Despite the fact that the USAF attained a roughly 10-to-1 kill ratio during the Korean War, when it came to the war in Vietnam the ratio had fallen to about 2-to-1 and, for a period during 1972, it dropped to 1-to-1. A paper documenting ‘Lessons Learned from the Vietnam War’ had also highlighted that crews who survived their first ten combat sorties were likely to survive the remainder of their tour. Thus, there was a perceived need to improve the training to better prepare crews for their operational scenarios.
Meanwhile, at Nellis AFB, a small group of relatively junior officers were promoting the idea of ‘aggressor’ squadrons with a plan to utilise the vast desert areas north of the air base as their ‘playground’. At this stage it was very much a Fighter Weapons School (FWS) ‘in-house’ affair until one of the officers involved, Major Moody Suter, managed to gain access to the then commander TAC, General Robert J. Dixon. So impressed was he by the FWS plan that he instructed his operations deputy to establish Red Flag at Nellis within six months and so, on 1 March 1976, the 4440th Tactical Fighter Training Group (Red Flag) was formed to provide extremely realistic simulation of combat conditions for, at that time, the exclusive use of US forces.
The basic principle of the exercise was that visiting squadrons would be deployed to test their tactics in the desert training areas, the size of Wales, to the north of Nellis. Airfield size targets were carved into the desert and real and simulated Warsaw Pact defences and electronic warfare threats were deployed across the desert to defend the area. Suter’s team at the FWS provided an ‘aggressor squadron’ flying F-5E single-seat aircraft chosen not only for their agility but also because they had similar characteristics to the MIG-21 operated then by the WP forces; the aircraft were camouflaged in typical WP schemes and all bore the Red Star of the Soviet Union. Aggressor pilots were selected from the top fighter pilots in the USAF and had to be FWS graduates. They were trained to fly according to the tactical doctrine of the WP, to provide participating crews with the type of threat they would encounter in real combat should the Cold War ever turn hot. The F-5E Tigers became the mainstay of Red Flag until they were replaced by the F-16 in 1988.
Buccaneer crews at the Tactical Fighter Meet. David Wilby seated left.
During bilateral talks with his UK counterpart in 1976, General dixon offered Air Chief marshal Sir david Evans, C-in-C Strike Command, an invitation to send RAF aircraft to participate in Red Flag. An opportunity not to be missed was eagerly grasped and Honington-based 208 Squadron was selected as the first RAF squadron to participate. During the first half of the exercise 208’s Buccaneers were joined by two Vulcans and for the second half, the UK-based aircraft were flown by a detachment drawn from the Laarbruch Wing in Germany. As a flight commander on 208 at the time, I was delighted to be selected by the boss, Wg Cdr Phil Pinney, as the project officer.
To meet the demands of flying on Red Flag it was essential that we carried out some dedicated work-up training. In August 1976, Mike Bush, Alfie Ferguson, Dave Symonds and I had been fortunate to participate in the Tactical Fighter meet (TFM) at Leuchars. There, against the best of the RAF’s air defence and offensive forces, we gained much in evolving and refining the squadron’s overland tactics that had been developed for our primary conventional role in support of NATO’s northern flank. Our normal day-to-day minimum height over land was 250 feet but, for Red Flag, we would be flying at 100 feet above ground level (AGL), so it was valuable on TFM to be cleared down to that height over the specifically-designated ultra-low level (ULL) flying areas in the Scottish Borders. Some two months later, the lessons learned on TFM were put into practice when the squadron took part in Exercise Strand, designed to test the RAF’s Rapier air defence systems at a location in Northumberland. All this ULL flying was an excellent lead-in for the crews selected to participate in Red Flag and its prelude, the official work-up, which required the squadron to deploy across the Atlantic to Canadian Forces Base, Goose Bay, in Labrador. Goose is in a remote location just south of the tundra and an ideal base from which to practise and develop low-level operations.
Flying low level over Labrador, 1979.
We deployed half the squadron at a time with a changeover after two weeks with each crew programmed for around nine sorties. The terrain was perfect, difficult navigation over featureless tracts, no built-up areas (though we still raised the odd complaint from a disgruntled trapper) and some dodgy weather to keep us alert. The squadron worked hard and individual low flying was honed to fly safely at 100 feet over and through varied terrain. Similarly, low-level formation penetration tactics were attempted and tested using our own aggressor ‘bounce’ aircraft. We even tried a grey and white camouflage scheme on some aircraft, which became very useful when employed as the bounce. The detachment was a great sharpener for what was to come.
