Chapter 13

Robert stopped the Celica on the ‘hatch marked area of road’, twenty-five yards from the Guard Room. Two RAF Regiment solders armed with SA 80 As he walked towards the Guardroom to sign Terry in, six more solders followed by a Sergeant erupted from the room. They quickly fell into line, and on the Sergeant’s command they came to attention, shouldered arms and came to the present arms. The Sergeant about turned to face Robert and gave him a sharp salute.

Robert stopped and returned the salute “Thank you Sergeant, carry on.” He passed into the guardroom. A corporal was standing by the desk with the visitor’s book already turned round to face Robert. He signed the book and was preparing to leave when the Corporal said, “You forgot the VC sir.” As he pointed to his name and rank.

Robert frowned, then realised that from now on he would have to add the initials VC after his name, “Sorry Corporal.” He corrected the mistake, “Is this what that’s about?” Indicating the solders lined up at attention outside the door.

“Well you’re our VC Sir.”

Outside the door he paused by the Sergeant “Thank you Sergeant, and thank the men.”

“No, thank you Sir.” The sergeant replied with pride showing in his eyes.

Back in the car he handed Terry the visitors pass, which she clipped to her jacket. “Is that normal?” She asked, indicating the solders.

“No ... normally only heads of State, or senior brass get that.” He murmured.

He pulled up outside the Station building, a three-story brick structure erected back in the early forties with the same standard design of all Station buildings of that period. They walked along a corridor, eventually stopping at a door with a brass plaque with Officers Mess engraved upon it. The door opened on to a large room filled with tables and chairs, some of them arm chairs. At the end of the room was the bar, with tall bar stools spread along it. Seven or eight men in officers uniform were clustered at the bar laughing and seemingly all talking at once. Suddenly one noticed him, “Robbie!” He yelled and in an instant Robert was surrounded by them, his back was pummelled and his hand shaken all seemingly at the same time.

Good hearted banter concerning slackers and lazy bastards filled the air, and then he remembered Terry. She was still standing in the doorway with a look of amusement written all over her face. He disentangled himself from the men and brought her into the room, to introduce her, the men had fallen silent at the sight of her. They parted like the Red Sea as he led her to the bar, where she perched herself onto a barstool. He was shouldered aside in the rush as the men crowded round her asking what she would like to drink, Robbie now forgotten.

A tall man who had been standing by the bar now detached himself, coming forward with his hand out stretched. Group Captain Alan Carr, Officer Commanding RAF Renton. “Hello Robbie, I must say you look much better than you did the last time I saw you at the Grange.”

“I feel much better thank you sir.”

“Look, before we get you a drink, I have a Hawk outside that needs a test flight, are you up for it?”

Robert had expected this; it was standard procedure for pilots, who had been badly injured, to see if they had lost any of their skill. “Of course Sir.”

Alan looked back at the bar. “I don’t think your friend will miss us for a while.”

Terry was lost to view by the bodies surrounding her, each vying for her attention.

Dressed in their flying suits Robert signed for the Hawk in the Flight Office. After carrying out the ground checks, they climbed into the cockpit; the ground crew buckled and plugged them in. The canopy was lowered and Robert gave the signal to remove the chocks. He then taxied to the end of the runway where he lined up the Hawk and applied his brakes while lowering his flaps to take off setting. Upon gaining permission from the tower he slowly applied thrust while releasing the brakes As the Hawk rolled forward, he increased thrust and the aircraft hurtled down the runway. The vibration from the control column stopped as they lifted off the runway and he raised the under carriage and climbed rabidly. He was back in his element.

“Where too?” He asked over the intercom.

“Head west until you hit the coast.” Replied Alan.

Robert had over two hundred hours logged flying Hawks first during his fast jet training, then later with the Red Arrows until he had requested active service after the death of his parents.

The North Devon coast came into view. Once over the sea Alan came in over the intercom. “OK Robbie put her through her paces.”