The Final Flight James Blatch (e book reading free .TXT) 📖

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