The Final Flight

³ THURSDAY 9TH JUNE

A Handley-Page Victor emerged from the dark recesses of the TFU hangar, towed into the bright morning light. The TFU pan was filling up.

Men in green coveralls hurried about the aircraft, some with chocks in their hands carried by the rope that held them together, others on small tractors.

Millie watched them for a while from a bench, his incident report in hand.

He was in early to prepare, sensing a battle was coming.

Millie lifted himself from the wooden bench and headed inside, taking a seat in the empty meeting room. He re-read his notes one more time.

He went to the admin cabinets and pulled out a folder of memorandums from last year about the formation of TFU. Standing alone in the room, he read Mark Kilton’s missives about the purpose and function of the newly established Royal Air Force Test Flying Unit.

It would be an aircrew led unit, Kilton stated. Industry to be kept at arm’s length. Unlike their neighbours at Boscombe Down who rubbed shoulders with company pilots every day, TFU would be RAF only.

A place where they could assess aircraft and systems unencumbered by the usual politics that surrounded government contracts.

And yet Kilton was the most political animal he’d come across in his thirty-seven years in the RAF.

But the principles were helpful, so he tucked a copy of the paper in his folder and went back to the meeting room.

Just after 8AM the door swung open and in swept Kilton, Rob May, Speedy Johnson, a corporal note-taker and Ewan Stafford.

The Blackton MD’s appearance was a surprise, but not unprecedented. Stafford took his seat, looking tired.

Rob sat next to Millie and looked as if he was about to say something, but Kilton began the meeting still on his feet, rattling at speed through the agenda.

“The equipment’s now installed on one Canberra, one Vulcan and soon to be fitted to a second Vulcan when Blackton can get a new set to Woodford.”

“It’s already there,” said Stafford. “We’ve sent a team up to carry out the installation.”

“Excellent. We’re through the high level, medium-level and now into the low-level phases of the trial. More than half the required hours are logged.” He consulted his notes. “The evaluation is progressing satisfactorily. We must decide how to tackle the remaining hours for the project but I think we can all agree, these are the final stages. The icing on the cake.”

“I’m sorry, boss, can we talk about Tuesday?” said Millie.

Kilton didn’t look up from his notes, but paused long enough for Millie to continue.

“Unfortunately, we experienced a serious failure that almost resulted in the loss of an aircraft and crew.” He looked directly at Stafford; surprisingly the civilian was expressionless.

He already knows.

Millie pressed on. “I’ve completed an initial report. It describes how the system tried to descend a Vulcan into the ground at two hundred and sixty knots. It was only the intervention of Mr May here that saved us.” He paused. “And I’m afraid the only option open to us now is to suspend the trial pending a full investigation.”

Kilton sighed. “Millie, while I appreciate your diligence in this matter, the fact remains, this is anecdotal.”

Millie shifted in his chair. “It’s true that I wasn’t able to capture the data from the incident, but that doesn’t deflect from the fact that it happened and was witnessed.”

“And yet, without evidence, we are left with the possibility that it could have been anything that caused the temporary loss of height. One option I’ve been told of is that a pilot may have inadvertently put pressure on the control column while changing position in his seat.”

Millie laughed at the ludicrous suggestion, before realising that the rest of the room was quiet.

“You’re not serious, Mark?” he asked.

“Unless you have some evidence to the contrary, I must consider testimony from one of my pilots the likely explanation.”

Millie sat back in his chair. “I’m sorry, Mark, but that’s just not credible. Brian Hill said nothing to me whatsoever and he’s no longer here to provide any such testimony—”

“Who said anything about Hill? The pilot who touched the control column is sitting next to you.”

Millie took a moment to register what Kilton had said. He slowly turned his head to see Rob staring down at the table.

“Rob?”

“It’s possible,” Rob said quietly.

Kilton continued, in a chipper voice.

“Speedy, you’re an experienced V-Bomber pilot, is it possible in the Vulcan to move the stick without meaning to?”

“Under normal flight operations I’d say it’s unlikely, but in this scenario, with the pilot covering the controls, while they move independently, I would say it’s an increased risk, certainly. An unintended consequence of this level of automation.”

Millie kept his eyes on Rob. “Either you knocked the stick, or you did not knock the stick.”

