JET LAG! (4 page)

‘Okay, sir,’ replied Morrissey as he took his seat in the second row. Klaus and Frank joined him and they waited patiently for the Station Commander to begin. Spot on 1300 the door to the briefing room opened and the Station boss strode in followed by the ‘Project Officer’, Squadron Leader Operations.

Group Captain Tony Edwards positioned himself behind the lectern at the front of the room, opened his leather bound folder, arranged his papers, carefully surveyed his audience and began speaking.

‘ Ladies and Gentlemen, good afternoon. Today, we are going to brief you on the arrangements for the Falklands War Tenth Anniversary Victory Flypast, to be held here at RAF Marham on the sixteenth of June, in the presence of Her Majesty the Queen. I’ll begin with  a few ground rules and then I’ll hand over to Squadron Leader Operations to fill in the details. Clearly, this flypast will be spotlighted by the worlds Press and many, many senior VVIPs will be in attendance. We
must
get it right, ladies and gentlemen. Squadron Leader Operations will outline the rehearsal programme and I wish to make it clear now that selected flying personnel will be subject to  a leave ban from February fifteenth until completion of the display.’

              At this, the assembled throng murmured their surprise and dismay. However, the Station Commander continued briskly, cutting off any protests.

‘I emphasise again, ladies and gentlemen, that this display is our number one  priority for the spring and I expect the highest standards. We cannot afford to get it wrong with such a large audience looking on ready to analyse and criticise the slightest mistake. Before I hand over to Squadron Leader Operations, are there any questions?’

              A moments silence before Todd Morrissey raised his arm.

‘Yes, Todd?’

‘Sir, there are rumours of a deployment to the Gulf if the situation there worsens again. Do you think we might become involved in that and if so will it take priority over this display.’

              The Station Commander  paused a few seconds before replying, trying to keep a note of annoyance out of his voice.

‘As far as I am aware, this Station is not concerned with any of the developments in the Gulf or anywhere else. I repeat, the Flypast will take priority this summer. Any more
relevant
questions?’

Silence. The Station Commander had made his point and Todd reddened slightly at the rebuke.

‘Right, I will now hand over to Squadron Leader Operations who will brief the finer details of the display organisation.’

The Station Commander took his seat at the centre if the front row, and Squadron Leader Phil Wilcock took his place behind the rostrum, clicked the hand controller to put up the first slide, and began his long and very detailed briefing.

The display would be on the second of April and would involve dozens of aircraft. There would be several separate formations passing over the airfield and Squadron Leader Todd Morrissey would be commanding the lead flight, which would consist of four Tornado bombers (IDS), four Tornado interceptors (ADV), two Reconnaissance Tornados, one Canberra ECM, ( Electronic Counter Measures ), two Reconnaissance Canberra PR-9s, one C-130 Hercules  transport and a VC-10 refuelling-tanker.  The formations would pass over the viewing platform at thirty second intervals and would form up in separate areas, have independent IP’s (Initial Points which would lead the aircraft in accurately), and to all intents and purposes would be separate entities. The whole nine yards would only come together at the full dress rehearsal and on the day itself. The critical factor would be timing and as lead navigator for the Marham package, Todd Morrissey would be solely responsible.

              It was either make or break.

If he got it right he could hold his head high and that promotion would be a certainty. If he got it wrong - he could end up as an Operations Officer in the Outer Hebrides.

‘Rather you than me,’ whispered Klaus from two seats away.

                                                                                    4

Todd and his two subordinates travelled back to the Squadron and found it empty but for the Adjutant and her Corporal, who were tidying up before going home. Klaus and Frank said their goodnights and set off for Married Quarters - probably via the Mess for a quick beer. Todd popped his head round the Adj’s door and asked her if she’d seen Stumpy Stokes.

              ‘Gone home, sir. About ten minutes ago.’

              ‘Damn!’ cursed Todd who needed to chat with his pilot before tomorrow’s squadron briefing. They must get together and scratch out a plan for this display. The Station Commander wanted it by next week and the squadron boss would need to approve it first. He needed Stumpy’s advice - indeed he valued it highly. Stumpy had over three thousand hours flying Tornados and a tour with the Red Arrows to boot. He was an outstanding aviator who could fly the Tornado by sense of smell. Todd had hand picked him out shortly after his arrival on the Squadron. There were two main reasons really for that. Firstly, he wanted a competent pilot who wasn’t going to kill him in a useless flying accident; and, he needed a keen sort of chap to do all the flight planning when Todd was busy doing his Flight Commander duties with Patsy. Therefore, Stumpy was the ideal candidate for the job, and Todd had cleverly delayed Stumpy’s promotion a year or two by circumspect and ambiguous writing of his annual confidential report. Secretly, Stumpy was quite happy to remain flying on the Squadron and Todd had taken full advantage of that fact.

              ‘Give him a ring at home, will you Patsy, and ask him to come back to work - now. Or least to give me a ring in my office.’

              ‘Right, sir. But he won’t be happy.’

              ‘Not my problem - just ring him will you?’

Patsy grinned at Todd as she picked up the phone to call Stumpy.

Stumpy was ‘in the pub’, reported his long suffering spouse, and you’d have to get to him quick or he’d be ‘off the plot’ pretty soon. Patsy rang the Mess and the steward got the errant pilot to the phone.

