by Geoff Wolak
I claimed the first house next to the caretaker with Swifty. With Moran looking at the second house from the outside, I called across, ‘Just for you, that one. Grab it for now, unless you want to share.’
He made a face and stepped inside as the lads stood around taking in the base. ‘Rocko, Slider, next house for now. Rizzo, Stretch, next one along. Three Salties, next house if you like.’
They headed off to have a look, the doors open, keys left in doors.
I faced those that were left as they stood taking in the airfield. ‘Don’t choose a place yet, because these houses you have to pay rent for.’ I pointed. ‘You see those white-ish cabins over there, go have a look and let me know, they’re rent free.’
O’Leary, the Major and Captian Harris would not be staying overnight, so that was not an issue. And I had forgotten about our admin corporal, no idea where he lived.
I dumped my kit in a bedroom facing the airfield, my car unloaded with the help of MP Peter, who was now unsure what he and his team’s assignment was. He’d have to call his boss. For now he’d use a house with his mate and join the other MPs, still supposed to drive me to London.
After Swifty dumped his last box, not much to move, we walked over to the canteen, two Army Engineers sat with cups of tea, and with our RAF facilities manager. I shook his hand. ‘We just arrived,’ I told him.
‘Oh, still some work going on,’ he said as he stood, looking worried.
‘No problem, fewer people shooting at me over here.’
He sat, thinking me joking, and we left them to it. The coach was now parked near the first hangar, Harris and the Major unloading boxes.
Tomo bound up half an hour later. ‘I’ll take the cabin, Boss, fucking cosy, and posh with it. Lads love it.’
‘Fine, move your stuff – then help the Major,’ I told him before I entered the hangar with Swifty, work still progressing next door in the Killing House. We grabbed boxes and kit and helped move it into the Portakabin.
‘This will be my office,’ the Major noted, pointing. ‘Hatch through to this area, corporal and O’Leary. Office each for you and Moran, Harris at the end, still some spare room.’
Outside, I found Henri nosing around. ‘Well?’ I asked him.
‘This cabin room is good.’
‘You can have a house with Jacque if you like, cook for yourselves.’
He gave a big Gallic shrug and made a face. ‘Maybe, but this room is OK, not like a barracks.’
‘Up to you, but you are senior.’
In the canteen I found many of the lads ordering food, and it was only noon.
‘Good canteen, Boss,’ Smitty noted. ‘Pub up the road, snug room, do me fine.’
They chatted as I queued for some food, a quick service since many items were already sizzling away, the chosen items just had to be put on the plate. Rocko and Rizzo burst in, the smell attracting them.
‘House OK?’ I asked them.
‘Yeah, like my old one,’ Rizzo said.
Tomo asked, ‘What about bringing birds back here?’
‘Not without written permission, and maybe not even then, security is an issue,’ I told him, others listening in. ‘Go see them at their houses.’
Moran and Mahoney came in, ordered food, and sat with me and Swifty.
‘That place OK for you?’ I asked Moran.
‘Nice houses, yes.’ He thumbed at Mahoney. ‘Lodger with me to start.’
Mahoney said, ‘House by myself and I’d be rattling around in it.’
‘The lads love the cabins,’ I told them. ‘Quite spacious. Even Henri wants one.’
As I finished my lunch the Major came in. ‘So this is where you’re all hiding.’ He got himself a tea and sat. ‘Where would we hold briefings, no single room big enough?’
‘This place for now, sir,’ I suggested. ‘But I’ll chat to that RAF officer about a standalone cabin, big room.’
‘What’s the visitors centre?’ Stretch asked me from the next table.
‘Visiting VIPs and officers, like an officers mess, nice rooms. For when the Prime Minister comes to stay,’ I told him.
With everyone now assembled here, no Engineers, I stood. ‘Listen up. Today, just walk around and get to know where everything is. Armoury may be ready soon, then the range, for now keep the kit in boxes and keep them with you, sleep next to the boxes. This canteen is open till late, 8pm, and there’ll be a shop next door.