“That’s enough, Millie,” said Kilton. “The point is, we don’t know for sure what happened and no-one is going to ground a critically important system without firm evidence.”

Millie looked up at the men around the table. No-one else spoke.

“What if it wasn’t? And what if we have a serious, potentially fatal problem?” He didn’t wait for Kilton to reply before adding, “In which case, we need to look at all the flying data we have with a matter of urgency. As you note, boss, we’ve gathered many hours and the tapes are in the cabinet…” He stopped, suddenly remembering the empty shelves.

Kilton gave a dismissive wave. “The tapes have already been analysed by the mainframe computer in Cambridge. It took place overnight. Mr Stafford, would you care to illuminate us?”

Stafford cleared his throat. “Certainly, Mark. We asked the computer to search for any anomalies in the height data. Such things as sudden changes in the numbers, which if translated into aircraft movement would result in an aircraft loss. Specifically, we were looking for periods of erroneous data, enough to affect flying for a sustained time. We found no such occurrences, I’m pleased to report. So I have to concur with the meeting that whatever you experienced, it wasn’t as a result of Guiding Light.”

“That’s not a conclusion you can draw, Ewan,” said Millie. “You weren’t there.”

Kilton shot him a warning look. “Millie, don’t be foolish. Ewan and his team have had full access to the data, and it showed no issues. That’s it.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Millie.

Kilton sat back in his chair. “You don’t?”

A heavy silence hung in the room.

“What I mean is, I am very surprised. That’s all. Can we have it analysed elsewhere? A second opinion, if you like? With all due respect to Mr Stafford and his team, boss, you set up TFU to be independent of industry.”

“There’s no chance,” Stafford piped up. “We simply don’t have access to another mainframe computer. We have one of the few in the country. Plus, I’m not sure why you would need a second opinion.”

“Because DF Blackton have a vested interest in failing to find a fault.”

Stafford harrumphed, with his shoulders twitching. “What are you suggesting, Mr Milford?”

“I’m not suggesting anything, but let’s be clear. Blackton is playing both gamekeeper and poacher in this scenario, and—”

“I said that’s enough.” Kilton looked straight at him. “No-one respects you around here more than me, Chris, but this has to stop. I’ll remind you that DF Blackton is a distinguished firm and subject to the Official Secrets Act. The very suggestion you are making is slanderous. I’ll also remind you that at TFU we make decisions based on the evidence.” Millie opened his mouth to speak but Kilton held up the palm of his hand. “Actual evidence, not stories. That’s why we carry the data recording unit, Millie, and I might say it is your responsibility to operate that system to the standards required.”

Millie removed his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes.

He placed his specs on the table and sat in silence.

Kilton picked up the pace again. “Now we have fewer than a hundred hours left to fly. We can split that between the Canberra and Vulcans, so I’ll think about bringing in additional crew.”

He turned to Millie. “And we can stay above one thousand feet if you’d recommend it, Millie. You are after all the project leader.”

Millie shook his head in disbelief.

“Am I?”

“You’ve done good work on this project, Millie. Don’t let us down at the final hurdle. I want you and Rob to get up to Woodford to check on the next installation. It needs to be identical so we can move crews between the Vulcans. OK?”

Millie glared at Kilton, who stared back. Eventually Millie shrugged.

Kilton sighed. “Good. Well, that’s sorted. Finally, security. You’ve no doubt noticed that we have unwanted visitors at the zero-eight threshold. A so-called peace camp filled with those who would undermine national security. Our own military security police are working with the courts to take eviction action, but in the meantime, it goes without saying that Guiding Light is the British crown jewels. The power of any new weapon or system is reliant on it remaining secret. If any aspect of the project gets out of the confines of TFU, I would expect arrests, criminal charges and prison for the culprits. It doesn’t matter if you are an air commodore or a junior technician, you will be prosecuted. Therefore, you will remain exceptionally vigilant. There will be no discussion with anyone outside of those directly involved with the system’s evaluation. And, of course, no paperwork or items relating to the project are to go past the front door without express clearance and police escort.”

The meeting murmured its agreement and broke up.

Kilton, Stafford, Johnson and the clerk stood up and headed out. Kilton trailed the group. Pausing at the door, he looked back.

