Rob lifted his fingers from the stick.
“All yours, Speedy.”
Rob watched as the more experienced pilot’s hands loosely covered the throttle and stick as he took control. Or what passed for control while a laser, a computer and a mechanical autopilot did the actual flying.
After thirty seconds, Speedy seemed to relax and rested his hands on his thighs.
“Shall we take her down?” Rob asked.
Speedy gave a thumbs up. Rob reached down to his left.
The aircraft descended until it plateaued at five hundred feet.
The ride was stiffer, the large jet reacting more quickly to changes in the terrain beneath. They rolled right, then gently left; nothing too dramatic, but a distinctly busier sensation. With the ground closer, everything felt faster.
Rob enjoyed the sensation, grateful for the return to proper low-level.
“Let’s take her all the way,” Rob said. A moment later, the aircraft sunk to three hundred feet above the grassy plains as they approached the first set of hills.
“Hey! Height!” Millie’s voice sounded over the intercom.
Speedy and Rob exchanged a look.
“Oh, did I forget to mention it, Millie?” Rob said. “We’re cleared back to three hundred.”
“What? No. No. That’s ridiculous. Who cleared us? No-one spoke to me.”
“We met with the boss this morning. Sorry, I should have told you.”
“The staish signed it off, Millie,” Speedy said. “We need to get back down. It’s no good loitering at one thousand feet. We need to test this thing properly.”
“What the hell? You spoke to Kilton about this, but forgot to talk to me? And no brief for the flight? We’re supposed to be a project team, for god’s sake, Rob! And I’m supposed to be project leader.”
“Sorry, it was a genuine error,” Rob lied. “But we do need to trial Guiding Light properly. We haven’t got it for much longer and we all need to have faith in the system.”
“Faith? Jesus, Rob, you were on board when it failed last time, and don’t give me that blarney about hitting the stick accidentally. Neither of us believe that.”
“That’s enough.” Speedy’s voice came over the intercom. He had his head turned, glaring back at Millie below. “We’re airborne. Save it for the ground.” He turned back to face front.
Rob concentrated on the picture in front of him; it was relatively flat for the moment and the ride was smooth, but it was about to get interesting. Should he concede and move them back to one thousand feet?
He adjusted the intercom to cut Millie and Bright out of the loop. “Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to spring this on him?”
“It’s done. Let’s just concentrate on the flight,” Speedy said, staring forward.
Rob opened the intercom to the rear bay again. “We’re watching everything, Millie. Worry not.”
“Rob…” Millie’s tone had changed; he spoke quietly. “I’m begging you. Now’s not the time to put your trust in this system. There’s something wrong with it.”
Rob looked across at Speedy, but Speedy shook his head.
“Sorry, Millie. I promised the boss we’d carry this one out at three hundred. Tell you what, let’s run in at three hundred for the first fifteen minutes, and we’ll go back to one thousand as the hills steepen. How about that?”
“Promise me you won’t take your eyes off the view outside? First sign of anything and you cancel?”
“Of course.”
They crossed a hatched pattern of arable fields that stretched over the Welsh border, with rising ground ahead.
Forty-five seconds later, the aircraft made its first steep bank and positioned them for a run down the northern side of a wide valley.
Rob imagined the laser flashing across the approaching terrain. This was where the system came alive, down with the trees.
Under the enemy’s nose.
STRAPPED into his dark cave with no windows, Millie grimaced.
“Come on, Mills,” said Brighty. “It’s not that bad. At least we’re not on our way to Tbilisi to drop the bomb. Imagine low-level for four hours.”
“The aircraft wasn’t designed for this,” Millie said.
“Well, as ever, ours not to reason why, eh?”
The Vulcan dipped sharply and rose again; Millie scanned the height readings. He rotated the black dial to get an idea of the terrain around them. Two thousand and thirty-four feet to their left, three hundred and sixty-one feet to their right. As usual the system was taking the Vulcan down one side of a valley.
According to Belkin, the error would occur down in the one hundredths of a per cent. And even less frequently, it would occur in a situation that would cause an irrecoverable situation. He’d added up over a year of RAF flying, but the chances on an individual flight were extremely low.
As far as they knew.
Millie looked over his shoulder. The curtain separating the rear bay from the cockpit was tied to one side. He could see Rob, thankfully looking forward.
When had he let his friend down? When did their relationship become so bad, he’d cut him out of important conversations?
Another sudden plunge, and Millie snapped his head back. But the aircraft levelled off. He switched the dial to the first position, looking directly down. Three hundred and sixteen feet. He took another deep breath and checked his watch.
Eight more minutes of this.
MARY MAY KNOCKED ON THE MILFORDS’ front door. It flew open.
“Mar! My favourite gorgeous person in the whole wide world.” Georgina beamed at her.
Mary burst into tears.
“Oh, blimey. Mar, whatever is wrong? Come here.” Georgina stepped out of the house and enveloped Mary in her arms.
“Nothing. It’s nothing, really. Just silly marriage stuff.” She wiped away her tears, delving into her cardie for a tissue. “I didn’t mean to cry. I feel embarrassed.”
“Nonsense. Get in here, my lovely.”
