Having fuck all else to do I thought I might bore anyone that also has fuck all to do. A crab at war. Labuan Borneo 1964. I Entered the small hut that served as the office and crew room for Schedule Aircraft Servicing, my section and place of work. Outside on the pan, where I had just spent an hour crunched up inside the port undercart bay of the “Chalk” Hastings sorting a hydraulic leak, the temperature was hitting a hundred and twenty plus with humidity not much less. I signed the 700, and grabbed a drink. “Come and look at this” said a mate “you’ve just made a lot of blokes very fucking happy” I ambled outside to see crowds of Army and RAF blokes streaming towards the kite I had just sorted, cheering and smiling from ear to ear. No wonder they were cheering, these were lads going home to the UK “You’re all fucking doomed “ “You’ll never get off the island”. The mournful drawn out shouts that were SOP for the departure of the chalk down to Singapore echoed across the pan. “Fuck you, you Bastards” ” Giver her one for me” “See you Tom, Dick, Harry, you Jammy Bastard” We watched as the kite taxied out, turned at the end of Labs single runway a few hundred yards away to our left, wound up the elastic, brakes off and started its take off run. It trundled past us and the chopper dispersal over the other side, where as usual everyone would also be watching the departure and counting the days (literally) until they were on board. Behind in the section the phone rang, and I turned and went in to grab another drink and my fags. The sergeant listening on the phone looked at me and waved me to hang on. “Yes sir, no sir, of course sir, yes sir” J?T Rigger “Yes sir I will get it sorted “and put down the phone. “Who’s a lucky ducky then?” he said with a smile, “You are china, you are getting off Lab, just like all those other lucky fuckers ten minutes ago, you are getting off Lab, rejoice. “You are off to live with the army in Brunei, teeny weeny air lines need some help you will be replacing one of three guys from our mob over there who is getting casevaced out. He’s got some horrible galloping fucking tropical killer disease, or some such shit, and you’re the only JT Rigger we’ve got, except we don’t anymore now of course. Thrill packed adventures await you for certain. Pick up your shaving kit and toothbrush then get down the clothing store and get issued with jungle greens and ulu boots just like a real killing machine then get to the armoury and draw a weapon, whatever the fuck that is all about I know not. The plumbers and tossers down stores are expecting you and, will all be eagerly awaiting your arrival to meet your every need with a smile and a merry quip.. Now fuck off, you leave in two hours, Army Air Corp Beaver, have fun missing you already. So off I went. Next a jungle hat, a yellow ribbon and a jungle 303.