The G-Men and The Great Escape

In the early days Grant, George and Geordie didn’t have much to do with the business of dealing with the aircraft.   Not that they weren’t to be trusted or because they were unqualified but because of, well, circumstances.

Grant and George were Airframe Fitters but for these first few months of our existence there were more than enough Riggers to do the required riggering and Geordie, who was a Radar Fitter, was in an odd situation because the Jaguar only carried a single bit of “his” equipment, a Radar Altimeter, which because of its reliability didn’t need a lot of looking after.   So Grant, George and Geordie often found themselves “seconded” onto other tasks which because of their flair for the tasks in question they became an essential element to the well-running of the squadron and its ultimate success.

These other errands came under the generic heading of “Facilitating” and to assist them they had the use of the Squadron vehicles – usually one of the Land Rovers – and the unqualified support of the” real” squadron boss, the Flight Sergeant (FS) .  So it was that if, say, a piece of ground equipment which we presently did not have on inventory was required then off the G-Men would go and, Lo, the required bit of kit would be found somewhere around the station.  Grant especially took to this job because he seemed to have an almost unhealthy fascination with anything mechanical and to be told to go forth and find something with wheels was to him a dream come true.

So it was that “items” would hastily appear on the squadron patch towed by the Land Rover.  True, the item might have marks and serial numbers to suggest it may have originated from one of the other squadrons – 15 or 16 Sqn Buccaneers – but a quick coat of paint and the judicious application of our own inventory numbers and nobody was any the wiser.   Other than ourselves, of course, who justified this behaviour as necessary because, heck, we never seemed to get anything we ordered via official channels; and, of course, there were the aggrieved victim(s) who, if they had suspicions , given the way these things were done could not have proved a thing and, if nothing else, our FS - with the tacit approval of our JengO - was forever and fiercely supportive of his boys.

However, time passed and whilst we didn’t exactly boast or bask in our, by now, well-equipped ground equipment park, one could only enjoy so many Air-Bottle Trolleys or flat-topped trailers and, whatever else, we didn’t wish to be seen as greedy.   Anyway, there was another situation developing which required a bit of dedication and given their availability it was inevitable that the three Gs would be directed by the FS to devote their attention to this, the latest “must do” task, a Directive from above; the task of securing the squadron area with Barbed Wire.

The summer of 76 will forever be regarded in some circles as the time when “Conceptual Art” (the displaying of piles of bricks or unmade beds and the like ) first appeared and the development of sects that indulged in the genius for draping Barbed Wire between metal stakes and pine trees.  At RAF Laarbruch we were especially fortunate as pathfinders and standard-bearers for this artistic movement for there was no shortage of any of these components and we were doubly blessed for Grant, George and Geordie soon became acknowledged as the high priests of this new religion.  However, there was a downside for after their attentions to a particular area one became fearful of straying from established paths; of taking short cuts through the trees to get to the NAAFI or SHQ for surely that is what would suffer, short (and painful) cuts from the latest set of strands of rusty Barbed Wire which had been skilfully and cunningly concealed in the undergrowth.  Indeed, it soon became apparent that to step from the official routes in, out and around the squadron area was to invite trouble of a personal, threatening kind!

So it went on for some months and in between enthusiastically festooning the surrounding forest with miles of this lethal decoration they also built sneakily concealed dug-outs and guard-posts using logs, railway sleepers, sheets of corrugated metal and other suitable building materials liberated from around the station.  The result was that with the advent of Autumn and the prospect of the silly-season of Station Exercises about to begin they had transformed what was once green and pleasant woodland into something which was now a cross between the Somme of the Great War and the Ho Chi Minh trail at the height of the war in Vietnam.

There was no doubting that we were safe within our domain but on inspection even the FS had to admit that his three protégées might have overdone it a bit for folks were now taking half an hour or more to do a previously straightforward 5 minute A-to-B journey.  This did not bode well for fulfilling the requirement to scramble our jets and the very real prospect of pilots and ground crew getting lost somewhere as they attempted to pick their careful way around the fortifications.  Clearly the whole concept needed to be reconsidered and so with a round of reorganisation already in the air the G-men trio was downsized to become a duo and Grant’s enthusiasm for doing things with his hands was redirected back to being a Rigger and to be employed as such on the new shift system that the FS had introduced!

