3457

Although I was in the Air Force for 15 years, the truth is we only played at being military.

Unlike the Army, we in the RAF mostly had our own rooms, called our SNCOs by their first names, got half day off most Fridays, hardly ever wored weekends, and when we went on detachment, we got to stay in hotels. Not just any hotels, but decent ones.

In my 15 years, especially in my last posting to Coltishall, we used to deploy to RAF Kinloss or RAF Lossiemouth so the Jaguars could play sill buggers during the day So we could play silly buggers in the pubs and bars at night.

Before the dawn of the new century, deployments were much more frequent, and the average airman could expect to visit places like Corsica, France, Norwy and the US on a fairly frequent basis, depending on where you were based and doing what job. Those who worked on squadrons, went wherever the aircraft went, so some got to see a lot of the world. Those of us on second line, had to hope that when our turn came, we would get the US rather that RAF Valley.

I dd three such detachments, two to Las Vegas and one to Southern Italy. The last of those was top secret and was really quite dangerous as it would involve going into a war zone.

But first, Vegas.

There is a large USAF base on the outskirts of Las Vegas, Nellis, and frequently there are exercises where aircraft from all over NATO participate in "Red Flag", which means that if we were lucky, we might be selected to go along to prep the weapons.

So, 1996, the year my Dad and Granddad died, I was posted back to the UK to RAF Lyneham to the start of Euro 96 and the fag end of Britpop, and there was a Red Flag coming up, and it was mooted I would go as I was one of the Sergeant's new best friends, as I was the only one who would sit in the car when he drive. He did nealry kill us several times, but I did live to tell the tales of Rog the Dodge and his septic stump.

I was on a small arms course at RAF Cosford, an in depth course suited to my new role on the small arms bay. It was OK, but dull, and back at the training school, theough we did not have to march "properly".

I was a bit fed up as my trip to Red Flag was called off, my name struck from the lift. Anyway, we were in a lesson, and the duty staff came in and said, phone call for SAC Jelltex.

I go to take it, and on the other end is Rog the Dodge. Jelly my boy, wanna go to Vegas?

Yes. Yes I do.

Yee, and indeed, ha.

So, come the end of October we pile into a bus from the armoury, get taken to nearby transport base where an ancient RAF VC10 was waiting.

We piled on, in good spirits, and the flight took us, via Washington to the technicolor glory that is Sin City.

Upon arrival, a representative of the US department that deals with food and agriculture came on to tell us that no fruit of vegetables could be brought into the UA of A. Unbeknown to him, we had all eaten from a RAF packed lunch, and no one eats the Golden Delicious apples of withered oranges that mad up the packed meal. So he had to collect two hundred pieces of fruit.

We got off the plane and we all queued to get our passport stamped with an entry visa, even though we had NATO travel orders which meant we didn't need them. But Godammit we wanted proof that we had been to show our friends.

Each time UK servicemen go to Vegas, the MOD put the accommodation up to tender, and every time the cheapest place to stay offered was Caesar's Palace. But if it got out that squaddies were staying there on the Queen's shilling, there would be hell to pay. So the first time I went we were put up at a place called the Budget Suites, where each of us had our own room, with bed, bathroom and kitchenette.

It was next door to the Stardust casio, one of the last of the old gangster places, and all 50s faded glamour. We would go there for eat as much as you can breakfast for four bucks before going to work. And being November it was warm without being hot, pleasant to work out in, and in the evenings not too cool to need a jacket.

And we who were Vegas virgins were shown the delights of the buffets in each casino, the cheap beers in Silver City and round every evening off dancing at a nightclub called The Beach.

First night we had buffet dinner at Treasure Island, watched the British get beaten in the mock battle out front, drank a few cheap domestic beers at 50 cents a bottle before hitting the dancefloor at The Beach.

Come two in the morning, I was tired, was given basic directions on how to get back to the hotel, and I walked. Walkd down roads lined with semi-dark alleyways, from which any kind of bad guy could jump out ad steal my wallet.

