Last Men Out

“Oil found in MT section.” Nobby threw the Station Magazine down onto the table. Tea break was almost over, he would be the last mechanic to leave the canteen, as usual. Those fellahin from T.E.A.R.S. were blathering on the wireless in the corner. Still, it was better than nothing. One of the valves had blown last month and the spare had taken 3 weeks to come from Tobruk Garrison. Bill Plummer, the voice of El Adem, announced an 'oldie but goodie from the Hollies'. Nobby turned the knob to off. Carrie Anne could play all she liked.

The Chief was shouting when Nobby arrived at the workshop. MTSS, Motor Transport Servicing Section. “Acronyms, the Air Force lives and breathes Acronyms', J.T. his trade instructor used to say. Corporal John Thomas, no wonder he preferred an acronym himself. Nobby wandered over to the 3 tonner he'd been working on before NAAFI-break. He might as well get started before the Chief finished his rant at the Corporal. Shit travelled downwards, after all. Senior Aircraftsman Nobby Clarke could expect some earache of his own in short order. What a fucking birthday! 21 years old and stuck in the desert. It was enough to make a camel cry.

'Finish that, Clarke. You're to report to SHQ. Get yourself cleaned up and get A BLOODY JILDY ON!'

'Yes, Corp, but what's it abou...'

'It's about time you were out of my BLOODY SIGHT.'

Nobby wiped his hands on an oily rag and headed off to his billet. He'd have to put on some clean KD. When he'd picked his up in Stores at Lyneham he'd asked the Supplier what KD stood for. The blanket-stacker laughed for some time before saying “Khaki Drill”. Nobby had been stuck at Luqa in Malta for a month in '68 at the start of his tour of duty. Nothing moved into Libya after Idris was kicked out, for a while. That had been 23 months and 3 weeks ago. His two-year singly's tour was nearly up.

By the time he'd walked from the Barrack Block to Station HeadQuarters, his clean khaki shirt was sticking to his back. Doubtless a black patch would be clearly visible. He hoped he wouldn't bump into the SWO, who apparently had discovered the secret of not sweating in the desert, and liked to charge the poor mortals who hadn't. Shit! The goon was standing on the steps.

'Good Morning, SAC Clarke.'

The Station Warrant Officer's pace-stick was clamped under his arm and the waxed moustaches did not move as he gave Nobby a ferocious nod.

'Morning, Sir,' he stuttered, and he went into HQ turning left towards Admin Flight.

His mate Joe 'Windy' Miller was behind the counter. He lifted the wood to let Nobby through.

'Chief Clerk's office, Nobby.'

'Windy' jerked his head to the rear. He gave a sharp intake of breath and moved his head slowly from side to side as Nobby passed.

The door was shut. W.O. Green MBE was gilt lettered on the glass, but had peeled in the heat. Nobby reckoned all the letters would go long before the Chief Clerk finished his tour. He knocked, 'shave-and-a-haircut, two-bits' as the Yanks had it. Nobby had been to Upper Heyford back in Blighty once: he reckoned the Yanks spent more money on that one base than the RAF spent on NEAF in its entirety. From Gibraltar to El Adem via Malta and Cyprus: the Near East Air Force. Of course, the boys all called it the Not Enough Air Force.

'Come in, son.'

He was a nice chap, 'Hughie' Green. Didn't shout much, for a Warrant Officer.

'Sit down, sit down.'

Nobby sat. It must be bad news, he thought. Mum, or Dad. 'Hughie' must have seen something in his face.

'Not family, something else. It's Nobby, isn't it?'

'Nickname, Sir.'

'We all get them, son. I fucking hate mine, “and I mean that most sincerely,folks.”'

Nobby risked a joke, 'You're not going to double my money, are you, sir?'

' 'Fraid not, son.' W.O. Green laughed and enjoyed it, there wasn't much funny in the desert, people said. He went on.

'You've got a case packed haven't you? As per Station Routine Orders? You realise we're all on a month's notice?'

'Yes Sir.'

'Well, we're not. None of us. Most of us will be out of here in a week. Except you.'

Green looked at Nobby, raising his eyebrows.

'M-me, Sir?'

'Not just you. There'll be others. Last out in every section and flight. There'll be about 20 of us, altogether. Don't know if we'll get an Argosy, a Pembroke or No. 9 bus out, but we'll be last.'

'Us, Sir?' Nobby's mouth was dry.

'Us. I'll be the Station Commander I suppose.' Green laughed again.

Nobby thought he found it less enjoyable this time.

'TASS'll have the most, 6, they'll be working hard, I imagine. There'll be quite a few aircraft in transit over the next few months. All the rest of us may be fetching and carrying for them. Still there shouldn't be much for you in MT, eh?'

'Yes Sir, I mean, no Sir. We will... you know... get out?'

'Oh yes, certainly. Just a question of when.'

…

Most of it had gone smoothly. Nobby hadn't touched a spanner for six weeks now. It had been a week since anybody in TASS had either. A Beverly crew out of RAF Changi had left a few crates of Tiger Beer for them 11 days ago. There was about one can each left. 'Hughie' Green, Station Commander, as predicted, had issued two a day to the twenty of them.

The three tone beep came over the Station Tannoy system. At first there had been updates every day. Details of expected flights through El Adem, instructions to report to the Air Head for flights out. There had been nothing for a few days. Nobby had stopped going in to MT, just went directly round to TASS at 10 in the morning. Most people did, had a cuppa tea and drifted off to their billets. Every one was in the one block now. Nobby hadn't had to move. Typically everyone had been moved to the lowest ranks accommodation. He'd have liked a room in the Officers' Mess himself. Nobby started to pay attention to the voice on the Tannoy. It was 'Hughie' Green.

'Ass righ' the songs of the desert. Radio El Adem a' yer services. Ha, ha...'

Nobby ran to the little shack T.E.A.R.S. had used for ten years. The door was open. He supposed the Warrant Officer had a key for every building. 'Hughie' was slumped over the desk, slobbering into the mike. He'd switched the radio broadcast system through to the loudspeakers sited all over the camp. It looked like there was a half-can of Tiger each left. 'Hughie' had an arm round the mike, a big lozenge-shaped thing, just like the BBC used:

'An' now, for the Airmen N.E.A.F. forgot, iss Alma Cogan with 'Walking Back to Happiness' 'cos I think at 'iss rate, we might be.'

Nobby picked up one of the remaining cans and pierced it with the opener hanging on a chain from the Warrant Officer's stable belt.

'Cheers,' he said.