“Millie, you’re months from retirement. Don’t do anything stupid. You need that pension, don’t you? Why risk everything you’ve promised Georgina? You’ve made your case, but it’s over.”

“You’re threatening me, Mark?”

“Just tow the bloody line, Millie. Now’s not the time for one of your displays of petulance.”

He left the room.

As the door swung closed, Rob looked up and made eye contact with Millie for the first time.

“I’m sorry. It happened in the bar. I’d had a few drinks and he cornered me. I felt like he wanted to explore all scenarios and I agreed it was a theoretical possibility.”

Millie looked at his friend. “I’m trying to work out whether you are naive or stupid. Do you understand what’s happening? This is where it starts, Rob. Meetings like this can save or cost lives, for god’s sake. Think about all those rear crews in the V-Bombers, lost because they sent the aircraft into low-level without a proper escape system. What we do here matters.” He banged the table.

Rob looked hurt, pitiful even, like a puppy who needed comfort. “Please understand my position, Millie. I had no choice. Let’s not fall out.”

Millie stood up and gathered his papers. “There’s more at stake here than our friendship, Rob.”

KILTON DROPPED into the seat behind his desk and studied the small square of paper handed to him by Stafford.

“I’ve bought us some time. Now tell me what all this means,” he said, laying the piece of paper face up on the desk.

Stafford shifted in place. “We looked at nearly two hundred hours of flying records. The problem is definitely there. On that piece of paper are the extrapolated results. The frequency and magnitude.”

“What does that mean in plain English? You said on the phone that in most cases, crews won’t even notice?”

“In most cases, the burst of incorrect height readings will be too brief for the autopilot to react in any meaningful way.”

“In most cases?”

“It’s possible, on very rare occasions, that the flutter could last long enough to affect the actual flight. But they’d have to be very unlucky for it to cause a serious problem. Typically, even if it did happen, they’d observe the deviation and intervene, just like they did two days ago.”

“Typically? What do you mean by that?”

“With a lot of bad luck, they might be in just the wrong position as the error occurs. At night, for instance, very low, fast, in a tight bank or maybe they’re not monitoring the flight at the time, but…”

“But what?”

Stafford took a seat on the other side of Kilton’s desk. “I don’t think we have a choice here, Mark. As I told you yesterday, we saw this in the lab, early on. The laser itself fluctuated briefly, but minutely. They called it a flutter. As we designed and built the full scale versions, the magnitude of the flutter stayed the same and so became insignificant. And we thought it had just gone, refined away by a better build. But apparently not. The problem, Mark, is that we don’t know what causes it. Our best option is to redesign the programme that sits between the laser and the autopilot to tell false readings from real ones. At the moment, how to do that is beyond us. And even if we did redesign it, that would mean starting again on the flying trials. High altitude, not connected to the autopilot while we build up the readings. All those hours flown again. To get back to where we are now, from my experience of how long it took to get here, I’d say we’ll need six to nine months in the workshop, and another six to nine of early airborne trials.”

“A year and a half? Out of the question.”

“Then, you carry on.” Stafford lowered his voice. “Nothing’s without risk, Mark.”

Kilton propped his elbows on the desk and interlocked his fingers.

“We pause now, Stafford, we lose it. The Yanks will have their breakthrough soon enough, and when they do, they’ll drop the order.”

“That would finish us. We’ve sunk too much into this.”

“That’s not my problem, Stafford. You made your decisions.”

“Wouldn’t it finish TFU, too? You don’t exactly bask in the support of your superiors. I think a lot of them would love to topple this secret empire you’re building. On the other hand, you deliver a multi-million pound contract for the government…”

Kilton picked up the piece of paper and looked at the handwritten numbers. He turned it over in his hand for a few moments.

“The point is, Guiding Light gives us an advantage over the Soviets. You heard Leivers. It could end the Cold War, and then how many lives are saved? Millions.” He stood up. “Let’s not get bogged down by the risk to a few unlucky crews.” He screwed the square of paper into a tight ball and pushed it deep into his trouser pocket. “How many people know about this… flutter?”

