Rat Race (17 page)

Annie Villars leaned forward and tapped me on the shoulder.

‘Did I hear you say that Colin Ross is lost? Up here, do you mean? On top of the clouds?’

I glanced round. They were all awake, all looking concerned.

‘Yes,’ I said briefly. ‘With no radio. The radar people think they may have found him. We’re going over to see… and to help.’

‘Anything we can do…’ Annie said. ‘Of course, call on us.’

I smiled at her over my shoulder. Ambrose turned round to her and started to complain. She shut him up smartly. ‘Do you seriously propose we make no attempt to help? You must be out of your mind. It is our clear and absolute duty to do whatever we can. And a captain doesn’t have to consult his passengers before he goes to help another ship in distress.’

He said something about expense. Annie said crisply, ‘If you are too mean to pay a few extra pounds as your share of perhaps saving the life of Colin Ross, I shall be pleased to contribute the whole amount myself.’

‘Atta girl,’ Kenny Bayst said loudly. Annie Villars looked startled, but not displeased. Ambrose swivelled to face forwards. He had turned a dark purplish red. I hoped it was shame and embarrassment, not an incipient thrombosis.

‘The aircraft is circling again,’ Cottesmore reported. ‘Its position now is just south of Peterborough… Remain on your present heading… I am handing you on now to Wytton… no need for you to explain to them… they know the situation.’

‘Thank you very much,’ I said.

‘Good luck…’

Wytton, the next in the chain, the R.A.F. master station north east of Cambridge, was crisp, cool, efficient.

‘Cloud base at Cambridge six hundred feet, no further deterioration in past half hour. Visibility three kilometres in light rain. Surface wind two four zero, ten knots.’

‘Weather copied,’ I said automatically. I was looking at the map. Another radio mast, this one seven hundred feet high, south of Peterborough. Go on, Nancy, I thought, go on, further east. Don’t try there. Not there…

Wytton said ‘Aircraft now back on one one zero.’

I rubbed a hand round the back of my neck. I could feel the sweat.

‘Steer zero nine five. You are now ten miles west of the aircraft.’

‘I’m climbing to flight level eight zero. To see better.’

‘Cleared to eight zero.’

The altimeter hands crept round to eight thousand feet. The blanket of white fleece spread out unbroken in all directions to the horizon, soft and pretty in the sun. The passengers murmured, perhaps realising for the first time the extent of Nancy’s predicament. Mile after mile after mile of emptiness, and absolutely no way of telling where she was.

‘Aircraft’s circling again… Maintain zero nine five. You are now seven miles to the west.’

I said over my shoulder to Annie Villars, ‘We’ll see them soon… Would you take this notebook…’ I handed her the spiral bound reporters’ notebook I used for jotting during flights, ‘and make some letters out of the pages? As big as you can. We will need, you see, to hold them up in the window, so that Nancy and Colin can read what we want them to do.’

And let it be them, I thought coldly. Just let it be them, and not some other poor lost souls. Because we’d have to stay to help. We couldn’t leave them to struggle and look somewhere else for the ones we wanted…

Annie Villars fumbled in her handbag and produced a small pair of scissors.

‘Which letters?’ she said economically. ‘You say, and I’ll write them down, and then make them.’

‘Right… FOLWBASE. That will do to start with.

I twisted my head and saw her start snipping. She was making them full page size and as bold as possible. Satisfied, I looked forward again, scanning the sunny waste, searching for a small black cigarette shape moving ahead.

‘Turn on to one zero five’ Wytton said. ‘The aircraft is now in your one o’clock position five miles ahead.’

I looked down over to the right of the aircraft’s nose. Ambrose reluctantly looked out of the window in sulky silence.

‘
There
Kenny Bayst said. ‘Over there, down there.’ I looked where he was pointing… and there it was, slightly more over to our right, beginning another circling sweep over a darker patch of cloud which might have been a hole, but wasn’t.

‘Contact,’ I said to Wytton. ‘Closing in now.’

‘Your intentions?’ he asked unemotionally.

‘Lead them up to the Wash, descend over the sea, follow the river and railway from King’s Lynn to Cambridge.’

‘Roger. We’ll advise Marham. They’ll give you radar coverage over the sea.’

I put the nose down, built up the speed, and overhauled the ether aircraft like an E-type catching a bicycle. The nearer we got the more I hoped… it was a low winged aeroplane… a Cherokee… white with red markings… and finally the registration number… and someone frantically waving a map at us from the window.

