The Final Flight

³² FRIDAY 8TH JULY

Susie groaned. It felt like she’d only dropped onto the bed a few minutes ago.

With an effort, she pulled herself upright and allowed her mind to wake up.

Snatches of conversations came back to her, along with sketchy details of the plan.

Her doubts also returned

It was too complex. There was too much that could go wrong. The outcome was uncertain.

It was 8.05AM. She needed to go shopping.

AN HOUR LATER, Susie was the first customer of the day at Turner’s department store in Salisbury.

She strode past the sofas and mahogany desks until she reached Ladies’ Wear.

Briefly distracted by the new stock from Mary Quant, she pulled a miniskirt from the rack and held it to her waist.

An elegant, middle-aged woman appeared.

“I can see madam has the figure for the skirt.”

Susie smiled and placed it back on the hangar.

“Thank you, but I don’t think it’s what I need today.”

She turned to look at an area of more conventional clothes, spying a David Windsmoor dress her mother might well have worn.

The assistant followed her gaze. “Is madam shopping for a particular occasion?”

“Yes. A funeral.”

THE FULL LENGTH mirror in the hall was cracked, and the dim light from the single bulb above made it barely usable. But Georgina managed to draw on a thin layer of eye-liner and a thicker layer of bright red lipstick.

She pulled on her wide brimmed navy hat with a cream trim to match her dress.

Standing back, she noticed how pale her skin looked, accentuated by the lipstick. Or maybe it was the low wattage bulb.

A low wattage bulb in a low wattage house on the edge of nowhere.

How had it come to this so quickly? How could Millie have let her down so badly?

Carrying on with something, gambling with their future.

And losing.

It was such a pleasant Friday afternoon, when Mark Kilton had arrived to take her life away.

A movement behind her. She turned to see Charlie hunting for a piece of mirror to help fit his tie.

She turned and took over the task.

“You look so handsome, darling.”

He grimaced, and didn’t reply.

“Come on, the car will be here in a minute. Let’s be brave together.”

MOST OF THE men arrived into the planning room in their full service dress.

The chat around the tea bar was subdued.

Red Brunson stood on one side of the room and watched Kilton emerge from his office, medals in place.

He looked the picture of authority; a steady rock in the uncertain world of the test pilot.

Red should have known from his time at Edwards that appearances can be deceptive.

Jock MacLeish was hunched over a chart; one of only two pilots in working clothes. They were drawing a line, not on an air chart but on an Ordnance Survey map; the sort of detailed map a walker might use. Red peered at the initial point MacLeish had selected: a crossroads on the A345 three miles south of Amesbury. He nodded his approval and patted Jock on the back, confident he would do Millie proud.

Red felt the men next to him stiffen as Kilton looked over.

“It’s odd now, isn’t it?” MacLeish said quietly to the others. “Looking at him now?”

Red didn’t reply, but he followed Kilton’s progress out of the door.

For good measure, he moved into the entrance area to TFU and watched as the boss got into the back of a black staff car complete with flag.

The car pulled away and turned right, not left toward the main gate.

Puzzled, Red checked his watch. Still two hours until the funeral.

ROB ROLLED himself off the camp bed and struggled to his feet.

The walls glistened with moisture; the room clearly wasn’t designed to hold a sleeping man. The unventilated, moist air clung to his skin.

A plate of breakfast sat on the table; he had barely moved when the corporal brought it in.

He’d heard nothing following his interrogation.

By the early hours, alone in the silence, any lingering hope vanished.

They’d given him a set of exercise clothes to wear as pyjamas.

They even had his watch; he had no idea what time it was.

They were going to bury Millie without him.

The cell door pushed open; Rob stood up.

“Corporal, please let me go to—” He cut his question short when the corporal stepped aside and ushered in Mary.

He ran forward, like a toddler to his mother. The guard looked startled.

“It’s all right,” said Mary. “I’m here to take you to the church,” she whispered into his ear.

The corporal ushered them both out of the temporary cell.

“There are showers in the gymnasium if you want to use them,” he said. “But you haven’t got long.”

The guard picked up a pile of clothes from a trestle table next to the entrance to the building.

Next to the clothes was a document with a fountain pen on top.

The corporal handed him his dress uniform, and his spirits rose at the thought of Mary retrieving his clothes, back in their home.

There was so much he wanted to say to her. But she backed away, apparently unwilling to have a conversation.

“I’ll wait for you.”

The corporal ushered him out of the building and marched alongside as they walked the short distance to the station gym.

“Is it strictly necessary to guard me to the showers, Corporal?”

“Just my orders, sir. You no longer have a pass to West Porton. You’re a visitor and must be escorted.”

He undressed in the changing room and stood under one of the silver heads in the empty communal showers. He closed his eyes, letting the water flood over him.

He screwed the tap shut. The water became a dribble and then a series of drips. He leaned with one hand on the cold tiled wall. The shower had felt like an oasis, a haven.

He wrenched himself away and stepped out to see Mark Kilton standing in the centre of the room.

Medals gleaming, RAF hat tucked under his arm.

Rob was naked, with water pooling around his feet. Kilton stood between him and his towel and clothes.

“You have a choice, May. Put your signature to the completed project today and I will not prosecute you. We will record nothing that occurred yesterday or in the previous week on your file. You will be transferred to Transport Command and posted to Hong Kong, with Mary. It’s a staff job, but you will retain your General Duties branch status and be available for a flying position in the future. I shall see that you receive a favourable evaluation from your time here.

“You’ll be sipping G&Ts on the veranda in the Far East with all this behind you. And you’ll be free to attend Millie’s funeral, under escort of course.”

“Or?”

“You’ll face a court martial. Your views on the project will be inadmissible under the Official Secrets Act. You will have no defence to a series of detailed charges that include insubordination, unauthorised and unsafe operation of both Royal Air Force and Ministry of Aviation aircraft, and breach of the Official Secrets Act. We are also considering a charge of treason. Either way, the sentence for your inevitable conviction will be around twenty-five years in prison. Oh, and by the way, Guiding Light will be in full service regardless of your choice, of course.”

“Then why do you need my signature?”

“I don’t.”

Rob stood in silence. The only power he had over Kilton was to make him wait for an answer.

He walked past the boss to his towel and wrapped it around his waist.

“8.75.”

“What?” said Kilton, irritated.

“8.75. That was the conclusion Millie reached after the analysis. 8.75 aircrew every year.”

Kilton’s expression didn’t change.

“I’m interested. What was your figure? After all, you had a lot more data to go on than we did.”