‘Village has a pub, they do food, and a shop and post office. Go up the road, straight over, it’s not very big. If you want a gym, up the A417 a mile, sign on the right, turn right half a mile towards Cirencester. It’s open 7am to 9pm.’
‘Not as far as I thought, this place,’ Rizzo noted. ‘Quick enough to get here.’
‘If you want to live in Hereford you can, there are no rules. Now, help us unload and unpack the office kit first. That second Portakin, on the left, will be for stores, so anything that should be in stores - stuff it in there. Second hangar, with the building work, will be the Killing House, and upstairs is the pistol range.
‘Behind the hangars is the 25yard range, ready to use, and behind that is the long range, maybe ready soon. And that’s it, not much else here, but we do have a great perimeter track to run around, and each day you’ll be required to knock some laps out. I’ll get some running machines as well for when it’s pissing down.’
‘And the barracks?’ Rocko asked.
‘For Externals when they come,’ I informed him. ‘Now, listen up. When here, keep security in mind, and when down that pub don’t blab – you know the penalty.’ I let them think about it. ‘There are armed MPs, but we may also do a stag now and then. After work you can use this canteen, stay in your room, leave the base, but I don’t want people wandering around late at night, and never go near the offices or ranges or anything else unless there’s a reason.
‘Most of you lived on bases before, so you know how it works, and there are armed MP patrols here – and twitchy. Piss about and I’ll kick the crap out of you, or kick you out.’ I let them think about it.
‘Here on this base, training is easier because we can run mornings and evenings, and I’ll make up a small gym, and we have the gym up the road. Rocko, Rizzo, you don’t need permission to take your men on the 25yard range or long range, just let the CO know so that we don’t double book. When the Killing House is ready you book time in it – but it’s just you two, so sort it out over breakfast each day.
‘There’ll be vehicles turning up soon, for practice, lorries, all sorts. And while I think about it, someone measure the track accurately, because we’ll do the ten and twenty mile here, probably the 24hr as well, so we need to know the distance. I reckon it’s under two miles.
‘As soon as the vehicles and the kit turns up, and the ranges are ready, we’ll keep you busy. Till then we may have some down time, so – Staff Sergeants – keep them busy, starting tomorrow morning. Any questions?’
‘Other side of Cirencester is a civvy parachute school,’ Swifty noted.
‘Yes, you could all use it, don’t break a leg.’
I looked up, so did everyone else, heavy frowns adopted. Stepping to the window, I could see a Hercules touching down. ‘Did anyone order a Hercules for today?’ I turned. ‘Smitty, you order up a Hercules again?’
They laughed as I opened the door, soon observing the blue-grey Hercules taxi around and stop. Engines winding down, crewmen and pilots stepping out as many of us walked over to it.
‘You can’t park that fucking thing there!’ I lightly said. ‘We run around this track.’
‘Wilco? What you doing here?’ a pilot asked.
‘This is our new base, and we want to run around the track.’
‘Oh, well ... jog around us.’
‘You leaving that ruddy great thing there?’ the Major asked.
‘Fire warning. No fire, just a sensor, but we’re not allowed to fly on. They’ll come out to us. Happened last week. And this runway, we use it
often, touch and go.’
‘From now on, check for people on it, but we’ll keep it clear. Aircraft radios being installed in the guardroom.’
‘We can ... pop in for lunch now and then?’
I nodded. ‘Anyone want a full English breakfast, canteen is operational, toilets inside.’
‘Hell yes,’ the pilot said as the MPs turned up, down from their jeep, weapons to hand.
I told them. ‘Watch that plane in case anyone nicks the wheels.’
O’Leary turned up an hour later with our admin corporal, questions asked about the Hercules, kit unloaded.
The RAF ground crews turned up an hour later from Lyneham and swapped one small sensor, six men to do just that, and off it flew, many of the ground crew in the rear of it and hitching a lift home.
At 5pm I returned to my new happy home, the door unlocked, and I was not worried about it being unlocked, not here. Swifty was unpacking in his room, and we met up in the lounge later, tea in hand, and sat in silence for a while, taking in the walls.
