Lifeboat! by Margaret Dickinson Read Free Book Online Page B

tests, put in all the necessary flying hours and flew solo.
    It was like being transported from the mundane world into a heavenly existence. Not content with just bumming around the sky above the airfield, Mike Harland became addicted to gaining as many of the awards for gliding as he could. Whilst it was necessary for him to do distance and duration flying to obtain each stage, nevertheless it was cloud flying that intrigued and exhilarated him. Whilst his club-mates flew ever-increasing distances across country, Mike’s one aim was to climb higher and higher, ever higher.
    And on this particular Bank Holiday weekend he had the chance—if the weather conditions were only right—to try for his first diamond badge—an in-flight height gain of five thousand metres.
    At the moment when the maroons were being fired on that Saturday morning, twenty miles to the north west of Saltershaven and five miles due west inland from the coast, Mike Harland was listening to a weather report over the telephone.
    The general weather forecast broadcast on the radio earlier had said ‘ … all areas dry, very warm and mainly sunny, although the sunshine may he rather hazy at times. Maximum temperatures twenty-six centigrade (seventy-nine Fahrenheit). Winds light, south-westerly … ’
    But Mike needed a more detailed forecast and one specifically for flying conditions. So he phoned the regional meteorological office, who reported that there was likely to be very little or no cloud that day and consequently the freezing level would be very high, approximately ten thousand feet. The south-westerly winds would be light and variable.
    It was a disappointing forecast for Mike for without the lift provided by the thermals to cloud base, it was unlikely he would be able to achieve the kind of height he needed. Still, perhaps if he could be one of the first off the ground he would have the whole day in front of him.
    When Mike propped up his bike at the side of the airfield, he could see that one or two members of the gliding club were already there bringing out the gliders from the hanger. The landrover towed the office, a blue-painted caravan affectionately known as ‘the box’, to the north-east corner of the field from where they would be launching today into the wind.
    In one end of the caravan, positioned today to face to the south-west, were two huge lights, like searchlights, which were flashed to give signals to the winchman. Across the field, almost three quarters of a mile away, were the two buses, a double-decker and a single-decker. These had been converted to run a winch each. On each winch were two drums with a cable on each one, making four cables in all. A tractor with a frontal bar and hooks took the four cables at once across the field to the launching area and dropped them in a square marked with bollards and then returned to the buses to repeat the operation when all four winch cables had been used.
    Mike joined in bringing the ready-rigged gliders out and across the grass to the east side of the field to wait in line for each launch. Several more members began to arrive, some with their own gilders packed in thirty-foot trailers behind their cars. These would need to be rigged by at least three people. Each member of the club took his turn in helping with the ground jobs connected with launching, recording, signalling and so on, and helped rig and de-rig the various sailplanes.
    Mike approached the duty pilot of the day, Dave Armstrong. ‘Any chance of me being first away today, Dave? I’d like a shot at my diamond height.’
    â€˜Ah, Mike. Sorry, but I’ve had to put you down for winch duty today. Chris was down to do it, but his wife rang me this morning. He’s got one of these summer flu virus things. In a hell of a state, he is.’
    Mike pulled a face. ‘I was hoping to get away early. There’ll not be much lift today anyway and …’
    â€˜Look, just