“May, either sign the document and attend Millie’s funeral, or refuse, and you’ll be back in your cell while we arrange the charges. The choice is yours.”

Rob stared at Kilton, impassive.

Kilton turned on his heels. “I’m not playing your games. The papers are at the police station. The corporal will escort you.”

A POLISHED BOOT rose into the air and came down with a crunch on the gravelled church path. Sergeant Nigel Woodward’s steps moved in unison with those of his fellow pallbearers.

Like many of the TFU NCO’s, he had volunteered immediately to carry Squadron Leader Milford’s coffin. With shining buttons and medals in place, he did his duty with as much precision as he could muster.

Ahead, the vicar waited, white surplice flowing in the gentle breeze.

They reached the door and paused.

Following some unseen communication, the organist began to play ‘Abide With Me’.

They marched into the church with slow, measured steps.

Every pew was full. Uniformed men, and women with large hats stood, facing forward as the pallbearers turned into the aisle and continued to the side of the pulpit.

Two wooden stands, ready for them.

After reaching the front, they began their choreographed routine to lower the coffin from their shoulders to its temporary resting place.

Woodward glanced at the others and, with a barely perceived nod, they turned in unison to face back down the aisle.

The pallbearers marched to the back of the church and joined the mourners who had arrived too late for a seat.

An elderly gentleman appeared and pressed an order of service into the vicar’s hands.

THEY HAD NOT ALLOWED Rob time alone with Mary. She sat alongside him in the back of a plain RAF car, accompanied by a police sergeant in the passenger seat.

The slow draw of his signature on the papers had felt like the final betrayal.

Everything that followed was demeaning.

Stripped of his security papers, Rob was officially not welcome at RAF West Porton. The only exception was that he could attend the wake in the officers’ mess as a guest. But they would escort him on and off the station.

They arrived late at the church, but a space had been saved in the second pew, directly behind Georgina and Charlie.

As they walked down the aisle, Rob gazed at the ground, unable to make eye contact with anyone else.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he hissed at Mary. “What will they think of me?”

The only face he caught as he shuffled into the pew was Kilton’s. Two rows back, eyes staring straight ahead.

The victor picking over the bones of the vanquished.

He took his seat. Mary bowed her head and appeared to be praying.

He thought of Millie. An image came into his mind: Millie with Belkin, poring over statistics.

All that work he had completed alone.

How different would it have been if they’d collaborated?

He imagined the two of them meeting with Susie, explaining what they had found and planning the gathering of further evidence.

That is not what happened.

There had been no meeting with Susie.

There was no usable evidence.

There would be no cavalry charge from MI5. He was certain of that now.

She would be back in London; on to her next task.

He studied the order of service.

It included his name. Had Kilton tried to influence that?

But there it was: the first reading. A short section of the Bible given to him by Jean what seemed like a year ago; but it was just a matter of days.

He turned the page.

Wing Commander Mark Kilton DFC would give the eulogy.

He felt sick.

“I can’t do this,” he whispered to Mary.

She shushed him, with a strange urgency in her eyes. “Act normally.”

It must have been a show for Georgina. Mary still hadn’t forgiven him; she still believed he was having an affair, but she wanted to put on a front, just for today.

The organ stopped and the congregation stood up. Charlie supported his mother in her attempt to rise. Rob and Mary put out their hands to help.

Georgina rose, unsteady.

He wanted to sob, but he was in uniform, stifled by all those years of maintaining a stiff-upper-lip.

After a moment, the coffin appeared in his peripheral vision and Mary broke down, lifting a hanky to her eyes.

He fought back his own tears, tilting his head up to keep them from falling.

Not in uniform.

The stifling, suffocating uniform.

Nigel Woodward caught his eye. The sergeant who’d almost ended his flying career by releasing that gas bomb.

Everyone loved Millie.

Rob concentrated on the precision of the pallbearers.

Anything to stave off the tears.

The vicar appeared and, after a brief word, they launched into a hymn.

Christopher Milford and everything he stood for was writ large in every line:

Rob sang with his eyes fixed on the order of service. He kept his head bowed, humiliated by the words.

In that moment, he had an awful realisation that he would go to his own grave knowing he had failed in the only task that had truly mattered to him.

There would be no absolution.

Kilton had ensured the victory was complete by leaving him no choice but to sign Guiding Light into service.

But the real punishment was the guilt: already crushing him, and now a life sentence.

The singing stopped. He sat down, consumed with his own thoughts.

It was a moment before he realised they were waiting for him. The vicar motioned with his hands for Rob to take to the lectern that held the large bible.

He stood and shuffled along the pew. The vicar put a hand on his arm as he passed.

“The bible’s open at the right page.”

Rob stepped onto the wooden plinth at the base of the lectern and found the start of his passage in the church’s ornate King James Bible.

He took a deep breath and looked up.

Straight into the eyes of Susie Attenborough.

His mouth dropped open. He faltered, and snapped his head back down.

Had he really seen her?

She sat upright in a black dress and black-brimmed hat, next to Red and Sarah Brunson.

He looked up again. She smiled at him, looking serene.

Kilton sat directly in front of Susie, glaring at Rob.

He recovered himself and looked down at the reading. But he couldn’t stop himself from looking again.

This time, Susie had an admonishing expression on her face. She mouthed some words.

“Get on with it.”

The congregation shuffled at the awkward silence.

Clearing his throat, and hoping his voice would carry further than the front pew, he read aloud, bringing as much measure and authority as he could muster.

To his surprise, his voice sounded strong.

He reached the last word and allowed himself a proper look at the congregation. His eyes swept across the packed church.

He wasn’t sure exactly what to expect from his former colleagues.

Judgement? Disappointment?

What he saw was sympathy. Warmth, even.

Red Brunson looked directly at him, confidence in his gaze.

He returned to his seat.

They sang ‘Jerusalem’. During the second verse, Mark Kilton made his way promptly to the lectern.

He recounted tales of World War Two. Millie as an engineer who worked miracles to keep them flying day after day.

He drew laughs with his accurate descriptions of Millie’s inability to hold his beer, and his natural clumsiness. He paid a warm tribute to Millie’s patriotism and sense of duty.

Kilton’s eulogy went down well; had it not been in church, he may have received a round of applause.

After he returned to his seat, the vicar’s voice shifted. He spoke with deep solemnity, in a serious and authoritative tone. Woodward and the pallbearers reappeared. As they manoeuvred to raise Millie to their shoulders, an overwhelming sense of grief and finality swept across Rob, and he couldn’t force back the tears any longer.

