In 1993, we were taking part in EX BOLD GAUNTLET at Guetersloh. A multi-national borex involving a display of commitment escorting transport aircraft along an imaginary corridor.
As usual, our F-4 detachment was being stitched up by the penny-pinching scribblies. However, my time on Vulcans and knowledge of entitlements meant that, after a few curt words with the local acker-basher, I was able to go down to the flight line to give the FS i/c the good news that I'd secured some allowances for him and his lads and would be able to give them the cash whenever he wanted.
At this his eyes became moist with distant memories. "Sir", he said, "That means we can hold a pay parade! Haven't seen one of those since the days when I was in (some obscure corner of empire). All the lads formed up and marched forward one by one for their pay. It'll be just like old times!"
I assured him that we didn't really need to be quite so spit and polish - just a nominal roll would do and I'd tick them off one by one as I paid them. That rather spoiled his day, but the lads were very glad to get their detachment beer vouchers. Of course no-one ever thanked me....
BOLD GAUNTLET had its moments though. At one party, a schoolie decided that she fancied a French Mirage pilot with whom we were chatting, so went up to him in the bar, threw her arms around his waist and gave him an obviously lustful look. So he put down his cigarette and beer, excused himself, went down to the Kellerbar and DCO'd, then returned to his conversation having relit his cigarette and picked up his beer as though nothing unusual had happened. Quelle sang-froid!