JET LAG!

by Ryan Clifford

  ‘Oh, thanks Todd. We’ll speak further after the Station Commander has finished his briefing.’

  ‘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 ca
rds. 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.

  ‘Always nice to have top cover,’ Todd murmured to himself as a knock came at the door.

  It was Wing Commander Millar.

  ‘You missed Met, Todd.’ He was nit-picking. A usual ploy to put a subordinate off his guard, ‘and Stumpy looks a bit grumpy. Have you got a minute? Come next door into my office, will you?’

  Todd stood up and followed Andy Millar into his office. Millar wasn’t a bad chap overall. Apart from being an ex-Jaguar pilot - most of whom were arseholes, - he was a good, no, excellent pilot who ruled the squadron by the fabled iron hand in velvet glove method. It worked well. He left the Flight Commanders alone to do their jobs, and would only interfere if absolutely necessary. So this visit to his office did not bode well.

  ‘Have a seat, Todd, and tell me about you and Stumpy. I thought you were very happy flying together.’

  Todd took a deep breath.

  ‘We were, sir, but this time Stumpy has overstepped the mark. I’ve been forced to take action.’

  Todd proceeded to relate the sorry tale ending up with Stumpy’s punishment.

  ‘Hang on, Todd, if Stumpy misses the flypast who’s going to lead it. Have you thought this one through properly. There isn’t anyone available to take his place - and I’m not splitting crews just to repair your little lovers tiff. Before I sanction this I must be assured that you have a viable alternative. You heard the Station Commander yesterday. We cannot afford to make a pig’s ear of this flypast - well you certainly can’t! So, what’s the alternative?’

  If the truth were known Todd hadn’t actually considered this point very carefully, since he imagined he would poach one of the senior pilots from the flypast team. However, the Boss had just ruled this out so he would now have to think on his feet - and quick.

  Then it hit him.

  ‘Well, Sir, if you recall at last weeks’ Execs meeting we discussed Tom Nolan’s suitability for upgrade from two-ship lead to four-ship lead. I believe this is the ideal opportunity to blood him. After all I will do ninety-nine percent of the planning and briefing for the flypast as lead nav - he will just have to sit and fly the jet. We know he’s up to it, and a quick four-ship check ride next week could formalise matters. I don’t see a problem. We've got plenty of time to sharpen him up before June.’

  Wing Commander Andy Millar OBE AFC RAF sat quietly for thirty seconds whilst he composed himself. He was livid. Morrissey was only interested in one thing - himself - and it appeared that he would say or do anything to get his way. The Station Commander had strongly emphasised the importance of this flypast, and here was Morrissey endangering the whole show because of a petty clash of personalities. He didn’t like to overrule his officers - but on this occasion he had no choice. Morrissey could not be allowed to prejudice the squadron’s reputation for the sake of his own pride.

  ‘No, Todd. There is a problem. Nolan is not experienced enough for this task. Unless you can give me a suitable substitute - Stumpy carries on.’

  Todd stood up. He wasn’t going to accept this from this jumped up Jaguar puke.

  ‘No, sir, he doesn’t. Firstly, if he does then I don’t. I go public on this appalling lack of support for your Exec and quite frankly it’s a resignation matter. I certainly could not serve on a squadron with a boss who does not wholeheartedly support his Execs one hundred percent - right or wrong. And secondly, sir, I am sure that Air Marshal Morrissey, the officer organising the celebrations in MOD will have something to say about the matter. Do I make myself, clear, sir?’

  Todd’s reference to his father’s potential role in all this was not missed by Millar who found it hard to believe that Morrissey could behave in this manner. OC 619 Squadron knew the power behind Morrissey’s rise to stardom and he also knew that Todd had been specifically requested for this job. Whatever decision he made he would come out a loser. He was looking forward to his promotion and move to RAF Bruggen in the near future, and he certainly didn’t want to lose it because of a squabble with the ‘powers-that-be’ over the likes of Todd Morrissey. Navigators were bad enough at the best of times but this one was a complete shit. He could see no alternative but to back down. He despised himself for doing so, but he could not afford any trouble or scandal on the squadron with so little time before he departed. The words did not slip easily from his lips.

  ‘Sit down, Todd. I would ask you not to raise you voice to me ever again. This is my office and you should have the
courtesy to respect it. Although, clearly, you have little respect for anything but your own inflated opinion of yourself. I do not agree with your point of view and I will not be dictated to by a jumped up little back-seater riding on the coat-tails of his father. However, you leave me no alternative. You’ve got your way. Now get out and have the courtesy to give me a wide berth until I leave the squadron at the end of March. Send Stokes in to see me.’

  Todd smirked. ‘Thank you sir, I’m sure you won’t regret your decision.’

  ‘Just get out of my sight, you arsehole, and shut the door behind you.’

  Andy Millar sat with his head in his hands. Perhaps, he thought, God willing, Morrissey would make the flypast into an enormous shambles. It was the only solace he could take. It was going to be a tricky few weeks until he left the station - and Stumpy would have to lump it as well.

  Indeed, Stumpy was extremely unhappy when the boss gave him the bad news. He sulked for much of the day and even toyed with the idea of handing in his PVR - Premature Voluntary Retirement - and getting a job with the civilian airlines. Surely it couldn’t be as bad as this bullshit? However, he did decide to have it out with Morrissey at the end of the day, even if it only meant getting all of his frustration and anger off his chest. He knew that Morrissey worked till about 5.50 pm on Fridays and got to Happy Hour just before six and of course everyone else would be ‘oiled’ with half price beer by then. So he determined to wait around the crewroom until everyone else had gone, and then confront Morrissey when there were no witnesses.