Damn the bloody uniform.

As the coffin was walked past, he turned. Red Brunson also had tears streaming down his face, as did Dave Berringer, George Taffter, Henry Wiseman, Leslie Owens…

In fact, all his colleagues were weeping.

Why had he even tried to keep it in?

Georgina and Charlie followed the coffin, Millie’s widow slumped against her son. Rob and the others in the second row moved out to follow them.

Within a few minutes, the large congregation had filled one half of the graveyard. Rob and Mary stood close to Georgina, staring at the coffin which was now on the ground next to the freshly dug grave.

Rob looked around again, desperate to see her.

Eventually, he spotted Red, towering over the crowd, leaning down, talking to someone.

He wanted desperately to join them, to find out who Red thought she was.

And why was she here?

The congregation closed around the grave. A breeze flapped at the dresses and the women held one hand on their hats.

The vicar projected his voice to the furthest reaches of the graveyard.

“I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord. He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live. And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.”

Millie had been a more regular churchgoer than he or Mary. Rob could only hope this meant something more than a few stirring words.

The pallbearers stood either side of the grave and lifted the coffin. Rob’s legs wobbled and he clutched at Mary. She squeezed him tight and tears fell freely from his eyes.

Goodbye, old friend.

As the vicar spoke, a low rumbling began behind them.

“We therefore commit his body to the ground. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. In sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life.”

A thunderous noise erupted above them, and the sun was blotted out as a huge Avro Vulcan swept over and pulled up, climbing toward the clouds.

“Christ, that was low,” he said to Mary.

They were all hit by a blast of following air. Hats flew off in the swirling vortexes, grit and dirt kicked up from the ground, and men and women plugged their ears, too late against the roar.

The flypast had been recklessly low, and the vicar and crowd had ducked. But as they rose up again, gathered their hats, and picked the dirt from their eyes, laughter and cheers rippled forward from the back of the crowd.

Georgina turned, smiling at Rob.

“What fun!” she mouthed at him, and he broke into a broad smile.

The coffin was lowered. The vicar picked up a clump of earth and dropped it. Georgina and Charlie did the same.

Mary used her hand to guide Rob a step forward; he bent down to scoop up his own fistful of soil.

“I’m sorry,” he said, with a cracked and weak voice, as he released the earth onto the coffin of Christopher Milford.

AS THEY WALKED from the grave, Rob pressed himself close to Mary, wrapping an arm around her, pulling her tightly against him.

“I’ve never needed you more,” he said.

She pushed her arm around his waist; it felt good.

“Are we back together?” he whispered.

She looked at him, their faces an inch apart. He smelt her sweet breath and wallowed in a moment of intimacy.

“Everything’s changed. Just act normally, follow along.” She snapped her head forward and unentangled her arm, looking nervous.

Confused, Rob looked around, searching for Susie. Finally, he spotted her next to Red Brunson. They were already through the gate, ahead and beyond the policemen who were waiting for him.

He couldn’t take his eyes from Red and Susie together, but as he and Mary arrived at the police car, a door opened, and they were ushered into the backseat.

The security men climbed into the front, and the sergeant in the passenger seat turned to them.

“You’ll be dropped at the officers’ mess. We will wait outside until you wish to leave, at which point we will escort you off the station. We can give you a lift somewhere nearby.”

Before Rob could answer, Mary spoke up. “I’ve arranged a lift from the mess with Lieutenant Brunson.”

“Fine, but we’ll still have to escort the vehicle off the station. It’s our orders.”

“I understand,” she said.

Rob stayed silent.

They passed through the gates to RAF West Porton; the car drove directly to the front door of the mess.

Rob climbed out, as mourners walked past from the car park.

Inside the mess, they made their way to the large anteroom, securing the early pickings at the buffet and wine. But Rob wasn’t hungry.

The room filled quickly and the chatter level rose.

Rob tried to talk to Mary again, but she warned him off with a stern look and a shake of the head.

Before he knew it, the room was packed, and Rob could see only the few people directly around him, and there was no-one he knew well.

Red Brunson appeared, pushing through the throng.

Brunson’s eyes locked with Rob’s but then darted to his left, urging Rob to look behind him.

Mark Kilton followed him.

Rob stiffened.

Kilton stopped to talk to a group; he was only a few yards away.

From behind Red’s frame, Susie Attenborough stepped out.

Red ushered her forward.

“This is Susan Wilson. She worked with Millie at Boscombe Down.”

Susie put out her hand. Rob stared, eventually taking the cue and shaking it.

“Hello,” he managed.

“I’m so sorry for you all. I hadn’t seen Millie for some time, but he was the perfect gentleman and we are all very upset.”

“He was,” said Red.

A waiter appeared with a tray of white wine. Susie took a glass, along with Mary. But Red Brunson sipped from an orange juice.

“I’m flying later,” he told Rob, and looked at him, apparently waiting for a reaction.

The final flight of project Guiding Light.

Rob stared at Susie, but she was looking elsewhere.

There was some shuffling in the crowd to their right as Georgina arrived into the room with Charlie. Kilton left the nearby group to greet them.

A moment later, a cheer went up, and Rob turned to see Jock MacLeish arrive, all smiles as he received several slaps on the back.

“What’s that about?” he asked Red.

“The flypast,” Red said, beaming.

“Low, loud and probably illegal,” one of the TFU pilots nearby said. “But just about the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Millie would have loved it,” Rob said, laughing.

A couple more men from TFU joined them, ushering their wives away.

Rob got a few polite greetings from his former colleagues. But no-one asked him where he had been or what was happening to him.

The temperature in the room rose. He felt dizzy.

He stood alone in a crowd.

Red was talking to Susie. Mary moved away.

Either it was his imagination, or the other chaps around him were turning their backs on him, one by one.

He was now boxed in with Red and Susie.

Red grabbed his arm to get his attention.

“How you doing, buddy?”

Rob’s head swam. “Not good. I think I might faint.”

Red’s grip on his arm became firmer. Susie moved alongside him.

“Susie…” His voice cracked.

He leant forward, but she pushed him away.

“We don’t have time for that. Listen. My people. They’re not going to do anything.”

“I know.”

“You should have told me,” Red said to him. “You shouldn’t have done this alone. What were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think I could say anything to anyone. And now it’s too late.”

Susie’s hand appeared on his arm. “Not necessarily.”

Rob looked back at Red. “But the final flight. It’s today, isn’t it?”

One of the men with his back to them leaned over.

“Kilton!”