The relief was overpowering.

‘It’s them,’ Annie said, and I could only nod and swallow.

I throttled back and slowed the Six until it was down to Nancy’s cruising speed, then circled until I came up on her left side, and about fifty yards away. She had never done any formation flying. Fifty yards was the closest it was safe to go to her and even fifty yards was risking it a bit. I kept my hand on the
throttle, my eyes on her, and an extra pair of eyes I didn’t know I had, fixed on the heading.

To Annie Villiars I said, ‘Hold up the letters for “follow”. Slowly. One by one.’

‘Right.’ She held them flat against the window beside her. We could see Colin’s head leaning back behind Nancy’s. When Annie finished the word we saw him wave his hand, and after that Nancy waved her map against her window, which showed up better.

‘Wytton,’ I reported. ‘It is the right aircraft. They are following us to the Wash. Can you give me a steer to King’s Lynn?’

‘Delighted,’ he said. ‘Steer zero four zero, and call Marham on frequency one one nine zero.’

‘Thanks a lot’ I said with feeling.

‘You’re very welcome.’

Good guys, I thought. Very good guys, sitting in their darkened rooms wearing headsets and staring at their little dark circular screens, watching the multitude of yellow dots which were aircraft swimming slowly across like tadpoles. They’d done a terrific job, finding the Rosses. Terrific.

‘Can you make a figure 4?’ I asked Annie Villars.

‘Certainly.’ The scissors began to snip.

‘When you have, would you hold up the O, then the 4, then the O again?’

‘With pleasure.’

She held up the figures. Nancy waved the map. We set off north-eastwards to the sea, Nancy staying behind us to the right, with me flying looking over my shoulder to keep a steady distance between us. I judged it would take thirteen minutes at her speed to reach the sea, five to ten to let down, and twenty or so more to return underneath the cloud base to Cambridge. Her fuel by the time she got there would be low, but there was less risk of her running dry than of hitting a hill or trees or a building by going down over the land. Letting down over the sea was in these circumstances the best procedure whenever possible.

‘We’re going to need some more letters,’ I told Annie.

‘Which?’

‘Um… R, I, V, and N, D, C, and a T, and a nine.’

‘Right.’

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Annie Villars snipping and Kenny Bayst, sitting behind her, sorting out the letters she had already made so that she could easily pick them out when they were needed. There was, I thought to myself, with a small internal smile, a truce in operation in that area.

Marham radar reported, ‘You have four miles to run to the coast.’

‘Hope the tide’s in,’ I said facetiously.

‘Affirmative,’ he said with deadpan humour. ‘High water eighteen forty hours B.S.T.’

‘And… er… the cloud base?’

‘Stand by.’ Down in his dark room he couldn’t see the sky. He had to ask the tower dwellers above.

‘Cloud base between six and seven hundred feet above sea level over the entire area from the Wash to Cambridge. Visibility two kilometres in drizzle.’

‘Nice’ I said with irony.

‘Very.’

‘Could I have the regional pressure setting?’

‘Nine nine eight millibars.’

‘Nine nine eight,’ I repeated, and took my hand off the throttle enough to set that figure on the altimeter subscale. To Annie Villars I said, ‘Can you make an 8, as well?’

‘I expect so.’

‘Crossing the coast,’ Marham said.

‘Right… Miss Villars will you hold up SEA?’

She nodded and did so. Nancy waved the map.

‘Now hold up SET, then 998, then MBS.’

‘S… E… T,’ she repeated, holding them against the window. ‘Nine, nine, eight.’ She paused ‘There’s no M cut out.’

‘W upside down,’ Kenny Bayst said, and gave it to her.

Oh yes. M… B… S. What does mbs mean?’

‘Millibars’ I said.

Nancy waved the map, but I said to Annie, ‘Hold up the nine nine eight again, it’s very important.’

She held them up. We could see Nancy’s head nodding as she waved back vigorously.

‘Why is it so important?’ Annie said.

‘Unless you set the altimeter to the right pressure on the subscale, it doesn’t tell you how high you are above the sea.’

‘Oh.’

‘Now would you hold up B A S E, then 6 0 0, then F T.’

‘Right… Base… six hundred… feet.’

