Guys,
I am seriously impressed by your recollection of the numbers.
For me, Ternhill was a blinding nightmare of helmeted, moustache-faced loonies leering at me,asking if we're 'gonna make it'. In my nightmares (and in real life,actually) whatever I said, be it 'Yes!, No!, Or for 'For f*ck's sake, snake!', they would inevitably reach to the roof and disconnect the engine from the whirly bit with the little yellow handle of 'was that really necessary?'.
Fluttering down into the sea of disgruntled post-PFL gazelles sat on the grass having a long chat about how it could all have been better, I would often take a couple of seconds out to remind myself of the facts that I was not the Captain, he'd signed it out out and he'd disconnected the engine. My stampede to Air Rank was secure, as long as I got the f*cker with the fire axe as he crawled from the wreckage.
QHIs eh? About as welcome as a QHI on an overseas landaway. I sh*t 'em. No really, I do.