Red spoke with a sense of urgency. “Do you want a last chance? It won’t be easy and it’s risky, but it’s up to you, buddy.”

“What do you mean?”

Red continued. “Say yes. You’re going to have to trust me. And I tell you now, it might not work. In fact, I don’t think it will work. But it’s all we can think of. Only Kilton can stop the project. That’s how it’s all set up. That’s how everything at TFU is set up. So you have to change his mind.”

“I can’t do that.”

“What if you could take him flying? Him and Ewan Stafford?”

“What?”

Susie slipped away; the three men turned and faced in, and immediately fell into conversation about Millie’s obsession with scotch.

Kilton walked past, nodded at the men, but didn’t make eye contact with Rob.

Red looked back at Rob.

“You need to be ready and you’ll need to do exactly what we say, when we say it. OK?”

He was pushed over to a new group to talk to. He caught up with Jock MacLeish and congratulated him on the flypast. Jock winked and downed another glass.

AFTER ROB HAD BEEN THERE for an hour, two security force officers appeared in the doorway. He watched as they made their way to Kilton, who pointed directly at Rob.

Red came across.

“Time to go, buddy. Are you ready?”

“What for?”

“You’ll find out soon, I promise. For now, just do what we say. This is gonna be tight.”

The wives appeared. A group of TFU officers moved toward the door. In the lobby, they waited for the security men.

Rob stared at the oil paintings of senior officers standing beside fighters and bombers of years gone by.

Each one staring proudly into the distance.

The men who had nursed new aircraft into the world.

Wartime aces and post-war test pilots.

Heroes of the work, whose diligence ensured the safety of ordinary squadron pilots and crews; the men who would climb into the machines for decades after those first tentative flights.

Mary looked worried.

“Are you OK?”

“I lost my way, Mary.”

“What?”

“This is what we do here. We make things better, not worse. That’s what Millie was trying to tell me.”

She held his hand.

“I know, darling. And the boys want you to have one more chance.” She paused. “But you don’t have to do it. You don’t have to if you don’t want to. And if you do, you promise one thing, Flight Lieutenant May?”

“What?”

“You come back to me,” she whispered.

A security officer reached Rob. “Let’s go.”

The group followed into the car park.

Red’s estate car was parked back to back with an RAF Land Rover. A couple of men in fatigues were working at its rear, pulling a canvas over and tying it down.

As they got to the car, a few things happened at once.

With the security guards watching, Rob was ushered into the back of Red’s car. Confusingly, the back seat was completely folded flat, and he wasn’t sure where to put his legs.

Then there was a scream.

He whipped his head around to see Susie on the floor, holding her ankle. The security guards bent down to help her.

At that same moment, Rob felt a firm grip on his arm. He looked up to see one of the NCOs in the back of the Land Rover pulling him roughly back through Red’s car. He landed with a thump in the dark interior of the wagon. As the canvas came down over the back, Rob glimpsed the back seats going up and someone he didn’t recognise, but who was about the same size as him, pulling on his RAF cap and settling into Red’s back seat.

It was the last thing he saw before the Land Rover engine started and the vehicle pulled away.

One of the men with him peeped through a tiny crack in the rear canvas.

“OK. The women are now getting in. Police are watching. Stand by.”

There was a tense pause.

“They’re going for it. Yes. They’ve got into their wagon, and Red’s pulled away.”

“Superb!” one of the men in the back said. “You owe me a pound.”

After several minutes of driving, the vehicle stopped.

Rob heard the Land Rover doors open at the front. Light flooded in as the canvas at the rear was pulled to one side.

An ageing warrant officer looked in.

“Your stop, Flight Lieutenant May.”

Rob climbed out and found himself at the back of the ramshackle Maintenance Unit. The men led him inside, where a small team had assembled to greet him. He glanced around; there were eight or so men looking at him, but no-one he knew well.

JR was not there.

“I’m Ted Durrant,” said a man sporting RAF wings and a moustache. “I’m one of the pilots here. It’s my job to brief you for your flight. JR apologises for his absence.”

It took Rob a second to process what he’d heard.

“My flight?”

The men looked at each other for a moment before the warrant officer stepped forward and addressed the MU men.

“None of you have to be here for this. If you choose to stay, you’re implicating yourself in a deception. It’s your choice, boys. No-one will think less of you for leaving. On the other hand, if you want to end the empire of that scheming bastard Kilton, then maybe you should stay.”

The men laughed and not a soul moved from his position.

Durrant guided him by his arm. “OK, then. Rob, if you’ll step over here…”

They moved to an old wooden table with a typical TFU tasking sheet and a chart with drawn-on lines. Next to the chart: the unmistakable sight of Red Brunson’s elaborate flying helmet and mirrored visor.

“Now, I should tell you, this wasn’t my idea,” Durrant said. “I believe it was cooked up by Brunson along with a couple of your colleagues at TFU, with the help of that young woman.”

“Susie?”

“Is that her name? Anyway, the idea, my friend, is to get you inside the Vulcan in place of Red for the final project flight.” He looked at his watch. “Which is due to launch in an hour. So, we don’t have long to get this right. And believe me, a lot needs to go right.”

“How will this ever work?” Rob said.

Durrant continued with his brief. “The two key elements are Red’s suggestion to Kilton that Stafford observes the flight from the co-pilot’s seat, not the rear bay. They’ve gone for it. Kilton will be at the navigator radar station. The second element is this.”

He picked up Brunson’s helmet.

“The mirrored visor,” Rob said.

“Correct. With the oxygen mask, it could be anyone under there. Brunson thinks Stafford would be unlikely to spot the difference.”

“But what about everything else? What about before the flight? Walking out together, the brief?”

“Red will use the fact that Kilton wants him to fly the Vulcan alone as an excuse to get in the cockpit early.” Durrant looked across at his colleagues. “Now, there is some choreography to carry out on the apron. Basically, swapping you and Red over. But we managed to smuggle you from the mess, so who knows? It might even work.”

“And if it doesn’t work? When I get back they’ll arrest Red. And you lot.”

“Then it’d better work,” Durrant said, with a flash of a smile.

Rob looked uncertain.

“Look, on the ground, every officer at TFU will back you up. The idea is to give Kilton a chance to personally reverse his decision about Guiding Light. He’s not a man to be overruled, but he should see the way out of the mess.” The man shrugged. “It’s all they could come up with. Red doesn’t know enough to persuade him.”

Rob stared at the chart, the brief for the trip, and Red’s flying equipment.

“Will I see Red beforehand?”

