by Geoff Wolak
‘So what’s at this base?’ Stretch asked.
‘A runway, big enough for Hercules, grass for helicopters to land, a running track around the airfield, large hangars, sheds, barracks and rooms, twenty-five yard range, and land around it that’s MOD – so we can pinch it. There are eleven quality houses, detached - old RAF officer married quarters, so to start we can use them.’
‘I’m not sharing with Rizzo,’ Swifty put in, the lads laughing loudly.
Smiling, I said, ‘Each house is three-bedroom, so everyone can move there if they want, and the barracks can be used for Externals. There’s supposed to be an old canteen, so we’d be able to get the Externals together and training.’
‘That would help,’ Moran noted, the Major nodding.
I turned my head. ‘Major, we would still want a desk up here, you sat at it some of the time, a few days down with us. We still need to coordinate, we’re not divorcing ourselves from the SAS.’
He nodded. ‘Yes, I would have suggested something like that.’
I faced the gang. ‘Would anyone here be unhappy about the move, and the distance?’
They exchanged looks.
‘Jacque, Travis, any ... local babies due?’
The lads laughed.
‘No, Boss,’ came back.
‘I got a rental contract,’ Tomo said.
‘Me too,’ came from a few.
‘A move would not be for a few months, and then we’ll help with such contracts, a letter from the CO saying you died overseas, bank account frozen.’
Tomo raised his hand. ‘This bird I’m seeing, could you tell her that anyhow?’
I shook my head as the room reverberated with laughter. ‘She a handful?’
‘She’d bleeding kill me if I moved, Boss.’
‘Don’t tell her,’ the Major put in. ‘We’ll fake your death.’
‘Anyone got a problem with a move?’ I asked.
‘I was just about to buy a house,’ Moran told me.
‘A bit long term,’ I noted. ‘You think you’ll live that long?’
He shot me a look. ‘Hope so.’
‘I own half a house,’ Stretch informed us. ‘Could rent it out.’
‘Be honest,’ I called. ‘Anyone going to suffer from a move or a long drive?’
‘It’s closer to where we all came from,’ Rocko noted. ‘Bit isolated up here. Be nice to have our own camp, regular training patterns.’
I faced Henri. ‘We could get your men over for training.’
He nodded. ‘They suggested such a thing, yes.’
‘Bit of a drive to Brecon,’ Swifty noted.
‘Way I see it,’ I began, ‘we would organise training so that if we wanted to go to The Factory we’d make it a two day event, same for Sennybridge, we don’t just go someplace for a day. That way, less travelling time. So twice a month we go to The Factory for two days, something like that.’
‘Would make sense,’ the Major agreed.
I faced Mahoney. ‘Lieutenant?’
He made a face. ‘I’m renting a small place, not sure how your British rental contracts work.’
‘We’ll sort it,’ the Major assured him.
‘Your six months with us is up soon,’ I floated.
‘They said to stay put,’ he informed us, and for the first time, looks exchanged.
‘I’ll chat to Bob, see if you’re welcome to stay on,’ I told him with a smirk. I faced Henri with a frown. ‘Has your CO said anything?’
Accented, he replied, ‘He says to stay, and what you don’t see is that the French newspapers think there are twenty of us here, and all the successes are down to us.’
We roared with laughter.
The Major asked him. ‘Are those successes with the ladies, or with rescues?’ Jacque shrinking in his seat as people taunted him.
Henri gave a big Gallic shrug. ‘After Djibouti ... we are national heroes, medals in France.’
When they settled, I said, ‘It’s not 100% yet, but this airfield makes sense, we could even get a Cessna in there for lessons. If any of you face problems, financial loss, come see me, chat about it, let us know what you think.’
‘We get a room rent free?’ Rocko asked.
I answered, ‘To start with, then the stingy MOD would want some rent, but not much. If you were in the barrack block I’d say no rent.’
‘Put me in the barracks,’ a few of the lads suggested. ‘More beer money.’