‘No TV,’ he noted.
I nodded. ‘My apartment came with one.’
He also nodded. ‘I got one, big old thing, but good picture. Pick it up soon. Was going to dump it. Rent on my place runs for another six weeks.’
‘How does the heating in here work?’ I puzzled. The pipes to the radiators were warm, the radiators off, but there was no boiler.
‘Must come from that base boiler,’ Swifty noted.
‘Where’s that parachute school?’ I idly asked.
He eased up, and fetched a brochure, handing it to me. ‘Ex-trooper runs it, or did, Pete something.’
‘I have an idea, or three.’ I dialled Bob. ‘You awake.’
‘Just got home.’
‘We’re in the new base, we’ve peed on the bushes and scent-marked our territory, training starts tomorrow.’
‘Good to hear.’
‘Listen, next to the guard room, create a mini apron of tarmac, Portakabin, big old shed. We’ll get that Cessna down here for regular lessons, leave it overnight maybe, fuel it, and we’ll create a mini parachute school here, ideal terrain.
‘I’ll go see the local civvy parachute school. They can fly in, chutes with them, lads and externals jump when the weather is OK, chutes back. If we do it through the RAF it’ll be a pain.’
‘Yes, fine, won’t cost much.’
‘Oh, need a Portakabin room big enough for briefings and lectures, will use the canteen for now, try and find one.’
‘Will do, there are not that many of you.’
‘But with Externals?’
‘Yes, could be a squeeze, leave it with me.’
‘Tomorrow I’ll have a good look at everything and let that RAF guy know what we need, he’s here every day apparently. And a Hercules landed.’
‘It did?’
‘Yes, they use this place for touch and go – which is fine so long as they know we’re here. This one had a fault.’
I did not sleep that well, a strange room, strange smells, and I heard the MP jeep driving around a few times. At 5.30am I was up, and moving quietly so as to not wake Swifty; I pissed out the back door save flushing the toilet.
After a cup of tea and biscuit in the kitchen, gym kit on, I ventured out into the dark blue morning, the door on the latch, and stepped down my wet garden path to the perimeter track, snails avoided. My car offered a shine of dew.
I took in the darkened airfield with a breath of cold air, and I smiled widely. This felt good, this felt like home. And to be able to run in a safe environment was great.
After two laps the MP Land Rover pulled alongside me. ‘Figured it was you, sir, we had a bet going.’
‘Not as fit as I was, so it won’t be a long run, or a fast one,’ I puffed out
‘Still fitter than us, sir.’
‘Nothing stopping you running a few times a week, Sergeant.’
‘Already doing a run now and then, sir.’
‘Use the range as well, stay sharp – I have enemies.’
‘We heard, yes, and we’re vigilant. Last night a gypsy took a wrong turn, despite the signs, got a rifle up his nose, we scared the shit out of him.’
‘Good,’ I puffed out. ‘Be firm. And don’t let anyone blag their way in.’
On lap four Tomo and Smitty joined me. ‘Morning boss, thought we’d find you here.’
‘Set your own pace,’ I told them. ‘Don’t wait for me.’
‘We do slow-fast, Boss, build capacity.’
‘Sounds familiar,’ I said as they sprinted off, and I envied their bodies, and their lack of accumulated injuries.
The two new lads, Slade and his mate, ran past me the other way, greetings extended, and when I finished up I could see at least eight men jogging around in groups.
Swifty was stirring so I used the shower. Back in my room, he called, ‘Been for a run already?’
‘It’s seven o’clock.’
‘Best I have a jog then,’ came with a yawn.
‘Track is full of lads.’
I sat with a tea as Swifty headed out, and at 8.15am we headed across to the canteen, half the lads already in it, a full English breakfast enjoyed.
When the Major turned up I performed a head count, and we held the briefing in the canteen, courses noted, questions listen to, sickness or injuries listed, holiday time booked.
As we finished - Rocko and Rizzo set to make alternating use of the ranges, three grey-haired men turned up in civvy clothes, and I had forgotten I had requested them. I had expected them at the old base.