“The team are aware it exists, but they believe it’s insignificant. Only me and a junior technician know the truth, and he won’t be a problem. We’ll incinerate the printouts and demagnetise the tapes. There’s hardly anyone working at Cambridge, anyway. I’ve moved the annual shutdown forward to accommodate the production. The mainframe goes into maintenance tomorrow.” Stafford got to his feet and picked up his briefcase. “Of course, Mark, there’s your crew here. Not much gets past Millie.”

“Leave him to me.”

“Just like the old days at Tangmere, the troops always feared you. I feared you, come to that.”

Kilton smiled. “Just like Tangmere, Stafford, we’re at war. The only people who need to be scared are the enemy. And those who get in the way.”

MILLIE SAT down at his favourite admin desk underneath the clock. Staring at the wall, he allowed the adrenaline from the meeting to subside.

After a few minutes, the admin officer appeared.

“Audit?”

Millie nodded and followed him over to the secure cabinets for the weekly check.

“Shouldn’t take long,” Millie said, looking at the bare shelves.

He noted the two tapes from yesterday’s flight and checked the paperwork against the list. Everything had to be accounted for.

The only contents of the cabinet they didn’t count were the number of blank tapes.

He crouched down to check the bottom shelf. Only about twenty left. They would need more.

The junior officer locked the cabinets and Millie called the department at DF Blackton from his desk.

As the call connected, he had a thought and quickly glanced around the office. No-one was nearby.

“Yes, hello, it’s Squadron Leader Milford. RAF West Porton.”

“Hello.”

“Yes, ah, a quick one. We sent over about one hundred and seventy hours of records on magnetic tape yesterday, I believe?”

“Yes, that’s right. We ran them through the computer until the small hours.”

“So I understand. I haven’t actually seen the results, and as the project leader I would like to study them if possible. Would you be able to send them over?”

The man at the other end laughed.

“The results are about two yards high. Not sure we could easily send them anywhere.”

“I see. But were there any conclusions?”

“Let me check, one of my junior colleagues stayed late. Hold on a mo.”

The phone handset clunked down onto a hard surface.

Ewan Stafford appeared out of Kilton’s office.

Millie placed a hand over the receiver and watched as Stafford headed to the door, his path taking him just behind his desk.

Jean came running out of the office.

“Mr Stafford, can I get your travel receipts?”

Just two yards behind him, Stafford and the secretary got involved in a discussion about petrol prices.

“Squadron Leader Milford?”

“Hello, yes?” Millie turned toward the wall in front of him and leaned over the desk, desperately trying to put some distance between him and the Blackton MD.

“It’s David Richards here. I’m the manager of the computer room. I understand your enquiry, but you will have to speak directly to Mr Stafford.”

“Oh, I don’t want to bother him. I was just after the results from last night.”

“Mr Stafford has them and I understand he reported to you this morning. If there’s anything else, you will have to take it up with Mr Stafford directly. I’m sorry I cannot be of any more help.”

The phone line went dead.

To his left, Stafford disappeared through the swing doors toward the car park.

Slowly, Millie replaced the receiver.

For two full minutes he barely moved, one finger lightly tapping the desk.

The admin officer interrupted him again. “When are they coming?”

“Pardon?”

“The blanks? You ordered them?”

“Oh, no. Sorry, Peter. I’ll do it now.” Peter shot him a quizzical look. “That was another call I was on. I’ll phone Blackton straight away.”

He jotted down some numbers. The last hundred hours covered just over three hundred and twenty-one tapes, about twenty minutes per reel.

They had another hundred hours to go.

Another three hundred and thirty tapes should cover it. He underlined the number.

“But then, what’s the point?” he muttered quietly to himself.

He looked across to Mark Kilton’s office in time to see Rob and Speedy going in. Scanning the rest of the office he saw Jock MacLeish, Red Brunson and others, all in flying gear, ready to go.

Millie looked back down at his notes.

One hundred hours.

Three hundred and thirty reels.

He called up the Blackton computer department again, and ordered four hundred and fifty blank reels.

THE AFTERNOON MEETINGS WERE A DISTRACTION, as he and a small team went through future projects: a stronger braking parachute for the Vulcan, rough landing trials for the Argosy, a larger fin for the Blue Steel missile.

He made sure he paid attention to the important bits but as the clock approached 4.45PM he became anxious to get back to the planning room.