Two days later, myself, Moran, Harris, O’Leary and the Major all drove down in two cars, meeting Bob at the Pheasant Pub in the village of Little Rissington. Bob led us down a road banked by high hedges that widened out to a gate and fence, a guardroom, and MOD signs warning trespassers.
An MP opened a green mesh gate for us, his exited dog restrained, and we drove in past a guardroom on the right, a small brick building on the left, and to the perimeter track of the airfield. In front of us I could see the runway, a short runway compared to Brize Norton, and across the airfield sat two large green empty hangars, single storey brick buildings attached to them. Given that it was an airfield, it was very flat all around.
To the left of the hangars sat a larger single-storey brick building, beside that a two-storey barracks, next to it a few single storey buildings – and little else.
We turned left and drove around, and immediately saw a row of nice detached houses, the former married quarters. Bob pulled up at the first one, so we piled out, met by an old man emerging from that first house, keys in hand.
‘How do,’ he said in a heavy accent. ‘I’ll show you this next house, rest are same.’ And off he went to open the door, getting the right key on the third attempt as I took in the small fenced-in gardens with lonely clothes lines covered in spider’s webs, an outer fence, the farmer’s fields beyond it.
Inside, we found the houses as left, quite nicely done out. It was as if the occupants had moved out recently, but with dust on most things.
‘Only been two years just about since the last officer left,’ our guide informed us. ‘Water is OK, electric.’ He proved his point with a burst of water into a dusty sink, a light flicked on and off.
We trod upstairs, bedroom carpet examined, bed frames tested, no mattresses.
‘Mattresses went on skip,’ he informed us from behind. ‘But there’re ten over the way that some fucker forgot about, still in plastic.’
‘Keep them,’ Bob told him.
‘Nice enough,’ I said. ‘I’d have no problem living here. More secure as well, better for dealing with deadly assassins.’
The caretaker stared at me. ‘You get many deadly assassins where you live?’
‘Yes,’ came from everyone at the same time.
‘Oh.’ He frowned, lowered his head, and led us down.
Mounted up, caretaker on his push bike, we followed him around to the barracks, the door unlocked. Inside it was bare except for metal bed frames and wooden lockers between the beds, but everything was in good condition.
‘Heating works OK,’ he informed us. ‘Boiler gets maintained.’
I counted the beds. ‘Twenty four downstairs, same upstairs?’
‘Aye, same up there as yer.’
‘Good number,’ I commended. ‘Forty eight visitors,’ Bob nodding as the Major opened the wooden lockers.
Next, our guide led us to the old canteen and inside, and it looked like the last batch of soldiers had just left.
‘Looks recently used,’ I noted.
‘Balloon school was yer, then air cadets with gliders in the summer gone,’ we were informed. ‘Gas is switched off now, but just a valve like.’
‘Would get fifty men in here,’ I told the Major and he nodded.
The hangars were huge, our footsteps echoing, a few metal lockers examined. Exiting the rear of the hangars, we stepped to the 25yard range and had a nose.
Back at the front of the hangars, Bob said, ‘So what do you think?’
‘Perfect,’ I said. ‘But what’s the b
udget for facilities here?’
‘MOD will chip in a big budget because General Dennet and your Air Commodore want good use made of it,’ Bob noted. ‘Joint exercises. Land behind us can be taken back, farmer is aware of that, so a 600 yard range is an option.’
‘That would help,’ I said. ‘But where’s the nearest range?’
‘Army ranges are within a thirty minute drive, Oxfordshire.’
I nodded. ‘This hangar, it could be a killing house. Two storey, metal frame then wood, thick wood, pistol range upstairs like The Factory.’
Bob took notes.
‘We need a building converted to an armoury, two three-tonne trucks, four jeeps, four long-axle jeeps, then a good supply of old bangers – any make or model, for defensive driving, plus any old truck you can find, driving practise. Need one of these brick buildings as HQ and admin, some classrooms, chairs and white board.’
Bob continued taking notes and the gang peered across the airfield.
I continued, ‘Medical bay, just a room with two beds, all the latest kit. I’d do the small stuff when I’m here, for exercises we get a nurse from the RAF. And for security, four armed MPs at all times in shifts.’