But nothing happened, I got back to my apartment and crashed out.

And that was the pattern for the two weeks of the trip; work for eight shows, back to the apartment to change, go out for a buffet meal, then somewhere else for dancing.

At weekends there was no work. So we bought a bbq, some food and went to Lake mead for a cook out. Locals don't eat out in November, i mean its barely 70 degress, but we and some native Americans did, and we had the picnic areas to ourselves.

Three years later, i went back, this time in August.

Nellis is n the desert. There is no shade. There is less than no shade on the aircraft pans where the skin of the Hercules aircraft would easily burn you and you really could fry an egg on any of their flat surfaces.

We flew out on the day of the eclipse in Cornwall, no one on the ground saw it, but we in the air did. I say we, as the pilot wanted to see the eclipse so filed a flight plan allowing us to see it from 30,000 feet. We all took turns at the window as totality hit, I got to the windo just as it ended and I saw the diamnond ring effect of Bailey's Beads.

We then flew on to Vegas where we were put up at a much posher place behind the MGM, it had three pools and did breakfast before we went to work.

We dumped our bags and went out to celebrate with the crew who were going back home.

We had many beers in Treasure Island, buffet dinner and then back to Treasure Island for more drinks.

We had ben up for some 36 hours. We were wrecked.

I had an idea of getting some coffee.

Coffee was free the barman said. So we had something like eight each.

And we got second wind.

We ended up at an all night pool hall called Pinkies, that had pink pool tables, and claimed they never closed.

They did. We found out because at six in the morning they switched of the music, closed the bar and then switched out the lights.

We left.

There was a briefing back at the hotel, all were to attend. We arrived just after breakfast; three pissed armourers and our drunk bab officer in two. The officer said something silly, so we threw her in the pool.

The got out, very angry, and threatened to have us charged.

We threw her in again.

The detachment commander began the briefing with the line about being careful about the nocturnal delights of Vegas, and I believe the armourers have already found them.

So it began.

We worked 12 to 14 hour days, went back to change, then went out for dinner and then to drink.

Back in the hotel for three. Three hours sleep and awake ready for wheels to the base at half past.

We did this for two weeks.

We did this because it was Vegas and we were armourers.

Our baby boss was the first to break. One night she came home from work and went to bed. We went out.

This went on for two weeks, until it was my birthday on the 25th, and we planned a huge night at Club Rio.

After a full day working in the hundred and ten degree heat, we went back to change, went out to the Rio Casino, had dinner and went into the nightclub, we were the first in. We all fell asleep at the table and the bouncers threw us out.

Working in such heat is dangerous. All the other trades were working spit six hour shfts, but there was no room on the trooper flights for more armourers, so we had to work double shifts.

We were knackered by the end of three weeks, thankfully on the Hercs broke down, twice, to lesson our worload by 50%, meaning we only did eight hour days. But we were still shattered.

The we had to pack everything away, colleagues from RAF Coltishall helped us box everything up and put it on pallets, so we had two days off, over a weekend at the end, in which to really let rip.

Last day I decided to do something for myself. Waht I wanted to do As being with a group of people, it took half the night to decide what to do, and then it was too late to do it.

I went to the cinema to watch The Sixth Sense and then The Blair Witch Project, both of which I had heard great things of, and no one had seen.

Then I went somewhere for dinner, and finally to see the Cirque du Soleil show at Treasure Island.

I had been "missing" for twelve hours. My colleagues were just about to call the police, they had cancelled their night out to see if I turned up.

I turned up at midnight having had a great day.

Next morning the Hercules was loaded up, and we climbed on bard to find a place to sit or lay down, and so began the long slow flight home from Vegas to Wiltshire by Herc. One and a half days.

Man, it dragged.

We arrived back at Lyneham at half six Sunday morning, 90 minutes before the customs officials came on shift, so we could unload the bikes, bbqs, golf clubs and other stuff we had bought out there, and was squirrelled away by the time they turned up. Where is everything they asked.

Where is what?