Chapter 29

They exited the flight office, after going over their flight plan again and noting the weather for the route. They moved towards the waiting aircraft with the long range fuel tanks hanging below the wings. He noted that the three moved with a determined walk, gone was the banter. Their bearing being that of a professional, a professional pilot in the RAF.

The A10s reached their designated altitude according to their flight plan and he eased the thrust back to economic cruising speed as their long flight began.

They were over the Mediterranean, 300 miles from Malta when Robert changed the radio frequency to that of the tanker aircraft. They climbed to the altitude he received over the COM link, spotting the dot ahead that rapidly took the form of a VC 10. He could see the hoses with the baskets at the end slowly unwinding from the Mk 32 pods on each wing.

Receiving confirmation he eased the A10 toward the port basket, aligning it with the probe, the basket weaved slightly as the probe entered. He nursed the thrust forward a little watching the hose bend slightly as he achieved the pressure necessary for the clips to lock and the valve to open, then watched as his fuel gage rose. Once full, after again receiving confirmation from the flight engineer on board the VC 10, he reduced thrust allowing the probe and basket to separate. Taking up station on the VC10s port wing he was soon joined by Tim from the starboard pod. They waited until Bill and Tom had replenished their tanks before thanking the pilot of the VC 10. Then they all dropped back to their original altitude and speed of 350 knots.

Robbie ran his eyes over the displays checking that everything was in order, before relaxing back in his seat. As he glanced through the windscreen it was hard to know where the sea and sky separated at this altitude. He looked down at the photograph of Terry which was stuck to the bulkhead. It was a three quarter view of her in jeans and polo shirt with her hair in a ponytail, taken at Sandbanks.

He remembered the day, they had run across the sand to paddle in the sea. Thinking of her formed a lump in his throat, as he remembered the things they had done together. For the millionth time he wondered how he had been so lucky to have found her, and that she had found room in her heart to love him.

They picked up the Cyprus radio beacon 150 miles from the island, vectoring in on it. At 50 miles Robert changed the frequency again to the Cyprus ground control and radioed in.

An hour later they were climbing out of their cockpits stiff and tired. After handing the aircraft over to the ground crew, and reporting in, they were conducted to rooms for the night. They showered and ate a large meal, then Robert tried to contact Terry on his laptop that he’d carried in the small storage bay along with his overnight bag and her photograph case in the A10. He couldn’t get a signal, and finally giving it up and went to bed where he was soon asleep.

After take-off and forming up, Robert led them north, avoiding Syrian and Iranian airspace, making the long loop, to approach Afghanistan, from the north. They refuelled again, before crossing the Afghan border heading south for Kandahar, picking up its radio beacon an hour later.

A quad bike with a sign ‘Follow Me’ on the back led him to his dispersal point. He waited in a Land Rover for the other three before they all roared off to the operation office. After reporting in they were shown their rooms.

They were standing in the communal shower letting the water remove the aches from their bodies when Bill spoke. “Tom look at my arse I’m sure I have blisters on it.”

“If you have blisters, they certainly won’t be on your arse you randy sod,” Tim said laughing.

Robert returned to his room, wondering what Terry would be doing, looking at his watch and doing a swift calculation he realised it would be eight in the morning back in the UK. He picked up his laptop and made his way to the small RAF Officers Mess. Finding the annex with the WI FI connection on the wall he hooked up the computer. Within minutes he had clicked Terry’s name on the Skype list. He waited resigning himself to the fact that she could be out, or the signal was too weak, then suddenly her face was before him. Her face seemed flushed and she was breathing heavily.

“Are you alright darling?” He asked, with concern in his voice.

She smiled the dimples pronounced at her cheeks. “Yes Bobby, I was in the kitchen, I took the stairs three at a time to reach the laptop. Hold on a second,” he saw her reach out with her arm to the laptop, “there that’s better, I keep it switched onto Skype turned up to full volume in case you can get through day or night.”

“I tried from Cyprus last night, but I couldn’t get a signal.”

“So you’re there now, how was the flight?”

“Long and bloody boring, how was your drive back to London?”

‘You know I can’t remember; I think I was on automatic. Sue was with me and she was sobbing all the way back. I really think she cares for Tim, but doesn’t know it, herself yet. She’s always been a bit of a wild card with men, but I’ve never known her to be this upset over any man before.”

“Well I know Tim cares for her a great deal, even Bill and Tom seem stuck on Julie and Carol. I really don’t think it’s just the sex.”

“I think you could be right,” she murmured.

“So enough about them, how do you feel?”

“Lonely and missing my Bobby,” she whispered.

“So you’ve not blown his Nibbs out then.” He said chuckling.

