***
5.30pm found Stumpy sitting in the crewroom having supped his third bottle of Heineken Export from the squadron fridge. A bit of Dutch courage wouldn’t hurt to bolster his confidence for the coming confrontation. He knew Morrissey was in his office and the Adj, as usual, was waiting to lock up the building. He got up, walked across the crewroom and out of the door. He unchained his bicycle and wheeled it towards Morrissey’s office window, which lay across the courtyard.
***
Todd was in his office with his back to the window and Patsy the Adj was spread-eagled face down across his large desk. They were enjoying their regular Friday afternoon session before retiring to the bar with a warm glow, and a feeling of smug self-satisfaction for Todd.
The sudden rap at the window scared the living daylights out of Todd, and as he and Patsy turned their heads as one towards the sound, a hand pushed the glass frame and a face in the gap appeared. The voice was calm, but a definite note of victory could be traced.
‘I take it I’m back on the Flypast then, Todd?’
Stumpy Stokes, glanced at Patsy’s naked backside, turned around, got onto his bike and rode off to the Mess.
5
The next few weeks were extremely difficult for Todd Morrissey. The first priority was to prevent anybody else from finding out about his dalliance with Patsy - who still found the whole experience of Stumpy’s appearance at the window incredibly embarrassing. She coloured up violently every time she saw him round the squadron and, what is more, would have very little to do with Todd. He had persuaded her to remain calm and carry on as if nothing had happened. This she reluctantly agreed to do and only realised much later that she had missed a chance to get Todd all to herself. However, Todd had managed to limit any potential damage for the immediate future, but clearly Stumpy now had the upper hand.
Todd had been forced to go to the boss, cap in hand, and apologise profusely for his previous behaviour. Andy Millar was astounded at this development, but accepted the apology with good grace, and even admitted secretly that perhaps Todd was worth saving after all. Stumpy, of course, kept his mouth shut and waited patiently for events to develop as he imagined they would. He was back leading the Flypast team and it was satisfaction enough - for the time being - that Morrissey had to eat humble pie in front of the rest of the squadron. So, even though the atmosphere was tense, it never really developed into the full scale public war that had been threatened. All parties had far too much to lose.
The next couple of weeks saw Todd and Stumpy get down to the real work of planning the Flypast. The first job was to outline the aircraft and crews in their formation. This would consist of four Tornado bombers IDS, (Interdictor Strike), four Tornado fighters ADV (Air Defence Variants), two Tornado Reconnaissance, two Canberra PR9 reconnaissance, one VC10 Tanker (Re-fuelling), one Hercules transport (C-130) and one ECM Canberra (Electronic Counter Measures). This gave a nice cross-section of RAF aircraft and would make a pleasing display for Her Majesty - or so the big wheels in MOD thought. However, from Todd’s point of view it was a large and cumbersome formation of fifteen aircraft with seven different squadrons and fourteen other crews to deal with, plus another seven aircraft acting as spares if one went unserviceable. The aircraft were all on different stations, thus command, control and co-ordination could be a nightmare - so preparation was the key. Therefore, meticulous planning was the immediate priority.
The principle job was to closely read the Operation Order and extract the relevant paragraphs pertaining to their formation. They were leading the whole show which involved the co-ordination of sixty aircraft, which were to pass over the airfield, at one thousand feet above the runway, within two minutes - one hundred and twenty seconds. Fortunately all of the four larger formations would be in trail - one behind the other - so only one track leading in to the runway needed to be planned and rehearsed. Todd’s fifteen-ship, or a Balbo as large formations were affectionately called, would be abeam the royal podium at 1100GMT on the second of April 1992 and was designated the callsign ‘Anson’ formation. The next three ‘Balboes’ would follow at thirty second intervals and were designated, ‘Blenheim’, ‘Canberra’ and ‘Dakota’- all famous aircraft types from the Second World War (excepting the old warhorse – Canberra) and conveniently alphabetical. Each sub-formation would have its own leader and only they would respond to check-ins from the overall leader, Todd, whose master callsign was Purple.
Todd and Stumpy pored over maps for several hours familiarising themselves with the ground features around the station at RAF Marham, where the flypast was to be. They knew where the podium was to be positioned and marked it carefully with a triangle - designating the Target - on a 1:50000 scale map, better known to the countryside rambler as an Ordinance Survey map. In fact they needed to glue three maps together to give them a long enough lead-in to the target. Clearly, they would not be permitted to overfly the royal party, so they had been instructed to run straight down the runway which conveniently ran at ninety degrees to the rostrum. First problem solved!
So all they had to do now was to back-plot the run-in to a position about ten miles out from the airfield to a position known as an IP or Initial Point. This would be a point on the ground which was unique and very easy to identify. This formation would be flying at two hundred and forty knots to accommodate the C-130’s and other non-jet aircraft following on. It was slightly uncomfortable for the jets but just bearable. Therefore at four miles per minute (two hundred and forty knots) it would be useful if they could find a point exactly twenty miles from the field on the projected centreline. That would mean a five minute run-in. Just about the right time to settle in and relax. They would also need a couple of good, solid fix-points to update the navigational equipment, and a good lead in feature on the edge of the airfield. This would give Stumpy something to aim at. Also a prominent feature beyond the target would enable Stumpy and the other formation leaders to track a straight line across the airfield and past Her Majesty in good shape. Consequently, it took the pair several hours to satisfy all of these criteria, and once they had sketched in the initial plan they commandeered an aircraft and went off to see if it all worked in the air.
‘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 h
ad 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
RAF Marham
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.’
JET LAG! Page 4
