Guest post from Mike Murtagh.

After waking up with my mind racing in the see small hours the other day – as frequently happens these days, as I age disgracefully – I remembered an incident that I don’t think has entered my head for 30-odd years but which I think would have merited a mention in Spying On The Kremlin.

The job I had at RAF Odiham was a pretty mundane career posting involving what was basically personnel or human resources work within the Administrative Branch of the RAF. Those of you that have read the book will be familiar with the rather eventful and epic journey to Naples and back by Chinook helicopter that I was part of in 1986. So many incidents to recall, including a near midair collision, an emergency landing and an…er… interesting trek on foot through Camorra-infested Naples carrying a very large sum of cash, and I was probably lucky to survive the experience! It’s all covered in the book anyway so check it out!

I was, throughout my RAF career, constantly seeking opportunities to expand my experience by undertaking exciting or just purely interesting, out-of-the-ordinary activities, and that approach served me well, I believe. I was never really a careerist officer, anxious to climb the ‘greasy pole’ of promotion.

I jumped at the chance to go on a dual-purpose flight to Naples. On the one hand, it was a ‘cash convoy’ to the UK element at NATO AFSOUTH HQ, and, on the other, it was something of a recce trip that was exploring the possibility of using Chinooks to reinforce the Mediterranean in the event of a crisis in the Middle East. The distance involved in a single-trip, let alone a round trip, combined with the constant discomfort of travelling in a noisy, uninsulated helicopter for the best part of a week made the whole experience rather gruelling, but I wouldn’t have gone without a minute of it! We did make 4 stops, however, but it was still fairly hard-going.

This forgotten incident happened over the Rhone Valley in France on the return trip. I was ramp-riding (as all of us loved to do at every available opportunity) alone and we were proceeding routinely under cloudless skies. All was calm until suddenly, without warning, the helicopter turned onto its starboard side and the ramp on which I was sitting instantly became a wall up which I was scrabbling in order to stay inside the aircraft! I was wearing a tether but I didn’t fancy testing its efficacy! Someone told the tale of a WRAF member who fell out of a Hercules shortly before. She survived being briefly towed along but, nevertheless, I didn’t want to emulate her experience!

The whole thing lasted literally for a second or so before the excitement ended and we resumed level flight.

‘What the hell was THAT?!’ I asked, not unreasonably.

‘Oh, we had to take evasive action to avoid a bird,’ the crew lied!

I think was a ‘jolly jape’ they perpetrated on their unsuspecting non-aircrew passenger!

The photo is of me ramp-riding while the Chinook flew past St. Tropez on the outward leg, heading for Rome.

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