Everyday is a learning day...

In my last job I was an instructor at a training camp. It was the very best job, as the post gave me freedom to do pretty much what I wanted. Well I say that, but what we had to teach was strictly set down - but HOW to teach it was not, and my post was all about teaching trainees to be "better" airmen. The technical schools did their job at making them good technicians, but it was my job to get them to be good airmen; to expand their soft skills - teamwork, communication, common sense...

I did this through running a 3 day exercise at the end of their training course where as well as doing their primary role of working on aircraft or tele-communications equipment (or even as combat photographers!) they had to pretend to be deployed to a Forward Operating Base in a made up country in Africa.

This deployment was in reality to the far side of the airfield, but it was to a purpose built campsite that was "austere". This meant that there were no home comforts. Just tents to sleep in, a mess tent for cooking rations for food and a command bunker made from the same materials that they will find when they go into theatre - Hesco-Bastion. At the two entrances to the camp there were also Hesco guard posts that provided protection against “mortars” and such like. Here mobile phones were banned and they stayed on site for the three days working long days (from 6am-midnight) rotating between providing security for the site (guard duties and patrols) and working on the aircraft.

Anyway, to make the deployment more realistic, we as instructors would throw in scenarios for the trainees to respond to. These would be, at times, quite realistic...from vehicle patrols that would drive over a "Improvised Explosive Device" (the now infamous "IED") to foot patrols to recover "pilots" who had ejected from crashed aircraft.

One that I came up with was an extended one that ran for a couple of hours and relied on one of the trainees to help me out. This was a "Proxy-bomber" scenario.

In this I would wait until the night and take a section out on a foot patrol, having primed the last man in the team to go missing as we patrolled through a particularly dark area. The section would invariably not notice that he was missing until we returned to the safety of the base...

(He himself was primed to make his own way to a nice safe portacabin - with the luxury of a real toilet and a proper heater. There he would find a set of combat body armour (CBA) with the kevlar removed and stuffed with rolls of paper. These inside the CBA would look like sticks of explosive. Wires and an "aerial" would complete the gear - to make it look like he was wearing a "suicide bomber" jacket.

Now this is serious stuff. One of the things that has happened in the past (in Northern Ireland and Vietnam and a few other places) is the idea of a proxy bomber. The "enemy" would capture someone and strap a bomb to them and then send them back to the place that they want blowing up. This way maximum damage for minimal losses.

So. Our stooge, Paul, straps himself into the CBA and, at the pre-determined time, leaves the safety and warmth of the porta-cabin and walks across to the main gate of the FOB, where, by matter of chance is one of his course-mates.

As he gets close to the gate, he then starts to shout and scream for help (as he had been told to in his briefing earlier). This briefing had consisted of me telling him that he must scream for help and tell the guards that he had been captured by the enemy and they had strapped this jacket to him and then told him it was a bomb. He then was released and told to "go home". The enemy were watching him and the bomb jacket was remote controlled. They were about and would explode it when they were ready. His task was to gain entry to the camp anyway he could – to push past the guards, anything, short of actual physical violence. However, should the guards be calm – he was to calm down, basically he was to the guards in the way they reacted to him. Finally, if he was told to go into the Hesco’s by the gate then he was to do so.

This is actually the best outcome for this situation. If the poor lad IS wearing a bomb then the best thing for him is to be calmed down and brought onto the camp BUT placed in a location that will cause as little damage as possible if the bomb detonates. Whilst in this location he can then wait for Bomb-Disposal (or EOD) who will come to save him!

Back at the FOB…Our lad came wandering up to the gate shouting. The guard does exactly as he should do and issue a warning along the lines of stop or I fire. The lad stops and puts his hands up, but carries on shouting “Help” only this time he adds the name of the guard (who we’ll call “Jonesy”).

Jonesy asks his course mate what is going on and the lad replies exactly as he has been told. “I’ve got a bomb strapped to me! The bastards are watching and say they are gonna blow it!”

At this news Jonesy takes a step back. And pulls out his radio. But the other guard shouts at him not to transmit…IED’s can explode if a radio is used near to them. (Tick, very good, to that lad – he’s learnt something on his training!) Jonesy tells him to run to “get someone – anyone!” which he duly does…this leaves poor Jonesy on his own.

