"Bugger it, we are stuck here for the night" Flt Lt Rex Budd pulled off his flying helmet and climbed out of the captains seat combing the sweat out of his hair with stubby fingers. Rex was a pilot's pilot, one of the best Iroqouis drivers in the world. A 'Cocky' in civilian life between wars, this nuggetty squat guy would strap an aircraft to his bum at the first whiff of gunfire and leave the property in the care of "one of me cobbers" for the duration of what ever war we were in at the time.

Pulling out an untipped Camel he lit up with a deft flick of a Zippo. "Clive Cotter won't risk his troops this far out, fair enough too," he added. Glumly we looked at the offending gearbox, which ran the tail rotor. Sqn Ldr Clive Cotter was the 9 SQN maintenance officer and considered all aircrew as bumbling idiots who deliberately tried to break his aircraft or wilfully and purposely flew into enemy fire to put holes in one.

We were heading back to Nui Dat after a 'Dust Off' when the master caution panel had flashed a chip detector light for the tail rotor gearbox. Fairly close to fire support base 'PAT' we had elected to play safe and put down. It may have been a little scurf on the magnet but as Huey's don't fly to well without a tail rotor and, all things being relative to the earth's gravity, here we were, and here we were going to stay for the night.

Johnny Gibson, our door gunner pulled his flying boot out of the mud, "Christ this stuff stinks I thought one of youse had farted." Clearly the same thought had been in all of out minds as four noses sniffed the atmosphere of fire support base Pat. To say that we were pissed off was an understatement, back at Vunga's the movie 'Battle of Britain' would be showing and we had all been looking forward to it.

Plt Off Ron Betts our co-pilot, surveyed the area, "better find somewhere to sleep I suppose". Rex grinned at him, "Should be a motel some where." Exaggerated groans replied to that one. One very amused regular army WO had come to our rescue and supplied and shown us how to rig two man tents in their lines, chucked in groundsheets, poncho liners and sleeping bags then led us off to get some tucker. Night closed in, thick and heavy with moisture, one could almost part the humidity with the hands. Too heavy to stay up it came down, in seconds we were soaked through as we sloshed to the mess tent for some tucker. "You blokes are pretty close to the wire" emphasised an infantry major "so, if we get hit get as close to this mess tent as you can" he leaned forward for emphasis " that bloody chopper of yours could draw the flies no worries."

Now, not only were we going to miss the film, drenched to the skin, tired and dirty, but now we were made to feel guilty as well. "Bugger" said Rex, and that about summed it up for the rest of us.

Somehow Gibbo and I got ourselves organised in the tent with the help of a borrowed torch with a red filter, the whole bloody place was as black as pitch and monsoon rain pounded the little shelter. A loud prolonged fart resounded from the adjoining 'hutchie'. "Is that army for welcome and goodnight?' groaned Gibbo." "Mate'" I replied, "If you had to eat that crap we had tonight for a couple of months you'd be the same." "That's why I joined the Airforce" snorted Gibbo. I noticed he had taken particular care to place his aircrew issue pistol very much within reach.

Sleep was almost on me when a bloke in the next 'hutchie' started coughing, glancing at my Jeager Coulter nav watch I saw it was a little after three, the medic in me became concerned about that bloke, it was deep husky bark indicative of bad chest problem. "That grunt should see an RMO" I told myself closing my eyes and willing myself back to sleep. " Bark Bark Bark" I rolled over nudging Gibbo who was wedged next to me "Mate have you been listening to that digger next door?" Raising himself on his elbows Gibbo's face was a pale shadow "Shit mate, that blokes crook, I reckon he might flying back with us today". The coughing subsided and we managed to doze fitfully until dawn. Rex Budd's wakey call was to tip the 'hootchie' down on our heads. "Lets go blokes" he laughed as we struggled in the debris to put on pistol belts and flying boots. "Hang on boss," said Gibbo "we reckon the bloke in the next 'hutchie' is as crook as a dog and we had better check up on him." Rex nodded "Yeah rightio, don't take to long, Clive and his troops are inbound as soon as they fix that 90 degree box we will take the bird home."

Now, you can't knock on a 'hootchie' door so Gibbo lifted the flap and knelt down poking his head. "No one here" he muttered, "that's funny". Bewildered we wandered down to the aircraft just as Albatross 06 carrying our maintenance boys flared for landing, I could see the McCutcheon brothers looking down at us with shit eating grins from the open door. "Hope they enjoyed the picture the bastards" Grumbled Ronnie Betts. Up ambled the Warrant Officer who had greeted us the night before "G'day Riff Raff" he grinned "ave a good night?" Gibbo scratched his blonde head "I tell you what mate, one of your blokes is awfully crook, kept us awake all night coughing his head off." The WO looked at us puzzled, "can't see that" he wondered "My blokes were all on the wire from midnight." "No bullshit mate he was in the next 'hoochie' Gibbo insisted. Suddenly the WO doubled up in laughter, Gibbo and I looked at each other neither of us could see what was so comical. Finally the 'reg' got his composure back. "Should have warned yez" he chuckled "Victor Charlie isn't the only one prowling the wire out there, every night we get another visitor. That wasn't a bloke you heard coughing. That was a Tiger! We were suddenly very glad to be in the Air force.


Authors footnote. Ron Betts, the pilot mentioned in this reminiscence, was later killed in action.

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