JET LAG! (6 page)

              ‘November six-seven, request take-off.’ Stumpy made the standard request of Air Traffic – the control tower in this case.

              ‘November six-seven, clear take off, surface wind calm. Left turn after take-off, climb to fifteen hundred feet to join downwind for your flypast rehearsal,’ came back Flt Lt Roger Taylor in ATC.

              ‘November six-seven, clear take-off, instructions copied. Can you confirm that the radar pattern is clear, and that no other aircraft are due back in the next three-zero minutes?’

              ‘That is affirmative six-seven, all patterns clear for the next hour in fact.’

             
‘Roger,
Roger
, six-seven rolling.’ Stumpy could never resist his little joke with Roger Taylor, the tame 619 Squadron Air Traffic Controller.

November six-seven slid down the runway and got safely airborne, turned left and climbed to fifteen hundred feet as instructed, and switched to the ‘approach’ frequency who would monitor their flight, and inform them of any incoming aircraft which might prejudice the safety of their sortie. Todd took control of the radio, as navigators often do once away from the airfield, so that Stumpy could concentrate fully on the flying.

              ‘Radar, November six-seven airborne and proceeding to the area. We’ll call you when ready to recover for landing.’

              ‘Roger, six-seven.’

The Tornado commenced it's descent on a beautifully sunny early Spring afternoon in early March, and Todd gave Stumpy a waypoint to steer the aircraft towards. They would take a look at the proposed IP’s and lead-in features and the practise the run-in several times to make sure that they were all satisfactory. As it happened all went very well. The IP they had selected was the edge of a small village at twenty-two miles – five minutes and thirty seconds - from the target and it had a church with the biggest steeple Todd had ever seen. It was perfect. In addition there was a large reservoir at thirty miles where all formations could hold whilst waiting to be called in. Each group of aircraft could orbit at two thousand foot intervals vertically, and follow the leader down and into the IP - which was now the big church. The run in heading was zero-eight-five degrees and as November six-seven approached the airfield Stumpy realised in delight that he had found the perfect lead-in point. The L-shaped wood on the map stood out like the proverbial dogs-balls, and would be just the feature the pilots needed. The runway came into view next and at the far side of the airfield, about five miles distant was a thirteen hundred feet high electronic mast which all of the crews could aim for, thus keeping straight along the runway. Todd had found a couple of position fixes for the radar - not ideal, but they would do. The only minor problem was the Nuclear Power Generating plant which lay about four miles South East of the holding reservoir. Clearly, no aircraft would be allowed to overfly it so Todd would have to brief that aspect very carefully indeed.

However, apart from that it was a satisfying sortie and they practised the run four times before calling ATC for recovery to the airfield. Stumpy gave Marham a call:

              ‘Marham Tower, November six-seven ready for recovery - run, break, land.’

              ‘November six-seven, Roger, runway zero-nine, QFE one-zero-one-three, wind calm, circuit clear; clear break.’

Stumpy lined himself up with the runway descended to five hundred feet and brought back the power to give himself three hundred and sixty knots. As he approached the airfield, he called the IP and ATC acknowledged. Overhead the centre of the runway he cut the engines to idle, pulled hard left on the stick and took the Tornado up to one thousand feet and into the downwind position for a landing. He made the calls to ATC as per SOP’s (Standard Operating Procedures) and brought the aircraft round the corner and touched down smoothly onto the runway.

              ‘Great,’ said Todd as they rolled to a halt outside the squadron. ‘All we need to do now is teach the rest of them how to do it. But at least we’ve got a month in hand. I can’t see any major problems at all’

6

March 1992

The following couple of weeks on 619 Squadron were dominated by the Flypast and Todd was kept busy with briefings and practices. Patsy had gone distinctly cool, and Todd noted with some relief that she was starting to attach herself to a young Flying Officer from one of the other squadrons. However, Todd took this all in his stride and he believed that it would be better in the long run if his ‘association’ with Patsy was at an end. Stumpy continued to strut round the squadron with a silly smirk on his face, and it became Todd’s burning ambition to wipe it off - once and for all. However, he could afford to bide his time. After all …..revenge etc etc etc!

              However, things took a turn for the worse in mid-March. Trouble in Iraq reared its ugly head ominously, and the newspaper headlines once more became full of gloom and doom. It looked as though NATO would again become embroiled in the civil unrest, and Todd smiled quietly to himself when he recalled the Station Commander’s rebuff at the briefing back in February. Nevertheless, the MOD maintained that the Flypast was certain to go ahead in April. Todd and his team were ready, and barring a complete disaster the flypast should earn him his promotion to Wing Commander – and inevitably his own squadron.