She looked into his eyes, “I’d do anything to blow him right now,” still whispering.

“You hussy,” his voice soft, “remember the water isn’t cold over here.”

Her face brightened and she laughed. “Talking of hussies, I’ve ordered a new vibrator from a catalogue Sue loaned me. The only thing is, that the only one that looks like his Nibbs is black, but you don’t mind that do you.”

“What if you wind up preferring that to his Nibbs?”

“Never happen, it doesn’t have hands,” she paused, “or fingers.”

“Terry talk about something else, you’re making me horny.”

“Oh I’m sorry darling,” then changed the subject to her upcoming trip to Barbados. After half an hour the signal failed.

The following day, Robert and Bill flew to Camp Bastion. They were guided to the two aircraft bays that had ten foot high walls encasing each bay for protection from enemy fire. Taff was there to welcome them. He had flown up from Kandahar with half the ground crew in Chinooks two days before.

After reporting in to the base operations office, he was shown to the porta-cabin that would be his home and office for most of his stay in country. The cabin was split into two halves, the front being his office furnished with: a small desk with a telephone on it, two chairs, a filing cabinet, and a detailed map of Helmand Province on the wall.

A thin plasterboard partition separated the office from his bedroom, a service cot for a bed, a hanging plastic wardrobe and a small chest of drawers that doubled as a bedside table with a small bedside light. His valise was on the bed, which he began to unpack after looking around his new home.

He then found Bill and they went to eat. After dinner they went to draw side arms, a requirement in the war zone. Unfortunately Robert would be the first to admit that he couldn’t hit a barn with the 9mm automatic pistol, even if he was inside it. But even at Camp Bastion insurgents had been known to infiltrate the camp security.

They returned to the mess for a coke, because of their flying status alcohol, even if it had been available, was off limits. Talking to some of the officers present it appeared that the Taliban had been keeping a low profile. Mainly due, it was thought, to gathering in the poppy harvest, but no one was under the illusion that the quiet state of affairs would last much longer.

Early the next day the two A10s took off heading east to the coordinates on their flight maps. A firing range had been set up fifty miles into the desert for them.

Robert spotted the vehicles of the support team first, then as the range shortened the target, a 45 gallon oil drum. It was in the centre of two black circles each two meters apart. After recognising the target and being given the all clear from the support team’s radioman, he banked preparing for his firing run.

Selecting a twenty found burst from the weapons display screen he began his run. Lowering his flaps to reduce speed to 125 knots and adopting the 30-degree optimum gun attack angle, he flicked off the safety for the 30mm cannon at 1000 metres. At 700 meters he opened fire. Dust erupted from the force of the solid 30mm practice rounds which struck the desert floor a meter in front of the barrel and two meters to the left hand side. He repeated the attack later with a similar result, knowing his gun camera would have recorded it.

After Bill had made his runs they flew back to Bastion where Taff’s ground crew would be waiting.

Back in their dispersal shelters Taff’s team lost no time in removing the gun camera disk and inserting it into a laptop that Taff studied for a few minutes before giving commands to his men who scurried to make adjustments to the 30mm cannon. Robert and Bill had stayed in their cockpits whilst the work was quickly done. Receiving thumbs up from Taff they moved back to the end of the runway to carry out the exercise again.

By the third time they made their runs Robert and Bill had the satisfaction of seeing the barrels disintegrating under the force of the cannon shells. The cannons were zeroed in. Tomorrow they would start on the rocket pods.

At the end of the fourth day Robert’s and Bill’s aircraft were all zeroed in. He radioed through to Kandahar to let Tim know he could come up tomorrow with Tom to begin their conversion and that he and Bill would leave for Kandahar at ten am. Tim ended by saying there was mail waiting for him, knowing he would be returning to Kandahar he’d saved it for him.

After dinner he returned to the cabin to pack a bag for the time he was likely to be at Kandahar, and then had an early night.

Once the engines had shut down at Kandahar air base Robert ordered the ground crew to arm the two aircraft with live munitions. Reporting in to the operations office, he was told to report back at 1500 hundred hours for a situation briefing.

After unpacking in Tim’s room he grabbed his wash bag and headed for the showers. After settling on the bed he began to read the letters, all from Terry. The first two had been written in London, but the last had a Barbados stamp on it.

The letters from London, written in her neat precise hand talked about the things she and the girls were doing. Sue and Carol were starting a two month tour of the provinces with the London Philharmonic. July was busy preparing for a show involving a top American female pop singer, and then going as Stage Manager when the show did a six city tour. She was involved in selecting the numbers of her next album; an Italian male opera singer was going to do two duets with her on it.