Back in the UK and readying for our deployment we were familiar with the first part of our route, which would take us to Nellis via a night stop back at Goose Bay. However, as we approached our Victor tanker off north-west Scotland on 2 August 1977, its captain declared a navigation kit malfunction and handed over the task of getting us to Goose to the lead Buccaneer. Now, at low level over the sea, this would not be a problem to solve for any experienced Buccaneer navigator. However, at 34,000 feet over the Atlantic with all the vagaries of high-level winds and with only the ergonomic slum of the Buccaneer’s back cockpit to assist, prospects were not great as we could only rely on dead reckoning for the majority of the route and the occasional turn onto north to take a peek at the maximum range of the Blue Parrot radar to ensure that first Iceland and then Greenland were still on the right hand side.
208 Squadron air and ground crew ready for Red Flag, October 1977.
En route there were some interesting lunges, in cloud, into a refuelling basket being whipped by a snaking rubber hose. We attempted to feed the bite-sized sandwiches under our oxygen masks, as we listened to music on the aircraft’s HF radio, but we drank very little. Nobody wanted to try and find the shriven member hiding deep inside his rubberised immersion suit and use the pee-tube provided for our convenience. Eventually, after some five-and-a-half hours, the Goose Bay TACAN beacon began to twitch and twenty minutes later we landed in the barren wastes of Labrador.
After a night in the bar with our tanker buddies and many ‘war stories’ of the outward journey, and just a few beers, we continued the next morning in pairs across the sterile wastes of Canada and across the US, still in our immersion suits and with our tankers who remained with us until we were in reach of Nellis. By dint of some nifty speed control, our second pair was able to join us in the descent and, much to Nellis’s displeasure, we joined the circuit for a four-ship run-in and break. As we taxied in past aircraft pans the size of our airfields, and crammed tight with the latest modern high-speed pursuit ships, we gazed in awe and listened to the mirth of air traffic noting the dated look of our noble coke-bottle shaped steeds; even more laughter when we folded the wings. After six hours and forty minutes in our rubber suits, Stu Ager and I were glad to step on to the concrete, which was baking in the ninety-degree heat of a Nellis summer’s day. A welcome ice-cold Coors was thrust in our hands but quickly hidden to avoid the prying eyes of the TV cameras that had turned up to film the ‘Limeys’ arrival. We had arrived as the first non-US participants in Red Flag.
In the summer before we deployed, two wonderful ‘cowboys’ visited us from the Red Flag staff at Nellis. Unfortunately these laconic fighter pilot gods, whilst also melting a red crimpoline suit that got rather too close to a bar side candle in the officers’ mess at Honington, let slip to our awestruck wives that Nellis was not a lonely outpost in the middle of the desert, as we had hitherto described, but was actually just ten miles as the crow flies from Las Vegas. Our cover was well and truly blown!
The Nellis officers’ ‘O Club’ had all the delights that one could imagine being just those ten miles north-east of the ‘desert Jewel’: slot machines; burgers; cheap beer; fries and large screen TVs were just a few of its attractions. It was a very, very entertaining establishment and nothing like a traditional RAF officers’ mess to which we were accustomed. It was crammed to the gunnels with overloaded egos, vibrant aircrew banter and some very decorous scenery that ‘sure loved our English accents’ – it was a great place to be after a hard day’s work over the desert. Particularly so at a Wednesday and Friday night happy hour when strippers performed in a ring in the centre of the bar. This was no ‘Tailhook’ but it did have all the makings! Between this hallowed ground and the glitzy entertainment of downtown Las Vegas, we were afforded some essential recreational diversion from the pressure of our training. On a more serious note, it was also a unique opportunity to discuss operational tactics with our American counterparts in relaxed surroundings. Oh well – I tried!
As this deployment was planned to be a one-off, our allowances were virtually non-existent but crews soon discovered where to enjoy the best deals in town and how to spend an evening taking in the extraordinary sights of Vegas whilst keeping body and soul in reasonable shape. Careful operations on the gaming tables not only gave access to complimentary drinks but, if you were lucky, also furnished a small supplementary income to bring home all the latest Fisher Price toys you could carry for our young families (now still used by grandchildren some thirty-five years later). The local golf courses were also very generous and offered us excellent discounts and some freebies. Playing on US courses was a revelation; it appeared that it was beneath the dignity of rich Americans to look for any errant balls. However, not so the Brits. We had many excursions off the fairways and it was a common sight to see our folks wading into pools or the undergrowth to gather the very obvious treasure trove. It is rumoured that ken Evans is still playing with some of them today.