              That Friday evening Todd stopped off at Happy Hour for his habitual four or five pints before walking home for a late supper with his wife. He left the Officer’s Mess feeling well pleased with himself and was actually looking forward to the next couple of weeks. He slipped into bed just after 11pm, and fell into a deep sleep planning how he would run his new command.

              ‘Todd; TODD; WAKE UP – the bloody recall siren’s going.’

Fay Morrissey was shaking Todd awake as the bedside telephone rang. Todd reached over, muttering violent oaths and finally picked it up at the third attempt.

              ‘Squadron Leader Morrissey.’

              ‘Hello, sir.’ came back the cheery little voice, ‘It’s a station recall, sir, all personnel to report to duty.’

              ‘What’s going on,’ blurted Todd, ‘is this for real? It's bloody Saturday!’

              ‘I’m sorry sir, just report for duty, I’ve got others to call,’ and the caller hung up.

              ‘Shit!’ shouted Todd, ‘I’m not even fit to fly and neither will most of the rest of the Squadron after last night.’  He slipped out of bed and stubbed his toe on the bedside chair.

              ‘Shit, shit, shit, why don’t they turn that bloody row off, I can’t hear myself think?’ Todd was not a happy bunny.

              ‘Be quiet, Todd, you’ll upset the kids,’ rebuked Fay.

              ‘Fuck the kids!’ cursed Todd, ‘if this is for real, we’re all in deep shit!’

              ‘Todd, please – just get dressed and go to work.’

              ‘OK, OK, OK, - where’s my new flying suit - the other’s in the wash.’

              ‘It’s hanging up behind the door – where it always is.’

              ‘Oh yeah, so it is.’

Todd got dressed within sixty seconds, laced up his flying boots, ran down the stairs, pulled on his flying jacket, grabbed his hat, shouted; ‘Bye’ up the stairs, and flew through the front door. His next door neighbour met him on the grass and Todd offered him a lift – which he gratefully accepted. Todd had a service vehicle at his disposal and they both jumped in.

Seven minutes later Todd pulled up outside 619 Squadron, jumped out of the car and walked briskly into the squadron offices. He was the first one there, so he turned to the fellow officer to whom he had given a lift , and ordered him to man the Operations Desk. Todd walked across to the crewroom where he was surprised to see the boss, Andy Millar, sitting in the corner with a large sheaf of signals in his hand. Even more startling was the figure sat next to him. Fully kitted out in flying gear was Air Vice Marshal Sir Henry Morrissey – his father!

7

Barely able to keep his astonishment under control, he stepped forward and shook hands with his father whilst simultaneously acknowledging his squadron boss.

              ‘This is an unexpected pleasure, sir , what brings you to 619?’

              The Air Marshal turned to the squadron commander, clearly exasperated by something.

              ‘I think we’d better retire to your office Andy, where we can discuss this in private.’

The AVM was clearly extremely irritated by something or someone. Todd hoped that he wasn’t the subject of his father’s wrath. They trooped along to the office and after sitting down around the boss’s coffee table, AVM Morrissey immediately kicked off the discussion.

              ‘Todd, I’m afraid its bad news. During the past twenty-four hours – as you are probably aware – the Iraqi Revolutionary Guard has been playing silly buggers along the Kuwaiti border. NATO commanders expect matters to get worse – much worse – and have decided to bolster up our forces in the region.’

              ‘Well, that’s the flypast down the swannee,’ blurted Todd.

              ‘Not necessarily,’ came the curt reply.

Todd’s brain was turning somersaults trying to work out just exactly what was going on.

              The AVM immediately solved the puzzle.

              ‘I‘ve convinced CAS (the Chief of the Air Staff) that we can cover our commitment to Kuwait
and
honour the flypast. It will need a lot of work on your part, Todd, but it can be done – just.’

              ‘Well, sir,’ replied Todd, ‘I’m all ears – I must admit I’m more than mildly confused at this point!’

              The AVM continued with his plan.

              ‘The Chief of the Air Staff is convinced that the Iraqi sabre rattling is a flash in the pan, and would not do anything about it if the decision was his. However, it’s not and our masters in NATO have insisted that we reinforce the region – tout-suite. Accordingly, we’ve come up with the following plan – and this is where you come in, Todd.’

              In an instant it came to him. He could now predict exactly what his father was going to say – and it didn’t please him in the slightest.

              ‘Todd, the flypast will go ahead – and on schedule – on the second of April, just seven days from now. It works nicely, as the second was the day the Argentines started the whole business.’

