Christopher Milford?”

“With respect, sir, why is that relevant?”

“Well, Wing Commander Kilton suggested you may find any blame put on Milford hard to digest. But I have to tell you what we found. The master switch, as you may know, is caged. I’ve inspected the other TFU Vulcan and seen it for myself. The investigators at Farnborough, who have a wide experience of such matters, are determined the crash forces could not have moved the switch. The metal cage guards are not damaged and like all such switches, it requires a specific force. No, it’s an immutable fact of our investigation that the master switch was in the off position and therefore Guiding Light was not operational at the time of the ground strike. The good news for you is that the project continues. I believe you are to resume as early as next week. That is, as long as you wish to? No-one will blame you, Robert, if you ask to transfer to something different.”

Rob’s head swam. The room was unbearably hot and stuffy.

“Are you feeling alright, Flight Lieutenant?”

“I don’t understand… It can’t be…”

“I can see this has been a bit of a shock for you. If it’s any consolation, I am strongly minded to leave the last possibility out of the final report. I doubt anyone will object and it just seems unlikely to me.”

“But you find it likely that Millie, with decades of flying experience, accidentally switched off a critical piece of equipment? Endangering his and everyone else’s life?”

“Accidentally? Yes. I’m afraid we’ve seen it all too often in the past. This is my third Board of Inquiry and I can tell you in all three cases the aircraft were perfectly serviceable but put into a configuration by the crew that led to a crash. It’s far too common unfortunately. Of course, we will never know for sure, but as it stands we have no other conclusions we can draw.” McClair stood up. “Look, I understand this has been upsetting for you. I should probably go now, but please do use this room for as long as you want. It’s booked for the afternoon. It might be a nice place to recover yourself before heading back out.”

Rob should have stood for a senior officer, but he stayed slumped in his seat.

McClair loitered for a second.

“Well, I’ll be off then. Very best of luck, Flight Lieutenant May.” He picked up his briefcase and pushed his chair under the table. “No need to salute.” He headed out.

His heels clicked on the wooden floor as he departed.

An image filled Rob’s mind.

A box of secret conclusions; pages of Millie’s precious, scrawled handwriting.

Evidence that Guiding Light was fatally flawed, burning on a bonfire.

He leapt from his seat and walked as quickly as he could without running down the corridor and back to TFU.

IN THE PLANNING room he headed straight for his locker, picked out his car keys and turned to find Mark Kilton blocking his way.

“How did it go?”

“Fine.”

“Just fine? Did he explain the BOI’s theory to you?”

“Yes.”

“Good. So you know the project resumes flying next week? I’d like to hit the ground running.”

Rob winced at the clumsy metaphor.

“We’ll carry out the remaining hours back at one thousand feet just as a precaution,” Kilton continued. “It’s good news for the unit and for you, May. I’d like you to take the lead. We’ll need a signature on the project recommendation and I know I can rely on you.”

“You want me to take Millie’s place?”

“I can’t think of a better man for the job. You’ve come a long way in a short time. Don’t let this unfortunate incident put the brakes on a career that has so much promise.”

“Can I think about it?”

Kilton looked surprised, then suspicious. “If you must.”

“Thank you. Now, if you don’t mind, boss. I’d like to go home to Mary. I found the interview rather upsetting.”

Kilton moved aside.

In the car park, he started up the Healey and sped out, thankfully avoiding a car search.

On the way into the village he pulled over into a long lay-by with a phone box.

He dialled the operator. “Yes, I need a bed and breakfast called Prickwillow.”

“In which area?”

“Try Amesbury.”

A few seconds of pages turning.

“Nothing listed, I’m afraid. Would you like me to look further afield? How about Andover?”

“Yes, please. It’s urgent.”

Seconds ticked by. More pages turning. Other operators in the background.

“Sorry, sir. There’s a Willows Surgery in Andover, but nothing like Prickwillow.”

His heart sunk.

“I could try Salisbury?”

“Yes, please.”

“Hold on.”

The line went quiet. More seconds went by. He couldn’t get the image out of his mind: Susie tipping the box onto a raging fire.

“Please… hurry up,” he said to the silence.

The line opened again. “Sorry about that. I had to get a different directory. Now, let’s have a look. Porch Hall, Practice… Ah, Prickwillow Bed and Breakfast. It’s Salisbury 2197. Would you like me to connect you?”

“Can you give me the address first?”

“Bell View Road. I’ll connect you now.”

He waited as the line clicked and whirred. The phone rang four times with agonising pauses between each tone. A woman answered, but the pips interrupted her.

He pulled out a handful of coins; several clattered to the floor. He fumbled a tuppence into the slot, pushing it hard against the clunky mechanism.

“Susie?”

“Do you mean Miss Attenborough?”

He didn’t even know her surname. And what if she’d made up a first name?

“Susie Attenborough,” said the woman. “Is that who you mean?”

“Yes. Yes, please.”

“Please wait.”

The phone went down, but was quickly picked up again. “Sorry, who shall I say is calling?”

“Rob,” he said, immediately wondering if he was breaking all her rules.

The phone went down again. In the background he heard a tap on a door and a mumbled exchange.

A moment later, Susie’s voice appeared on the line, bright and friendly.

“Hello?”

“Have you burned the stuff?”

“Oh, hello, Robert. How are you? Everything OK?”

“Have you burned the stuff? Please tell me you haven’t.”

“It’s all fine here, thank you. No fires. Ha ha. How’s your father?”

Rob was at a loss. How to take part in this conversation… Clearly the landlady was listening in.

“So you haven’t burned the stuff?”

“No, no. Not yet. The weather’s been lovely, hasn’t it? How’s it looking over there?”