We soaked up the ambience of Vegas and Nellis and looked forward to the opportunity to train in such a comprehensive operational arena with our doughty comrades. The base was huge by any standard and just brimming with modern aircraft and the latest technology; before they met us in the air we were without doubt seen and humoured as the country bumpkins over from the UK.
After a few days acclimatisation to both the heat and the complexities of this very large military installation, we started to earn our stripes. I had constructed a flying programme using our Goose Bay training as a template. Each formation was planned for eight sorties during the exercise, all by day and with plenty of time for preparation and de-brief. With the participants’ ‘In Brief’ completed and our workplace and planning area established, and having individually found time to read, digest and sign the incredibly long but essential Red Flag SPINS (special instructions) we were fully indoctrinated into Red Flag and its ethos and were ready to participate. After a familiarisation sortie at 100 feet over the Nellis and Tonopah Ranges we felt ready to mix it with the aggressors and the rest of Red Air. And so, with the Red Flag operations building boasting an entrance somewhat humbly inscribed, ‘Through This Portal Pass the World’s Best Fighter Pilots’, we were ready to prove that so did ‘The World’s Best Bomber Crews’ and we were there not only to prove it but also to win against our foe.
Initial sorties were flown equipped with practice bombs in order to test and ensure that our safe separation distances and time splits over the target were achievable in the sparse terrain where navigation was done by flying from massive ridge line to massive ridge line that grew out of the desert floor. That achieved, we soon moved on to carrying and releasing our normal Red Flag conventional weapon load of both live and inert 1,000lb bombs as well as BL755 cluster bomb units (CBU). We flew in large coordinated missions with our US colleagues who were flying an impressive array of aircraft. Briefings were comprehensive and, yes, we were always given the callsign ‘Limey’.
Perhaps the most complicated part of the mission was the taxi and take-off with many participants, lots of instructions and ‘last chance’ weapons’ safety checks before being given our departure clearance, which was difficult to understand (do we really speak the same language?) before being read back in a cool, laconic John Wayne voice that befitted the moment. However, once headed at medium altitude to our start point of Student Gap, the game was most definitely on.
As this was our first participation we were a relatively unknown quantity on the continental United States. We needed to get to the target on time without being ‘killed’ by either the aggressors or by the ground defences in the target areas and then exit quickly and unscathed. Importantly, we also wanted no mistakes, incidents or accidents.
We flew to our limits and employed the tactics that we had evolved during the lead-in training. The skills that all our crews had developed over the difficult terrain and weather of Labrador worked even better in the desert where the more favourable environment gave a little more individual scope for thinking time and action. It was hot and the battlefield was relatively high and both factors dictated that we needed to watch our thrust and energy levels whilst operating near the ground. We also needed to consider the sun, glare and perspective.
We were cleared to fly down to 100 feet minimum separation distance (MSD), in other words a clearance bubble of 100 feet around the aircraft. In truth, and despite legislation and our rather dated instrumentation suite, at ultra-low level the height you fly becomes more of an individual comfort feel, which will vary, depending on terrain, speed, manoeuvre and individual skill. In the Buccaneer the pilot, particularly when very low and very fast, was responsible for avoiding the ground and obstacles and trying to spot any threat aircraft in the frontal sector. Navigators looked after the navigation, aircraft systems, most weapon inputs and tended to loosen straps in order to monitor the visual threat envelope from high to low and, with considerable effort, the rear sector from two o’clock through to ten o’clock. Excellent lookout was imperative in such a clear air mass with few places to hide. If the pilot had to look into the cockpit, he warned the navigator to look ahead. At no time could you afford both heads to be diverted from the forward sector. This lesson was very quickly learned by one of our experienced crews who discovered this when they had a momentary lapse of concentration as they cleared the target area and were decelerating to re-join formation. Striking the telegraph wire at thirty-seven feet was a very welcome attention getter to pull-up from their induced gentle descent towards the desert floor; they were very lucky – it could have been a lot worse.