              ‘But…’ Todd tried to object.

              ‘Just listen to the whole plan and then you’ll see the sense of it. The flypast goes ahead on the second, and then the relevant contingent of the flying package will transit direct to Brindisi in Italy to act as our element of the reinforcement force. The press will advertise the flypast/deployment prominently so that the general public will be encouraged to watch. It’s a perfect solution. NATO appreciate the importance of the flypast and have agreed the plan. And the icing on the cake is that you will be detachment commander in Italy, with the acting rank of Wing Commander. Now you can comment Todd.’

              Todd immediately realised that this was an ambitious project.

              ‘There are a thousand and one things to do between now and next Saturday. I can’t be expected to run a flypast and organise an Operation Order for a move to Italy!’

              OC 619 broke in.

              ‘We realise that. I have been tasked with organising the logistics and admin side of the move, so all you need to do is get the team to Brindisi after the flypast. I will hand over to you on your arrival. It’ll be hard work but it’s possible -  just. We’ll get full co-operation from all agencies – this will be the number one project within the RAF for the next week. We can kill two birds with one stone, and with the least amount of disruption. What do you think, Todd?’

              Todd’s mind was racing. At first glance it looked possible but he’d need a lot of help. However, the early promotion far outweighed any hassle he might encounter. He decided to be positive, resisting the temptation to identify any possible objections at this stage.

              ‘Well, sir, I’d better get started. I take it that the call-out is for all this?’

              ‘Yes, Todd, all units involved with the flypast have been called out this morning – nationwide - so that aircraft and personnel can be transported here by close of play tomorrow. All station personnel will be alerted to our plan by tannoy at 0600 hours – thirty-five minutes from now. The other stations involved in our formation – RAF Coningsby, Wyton, Lyneham and Brize Norton are all being briefed as I speak. Clearly, this is going to cause some inconvenience for their personnel, but I’m afraid that can’t be helped. The three other major formations are to work independently, and may well send elements to Dharan in due course – but they are not your problem. Just ensure that their formation leaders get the essence of the Flypast procedures and plan, and they will practice independently. Andy, can you arrange for your OC Ops to co-ordinate that aspect?’

              Andy Millar nodded and Todd realised that the plan was a fait accompli, so he be well advised to just get on with it. Complaints would fall on deaf ears.

              ‘Right sir, I’ll need to go away and think about this for an hour or so, just to gather my thoughts and make a skeleton plan. We can add the bones as we go along. There’s a lot to think about.’

              Todd got up to leave and then turned back to face his father.

              ‘I take it you’ll be here tonight, sir. If so, will you join us for supper? Fay will be delighted to see you.’

              ‘I’m not sure Todd; as you say there’s a lot to do, so I can’t be sure I’m free – but I’ll try my best.’

              ‘Fair enough – but if you can make it, let’s say 2030 hours.’

              Todd replaced his cap, saluted and left the office almost at a run. He would need to think this one over for a while. It needed to be done properly. As he was about to close the door of OC 619’s office he heard the Wing Commander call him back.

              ‘Here, catch!’ smiled Andy Miller, ‘that promotion starts today.’

              Todd nearly fumbled the catch but just managed to hold on to the two small blue objects flung across the room. He smirked as he realised what they were – a pair of Wing Commanders’ rank braids.

***

The next twenty-four hours were horrendous, yet exhilarating.

First of all, Todd went straight to the crewroom. All available squadron aircrew had now assembled as a result of the earlier call-out. The delicious and mouth-watering aroma of bacon sandwiches wafted down the corridor as Todd strode through the doorway. The Exec burst straight into the briefing.

              ‘Right, everybody stop what you’re doing and pay attention – the shit has hit the fucking fan – big time!’

He paused for dramatic effect and could see all the ‘thinks bubbles’ rising from his colleagues as they imagined everything from a no-notice Tactical Evaluation to World War III.

              Todd continued. ‘I can now reveal the purpose of the call out. You can all relax – Armageddon is not here – but it's almost as bad. The flypast has been brought forward to this Saturday.’

              A collective gasp followed by a hubbub of expletives rent the air.

              ‘And that’s not all. All personnel involved with the flypast will be proceeding direct to Brindisi to support what is now called Operation Endeavour – i.e. the renewed support of Kuwait.’

              Further expletives – some truly heartfelt - followed this unexpected revelation.

              ‘Settle down, settle down! Now, I can tell that you’re all
really
glad you joined – so I can only advise you to sit back and let it happen. Nothing you can say will change anything. The more astute amongst you will have noticed my change of rank – I will be detachment commander at Brindisi.’