‘We can get a rotation from Brize, or the Army down in Hullavington,’ Bob suggested.
‘Hullavington is RAF?’ I puzzled.
‘No, it went back to the Army, Signals.’
I nodded. ‘And that’s about it, rest would be done off base. Although I would suggest a small NAAFI shop open late, canteen open till 8pm.’
‘That can be sorted,’ Bob assured me.
‘Shops outside the base?’ I asked.
‘Village shop, post office, not much else, then a big Tescos on the outskirts of Cirencester – which is just a few miles away.’
I pointed. ‘Have the grass steamrollered, or a concrete circle for a helicopter or two, but they could land here.’
‘Seems like plenty of room,’ Bob noted as he took in the apron.
‘Have them check the runway, and we could get Hercules in here for exercises. Get an aircraft radio for the guardroom, one for the HQ room. And that Standard Monthly Exercise that 7 Squadron and 47 do, switch that to here when we’re ready.’
‘Great idea,’ Bob enthused.
‘Better for security,’ the Major noted. ‘Better for group training.’
‘I’d be running around this track in the mornings,’ I told him, making him laugh.
‘Assault course?’ Bob asked.
‘Maybe in time, but a balance course first,’ I replied.
‘Balance?’ Bob queried.
I explained, ‘Small obstacles and walls; men go over whilst keeping a rifle pointed at the instructor, trying not to fall. Priority is living quarters, armoury, vehicles and fuel, then the range.’
‘That won’t take long,’ Bob assured us. ‘Living quarters will be ready in days, range is a digger for a few days, rest of the kit is available.’
‘And security, Bob,’ I began. ‘Cameras, infra-red, all the angles covered, approach road, that pub – because we’ll be in it most nights!’
‘I have a camera team ready, second hand kit - but good kit.’
I told him, ‘Put some signs up at the end of that road, MOD – no access, go back. MP has a rifle. And a rain shelter next to the gate, a barrier to lift maybe.’ He made notes. ‘That caretaker..?’
‘He’d stay on, maintain things.’
‘I’d need to know he doesn’t gossip down the pub.’
‘Already checked out, but I’ll double check. RAF facilities officer at Brize is responsible for this place, he’d be a regular visitor.’
‘Fine,’ I said. ‘This second hangar for vehicles and spares.’
‘Armourer needed?’
‘Well, yes, unless we do it ourselves.’
‘One from Brize then,’ he said.
I smiled, and lifted my phone, remembering the number. ‘Armoury, please... Captain Wilco....’
‘Wilco, that you?’ came a puzzled voice that I knew well.
‘Captain Wilco to you, you little fat fuck.’
‘Hey, I lost some weight. So what you after? And how come you forgot your bestest mate, eh, been a year – or three.’
‘You know the old balloon school up the road?’
‘Yeah...’
‘My unit is taking it over. And we need an armourer.’
‘Yeah? I was thinking of quitting, had enough, sergeant here is a right wanker, as well as the new CO.’
‘Come work for me, easy number.’
‘You serious?’
‘Be a few months till this place is operational, then you got a slot. You can drive here or live here.’
‘There’s accommodation?’
‘And a canteen, and a pub outside. I could get you some rent free rooms.’
‘Yeah? Fucking excellent. I’m in.’
‘Wait the call, hush-hush for now. Wilco out.’ I faced Bob. ‘Bongo, armourer at Brize, grab him before he quits the RAF. He and I go way back. But what about rental payments for rooms?’
‘For the first six months I can waive it, then the MOD wants rent for the houses, not the barracks.’
I gave that some thought. ‘How about – just for now – two of those long holiday homes on legs. They each have three or more rooms.’
‘There are some like that at a base I was at, six rooms in each, toilets, small lounge, warm and cosy.’
‘Get two or three,’ I firmly nudged. ‘Stick them somewhere close to the canteen, but a quiet area.’
‘Be way under budget,’ Bob said with a smile.
‘Good,’ I commended. ‘Oh, we can get that Major Tilley down here with his Cessna, lessons for the lads.’