“Not for long. He’s created an additional checklist for you.” Durrant shuffled through some papers and handed Rob a handwritten list.

It included four circuit breakers with instructions to open them before he took his seat and a small power switch to locate on the rear Guiding Light panel. The function of the breakers and switch wasn’t clear, but it was obvious that the whole operation had been thought through.

He finished studying the list and looked up; the room was silent.

Durrant looked at him. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, Rob. No-one will judge you here.”

“Thank you, Ted. But it would be out of character for me this week not to do something very stupid indeed.”

Durrant nodded with a smile. “Well, just make sure you come back. Either you’ll get your point across or you won’t. There’s no point in taking unnecessary risks.”

“What about my voice? Won’t that be a giveaway?”

“Only speak via the intercom and make it monosyllabic. The intercom makes everyone sound the same. Hopefully. I’d get airborne quickly. Once you’re up, you can reveal yourself, I guess. Not much they can do about it then.”

Rob looked at the sheet and notes; it was not a complex flight. The lines on the chart were mainly for show, as Red had written VFR—Visual Flight Rules—next to the flight description. Basically, go out west, drop to one thousand feet, briefly hand over control to Guiding Light, let the passengers see it working, then return.

Not a thorough test; just a pleasure flight for Stafford before he gets his sign-off.

“We have forty minutes. Rob, you need to get into Red’s coveralls.”

IN THE MAINTENANCE UNIT LAND ROVER, Rob was starting to overheat; Brunson’s flight suit was thick. As a precaution they’d decided he should have the helmet on with the visor down at all times.

He sat on a tin shelf under the canvas as the vehicle sped along the peritrack. Two MU pilots came along with him, including Durrant in the passenger seat up front. They both looked about Millie’s age.

After he’d first signed up, it was easy to get bored with the war stories from the veterans in the crew room, but now, in an old military vehicle, driving around a former World War Two dispersal airfield, about to climb into an aircraft with an unknown outcome, he felt he had a small glimpse of their once daily routine.

Eventually, they came to a stop.

The canvas at the back parted and Durrant’s face appeared.

“OK, we’re in position.” He looked at Rob. “When Red gets around this side of the jet, he jumps in and you jump out. Got it?”

Rob tried to nod, but the helmet moved slightly over the leather inner. Would it give him problems in flight?

They waited. After a few minutes, Durrant spoke again. “He’s on his way.”

Rob shuffled to the back of the wagon, waiting for his cue.

His heart was beating fast, but time slowed down.

“Come on,” he urged Red Brunson under his breath.

The canvas parted, and there he was. The tall American climbed in.

“Are you ready for this, buddy?”

Rob raised the visor and met Red’s intense gaze.

“Yes.”

“Make your case, convince them, scare them even. But don’t do anything stupid, OK? We need you back here in one piece. We’ll back you up, every one of us.”

“Really?”

“Everyone, buddy. Now listen, in case Kilton tries to override, I’ve added some steps to the checklist—”

“The circuit breakers?” Rob interrupted.

Brunson smiled. “Yep. Flip those breakers and only the captain’s side panel will work. No-one else will be able to engage or cancel.”

“They’re coming.” Ted Durrant spoke with urgency from the front seat.

Brunson looked back at Rob, eyes wide. “He still might try something. Your number one responsibility to me, Mary and everyone else is to stay safe. You understand, Rob?”

Rob dropped the visor and jumped out of the back, clutching his checklist and air chart.

He looked across. The short and stout Ewan Stafford waddled around in oversized flying coveralls, looking like a sack of potatoes. He and Kilton posed for a photograph by the TFU door. They were a couple of hundred yards away, which gave him just a minute or so.

The Vulcan stood proud on its landing gear; Rob ducked and walked underneath to the yellow crew ladder.

Once in the rear crew bay, he searched his paperwork for the additional checklist steps from Red, and located a small fuse block on the left side of the panels. He tried to open the fuse marked ‘7a’.

It wouldn’t budge. He lifted his visor to get a clear view.

The fuse case was flush with the wall; he needed a small flathead screwdriver.

He patted his coveralls, hoping Brunson kept a tool of some description in his pockets.

Nothing.

Rob looked around, as he heard Kilton’s voice carried on the breeze.

“Shit.”

He tried the trouser pockets of the suit and found a fountain pen. It would have to do. He pulled off the lid.

Placing his gloves and paperwork on the AEO’s station, he pushed the pen nib into the outside case of the fuse holder. Using the nib as a lever, he got the holder completely open and tipped out the fuse, before pushing it back in. His fingers were now covered in black ink.

He consulted the list again, smudging the paper with black as he did so. He opened two more traditional circuit breakers on a panel above the radar operator’s station before finally disconnecting a small wire underneath the Guiding Light readout panel.

Just as he had completed his extracurricular tasks, a shadow appeared below him.

He snapped the space-like visor back down and pushed the oxygen mask back into place, then quickly moved to the small steps, up to the cockpit itself.

He settled into the left hand captain’s seat while Ewan Stafford climbed fully into the rear crew area and stood aside to let Kilton up.

Rob hurriedly consulted Red’s list again. He opened two more circuit breakers above and to the left of his seat.

He exhaled, just as Stafford appeared next to him.

“Hello!” the managing director said cheerily. Rob pointed at the empty co-pilot’s seat on the right and Stafford made getting into it look like a trick Houdini would have struggled with.

Kilton appeared below him between the two seats, his head poking up into the cockpit.

Rob froze.

Kilton continued up the pilots’ ladder until his head was level with them.

“Red, you carry on with the pre-start, I’ll strap him in.”

Rob exhaled quietly and turned away from the pair to busy himself with the checks.

Kilton’s hands reached over Stafford, pulling on his straps, and in the process, he pushed against Rob.

The Vulcan cockpit suddenly felt more cramped than he was used to.

Kilton told Stafford which pins to remove to make the seat live and then where to store them. Meanwhile, Rob brought the Avro aircraft to life and prepared to start the engines.

To his relief, Kilton shuffled back down the ladder. An engineer stood on the crew-access ladder, ready to help him close and seal the hatch.

Once done, Rob craned around to see Kilton move to the Guiding Light position and strap himself in.

He quickly began the quick engine start sequence; he had a few seconds before Kilton would connect his PEC and access the intercom. Each of the four Olympus engines fired up, utilising a built-in procedure for the Vulcans that sat on standby with Britain’s nuclear deterrent on board. Something else Brunson had arranged in advance; no waiting for ground power units.

Rob was grateful for the noise and distraction of the auto sequence.

