I was saving this for my memoirs but as they are frowned upon nowadays and I'd probably only sell one copy anyway (to myself), here goes:
Having just completed the Jungle Survival Course in Belize, a task came in to replen the site with one soldier, one pig and three chickens so I volunteered, wanting to impress my new SAS mates with superior piloting skills. The pax all arrived on time, pig in big bag, legs tied, chickens in a cardboard box and soldier with apprehensive expression. We managed to get eveything on board our Gazelle after partial freight flooring but not until after my AcComd (RAOC Rodney) decided the cute pig could do with a little more air so cut the bag a bigger air hole. Smart move!
So, away we transition down APC runway, me flying. At this stage, the pig spies freedom through it's newly enlarged peephole and goes for it, break-dancing it's way out of it's bag on to the box of chickens and head-butts my left hand which is holding the collective. We descend rapidly towards the runway before I manage to overcome pighead pressure and fly away for what I assumed to be a RTB. AcComd has other ideas and says continue, asking human pax in back to secure pig. Some chance! Anyway, continue we do but maybe we wouldn't have had we known that the chickens were still alive and now loose. Two of them aren't interested but number three wants out of the helicopter giving us a fantastic wall of death round the cockpit, feathers, claws and beak everywhere. I should add that my two human companions in the aircraft have been reduced to ballast by all this so on it's third or fourth time round the cockpit I manage to grab the chicken round the neck and throw it against the back wall, stunning it. No RTB now, far too embarrassing for OC to see this so onwards to jungle after pursuading rear human to lie on top of pig and keep an eye on chicken. A less eventful transit follows.
On landing at the jungle HLS, knowing that we shouldn't shut down in case the donk won't start again, we shut down. We're pretty much in rag order, pig mucus everywhere including all over my left hand, feathers stuck to it. Time to get rid and clean up. After a while, one of our hooligan friends wanders up the hill and asks for his soon-to-be food. Damned pig hadn't finished trying to escape though forcing him to carry it over an ants nest which crawl up his legs in their hundreds. Pig gets dropped, clothes come off, nation's finest runs in circles crying 'get them off me, get them off me'. The engine started again. Don't worry, he was alright and the pig made the hangi, we found out later.
The vow of silence lasted until my first drink in the mess bar that night!
More episodes to follow now I've got started.
Last edited by Regain; 14th Aug 2007 at 13:47.