Paul starts to move forward again…”Come on mate, let me in…I don’t want to die!” But Jonesy stands firm. “Paul, mate stand still. Sit down there and be cool…” (Well done Jonesy; trying to calm the poor fella.)

Jonesy tries to talk to Paul and calm him, but as he does so, starts to panic a little and so Paul does as instructed and starts to do the same. Paul stands up and walks towards the gate…Jonesy steps back…and Paul gets up to the gate line. He goes to step into the camp and this sets Jonesy into a real panic.

Now Jonesy is “armed” with the standard issue L85A2 “SA80” assault rifle, with two magazines of 30 rounds of blank ammunition. As Paul steps forward one more time, Jonesy cocks the rifle and then as Paul takes one more step he takes aim and fires the rifle…AT HIS MATE PAUL.

Now I had been watching all this, without stepping in at any stage, but at this dramatic turn of events I had to.

Paul stood and looked at Jonesy. Then, rather comically, down at his chest, where he’d just been “shot”. Obviously there was nothing there and he was perfectly alright, but…but…it was what it meant.

I stepped forward. “Jonesy, put the rifle down and step back. What the fuck…What did you just do…What the fuck, man…SHIT YOU SHOT HIM!”

“I, I, I, didn’t know what to do…”

“So you thought you’d shoot me!” said Paul.

“I, I, I, er….shit. I…errrrr...”

“Right. Seriously Jones. Put the rifle down and go and sit down. Shit. You SHOT HIM!” I said. I honestly couldn’t believe what had happened. And to be honest I was a bit lost for what to do next.

I mean Jonesy had just “shot” hit mate. Someone who he had been with all the way through training, some 7 months. This was mad, crazy. How the hell do we…I…deal with this, and what it meant.

It meant that Jonesy and Paul’s trust had just been seriously attacked and diminished. It meant that Jonesy needed to think a bit more about what he might be faced with in the future. It meant that in 6 months time when Jonesy is deployed and on guard at a gate somewhere hot and dusty and scary…well how would he cope if this happened for real.

“Jonesy. You shot your mate. Can you imagine what the fuck this would have meant if this was for real? Can you imagine the front page of The Sun? ‘Cos I tell you what, mate, something like this would make page one. Big time!”

“I want you to go and have a cuppa in the Mess Tent, and have a chill out and think about this event. Don’t worry about it, but have a good think about it.”

And I did too. It made me think about what our young lads have to go through. How would I have dealt with that scenario? What would I have done? How would I have coped with Paul shouting and screaming? Would I have been a calming influence? Or would I have panicked like Jones and done something mad, crazy?

When I was a young trainee of 18-19 the biggest thing that we were faced with were the big bad Russians who were going to come across and bomb us. But we knew that in reality they were never going to actually do that. We would never really have to go to war, and certainly would never be face to face with the enemy.

But these lads…they have to go out to Afghanistan or where-ever the hell we are sent to next, and are faced with seeing and doing things that I would never have imagined. And it made me a bit scared, but also a bit proud. What I was doing was helping them to be prepared for such things…in a way I had never been prepared for. Maybe because of this incident – Jonesy for certain – would be better aware of himself and of what he may have to do in the future so that he doesn’t make a mistake like for real, where it may actually cost someone their life.

After a good sit down and a bit of banter and a good cup of tea, Jonesy was ok. He had learnt a bit about himself and maybe matured ever so slightly. He certainly had learnt a few things that might help him in his future career. Paul forgave him for shooting him…saying that if the shoe was on the other foot then he had no idea how he would have coped.

And again it made me think. How would I have dealt with it in real life? But for the moment I am lucky and I don’t have to think about how I would do it for real.

And to be honest, I hope I don’t HAVE to think about it for real and never have to face it.

When I knew...

This week, I got the news that my extension of service with the RAF was finalised and had been formally added to my record.

This means that I will now be able to complete 30 years of service it total, giving me an exit date of 29 October 2017. And this news arrived just a week after I had completed my 22 years.

22 years.

Shit. That's a long time. As someone on Twitter said - "If I'd have killed my first CO I'd be out of prison by now!"

Anyway, it IS a long time. Why have I spent so long in the service? The pay? The pension? Not having to worry about what clothes to wear to work?