He got a good start on all four engines and continued with the after-start checks.

He would have to talk to ATC.

The engine noise whined in his head through the intercom and he considered taxiing without permission.

He looked down at the intercom control panel and realised with relief that he could isolate the rear crew. He set the switches, keyed his own press-to-transmit switch and requested taxi.

He exchanged hand signals with the ground marshaller and set about shifting the large aircraft from its resting place.

As he swung the Vulcan around and headed for the eastern end of the runway, Mark Kilton appeared next to him, again.

Rob kept his eyes front, but Kilton tapped him on the shoulder. He reluctantly looked around; Kilton tapped the side of his helmet and shouted over the din.

“Intercom’s not working!”

Rob nodded, and Kilton went back down into the dark.

He flicked the switch to bring the rear crew back onto the circuit.

“That’s better. I need to talk to Ewan. Red, power the laser on now, Ewan can watch the reading as we climb out.”

Without replying, Rob reached down to the Guiding Light panel on his left. He flicked the power on, ensuring the flight computer was not yet engaged with the autopilot.

The single height reading lit up on the small meter fitted above the main panel between the two pilots. He used his hand to direct Stafford’s attention to it.

“Great to see it live,” said Stafford. “It’s only ever been a simulation on a workshop bench for me.”

Rob remained enigmatic, trying to look busy and occupied, which was easy, because he was.

As he rounded the final turn to face the runway at ninety degrees, he realised he was going to have to push his luck again with the intercom. He isolated the rear crew once more and made the quick call to ATC for take-off permission, advising them that he would head west after climb out.

He switched Kilton’s intercom back on, to pre-empt another visit up the ladder, and he acknowledged the clearance with a curt, “Roger.”

That was it. He was seconds away from getting airborne and nearly over the first significant hurdle.

Rob looked across to Stafford and out of the side window to check the approach to the runway, ensuring they were safe to line up.

He needed to know the civilian had armed his ejection seat correctly.

More talking.

“Pins?” he said quickly.

Stafford pointed at the removed pins, now in their stowage position.

“Switch?”

Stafford pointed down to his side and gave a thumbs up. “Armed!”

Rob turned back and checked the approach lane to the airfield again. All clear.

He made quick work of the line-up and advanced the throttles to a take-off setting. The engines responded well; they rolled, gathering pace. A white needle climbed around the airspeed indicator.

The noise level rose. Rob’s nostrils had already filled with the familiar smell of the Vulcan’s interior, filling his mind with unwanted images.

For a moment he imagined the ghost of Christopher Milford watching Kilton in his seat, and then chastised himself for not concentrating. He closed and opened his eyes as the centre lines disappeared under the nose at an increasing rate.

Rob eased the stick back, allowed the nose to rise to the horizon, and held it there as the four-engined, large delta wing bomber left the ground.

He tapped the wheel brakes and moved the landing gear handle up.

Loud whirring and bangs from below as the gear tucked itself away.

He banked right and headed west.

The tasking called for a gentle flight in the area immediately west of the airfield, but that didn’t suit Rob’s purpose. He needed a full demonstration, deep in the hills.

Somewhere their lives would depend on the integrity of the Guiding Light system.

That wasn’t the downs around Wiltshire; he needed to get them into Wales.

Kilton spoke to Stafford, taking him through the height readings.

Rob climbed the Vulcan to expedite their transit.

Eventually, Kilton called to him. “When you’re ready, Red, let’s get down to one thousand feet and begin the demo.”

Rob ignored him and continued to climb.

Kilton didn’t seem to notice at first. He and Stafford discussed how the equipment would be installed in existing aircraft.

Rob kept the aircraft moving fast. It was a perfect day for visibility and he tried to pick out Bath ahead, aiming for the city as a convenient run toward the Severn Estuary.

“Come on, Brunson, let’s get this thing down.”

Rob managed to get them to twelve thousand feet. The ground speed was pleasingly high in the thin air, but he could sense Kilton’s patience being stretched. He levelled off and then tipped the aircraft into a very gentle descent. He hoped it would placate the CO.

“Brunson?” Kilton urged again, a couple of minutes later.

They were already over Bath; he’d done well to get them in spitting distance of the hills. Finally, Rob lowered the nose another ten degrees and edged the throttles back as gravity added to their airspeed.

He levelled out at one thousand feet between Newport and Cardiff. The Brecon Beacons were on the nose.

He pushed the nose down and let the Vulcan settle at five hundred feet. Looking down to the Guiding Light panel, he selected three hundred feet as the target height and, using a waypoint that was about two hundred miles north, in Anglesey, he engaged the system.

There was a familiar jolt as the autopilot took over, fed from Guiding Light.

The nose wrenched down and the aircraft repositioned three hundred feet above the ground. The auto-throttle was busy with the four levers to his right. Rob checked they’d reached the target speed of 320 knots.

The aircraft started to complain as it heaved through the turns. The physical nature of the flight had changed significantly from the relatively genteel cruise. Guiding Light was working hard.

“This is low,” said Stafford next to him, although he seemed nonchalant.

It was taking Kilton a while to register that Rob had deviated significantly from the flight plan.

Meanwhile, aware of the frailty of the system, Rob kept his eyes fixed on the terrain ahead, ready to intervene.

Kilton finally spoke over the intercom. “Hey! Up please, Brunson.”

Rob ignored him.

“Red. Up. Can we get back to one thousand, please? We’re at bloody three hundred.”

Rob was breathing heavily; the combination of anxiety from his situation and a fierce focus on the flying was straining his energy levels.

“Red!” Kilton shouted.

Rob raised his hand away from the control column he was shadowing. He pulled his oxygen mask away from his face. Cooler air washed over him and he raised his visor and turned toward Ewan Stafford.

The stout businessman’s eyes bulged over his own mask.

“What’s going on?” Kilton shouted over the intercom from the back. “For the last time, Brunson, climb this aircraft to a safe height.”

But the next voice he heard was Stafford’s.

“Mark. Red Brunson isn’t here. I think we have a problem.”

Stafford didn’t take his eyes off Rob, and Rob continued to stare back at him, no longer covering the controls. Any serious problem from Guiding Light now would consume all three of them.

Rob raised his hands up to emphasise the situation.

He pushed his loosely hanging oxygen mask over his mouth and spoke, with no attempt to disguise his own voice. “I think we’ll stay low,” he said, slowly and deliberately.

The aircraft continued to clank about in the thick surface air, but despite the rough ride, Mark Kilton had unstrapped. His face appeared between Rob and Stafford at the top of the pilots’ ladder.

