Long before the post-9/11 paranoia, I once came back from foggy Sarajevo with a few of my team, grabbing a lift on the first passing RAF Hercules. While waiting around at the airport for 24 hours or so waiting for such an aircraft, I did get a photo of me passing through the metal detector arch in muddy DPM kit, with a pistol on my belt and rifle in hand. The RAF mover at Sarajevo accepted all my ammunition, which I hoped would minimise subsequent problems. However, on approaching UK, Lyneham fogged out, so Brize was the next plan. Unfortunately, this too closed before we got there, so we headed for Manchester, along with most of the civil traffic that had been bound for the south of England. At Manchester, we were parked in a distant corner, never saw any customs or security, but got a lift to the terminal. Fortunately, I had a big old aircrew holdall that was long enough for my rifle to go inside it, with my pistol under my coat. We then set about trying to get transport to our various end destinations, in the thickening fog, late at night, and competing with Heathrow refugees for hire cars. During this, we became separated, and the airport police started to be aware of armed men in the terminal. At one stage, they actually approached me and asked if I had seen any armed men, not noticing that I was one of them. I of course directed them to the other end of the terminal while I secured the last car for my onward journey.
In retrospect, this is quite amusing, but after 36 hours of travel at the time and further adventure yet to come, it was all a bit fraught.