Well, actually it is all back to a day in 1989. I had just graduated from my training course and was posted to 29(F) Sqn at Coningsby.

Here, until I had done my equipment courses and got a bit of expereince then I was pretty much useless to them at fixing aircraft...so I was given over to an experienced Corporal to do, well, stuff. The sort of stuff that makes a squadron work, like ohhhhhhh I dunno, sorting out the spares locker, sorting out tools, and sorting out the communications between the Hardened Aircraft Shelters (where the jets were parked) - the phone lines, the radios and so on.

So there I was checking out phone lines and I found that HAS 2 wasn't connected to the exchange...so I went out and followed the wire and found it had been cut by some contractors doing some digging.

It was a gorgeous Tuesday afternoon in April - and I spent the next hour sitting in a hole looking for both ends of the wire, splicing them together, sheilding the cable and then filling in the hole.

Now those of you in the know will be able to say that as well as the Tornado F3's, that were based at Coningsby, the vintage aircraft of the Battle of Britain Memorial Flight were also based there and in April they shake the dust of the aircraft in readiness for the display season of airshow to come in the summer.

So there I was in a hole, digging, on a glorious sunny spring day...and there over my head was a Spitfire, doing it's first practice display of the year.

And that was when I knew. That was when I thought it couldn't get any better. This is how and why I want to earn my living for as long as I can. Every so often an F3 would start up and taxi and take off and still the Spitfire flew. Old and new on the same airbase. 50 years seaparating them but flying still. And me there too.

And I was part of that. I was a part of putting those new aircraft in the air...I had no idea where that would take me and what I would do. But I felt part of it.

I think that we ALL want to feel part of something. It's what makes us human. We have a desire to have attachments...friends, teams, clubs, lovers, marriage. We want to be associated with others and what others have done.

In my case I wanted to feel part of an organisation that had done something. That was doing something. That still does something.

That organisation was and is the Royal Air Force. I am proud to be a member and I intend to stay in it for as long as I can.

Crossings the border...

Yeah. I am a bad person.

I need to update more. And I will. And I will stop doing such HUGE long blogs and will now start to do some shorter pithier anecdotes about my time in the RAF.

It seems my posts on my times in the service are the ones people like, so I am going to do more of them...

Here's a short one.

Two years ago I went on a "staff ride" to Poland. It was to visit the site of the Great Escape - Stalag Luft III. The first night we were there we watched the film "The Great Escape" in the place where it actually happened (and I got slightly drunk drinking very rough Polish vodka), and we camped on the actual site of the original camp, which is not really over-grown by the woods that are encroaching back onto the prison camp.

As we were walking around we could stand were the original huts actually were and we stood at the flag-stone that marks the entrance to the famous tunnel that was where the escapers....er...escaped through. Anyway to get into the tunnel - if you remember the film - they had to dig through underneigh the heaters and through some floor tiles. And the floor tiles are still there. Or bit of them are...so well...I stole a bit of it. It sits on my desk now...as my little bit of history.

But that is not what I wanted to say in this blog. It's an example of a bit of forces humour.

On that trip we marched some 65 miles in three days from Poland into Germany to recrate a thing called the Long March which was a forced march carried out by British and American POW's in January 1945. We did it in the same time of year in very similar weather conditions...and it was flipping freezing!

Anyway at the end of the march we were to drive back in a coach into Poland to go to a Castle/Hotel that was once Herman Gorings hunting lodge. We were all told to make sure we had our passports in our daysacks to allow us to get across the border without any hassle. Which MOST of us did.

Apart from a lad named Noel. Noel Hellmann. Now the astute amongst you will have noticed that Hellmann is a bit of a Germanic name. It is. Very Germanic. So Germanic that Noel's Grandfather was actually German. So German that he was in the Waffen SS in the Second World War.

So there we are at the German/Polish border. And the boss down the front of the bus turns to the rest of the coach and says everyone get your passports out.

And Noel can't cos he doesn't have one. He turns to one of my pals and says "My passport is in my other bag in the 4-tonner [truck]. What am I going to do?"

The response? "Don't worry Noel mate. We'll sort you out. Anyway, you won't be the first Hellmann to cross the Polish border without a passport. Mind you the last one did it in a Mark II Panzer..."