Short Stories

Jock Jardine, and Mal Hagan, were on the scrounge, and doing a bit of sight seeing. They'd bummed a lift on one of the choppers flying between the gun position, and Stanley. They were coming officially, to see the BC, and the rest of the OP's, to confirm movement times, back to the battery position. In the mean time however it was a chance to see, what it had all been about.

They had been dropped off at the airport. and were taking a look round, posing, and generally, just taking happy snaps. "What did you do, in the war daddy"? Type of stuff. There were lots of mangled bits of buildings, and

churned up pieces of concrete, all over the place. Most of the good stuff, had already been liberated though. Then, they saw them. A group of four Puccarra aircraft, parked off to one side.

They'd over flown the gun position, at head of the bay house, when the battery had been there. Practically everyone on the gun position, had fired, God knows how many rounds at them, with every personal weapon at hand. Here were four of them. Close enough to read the markings on the cockpit surrounds. Not that the pilots hadn't been flying low, when they were attacking the gun positions and ships, you could almost touch them, as they flew past.

That was it. The race was on, both of them sprinting towards the nearest Puccarra to be the first in the battery, to touch an enemy plane and have the wary pix taken. Jock was in the lead, but Mal was catching him up. So, Jock

turned, and threw the camera at him shouting, " Catch", as he did so. It was Mal's camera, so he stopped, and caught it. Then Jock was there, and up on the wing, laughing his bollocks off.

Jock clambered along the wing to the cockpit. The machine guns had been taken out of the wings, and had been put on the seat inside the cockpit. Jock was trying to pull them out, so he could sit in the actual pilot's seat, within the cockpit. Mal had the camera at the ready, and was trying to get Jock to turn round and face him, as all he could see, was the back of his head. It was at this point, that a voice rang out. "Hold it a moment".

Both Jock, and Mal, turned towards the voice. There were four hooligans from Hereford, sitting across from the tail of the Puccarra, that they were trying to photograph, making a brew. They were now in the process of getting their gear together. and moving out. "It's okay", said Mal "I'll make sure that I don't get you in the shot".

"We don't give a fuck about the photo's", said the SAS man. "It's because you clowns are climbing all over them, that we're going. What's that white stuff, for fuck's sake?"

"What white stuff, oh you mean the mine tape", said Jock from his vantage point on the wing.

"Yeah the fucking mine tape. What do they use mine tape for, then?"

"Mines," replied Jock and Mal in unison. The SAS men, were already trotting off, in the opposite direction.

It took Jock about an hour to get clear of the planes. Mal sat behind a really big piece of concrete, a fair distance away. Shouting advice, and words of encouragement. In between nearly wetting himself with laughter at Jocks antic's to get off the wing. He has the photo's to prove it as well.


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