Mary stepped into the married quarter.
“What you need, young lady, is gin. What do you say that we set up a couple of chairs in the garden, get ourselves G&Ts and you can tell me all about it?”
THE VULCAN WORKED HARD. They entered a steep valley complex, and the huge delta wings rolled with strong rudder and throttle input to negotiate the tight turns.
Rob tried not to fight it, allowing his body to ebb and flow with the movements.
He learned in the single seats to roll with the aircraft and resist the temptation to lean upright.
He kept half an eye outside and half an eye on Speedy, who looked relaxed, with his hands on his thighs.
But it all looked good. Guiding Light, back in its natural habitat, was performing well, as expected.
They rolled level and went over a small ridge, the aircraft rising and dipping before sweeping over a long reservoir.
Four minutes until the end of the fifteen-minute stretch he promised Millie would be the extent of their run at three hundred feet.
The aircraft flew across a flattish area of plain between two sets of hills. They were about to enter Snowdonia.
He retrieved the chart from the side of his seat and checked the route. The computer had taken them slightly away from the intended path, but that was part of its method; it would choose the best route and get them to the fixed waypoints.
A large wood passed underneath; the ground became more undulating. The aircraft rocked and bumped as the autopilot responded to the instructions from the computer.
Three more minutes.
He thought about where he would command the system to go back to one thousand feet. He wanted to be level and avoid asking for height changes while banked.
He turned the chart over in his hands. His eyes searched ahead of the aircraft’s track, looking for a feature he could use to initiate the climb.
Typically, they were flying toward a fold in the paper. He opened the map up, orientating it to show a good thirty miles ahead, then refolded it.
“Something up?” Speedy asked, leaning across, peering at the chart.
“No, I just—”
There was a loud bang. Rob smashed down into his seat. The chart fell from his hands as a violent, crushing weight forced his body ever lower. His helmet struck something hard, and his sight began to turn grey. He felt woozy.
The aircraft creaked around him. He struggled to get upright, to see clearly, to urgently assess the situation.
The g-force subsided. He pushed himself back up in his seat.
Looking out, all he could see was sky.
“What’s happening?”
As he regained full vision, his eyes darted to the artificial horizon; they were seventy degrees nose up, and rolling.
Shit.
Speedy shouted something at him.
Was he injured?
They must have hit something.
No hesitation, Rob.
He grabbed the stick and hit the cancel button.
Nothing changed.
“Groundstrike!”
He finally resolved what Speedy was yelling.
The sky outside was replaced by green and yellow hills as the aircraft rolled all the way over.
They were upside down, and still rolling.
Another loud bang behind them; it sounded like the main spar.
The aircraft was about to break up.
He and Speedy were hanging in their straps, with the Welsh hills above them. They couldn’t even eject now.
Shit. SHIT.
But they had some height on their side.
Rob stared at the Guiding Light panel; it showed all nines. It was useless now, with the laser pointed into the sky. The altimeter needle seemed to be around two thousand five hundred feet.
But they were coming back down.
He tried the stick again, and the rudder pedals.
“Nothing’s working!”
He looked at the engine gauges; both the port side engines had wound down. They only had thrust on the starboard side.
He closed all four throttles, hoping to restore balance.
Keep working, he said to himself.
But there was no emergency drill to cover this.
He could shut down the broken engines, but that would take time and wouldn’t achieve anything.
They needed to roll upright.
He snapped the braking parachute handle to STREAM.
There was a jolt, and the rolling seemed to slow.
“Damn!” He switched the lever to RELEASE, praying the roll rate would pick up again.
The green grass and rocks grew larger as the Vulcan hurtled downwards.
The stick still moved in his hands, but had no noticeable effect on the aircraft.
THINK!
He stabbed the ABANDON AIRCRAFT button to light up the notice in the back for Bright and Millie.
“GET OUT! GET OUT!” he shouted over the intercom.
An enormous bang.
Light filled the cockpit.
It took Rob a beat to register what had happened.
The canopy was gone.
“Speedy! No!” he shouted, but it was too late.
He shielded his face against a burst of orange flame as Speedy’s seat fired out of the aircraft.
The roll rate had increased.
Finally, they were coming through ninety degrees back to upright.
It was his only chance to live: to eject while the aircraft was the correct way up.
He wrenched his head around and looked back.
“GET OUT! GET OUT!” he screamed again.
Steve Bright stood over the hatch, but Millie was on the ground, trying to get back up.
Rob glanced forward. He estimated they were at six hundred feet.
This was it.
A terrible, awful dread filled him.
There was nothing he could do, unless he chose to die with them.
It was an option.
He looked back a final time.
“Get up, Millie!”
Rob’s voice was weak and broken.
They were now too low.
Millie stared at him, terrified eyes wide above his oxygen mask.
Blood leaked from a gash on his forehead.
“Please, Millie.” His voice croaked. “Please get out. Please.”
He broke eye contact, turned around, and saw the last two seconds of his life as a collection of grey rocks and yellow flowers raced towards them.
Yellow life amid grey death.
I have to live.
His hand went down to the ejection handle.
Did he even have the strength to pull it?
He felt the kick as the seat erupted upwards.
He blacked out.