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

“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