SAC ExRAFRadar walked out of the Ops room in a state of barely controlled anger, followed by his friend and mentor, OC Operations, ex Pilot and all round good egg Squadron Leader Mike Frothy-Bimble. Callsign 'DogsBollocks'
It was 18:00 hours at the elite Scopie unit of 721Signal Units, RAF Spadeadam. Location Top Secret, unless you were a civvy in the local area. And probably Carlisle as well.
"My God Sir, I've never lost lock on an aircraft doing a simulated bomb run at 8000 feet before. That crew, I'll never forget the tone of that pilot as he acknowledged he would not be getting a shack tonight."
DogsBollocks looked dreamily to the south. They were in the carpark. Not much to see so they both ambled up to the roof of the Ops block.
DogsBollock looked dreamily the south. The Mountains of the Pennines soared majestically towards a summer sky that was blue. The blue of the RAF uniform that DogsBollocks was wearing. He placed a hand on the young SAC's shoulder, then removed it after what happened last time he done that.
"It's Ok", DogsBollocks intoned, "The crew will be fine, they understand these things in the way mere mortal people do not. They are RAF Aircrew, better than the best of the best, you could say they are the best of the best of the best, the elite of the elite squared, mightier than the mightiest, well you get my drift"
"But sir, they needed that simulated nuclear bomb drop on a small stone bridge over the River Eden. It was for their Squadron, their honour was at stake."
The rakish, good looking, young SAC built like a racing snake, muscles toned hard performing one arm reps in the bar, but having that soft and gentle side that nurses loved, looked dreamily to the South.
The hills of the Pennines rose towards a summer sky that was blue. It didn't match the SAC's uniform as he was in Combats. No tie. Hardcore.
DogsBollocks looked at him. Remembering a time when he couldn't tie his own boot laces. How the ground crew laughed when one boot fell off as he climbed into the cockpit of his pointy thing.
"Look at the sky Sennett, that is the colour of all of us, RAF Blue. So you just caused 617 Squadron a black mark in their run up to Red Flag. There will be better days"
SAC Sennett, Elite RBS Operator, 721SU, stuck at RAF Spadeadam for 3 years after what was meant to be a 2 week layover while Boulmer got rid of some of their dross, looked at his hero.
"Your right boss, after all tomorrow is another day. Talking of which I'll give 1 Sqn a ring, see if I can get rid of that knob who wants to come through at 21:30 for his night hours. Who do they think they are, bloody Harrier pilots. Think they own the skies."
"That's the spirit, and while your at it, give MT a ring, tell them to get the bus up here for the gozomy run. Only a VFR transit after 18:30. Let's go down to minimum manning. The Live-In's can cope."
The 'night shift' at 721SU was hard work.
They both looked dreamily to the south.
The small rises of the Pennines rose towards a summer sky that was blue.
Somewhere, someone started playing the theme tune to 'The Battle of Britain'