Rob moved his right hand to the control column; his left hovered over the Guiding Light control panel by the side of the seat.

Rob reattached his oxygen mask and faced front. “If you try to take control, I’ll push us into the ground. If you try to cancel Guiding Light, I will push us into the ground.”

He could hear the desperation in his own voice.

Kilton shook his head, contempt burning in his eyes.

“Are you out of your mind, May? How the hell did you get in here? Where’s Brunson?”

“Red thought it best that I got a final chance to demonstrate Guiding Light to the only two men who can stop it.”

“Did he? Well, that’s another career ended. What is wrong with you stupid people? Now, for Christ’s sake, get us away from the ground.”

“Is there a reason why we shouldn’t be putting Guiding Light to the test, sir? Do you need me to climb away and leave this to some other crews?”

“Climb the bloody aircraft to one thousand feet as ordered. That’s a final warning, May.”

There was the merest edge of desperation in Kilton’s voice. Rob enjoyed it. He saw an image of him standing naked in front of Kilton in the changing room.

“I’ll ask again, boss. Why do you need me to climb? Is there a problem? Is there a specific reason why we shouldn’t trust Guiding Light to keep us safe at low-level?” He looked across at Stafford as he spoke and then noticed Kilton looking at the flying controls. Instinctively, he turned back to the front and covered the throttle and control column with his hands.

They swept left into a valley, then rolled right. The hills had become steeper. So far, the nimble airframe was coping well.

“Ewan, pull the stick back,” said Kilton.

Rob looked across at the Blackton MD. “We’re doing three hundred and twenty knots at three hundred feet. If you try to fight me for it, it will all be over in an instant.”

Stafford’s eyes were still bulging; the man looked terrified. He looked down at the stick and then back to Kilton and shook his head.

“Right,” Kilton said. “Stafford, get out of that seat.”

Kilton stripped off his rear crew harness.

Rob looked across, alarmed to see Stafford actually unstrapping. Eventually, Stafford’s hands moved to the five-point quick release; he seemed to be having trouble.

The TFU boss heaved himself up the ladder, shoving Rob in the process. Rob held the stick firmly, ready to fight physically for control if necessary, but Kilton ignored him and fumbled with Stafford’s straps, eventually freeing the civilian.

Stafford extricated himself from the cockpit and disappeared behind into the gloom. Did he know how to put on the rear crew harness that Kilton had discarded somewhere? No time to brief him now.

Kilton clambered through and got himself into the co-pilot’s seat.

While the TFU boss fiddled with the ejection seat pins and switches, Rob tried to anticipate his next move.

He needed to make it too risky for Kilton to attempt to take control.

He moved his hand down to the panel by his left side and dialled the target height down to one hundred and fifty feet. The aircraft suddenly lurched down and Kilton looked up in alarm.

The ground flashed past, and Rob realised he had set the Vulcan on a flight path at the extremes of its abilities; he could not afford to take his attention away.

“Robert,” Kilton spoke calmly, with a softer tone. “I know you’re upset. We can talk about this. In a moment, I’m going to take control and I need you to keep your hands away from the controls.”

“Sorry, sir, I don’t think the promise of a talk is enough.”

The aircraft continued its descent. Rob saw Kilton in his peripheral vision, tensing himself, just as the jet levelled again. The manoeuvre sent both men up in their straps.

Rob heard a clunk behind. He craned his neck around to see Ewan Stafford recovering himself, after being knocked off his feet.

An image of Millie flashed into his mind.

“We’re at the mercy of Guiding Light, now.”

Rob nodded ahead at the unreal sight of mountain sides looming above them and the aircraft rising and falling to avoid the higher trees.

“Even the slightest aberration from the laser and we’ll be dead in an instant. You might get a chance to eject, I suppose.” He looked back toward Stafford, who had now got himself into a seat, and had managed to connect his PEC. “But as you’ve taken Mr Stafford’s ejection seat, he will of course go down with the jet, should Guiding Light have any issues.”

“For Christ’s sake, Mark,” Stafford squawked over the crackly intercom, “take over control. I’ve had enough of this.”

“Then you agree there’s a problem?” Rob asked.

“Shut up, Ewan!” Kilton barked.

Kilton twisted in his seat, his eyes burning into Rob.

“This is simple, sir. If this system is safe, as you and Mr Stafford have told us, then there will be no issue. We have full tanks and we can fly for three hours at this height, just as RAF jets would be required to across the Soviet Union.”

“This is dangerous, May, and you know it.”

“Dangerous, sir? Is it?”

Kilton stared at him.

“I’m waiting,” Rob added, liking the way he sounded in control.

Kilton shook his head, smiled and grabbed the co-pilot’s control column, wrenching it back toward him.

The Vulcan’s nose pitched up.

“NO!” screamed Rob, and he rammed his column forward in an explosion of anger.

He must have taken Kilton by surprise, as the column moved all the way forward, Kilton’s hand slipping from its grip. Suddenly, they were plummeting again, the ground filling the windshield.

Shit.

Rob eased the stick back and looked across; Kilton was pale, his hands in the air.

“OK, OK, OK. For Christ’s sake, May, you nearly killed us.”

Rob looked down to check that Guiding Light had remained engaged. It had.

He looked across in time to see Kilton’s hand move back to the control column. Rob shook his head, and flexed his fingers, as if to demonstrate his readiness to dive them into oblivion.

But Kilton simply pressed the autopilot cancel switch on the far side of the column.

Nothing happened.

Rob felt the control move. The autopilot was still in control, still connected to Guiding Light.

Red’s tricks with the circuit breakers had worked. By following the scrawled checklist, he had disabled all the safety systems that would normally cancel the automations.

“It’s no good, sir. You’re along for this ride whether you like it or not.”

He released his grip and let the Vulcan sink again, settling into its bumpy ride at one hundred and fifty feet.

The hills loomed around them. The Vulcan banked right, then rolled left, with extra power fed in. It wrenched them around an outcrop into a narrow valley.

Rob looked ahead and wondered if they would eventually fly into a position the aircraft was simply not capable of getting out of. Even a fully working Guiding Light had its limits.

He glanced back at the TFU boss. The blood had drained from his cheeks, and he stared back.

“You know this system is flawed,” said Rob. “You know it killed Millie and yet you expect us to sit back and watch you roll it out into service?”

“Us? Who else is in on this lunacy, May?”

“Are you still trying to work out who to punish, sir? You’d be surprised how few friends you have left.”

