New Guard (CHERUB) - Robert Muchamore Page 0,55

but the microlight was completely different, with the ground vanishing below, windscreen almost touching his face, open sides, tiny engine between his legs and the barest thrum from the propeller.

‘This is so cool,’ James said, banking the tiny plane as he looked down at the others and their motorbikes shrinking to insignificance.

‘Now throw the stick left as hard as you can,’ Tovah said.

‘Seriously?’ James asked.

‘Do it,’ Tovah ordered.

As James threw the stick a red square flashed on the screen and the words Input Modified.

‘The PX1 has the same kind of avionics you’d find in a large airliner,’ Tovah explained. ‘If you aim for the ground, or try and do a barrel roll, the computers will override the input. You’ll be taught how to fly in override mode and do things like emergency landings, but for regular flying, you take off, program your destination into the GPS, then sit back. The only time pilot input is needed is for landing, and take-offs from short or uneven runways where you need to correct for bumps.’

‘It feels so natural,’ James said, marvelling at the sunlight catching the ocean, but also feeling vulnerable in a way he never had in a regular plane.

‘Now let’s finish the circle and take her back to the strip.’

‘Can I land it?’ James asked.

Tovah laughed. ‘We’d normally spend six weeks training special forces to fly PX1s. I’ve got to do you guys in four, but I still think it’s best if I land until you’ve had a few goes in a simulator.’

‘Can we master these in four weeks?’ James asked.

‘At least one hour in the air every day,’ Tovah said. ‘Double that with the simulators, and there’s a fair bit of book learning and maintenance to learn too. So it won’t be easy, but you seem like a smart bunch so I’m fairly confident.’

30. STRUCTURE

Four weeks later

James and Kerry had taken off from Gibraltar at sunset and flown a hundred and thirty kilometres east over the Mediterranean. A hop in a microlight was fun, but two hours were gruelling. Harnessed to an unpadded seat, blasted by wind and with nothing to do but occasionally check fuel status and confirm their positon to Tovah back at the summer hostel.

Dark came soon after take-off. Driving rain and lightning had the decency to wait until they were ten kilometres from the island. Having started with their flight computer predicting sixty kilometres of reserve fuel, unexpectedly strong headwinds had put this down to eighteen by the time Kerry sighted the glow of the hostel landing strip through her rain-pebbled visor.

‘Shall I radio?’ James asked, from the rear seat.

‘Go for it,’ Kerry said, as a great flash of lightning lit the sky and turned their fragile air-filled wing electric blue. ‘The rain’s worked through my suit and it’s running down my neck.’

‘Be glad to see the back of these tubs,’ James said, then he pressed his communication button. ‘Control, this is Golf Echo Five. I have visual on landing strip, approximately four and a half thousand metres. Are we clear to land, over?’

Tovah’s voice came back through the headset, as James thought he glimpsed Ryan and Kyle’s distinctive yellow wing a few hundred metres ahead through the rain.

‘Negative, negative, Golf Echo Five. Your landing site has been redesignated. You are clear to proceed to landing site 4B. Can you confirm that you have coordinates?’

‘Shit,’ Kerry moaned to James. ‘In this weather!’

Besides the giant tarmac runway, Tovah had selected several sites on the island, enabling crews to practise the kind of rough-terrain landings they could expect on the actual mission.

‘Fuel coverage is down to fifteen kilometres,’ Kerry blurted. ‘Tell Tovah.’

James did what Kerry said, but Tovah gave the answer he was expecting: Fifteen kilometres’ fuel was more than enough to make an attempt at landing site 4B, then circle back to the main landing strip if it didn’t work out.

‘She’s taking the piss,’ Kerry snapped.

To keep up competition, Tovah consistently ranked the pilot skills of the five Currents and five Crustys. Kerry consistently came up fourth or fifth in the rankings, but site 4B was her jinx. The first time she’d landed there, she’d had to make three attempts. First she’d come in too high, and on the second attempt a gust knocked her off course. The next time she’d had no problems on approach, but one of the rear wheels had hit a rock, ripping the tyre off its rim, causing jarred spines and minor damage to the underside of the carbon fibre tub.

‘Just