Speed was essential to aid manoeuvre, to pass through the threats quickly and to make enemy defence engagement solutions more difficult. Speeds were kept high as fuel was not in short supply and we were carrying representative weapon war loads. We planned to fly at 480 knots as we entered hostile territory and increased this to 540 (nine nautical miles per minute) as we moved into the target area. We could still generate further knots in extremis and for running out of the target area.
We always flew as constituted crews so that we were totally familiar with each other’s modus operandi and, for the same reason, we were teamed up with another crew to make a constituted pair and, further, joined with another pair as a constituted four-ship unit. Participation in Red Flag was mandated for experienced pilots with no less than 500 flying hours, who were CR (combat ready) and had completed a structured and appropriate work-up period. Accordingly, and in order to facilitate ease of programming but, more importantly, to ensure familiarity of action within formations, 208 Squadron nominated particular formation leaders who would retain that role on every mission flown. Those selected were particularly experienced crews both in terms of the role flown and hours on the Buccaneer. The task was given to Pete Jones, Mike Bush and myself with Stu Ager as my pilot. Wing men, each excellent low-level operators, developed supreme flexibility and skills in keeping formation integrity in all terrains and weather conditions, which allowed a little more thinking time for navigation checks and threat perception. Formation shapes varied to suit conditions and aircraft over the flat desert areas could be several miles apart which provided a compromise between ease of passage and, importantly, made it difficult for an intercepting aircraft to identify all members. As experience developed, it was not always necessary to see a wingman to know where he was and where he would appear as he emerged from behind ground features.
At Goose Bay, we had learned to avoid wing flash when flying over the middle of plain ground features like lakes, dry or full, and to keep away from the valley floor by hugging the sides of large valleys. We also developed our own techniques for crossing ridges without undue exposure to a following threat, either by turning sharply to parallel it before pulling over the ridge, inverting to regain terrain masking as soon as possible or to just bunt over. Ideally, we would find a small gap and scrape through. Standing waves, inflamed by the heat and terrain, could also cause severe turbulence even for the Buccaneer and our crews were careful to ease a tad at high speed to prevent undue fatigue on the airframe.
Every crew had a comprehensive route map with regular real times, the ‘timeline’, to achieve the tasked time on target (TOT). Achieving one’s TOT was crucial to maintain deconfliction from other aircraft and weapons’ fragmentation zones during live drops. Often the formation would be split after an air engagement on the run to the target but it was common to see wingmen sliding back into place as they regained the timeline. Getting through the target first time maximised the elements of surprise and confusion and was always preferable to going round and coming in to a stirred threat with a single focus: you. We employed a strict EMCON (emission control) policy, which included radio silence, and we kept our radars off. As we were flying nap (near as possible) to the earth, most threats came from above and an evasive manoeuvre by any member of the formation gave a fairly pointed clue to the rest of the team without the need for a radio call. Each aircraft would make its own appropriate counter and re-join the timeline in due course. In the clear air of the desert, a puff of exhaust generated by an increase in speed to aid manoeuvre became the silent clue.
Airborne from Nellis AFB for a Red Flag mission (Frank mormillo).
At the time, the Buccaneer was relatively well equipped for operations in the electronic warfare mode. Flying low kept us in a quiet and fairly uncluttered radar environment and gave our RWR (radar-warning receiver) a good chance of picking up an early threat signal. A long-range early-warning radar indication told us to fly lower to mask the aircraft and a high pitch quadrant indication, or pulsed doppler warning light of a hostile defence threat, enabled us to take the appropriate evasive action. Not least, we had a one-shot load of chaff bundles taped in the very effective clam-shaped airbrake. These customised strips of tinfoil were designed to confuse radars but they also could be a little disturbing to a visual fighter closing at high speed. Because in 1977 the Buccaneer had no forward-firing weapons, as a last resort, we had developed a tactic that would destroy the aim of any fighter pilot closing in for a guns kill. It was simple and, although never tested for real, effective, as our enemy confessed and credited us with a kill against them if used. It was nothing more than a 1,000lb HE ‘bomb in the face’ (BIF) tactic, released from 100 feet. The very sight of which, we were assured, would ruin the hardiest of fighter pilot’s day. The code word? KNICKERS! We also put a few aircraft in desert camouflage but, on the desert floor, we found that, as well as wing flash, ground shadow was what aggressor pilots looked for; our camouflage efforts were for nought. Moreover, we also discovered, to our chagrin, that when we really got down to very low levels we could create a dust storm trail on the desert floor that announced our presence.