The aircraft rose sharply. They were pinned in their seats for a couple of seconds before it rolled right and descended, sending their stomachs floating up. Rob felt sick again.

“You’re pushing it too far, May. Climb and let’s talk.”

“I don’t think so, sir. Let’s talk now. Tell me about the 8.75 figure. We derived it, thanks to Millie, from the mainframe computer operated by the maths department at Oxford University. But you must have your own version of this figure from the hours of tapes sent to Cambridge. What is it? A number low enough to disappear into the background of statistics. Was that part of your calculation? A price worth paying. Just like the V-Bomber rear crews at low-level without an effective escape system? The same thing all over again. I wonder if you still think it’s a price worth paying, now that it’s your life?”

Kilton stared at him.

“So bloody what?” he said, eventually. “That’s what you flew halfway across southern England to find out? Who the hell cares? No system is one hundred per cent safe, May. Aircraft crash. Men die. That’s what you signed up for. You’re a fucking wet blanket, and if I didn’t know it before, then I do now. You have no place in the military.”

Rob was momentarily lost for words. He had expected some sort of argument about the facts, not a callous dismissal of the consequences. He turned his head back to try and make eye contact with Stafford in the rear crew compartment.

“You as well, Mr Stafford? Are Guiding Light crews expendable for your success?”

Stafford didn’t reply; he was too busy being terrified.

“You’re a fool, May.” Kilton spoke calmly. “A cowardly, ill-advised fool. Real men take risks every day for what we believe in.”

The aircraft hit a pocket of air and thumped down before recovering.

“For Christ’s sake, Mark.” Stafford’s voice croaked from the darkness behind. “End this.”

The aircraft rolled, sweeping into a larger valley complex. It looked like a dead end ahead, but Rob had been here before and knew it opened up at the last minute. He’d never flown this low before. He hoped the aircraft was not about to be taken beyond its performance limits.

“Maybe we’ll all die?” Rob said quietly, while looking at the tight passage ahead. “It would serve my purpose, wouldn’t it?” He looked across at Kilton. “The boys know enough now, and this crash would be the final nail in Guiding Light’s coffin. You wouldn’t be around to cover anything up.”

“You’d kill yourself to prove a point?”

“I don’t think you realise what I’m living with, boss.” The walls of rock were fast approaching dead ahead. “I ended it for Millie, didn’t I? I played your game. I took us back down to three hundred feet, against his wishes. I ignored him, even belittled him, with you. You really got me, didn’t you? But now, in a simple moment, I can make it right.”

The Vulcan reacted to the sharply changing relief. The wings rolled just as the valley opened up. Kilton’s hands moved to the panel in front to steady himself, and the huge Vulcan banked steeply left, then immediately right to negotiate the tight channel.

There was no bang, no sudden moment of black.

Rob moved his hand to the control panel, and this time dialled them down to a hundred feet.

The aircraft shifted down among the trees and meadows; the ride became bumpier and more violent.

“That’s enough, May!” Kilton bawled. “We’re lower than the bloody wingspan, you fool!”

Rob stared straight ahead, still covering the controls.

This is why Susie, Red and the others were urging caution from him.

They must have known it would come to this.

“Look, maybe I was too harsh on you,” said Kilton. “I can reverse the transfer. Have you back at TFU. But you’re wrong about Guiding Light. If we wait for perfection, it will never get released. We’ll never equip with it and we will lose the chance to take the Soviets down. Think about the bigger picture, for Christ’s sake. Take us up, Rob. You’ve proved your point.”

Rob didn’t move his head. He kept his eyes on the flight path ahead.

“I don’t think so.”

“Christ, Kilton, that’s it,” said Stafford. “Get us out of here. I don’t care what it takes. May, I will personally stop production of Guiding Light. I promise.”

Rob looked across at Kilton. “I need to hear it from you.”

The aircraft plunged, and Rob grabbed the control column, but it was just the laser guiding them down a gully. Rob released his grip and allowed the computer to continue.

“I’ll say no such thing. You think I’m scared, May? I faced death every day in 1940 and didn’t back down once. Your generation don’t know the half of it. You’re a coward, and you don’t deserve the freedom we fought for. And you’re a naive fool for thinking the enemy is not coming for us again. And when he does, you’ll be begging for Guiding Light to keep you safe from his missiles.” Kilton turned his head around, although Rob doubted he could see Stafford in the back. “And as for you… You were never cut out for the front line. Shut the hell up and speak when spoken to.”

Rob’s blood pumped around his body, his legs shaking with adrenaline. He concentrated as hard as he could on keeping the aircraft flying.

“I don’t think you understand,” Rob said. “I can’t go back having failed. I don’t care about my job, or even prison. The only thing that scares me is going to sleep every night for the rest of my life knowing I failed Millie in every possible way.”

“Take us back up, May. This is your final warning.”

“Or what, sir? I think you’re out of options.”

“He’s right,” Stafford shouted. “Give in, for Christ’s sake, Kilton.”

The aircraft rolled right, and the nose pulled around, wrenching them into a wider valley with a lake.

Rob’s left hand squeezed the control column while his right hand rested on the throttles.

A strange sense of calm washed over him. Kilton had nowhere to go; he would know that any attempt to interfere with the flying controls would end in disaster.

The Vulcan shot over the end of the lake, then rose and fell over a small hill.

The wings rolled left and they headed toward the deepest section of Welsh hills.

Rob’s mind turned over, trying to work out how to bring this to a conclusion.

But Kilton was on the move, unstrapping from his seat.

The TFU boss lunged across the cockpit. His hands landed with a thud on Rob’s stomach.

Rob grabbed the stick, ready to fight for control.

But Kilton’s hands didn’t go to the control column or the throttle.

Rob looked at Kilton’s head, his dark eyes just inches from Rob’s as he leant across at full stretch from his seat.

“What the hell?”

Kilton smiled.

Rob lowered his head to see what Kilton was holding.

Both his hands were on Rob’s ejection seat handle.

“Shit.”

Terrified, he stared back at Kilton. “It’ll rip your arms off!”

“No, Rob. I’ll have one second. You should read the pilots’ notes more carefully.”

The aircraft rolled into a steep right hand bank; an ejection now would surely be fatal.

Rob grabbed Kilton’s fingers and attempted to prise them off the yellow-and-black cord.

“No! Not now!”

Kilton actually laughed at him and yanked the handle firmly up.

There was a loud bang above them, and Rob looked up to see nothing but grass.

With that sight, he knew his life was about to end.

No more decisions to make; it was over.

The seat erupted underneath him.