“It’s all changed. They’re pressing on with the project. They’ve blamed Millie for the crash. I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet of you, but really. You didn’t have to. I’ll tell you what. Why don’t I buy the drinks next time? I’ve been going to a very nice place in Salisbury. Do you know The Haunch of Venison? It’s quite famous.”

“Yes, yes. I do. When?”

“Oh, you know. The usual. Same, same. Anyway, we mustn’t chat on like this, it must be costing you a fortune. Do give my love to Sandra. Byeeee!”

She hung up.

His hand shook as he replaced the receiver.

Same, same.

7.30PM sharp?

He looked at his watch; it was nearly 5PM.

AT DINNER, he wrestled with the idea of telling Mary everything.

But he decided news of a secret meeting with a young, attractive woman might not go down well and he didn’t need any more complications.

“I’ve got to head off to the mess. I promised the boys.”

“OK,” Mary replied and smiled at him.

He paced the garden, willing away the minutes. At one point he caught Mary staring at him from the dining room.

Susie’s admonishing first words came to him.

Act normally.

THE HAUNCH of Venison was packed. It was a small pub and 7.20PM on a Friday was the middle of the overlap period, mixing office workers and Friday night revellers.

Smoke stung his eyes as he pushed his way to the bar.

The landlord, with reading glasses on a chain around his neck, poured a succession of pints before he caught Rob’s eye.

“I’ll be with you in a moment, sir.”

“Thank you.”

A voice piped up beside him. “Bloody Friday nights.”

It was Susie. Still blonde. She flashed a smile.

“The usual?” he asked.

“Yes, please. Why not make it a pint? It’ll take a while to get back to the bar.”

“A pint?”

Rob couldn’t remember ever seeing a woman with a whole pint.

A group of drinkers had spilled onto the pavement outside and they headed out with them. A couple of men were clearly taken by this slim blonde with a pint of Guinness.

They walked along the Tudor exterior of the pub and found themselves a quiet spot.

“So, what’s changed?” she asked.

“I had my Board of Inquiry interview today.”

“I see. And who runs that?”

“A group captain. They always appoint someone more senior than anyone on board. Anyway, it was all awful, going through it again. But at the end, he said it wasn’t Guiding Light that caused the crash.”

Susie didn’t look surprised.

“Did he say what did cause it?”

“Millie.”

“I’m sorry?”

“He’s going to blame Millie. He says the master switch on Millie’s Guiding Light panel was off.”

“So who was flying the aircraft?”

“That’s just it. No-one. If that was the case, and I’m bloody certain it wasn’t. But if Millie had switched it off, the aircraft would have reverted to manual control. Unfortunately, on this version of the equipment, there’s no alarm that goes off to alert us that the autopilot’s been cancelled. So in theory, the Vulcan just drifts without any input from the crew. In our case, he’s going to say it must have drifted lower until we glanced off the rocks, ripping the elevons off on one side.”

Susie looked puzzled.

“So what’s this group captain’s theory? That Millie did it deliberately?”

“That’s one option, although he says he’s minded to leave it out. But someone, and by someone I mean Mark Kilton, must have suggested to him that Millie did it to trigger a manual intervention from us, which he’d then blame on Guiding Light to prove his point. It’s a neat theory, I’ll give him that.”

“Rob, is there any chance Milford was that desperate? Maybe he was wrong about Guiding Light, but felt too committed to his theory. Could he have done something like this?”

“Absolutely not. No.”

“He was your friend, Rob. Are you being honest with yourself?”

“I promise you, it’s beyond any possibility that he would have done it deliberately. And frankly, I don’t buy for one second he did it accidentally.”

“But yet they found the switch in the off position. Do you have any reason to suspect this group captain of anything? You think he’s working with Kilton?”

Rob thought for a moment. “It’s possible, I suppose, but doesn’t seem likely. Look, I can’t explain it, but I’m certain of a few things. Millie didn’t switch it off. The system failed. And someone is covering that up to keep the project going, despite everything we should know about it.”

They stood in silence for a moment. The light was fading, and Salisbury’s street lamps were starting to illuminate.

“Before we go any further,” said Susie, “let’s examine your options. Firstly, the earlier incident you mentioned. Why not use that to have the project grounded? Tell them you regret agreeing with Kilton and get everyone else on board. Go in as a team. Go straight to the station commander.”

Rob shook his head. “The other people on that flight are dead or gone. Millie and Steve Bright are dead, Brian Hill was effectively sacked from TFU for insubordination. And…”

“And?”

“I’d have to say I lied, which doesn’t make me a good witness. Plus, Kilton was right. We had no evidence, anyway. Millie wasn’t running a tape. I just can’t see Periwinkle overruling Kilton based on my say-so.”

“Periwinkle’s the station commander?”

“Yes.”

“OK.” Susie took a deep breath. “Let’s say you’re Millie, coming to me with … what, exactly? That sheet of notes? Is that the evidence I need to take upstairs at my place? I can tell you the burden of proof for corruption is pretty high when you’re dealing with a national security project that reports directly to Whitehall.”

“The answer’s in there somewhere, I’m sure of it. I just need to decode it. Where is the box now?”

“Back at the B&B, but they strictly forbid visitors of the opposite sex after 6PM. It’s Saturday tomorrow. How about you come to me in the morning?”

He nodded.

“There’s one more thing, Rob. I can’t promise I’ll be here next week. Even telling them the project’s running again might not change their minds. As a matter of fact, I think they’re scared of this one. It’s a huge deal. We go in guns blazing, making serious accusations… We would need to have solid gold evidence.”

“I can’t let him down again.”

“I know. But the focus is now on your black-and-white evidence. Nothing more, nothing less. It can’t be about your remorse, Rob.”