Bob took in the hangar. ‘Could get more of those Portakabin offices, one each side, save work on the buildings round the back. Desks and chairs, training rooms.’
‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Quick to get them in, they don’t need to be fit for the Queen.’
‘Storage sheds as well, spares and kit. In fact, I know where they’re about to be scrapped. I can pinch them for next to nothing. More money for other things.’
‘Some old large green tents for exercises,’ I suggested.
‘I can get those as well.’
We drove out the gate and to the pub, pulling into the pub car park. Inside it was quiet, just two old men, the landlord surprised to see us.
‘I thought they closed that base?’ he said.
‘It’ll re-open,’ I replied.
‘You’ll get plenty of trade,’ the Major told him.
‘Oh, right, then what can I get you fellas?’
‘Serving lunch?’
‘Bit late, but what the heck. Take a seat, menu on the wall.’
Drinks delivered - by a nice young girl yet to be seduced by Jacque, we sat debating the base, but our needs were not great, soon tackling scampi and chips, all that was left, being curiously observed by the two old locals.
‘There’s plenty of budget,’ Bob floated.
I shrugged. ‘We don’t need much. Priority is the range.’
‘That won’t cost much,’ Bob said as if he was disappointed.
‘Keep the money in reserve,’ Moran suggested.
‘Problem with the MOD,’ Bob began as he ate, ‘is that if you don’t use it they grab it back.’
‘Probably think of a few things when we move in,’ O’Leary suggested.
I cut up my food. ‘I’d say that visiting instructors might need some decent accommodation, language tutors and the like, specialists.’
‘Could keep one of the houses free,’ Moran suggested. ‘Some of the lads in the cabins.’
‘There’ll be visiting officers,’ the Major put in.
I turned my head to face Bob. ‘There’s a small two storey building near the barracks, what was it used for?’
‘That was the HQ building, but was water damaged and left to rot,’ he replied.
‘So gut it, and make it nice rooms
, the base hotel,’ I told him. ‘Not least for when you come down with the Prime Minister.’
He smiled and made a note.
‘And a few pushbikes,’ Moran lightly suggested. ‘Like that caretaker had. Bit of a walk, from the houses.’
‘Are there lights?’ I asked.
‘Lights?’ Bob queried.
‘For night time?’
‘Near the houses and guardroom there were, I think, not sure,’ he responded.
‘We’d need lights all around, and floodlights,’ I suggested.
‘Floodlights?’ Moran queried.
I explained, ‘Night training, helicopters coming in, we’d need lights up on the hangars, lighting up the apron, powerful lights.’
‘Definitely,’ the Major agreed.
‘Nearest neighbours?’ I asked Bob.
‘This pub; nearest farmer is a thousand yards away south, more.’
The Major began, ‘If the range is the other side of the hangar, then that’s ... more than a mile to here, maybe two. They shouldn’t hear us.’
‘It’s a designated military base,’ Bob began. ‘So tough if they do.’
‘This pub could be a worry,’ I said to no one in particular. ‘A bomb here on a Friday night could get half the team.’
Bob adopted a concerned frown and took in the pub. ‘I’ll have a word with the landlord, some money, stick a camera or two in here, check out all the locals.’
‘Not some sort of spy type, are you,’ I teased.
‘Food OK?’ the landlord asked, tea towel in hand.
‘Fine,’ we all agreed.
‘You look like soldiers, not RAF.’
‘RAF Regiment,’ I told him. ‘But the base will be used for combined exercises. Helicopters now and then, not too often, no explosions.’
‘Them RAF officers used to come in here. Quiz night is a Thursday,’ he nudged, hoping for more trade. ‘Fish on a Wednesday, good price.’
‘What about men in uniform?’ I asked.
‘Well, I don’t mind, but locals may not like that on a Friday or Saturday night, rest of the week is quiet. Mostly busy on a Thursday night. And we do a good lunch trade weekdays from the main road.’
After lunch I bid Bob farewell, and he would be busy making plans; he would finally have his own team on his own base, and he could at least imagine that we were his own private army.