It was around about this time that the squadron had also completed its preparations to become an effective element in this great game of confronting the enemy whom we were assured by our Masters would be plotting and scheming our demise somewhere over there to the East.  Our aircraft had most of their bits, the pilots seemed to know what they were supposed to be doing (although they were a little careless sometimes with the jets we loaned them); the engineers were fairly well-versed in mending the inevitable broken Jaguars when they were returned back to their care.  Oh yes, and then there were the Photographers – the Moleys – who practised the art of quickly processing the film that the reconnaissance pods bought back after each sortie so that we could all marvel at the glossy pictures of, well, something or other.

Although they tended to keep to themselves in the Portocabins which housed their darkrooms and interpretation facilities it had to be recognised that the Moleys provided the wherewithal for our existence.   For we were, if nothing else, supposed to be the premier Reconnaissance Squadron in the whole world.   So it was with no envy from most of us to witness the arrival of a 250cc BSA Motorbike for them to use in making the task of transporting the film from the aircraft even quicker.   However, the Moleys because our aircraft didn’t at that time fly at night had no reason to work the shift system that the rest of the squadron did on a week about basis.   Consequently their shiny new Motorbike was left parked overnight usually in the Ground Equipment park and whenever Grant was on nightshift he, with his passion for all things with wheels, could not resist the temptation of riding the thing around the squadron area and indulging in a fantasy of being a Steve McQueen-like figure doing his Great Escape.

It was a pity that because he was now on opposing shifts to his previous companions that he hadn’t kept in closer contact for he would have discovered to his gain that the FS had conceeded the Barbed Wire-overkill was severely restricting the means of getting around the squadron and that “something needed to be done”.  So George and Geordie were instructed to begin the task of removing some of the more excessive creations and to commence ripping out some of the coils they had so artfully placed and for the surplus to be collected by the SWO's Working Party (usually the naughty boys who were on "Jankers") and returned to Main Stores.  However, Barbed Wire being the sort of stuff that only Barbed Wire can be, it proved most reluctant to resume its previous neat shape on the drums upon which it had previously been delivered.   Given that the priority was to open up previously blocked routes it was decided to defer respooling the wire to a later date and so the removed wire was dragged and placed in a heap on one of the unused pans.  As the day progressed so the pile of wire became a veritable mountain.

Night fell and with it came both the fog and the late shift who began the task of preparing the aircraft for the following day’s flying.  As ever, it was the riggers who had the lion’s share of the work and it was some time before all the work was done and it was well after midnight before the last 700 (aircraft logbook) was signed off and, at last, Grant was free to indulge himself in his passion.  He had previously volunteered to be the Key Orderly; the last man who had the responsibility of going around to all the HASs and Hangar to lock the shop up.  Not the most agreeable of tasks at the end of a long working day but, of course, there was a method in his madness for it meant that there would be no one in authority around to warn him against what he was so looking forward to doing.

The bike was quickly located and in short order both it and Grant were fired up and “Steve McQueen” was off around the taxiways and pans with the imagined “Huns” in pursuit as he made his “Great Escape”.  It was a game he had played many times before and he roared around the patch with much abandon leaning the bike one way and then the other defying both gravity and common sense as he rode his tortured route through the fog in search of that elusive Swiss border.

It was a pity about the fog for one had to assume he would had seen the Barbed Wire mountain in time to have taken evasive action.   But he didn’t and it was at some speed that Grant and the Motorbike rode straight into the densest part of the pile to testify to the arresting nature of this pesky stuff.  In fact it was not only a demonstration of how well the Wire could stop anything thrown at it but also a testament to the damage it could do in the process...   ...and it had to be said that both the bike and Grant were severely damaged.

If Grant paused to consider he may have been a little foolish it was something he never admitted but he clearly remembered other words of advice of the FS who had often and generously – usually after a post-work drink or two in one of the Beer Bars – said, “If any of you Lads are in any sort of trouble then come and see me first”.  Whether the FS had realised that this might result in a bedraggled bloodied apparition knocking at his Married Quarter door at 1:30 am in the morning is something else that was never admitted either!

Suffice to say that this episode caused a few changes around the squadron.  The JengO was informed (but sworn to secrecy); the bike was retrieved and patched up as best as could be and carefully placed back in the spot where it had been left.  Enquiries from the Moleys as to how their steed had ended up in this sad condition were firmly denied as to us having any knowledge and the FS henceforth modified his offer of hospitality and understanding of misdemeanours.   Thereafter he placed many conditions upon the provision of help for any future transgressions – especially by Grant.

As for Grant and the other G-Men, well, life became a little more focussed on the business of supporting the aircraft and the halcyon days of being Builder Bobs and budding film stars faded as we applied ourselves to the day job.

Fun whilst it lasted though … and what ever did happen to Grant?

Back to Story Index Page