‘OK, change of plan everyone. These gentlemen have a great deal of experience of close protection around the world, and they’re with us for today, maybe longer. Rick here was American Secret Service, Ted was SO13 since forever, and John here was Regiment – and he has a great many years bodyguard work under his belt.
‘So, while we have them, you all get a lecture from each, and some practical work, pistols and ammo to be ready. Take these seats, one table, and put them in the hangar, not cold today, create a lecture area. Move it.’
As Rick recalled funny stories from his time at the White House, I drove out with the Major, that parachute school in mind.
It was a short drive, and on the grass strip sat the aircraft I had seen in the brochure, a Shorts Skyvan, a short squat thing with a tail ramp; people could walk out the rear like a Hercules, used for civilian group freefall jumps.
Parked up, we walked to the “canteen / shop / info” as it displayed, many light aircraft dotted about.
‘Can I help you?’ a young woman asked in an unfriendly tone.
‘Boss around?’ I asked.
‘Boss of ... what?’
‘Boss of ... that plane,’ I said, thumbing towards it.
‘It’s on lease to the parachute club six months a year, and we have two people qualified to fly it. Are you ... Army?’
‘What gave it away?’ the Major asked as we stood in uniform.
‘We get soldiers and airmen in the club,’ she informed us, none too impressed. ‘I’ll get Pete, he’s the owner of the parachute club.’
Pete came outside five minutes later, as we took in the small aerodrome. He was grey, but fit looking. ‘You’re ... Major Bradley.’
‘We met?’ Bradley asked him.
‘I was “B” Squadron for six years. Been out five years.’
‘Then we probably met,’ the Major quipped. He indicated to me. ‘This is Wilco.’
‘Ah, the man himself.’ We shook. ‘You want to send lads here?’
‘Kindof,’ I replied.
‘Kindof?’ he repeated.
I thumbed at the Skyvan. ‘How’d you like some financial assistance with that?’
He squinted at me. ‘In return for..?’
‘We’d throw people out of it on a regular basis, pay fuel and costs, we’d hire chutes from you – not pack them ourselves, we’d borrow instructors, and ... you could park it on our runway.’
&n
bsp; ‘You have a runway?’ he puzzled.
‘You know the old balloon school down the road?’
‘Yeah, we got permission to do group drops there many times.’
‘We’ve taken over, so now you ask me for permission.’
‘You ... you’re there now?’
‘My specialist unit is there,’ I said. ‘SAS base is closing, downsizing a bit.’
‘I heard, yes, tin sheds. So ... you’d want to share the aircraft, share bills?’
‘We could offer the runway and some sheds, fuel money, but no large groups of civvies wandering around - unless at certain times. When you need the bird you drive down and fly it off, when we need it we coordinate with you and hire you out.’
‘Why not RAF?’ he asked.
I cocked an eyebrow. ‘If we get a good day, we need it then, and the RAF needs a year’s notice.’
‘You know how it works,’ the Major told him.
He nodded.
I said, ‘If I wake up and the wind is nil, we jump. And we have a bunch of external members who would come and jump, it would get plenty of use. Got some pilots as well, Cessna qualified. They could learn to fly the damn thing.’
‘Well, we’d be interested yes, because it’s sat getting cold all bar twenty days of the year. But now our lease is six months.’
‘We’d use it in the winter when the wind drops,’ I insisted. ‘And in the summer on weekdays only.’
‘Twelve month lease is more, but less per day,’ he informed us.
‘How many static line chutes do you have?’ I asked.
‘Around forty.’
‘Freefall?’
‘Around twenty. But many members have their own.’
‘Twin rigs?’
‘Four.’
I nodded, a look exchanged with the Major. ‘What I’m thinking, sir, is that medics and – most anyone we work with, get a few jumps in.’
‘Toughen them up, yes. Sort out the weak ones.’
I faced Pete. ‘I’ll talk to my boss, you think it through, and we’ll meet again soon. If you want a cuppa, drive to the airfield and ask for me, explain who you are ... or they’ll shoot you.’
‘So you’re working from there now?’ he puzzled.