After every sortie, and a few marching paces to get the story straight, all mission participants gathered for a comprehensive debrief led by the Red Flag directing staff, which included reports by each lead element involved and by the aggressors and ground-defence operators. In those early days, before the current plethora of very comprehensive electronic tracking and scoring systems, claims could be quite droll if well argued, and stories became quite entertaining, particularly when air-to-air or ground engagement films were available. There was little room for exaggeration. It was amusing whilst instructive and was an excellent training vehicle in which each unit’s pedigree soon became apparent.
Our contribution went down extremely well. Our radio silence procedure caused doubt in some quarters as to whether we had actually been in the target area. We had very few air kills against us and the ground defenders on the EW (electronic warfare) ranges took great delight at leaving their control cabins to see some spectacular runs against their positions; they even produced video at the daily mass debrief of Buccaneers screaming past their radar heads to prove it. Our crews used map, stopwatch and some major ‘mark one eyeball’ activity to navigate in the difficult desert terrain, which lacked pinpoint navigational fixes and gave little cover to our aircraft on fairly predictable target routes. Early spots, high speed and, when necessary, counter manoeuvring at ULL made us difficult targets for the aggressors to substantiate kills with their then weapons load.
Our coordinated weapons attacks were also highly successful. The Buccaneer weapons system, which had been designed to toss a nuclear bomb against a Sverdlov cruiser, lacked much sophistication compared to modern digital computer-generated displays. Nevertheless, most squadron pilots had developed a seaman’s eye appreciation – ‘that looks about right’ – which worked pretty well at low level and close range. Many of our attacks were aimed at suppressing airfield defences and runways using sticks of 1,000lb bombs tossed from around three miles out. I remember feeling quite elated as my four-aircraft formation were tossing from our planned direction and there, from another quadrant, was Pete Jones’s four in a simultaneous attack tossing from their planned point; all followed by an impressive inverted ‘Red Arrows’ bomb-burst’. The CBU attacks at close range against convoy targets were also great fun. By the standards of the late 1970s era we produced excellent results.
The F-5 fighters of the aggressors were small, highly manoeuvrable and if we were spotted from their high observation perch, the pilots were quickly able to convert height to speed for rapid intercepts at low level. On most occasions, we were able to counter these attacks by an early spot, a formation split and an even more concentrated dive for the dirt. In this manner, though one of our aircraft might be claimed as a kill, the rest escaped unscathed and would regain track on the timeline. Similarly, against ground defences, our RWRs gave us an early warning of a threat and we were able to change direction to avoid the engagement envelope. When unavoidable we would fly lower and randomly jink to make the tracking operator’s task more difficult. This made good video material particularly when accompanied by the tracker’s commentary, which tended to be quite base and emotional.
Some of the Red Air opposition, flying in support of the aggressors, were flying the F-15, which had only been in service three years and many of its pilots had only a few hours on its very capable radar system. On our penultimate sortie, Stu Ager and I led a six-aircraft strike on a Hi-Lo-Hi mission to the Utah ranges. We were loaded with 1,000lb bombs and had the assistance of a US Navy EA-6B Prowler who flew with us for EW suppression. Unfortunately, our naval aviators enjoyed the run at low level so much that they had to ‘bingo out’ (short of fuel) well before the target. After attacking the target, and much against our doctrine, we tangled with a bunch of these F-15s and enjoyed a wonderful engagement before returning home at high level.
As the exercise progressed we added some embellishments to our sorties. On our sixth mission after a live CBU attack, we cleared the exercise areas, joined up and flew an eight-ship down death Valley – all below sea level. After our last mission, with all our Buccaneers airborne, we joined in diamond-nine formation and took photos from the airborne spare.
As we finished our two-week stint, we welcomed our chums, XV and 16 Squadrons from RAF Germany, who took over our aircraft and completed the second part of the Red Flag with similar distinction and results. We later returned to Nellis to collect our aircraft and retrace the route home via Goose Bay.