By the time he returned, Rob had left for the day.

“Damn.” He picked up his case and checked it for any documents that shouldn’t leave the building, then drove straight to the Mays’ small married quarter.

“Millie! Come in.” Mary beamed at him.

“Thank you, Mary. Is Rob home?”

“Not yet.”

“Oh? I was told he might be.”

“Well, the mess has become a bit of a habit for him.”

“Fair enough. But I would like to have a quick word. Would you mind sending him around when he turns up, as long as it’s not an inconvenience to you, of course?”

“I’ll send him over after dinner if he’s back in time.”

Millie drove the short distance to his own quarter, agitated that a conversation he wasn’t looking forward to would have to wait even longer.

Georgina was in the garden, table and chairs arranged for another al fresco dinner.

She smiled at her husband. “Make hay while the sun shines, Millington.”

BY 7PM he was into his scotch, a Glenmorangie. He was savouring it on his tongue as a cough came from behind. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t get a response at the front door,” Rob said, after emerging from the side passage.

“Robert!” Millie smiled at him. “How the devil are you? Whisky or gin, dear chap? Please say whisky.”

“Not one of your more adventurous ones, please. I need my stomach lining intact.”

“As you wish!” Millie went into the house and poured a second scotch, fishing a mixer out of the dresser cupboard.

When he returned, Rob and Georgina were laughing.

“I was begging Rob to bring over that gorgeous wife of his. It’s the weekend.”

“It’s Thursday, dear,” said Millie.

“That’s what I told her,” Rob said, “but she says Thursday is now officially the start of the weekend.” He winked at Georgina. “And I’d like to agree. Why do we fly on Fridays, Millie?”

“Something to do with serving Her Majesty and preparing for war, I believe, Robert. Here you are. Glenmorangie mixed with ginger ale. Sacrilege in some parts of Scotland, but perfectly acceptable in Wiltshire.”

As he handed over the drink, he nodded for Georgina to leave them alone.

She took the hint. “Right, well, the dishes won’t do themselves. I guess my weekend is on hold. Shout if you need anything, boys.” She disappeared into the house.

They sat quietly for a moment. In the distance, the sound of laughter floated through the air along with the now familiar sound of music.

Rob cocked his head.

“The peace camp,” said Millie, and gestured toward the trees at the back of the garden.

“Oh. Yes, I’ve seen them on approach. Kilton’s not happy.”

“When is he, Rob? When is he?”

Rob put his drink down. “I’m sorry about this morning, Millie. Kilton got the better of me when I was worse for wear in the mess. But I also think he’s right.”

“You do?”

“It doesn’t really matter whether I did or didn’t nudge the stick—”

“Can we both agree that you didn’t?”

“The point I’m making is that we don’t have any firm evidence and it’s a bit much grounding the project so quickly. We can’t give in at the first bump in the road. We need Guiding Light, Millie. There are countries relying on us to deliver it. NATO needs us. You have to keep going. In any case, it’s Kilton’s orders, so we have no choice now. Unless you’re planning on doing something silly?”

“Has he sent you here on an intelligence gathering mission, Rob?”

Rob put down his drink. “You asked me here.”

“I did. And I wanted to talk to you because, well, I suppose you’re right. We have no choice but to press on, despite the evidence we witnessed with our own eyes. But I intend to do my job, to examine Guiding Light thoroughly and pass it fit for production. Or not.”

“Of course.”

“What we need,” Millie continued, “is to ensure we get as much data onto the tapes as possible.” Rob looked confused. “I want to maximise our flight times. And bring some good old TFU independence to the project. Test crews putting Guiding Light through its paces without fear or favour.”

“Right,” said Rob slowly, “that’s what we’re doing, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know, Rob. I’m not sure the project is being examined completely without fear or favour, but we’re the men with our hands on the equipment. And we should not be afraid of doing what’s necessary.”

Rob furrowed his brow. “I don’t know about this, Millie. It sounds like you’re trying to work outside of the parameters of the project.”

“If that’s what it takes to do our job properly, should we not adapt?”