              ‘Sorry, mate, but I need to speak to you before tomorrow - about the Falklands Flypast. The Station Commander briefed us this afternoon and we need a plan of action.’

              ‘Can't it wait,’ wined Stumpy, ‘I’ve already had a couple of beers and I can’t really drive back to the squadron like this.’

              Todd was not happy with this response and said so.

             
‘Great stuff, Stumpy, that’s really helpful. Thanks a lot. I suppose it
will
have to wait. But you are to be in tomorrow at 7am sharp. I want your input on a couple of things before I brief the rest of the team.’

Todd slammed the phone down and angrily started making a few notes for the following morning.

Meanwhile Stumpy returned to the bar amid a host of enquiries about his call.

              ‘Only the Exec. He wants me in at seven tomorrow to wipe his arse again. Well, he’ll be lucky. Met Brief is 8am and that’s when I’ll be in. He can get stuffed!’

                                                                                    ***

Next morning Todd sat at the Operations desk on the squadron reading the Meteorology report for the days flying. He looked at his aircrew watch for the sixth or seventh time and started to realise, correctly, that Stumpy would not be turning up on time - as ordered.

Stumpy Stokes was starting to become a pain in the backside. He was starting to take advantage of Todd’s generous nature, which meant that Todd was doing more planning and preparation on the flying side of things than he wished. This was
not
why he had chosen Stumpy as his front-seater, and Stumpy was certainly now heading for a fall.

And Todd Morrissey was just the man to send him tumbling on his way!

                                                                                    ***

              ‘Stumpy, my office, NOW!’

The grin rapidly disappeared from Stokes’ face as he chatted idly to the rest of the crews waiting in the squadron briefing room for the 0800 met brief. An uncomfortable silence temporarily fell over the room as the other Flight Commanders sitting in the front row looked at each other and exchanged silent looks of self-satisfaction. They all knew that the shit was going to hit the fan sooner or later, and sooner seemed to be on the cards. Only the boss stared straight ahead, glanced at his watch and waited patiently for the time hack in fifteen seconds. He would have a quiet word with Todd. He didn’t want anything to prejudice the flypast - and this had all the makings of a serious hitch.

Meanwhile Stumpy sloped up the corridor towards the Exec’s office preparing himself for the inevitable one-sided interview which would follow his arrival. He was almost tempted just to let it go - again - but no, this time he might just lay his cards on the table. Morrissey had used - and abused him, enough.

              ‘Come in Stumpy.’

Todd was fuming and he neglected to make the customary offer to take a seat. He didn’t want Stumpy at his ease or thinking he was going to get away with it this time.

              ‘Where were you at 0700?’asked Todd. ‘Why were you not at the squadron as ordered?’

Before Stumpy could offer a lame excuse Todd exploded.

              ‘I’ve just about had enough of you Stokes. This is the third time in a month that you've crossed me and undermined my authority on the squadron. I will not have you blatantly disobeying me and then going back to your cronies and laughing at my expense. I will not have the discipline of this squadron prejudiced.’

Todd was now shouting - something he didn’t often do. But this time he wanted to be certain that Stumpy understood him.

              ‘You have been deliberately winding me up for weeks now,’ Todd continued, ‘ever since your annual confidential report debrief, and I’ve just about had enough of it. When I give you an order or an instruction I expect it to be obeyed. I don’t often give orders on this outfit - I don’t need to - most people are pulling together and usually a polite request is all that is needed. But
you
,
Stumpy, are stepping over the line. You’ve mistaken kindness and friendship for weakness. Well, my
friend
, you've made a serious mistake. Firstly, you’re off the Red Flag detachment to Las Vegas in the Spring. Secondly, you’re grounded for a week - operations desk duties, and last - but not least - you’re off the flypast.’

Stumpy’s eyes widened. He couldn’t believe his ears. The man was going right over the top. Complete over-reaction. Never mind, he thought, keep quiet for now - the boss would overrule this - they
needed
Stumpy for the flypast. They were desperately short of four-ship leaders. They had no choice - this was clearly an attempt at the ‘frighteners’ by Morrissey. He would never see it through.

‘I’m not interested in excuses or pleas to change my mind. You’re out. And if the attitude doesn’t change - dramatically - you’ll be off this squadron quicker than you can say Machrihanish or RSO.’

Todd referred to the aviators nightmare posting as a Range Safety Officer on a practice bombing unit or as an Operations Officer at a remote Scottish backwater. Career and flying suicide.

              ‘Now, get out. You’ll find you’re off the programme this morning. Moose can swap with you - he
was
on the desk.’

Stumpy had decided to keep quiet - he’d play his cards later. He went quietly and Todd thought he had handled the situation very well.  A senior officer didn’t often have to give one of the aircrew a bollocking - but he imagined that he had been extremely slick - just the right amount of pressure applied. However, he did need to convince the boss of Stumpy’s need for discipline and that may prove awkward. The boss was Stumpy’s leader on the Red Arrows tour and they were quite close. But in the final analysis, he could not back Stumpy against his own Executive Officer. He would have to accept the terms of Stumpy’s punishment whether he liked it or not. And what’s more, there was always the Air Marshal in MOD if the push came to the shove.