As I close, I must pay much deserved homage to our engineering and logistics experts, and experts they were, led by our squadron engineering officer Arun Patel. The squadron always had a busy flying and detachment schedule but that year, with all our training demands and the rigours of operations in the barren wastes of Goose Bay and the heat of the Nevada desert, it had been particularly difficult. That we did not drop a sortie at either Goose or Nellis was an amazing feat, and to finish our final Red Flag sortie with all ten aircraft airborne after such a demanding operational exercise was truly exceptional. Long hours of preparation and rectification, excellent leadership and teamwork and a great sense of pride combined to great effect. Not least, our logisticians had also worked miracles to move our heavy weapons and critical aircraft spares to the right place when needed. We could not have asked for better.
Once back in the UK, news of our results had spread and we were tasked to brief every conceivable senior staff headquarters including the Chiefs of Staff Committee at the MOD. Our briefs were honest and to the point and with factual reports to enforce the lessons learned, we also showed some quite good film that left no doubt as to the parameters to which we had flown. Having worked on the premise that this Red Flag was to be a one-off event, we were surprised to receive another invitation for the following year. Our success had set a trend for the RAF with repeat invitations in the coming years for many other RAF, and NATO, squadrons.
On subsequent Flag exercises, (Green, Maple, Blue etc.), which all had slightly different emphasis and complexity, we developed the work-up and tactics to give us comprehensive training across the whole operational environment. Nevertheless ours, and the RAF’s, very first Red Flag still remains a very special and pleasing memory and it has shaped the standard and format for RAF operational training for many years since.
HMS Eagle Air Group with 800 Squadron Buccaneers, October 1965.
Fred Secker parks his 800 Squadron aircraft on the runway at Butterworth, July 1966.
Buccaneer Mark 1 of 809 Squadron in 1964.
Instructors of 736 Squadron enjoy a formation loop in 1966.
Bombing up at Brawdy for another sortie against the Torrey Canyon.
A 736 Squadron Mark 2 clears the snow at Karup in Denmark, 1970.
An 801 Squadron Buccaneer catches a wire on Hermes in 1970.
12 Squadron at RAF Luqa during Exercise Lime Jug, 1970.
Ian Henderson of 12 Squadron visits Holme-on-Spalding-Moor.
Buccaneer and Hunter T7 of the Laarbruch Wing.
A courtesy call to Her Majesty on HMY Britannia.
A busy flight deck on Ark Royal.
809 Squadron officers, 1976, with Ted Hackett second row left.
809 aircraft with flight refuelling pod approaches Ark Royal’s deck.
Aircraft about to touch down on Ark Royal.
Ark Royal, dressed overall with paying off pennant, leaves Gibraltar for the final time.
208 Squadron over the Nevada desert during the first Red Flag.
The RAF Germany Wing at Red Flag.
24 SAAF Squadron with a maximum load of sixteen 250kg Mk 82 bombs.
Undercarriage up! A quick get away.
208 Squadron over Scotland, 1981
The 237 OCU aerobatic crews, 1980, with Phil Wilkinson centre left.
A Hunter F6 of 208 Squadron at Honington, 1980.
208 Squadron aircraft take off from Akrotiri for Operation Pulsator.
A Hunter T7 of 237 OCU.
237 OCU aircraft with a Sidewinder.
A 111 Squadron Phantom takes on fuel, 1987.
237 OCU over North Scotland.
Lossiemouth Wing on parade, 30 April 1988, for the aircraft’s thirtieth anniversary.
Lossiemouth Maritime Wing pair with full load of Sea Eagle anti-ship missiles.
208 Squadron over Egypt in 1990.
En route to a target during Operation Granby.
Over the Iraqi desert, Operation Granby, during Desert Storm.
Glen Mason and Norman Browne DFC man their aircraft at RAF Muharraq, Bahrain.
Buccaneer squadrons always left their mark, here at Decimomannu.
Queen’s Birthday Flypast.
Return from the Gulf.
Benny Benson displays over Mildenhall.
Rick Phillips and Nigel Maddox with the Queen’s Birthday Flypast team at Manston.
Nigel Huckings leads the final team.
Farewell signatures.
Airfield ‘attack’ by 12 Squadron during the final flypast (Malcolm Irving).
The former XW 586 at Thunder City, Capetown.
The Buccaneer Aircrew Association roll out XX 901 at the Yorkshire Air Museum.
The ‘Buccaneer Boys’ at Duxford after the restoration of XV 865.
XW 544 at Bruntingthorpe in 16 Squadron markings.
South African and British ‘Buccaneer Boys’ reunion at Pretoria in November 2008.