Rob put his glass down and shook his head. “Adaptation’s one thing, but it sounds to me like you’re thinking of something completely different. Working behind the boss’s back? I’m sorry, I really think it’s best to leave it be. I certainly can’t be a part of it. What would Kilton do if he found out? Seriously, Millie. He can be vindictive!”

“Which is why we need to put him aside, Rob, and work without fear or favour. If that’s what we need to do to save lives. And I believe it is.”

“You should stop saying ‘we’, Millie. This is your idea, not mine. Look, I know you’re getting cynical in your old age, but I still believe in the system. And that’s how it should be. It will fall apart if we go off on our own tangents. Really, you should take it from me. Whatever you’re thinking of, it’s a terrible idea.” Rob sat up and leaned toward Millie. “Why mess everything up over a whim? You’re months away from your cottage by the sea. Seriously, Millie, what are you thinking?”

“I’m not thinking about me, Rob. It’s not me losing anything that worries me. It’s the crews. Other men like us, who follow us. Our duty is to them.”

Rob stood up, drained his whisky and ginger. “Thank you for the drink, Millie.” He started to walk toward the side gate.

“Rob, please sit down.”

“I think not. I’m actually scared you might tell me something I’ll regret. Sorry Millie, it’s a no-go. Time to let it go. Leave the politics to Kilton. It’s for the best.”

“Whose best, Rob?”

His friend stood for a moment, looking unsure of himself, before disappearing down the side of the house.

MILLIE STEWED in his own thoughts for five minutes. Georgina appeared from the house with a whisky bottle in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

“You look like a tramp on a night out,” Millie observed.

She laughed. “Thanks. Rob gone?”

“Yes.”

She sat down next to him.

“Everything alright between you two?”

“Not exactly.”

“If it’s work stuff, I know you can’t talk about it, but… Maybe Rob’s changing. He’s not the green-around-the-gills pilot you took under your wing anymore.” She leant in toward him. “Is it time to let him fly the nest?”

“Can I have some more whisky?”

She passed the bottle over.

He poured an inch more scotch. “You might be right, dear, but it’s bloody inconvenient timing.”

“Why?”

“I really wanted his help, but he’s not playing ball.”

“There are other pilots at TFU. I’m sure someone will help you?”

Millie sipped the whisky, again enjoying the dulling of the senses that came with alcohol. “Not for this particular task. I need a close friend.”

Georgina narrowed her eyes. “Mr Millington, you’re not getting yourself into trouble, are you?”

“Absolutely I am.” He laughed.

She shook her head. “I’m serious, Millie. We have weeks left. Don’t do anything stupid. Especially don’t cheese off Mark Kilton. You know what that man’s like.”

“I have to do this.”

“Jesus, Millie, it sounds ominous.”

He smiled and patted her thigh. “Absolutely nothing to worry about. Really. It’s just boring old work stuff.”

LATER THAT EVENING, Millie sat at the bureau in the lounge and doodled some figures. He wanted to calculate how many height readings he’d end up with after recording one hundred reels.

From his memory, he understood the tapes recorded three moments in time every second, so just one twenty-minute tape would produce more than three thousand five hundred lines of records. More than a quarter of a million lines over one hundred tapes.

He stared at the result. It would take forever to look through them all. Even if he could get the numbers off the tapes.

Georgina appeared over his shoulder.

“I assume that’s not our savings?”

Millie laughed. “Sorry, no. Work. Just lots of numbers.”

“Oh, count me out. I don’t do maths. Your son inherited that talent from you.” She slumped down on the sofa and opened a copy of Woman magazine. Millie studied the front cover: a model with a brown bob of hair which, according to the headline, was a ‘go anywhere hairstyle’.

Georgina’s eyes appeared over the magazine. “Maybe Charlie could help with his bombe?”

“Bomb? Whatever are you talking about?”

She laughed. “Don’t you remember at Christmas? We found it hilarious that he was going on about the bombe they used for calculations?”

“Oh, yes. A bombe. With an e. He told us it came from a wartime deciphering operation, didn’t he?”

“God knows. Something like that.”

A bombe. Millie turned the unusual word over in his mind. He imagined a large mechanical machine with rotating dials, tearing through calculations faster than a human could read them.

“I can’t talk to Charlie about this.”

He looked back at the figure. This felt like an insurmountable problem. What was the point of gathering data he couldn’t read?