There was a distinct pause before Nancy waved, and then it was a small, half hearted one. She must have been horrified to find that the clouds were so low: she must have been thanking her stars that she hadn’t tried to go down through them. Highly frightening piece of information, that six hundred feet.

‘Now,’ I said to Annie, ‘Hold up “Follow river and rail one nine zero to Cambridge”.’

‘Follow… river… and… rail… one… nine… zero… to… Cambridge… no g… never mind, c will do, then e.’ She spelt it out slowly. Nancy waved.

‘And just one more… 40, then N, then M.’

‘Forty nautical miles,’ she said triumphantly. She held them up and Nancy waved.

‘Now hold up “follow” again.’

‘Right.’

I consulted Marham, took Nancy out to sea a little further, and led her round in a circle until we were both heading just west of south on one nine zero, and in a straight line to the railway and river from King’s Lynn to Cambridge.

‘Hold up D O W N,” I said.

She did it without speaking. Nancy gave a little wave. I put the nose of the Six down towards the clouds and accelerated to a hundred and forty knots so that there would be no possibility of her crashing into the back of us. The white fleecy layer came up to meet us, embraced us in sunlit feathery wisps, closed
lightly around us, became denser, darker, an anthracite fog pressing on the windows. The altimeter unwound, the clock needles going backwards through 3,000 feet, 2,000 feet, 1,000 feet, still no break at 800 feet, 700… and there there at last the mist receded a little and became drizzly haze, and underneath us, pretty close underneath, were the restless rainswept dark greeny grey waves.

The passengers were all silent. I glanced round at them. They were all looking down at the sea in varying states of awe. I wondered if any of them knew I had just broken two laws and would undoubtedly be prosecuted again by the Board of Trade. I wondered if I would ever, ever, learn to keep myself out of trouble.

We crossed the coast over King’s Lynn and flew down the river to Ely and Cambridge, just brushing through the misty cloud base at seven hundred feet. The forward visibility was bad, and I judged it silly to go back and wait for Nancy, because we might collide before we saw each other. I completed the journey as briefly as possible and we landed on the wet tarmac and taxied round towards the airport buildings. When I stopped the engine, everyone as if moved by one mind climbed out and looked upwards; even Ambrose.

The drizzle was light now, like fine mist. We stood quietly in it, getting damp, listening for the sound of an engine, watching far the shadow against the sky. Minutes ticked past. Annie Villars looked at me anxiously. I shook my head, not knowing exactly what I meant.

She couldn’t have gone down too far… hit the sea… got disorientated in the cloud… lost when she came out of it. . still in danger.

The drizzle fell. My heart also.

But she hadn’t made any mistakes.

The engine noise crept in as a hum, then a buzz, then a definite rhythm. The little red and white aeroplane appeared suddenly against the righthand sky, and she was circling safely round the outskirts of the field and coming sedately down to land.

‘Oh…’ Annie Villars said, and wiped two surprising tears of relief out of her eyes.

Ambrose said sulkily, ‘That’s all right then. Now I hope we can get off home,’ and stomped heavily away towards the buildings.

Nancy taxied round and stopped her Cherokee a short distance away. Colin climbed out on the wing, grinned hugely in our direction, and waved.

‘He’s got no bloody nerves,’ Kenny said. ‘Not a bleeding nerve in his whole body.’

Nancy came out after him, jumping down onto the tarmac and staggering a bit as she landed on wobbly knees. I began to walk towards them. She started slowly to meet me, and then faster, and then ran, with her hair swinging out and her arms stretched wide. I held her round the waist and swung her up and round in the air and when I put her down she wrapped her arms behind my neck and kissed me.

‘Matt…’ She was half laughing, half crying, her eyes shining, her cheeks a burning red, the sudden release of tension making her tremble down to her fingertips.

Colin reached us and gave me a buffet on the shoulder.

‘Thanks, chum.’

‘Thank the R.A.F. They found you on their radar.’

‘But how did you know…?’

‘Long story,’ I said. Nancy was still holding on to me as if she would fall down if she let go. I made the most of it by kissing her again, on my own account.

She laughed shakily and untwined her arms. ‘When you came… I can’t tell you… it was such a relief…’

Annie Villars came up and touched her arm and she turned to her with the same hectic over-excitement.

‘Oh…
Annie
.’

‘Yes, dear,’ she said calmly. ‘What you need now is a strong brandy.’