Chapter 4

Pilanesberg International Airport, North West province.

Side by side with Leon, I walked up to greet the visitors. The redhead caught my eye immediately, her short skirt and jacket over a white blouse complementing the black high heels on her dainty feet. Who wouldn’t notice her? I’d seen her a few times reporting on TV, but in real life she was shorter and skinnier—almost an exact bodily image of Ally. Without her dramatic TV make-up, freckles sprinkled her cheeks and nose beneath sparkling blue eyes, now framed by glasses. I suppose journalists stare at computer screens most of the time, needing some relief for their eyes. The glasses gave her a cute, nerdy schoolgirl look.

The guy with her looked to be in his fifties, dressed in a blue denim casual outfit. His trendy hairstyle featured short sides, almost clean-shaven around the ears, with a long ponytail tied at the back. The grey of his hair matched his beard and moustache. Piercing blue eyes flickered from side to side as he took in and appraised the surroundings of the apron and hangar. Upon reaching them, Leon struck out his hand.

“I see you guys made it here. Welcome. I’m Leon Little,” Leon greeted the big guy and shook his hand.

“I’m John Groenewalt, and you know Georginia Harper, I take it?” His voice was surprisingly soft for such a big guy, but then again, he wasn’t much taller than me.

“This here is Alex Meyer, my number two in this outfit,” Leon introduced me.

“Hello, John, Georginia. Pleased to meet you.”

“Oh, some would add, ‘eventually,’ to that statement when they meet Georgie,” John chuckled.

“Some would not be so friendly towards me,” Georginia said with a smile. “Good to meet you, Alex. Leon, I know and have run across him a time or two.”

“Shall we go inside?” Leon asked.

“If we are not intruding...” John replied.

“No, no, I invited you along. Come, let’s go get something to wet our thirst.” Leon invited and stretched out his arm, indicating for the news team to enter the hangar. Together, we walked back into the hangar, John and Georginia blinking at the bright light inside. Outside, dusk was rolling in sharp, and the light was fading fast.

As we entered the hangar, I couldn’t help but notice the hum of activity inside. Mechanics were working on a few planes, their tools clinking and clanking, performing last-minute checks and preparations for tomorrow’s air show. The scent of aviation fuel mixed with the cool evening air. Leon led us to a small office area with a table and a few chairs. A coffee machine burbled in the corner, and Leon quickly poured us all a cup.

The recent crash of the L-39, the number 3 ship in our outfit, was still fresh in our minds. The loss of Brian weighed heavily on everyone. Georginia and John had just covered the news of the crash near Pilanesberg airport, and the gravity of the situation was palpable.

“So, did you find the place easy enough?” Leon asked as he handed out the cups of coffee.

“Yeah, and security was friendly in directing us to your hangar,” John replied.

“Yes, it’s quite fascinating how some name-dropping of ‘Leon Little’ and a press ID tag can open doors,” Georginia added.

“Well, we don’t have anything more to add about the crash that would interest you or your viewers, but there might be other things you would like to know, or just enjoy some coffee and relax. I know it’s still a drive back to Johannesburg,” I said.

“Oh, John got us rooms at a local guest house, so we don’t need to drive back tonight,” Georginia replied.

“Yeah, I sort of called our boss in Auckland Park and suggested that we cover the air show,” John admitted and gave Georginia a sideways glance.

“John always sees an opportunity and drags me into it. Well, I don’t mind,” Georginia replied, her eyes scanning the room. “It’s a tough story, the air crash, but I thought we might also cover the upcoming air show. It could be a way to honour Brian and show the resilience of your team.”

Leon nodded thoughtfully, taking a sip of his coffee. “Interesting idea. But first, let’s get comfortable. It’s been a long day for all of us.”

I nodded in agreement, feeling the fatigue of the day starting to catch up with me. As we settled into the chairs, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of an intriguing evening.

It was then that little Ally came into the office after doing her rounds of harassing the ground crew. I knew the ground crew didn’t mind Ally being around; her presence was a welcome distraction from the crash.

At first, she was a little shy upon seeing Georgie in real life, but Georgie soon had Ally at ease. Ally was still dressed in her flight suit, minus the G-suit, of course, and seeing the little rascal in a flight suit gave Georgie an opening to make a fuss over her. Soon, the two girls left us in the office and disappeared into the hangar, where Ally enthusiastically gave Georgie a tour of the L-39 aircraft.

“You don’t fly these beasts, do you?” Georgie asked.

“No.” Giggle. “I’m too young, but I fly back-seat with Daddy and today with Alex. And Alex let me fly the bird on our way back!”

“You’re joking!”

“No, go ask Alex ... He’ll tell you.”

“I believe you. But isn’t it difficult to fly a jet like this?”

“At the moment, it’s still play-play for me, but as soon as I am old enough to get a student license, Daddy will have me enrol for a Private Pilot License.”

“And I suppose you can’t wait for that!”

“It will be hard work, but I am going to do my best and learn as much as I can. You know that to fly this jet, I only need a PPL?”

“No way!”

“Yes!”

“Well, good for you. But tell me, what would you like to become one day?”

“I’ve not given it much thought, but the aviation industry does have some exciting jobs. I just need to get my university degree and see where that leads me.”

“And lucky for you, your daddy is in the industry, isn’t that so?”

Giggle. Was Ally’s answer. In the meantime, Ally had Georgie get into the pilot seat of ZU-MIF. A little struggle and a lot of giggles from the girls about Georgie’s short skirt, but in the end it was successful without the loss of modesty.

“Man! Look at all these round thingamajigs and the buttons and switches. Do you know what they all do?”

“Well, if we have all night, I can explain all the systems to you.”

“I would rather come back when it is more relaxed around here,” Georgie said and sighed. Suddenly, she had a vague idea of what it takes to be a pilot of such a powerful jet aircraft. The sight of the intricate controls and the thought of mastering them sparked something in her. This was a story worth telling, a glimpse into the dedication and passion required to fly these incredible machines. She mentally noted to use this experience in her upcoming TV piece.

As Georgie climbed out of the cockpit, she turned to Ally. “You know, you’ve given me a lot to think about. This is quite the life you’re preparing for.”

Ally beamed. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted. Flying is in my blood.”

Georgie smiled, her thoughts already racing with how to weave this new-found insight into her story. “Thank you, Ally. I’ll be sure to tell your story well.”

Ally’s eyes sparkled with pride. “I can’t wait to see it on TV!”

“Oh, I just hope I can do it justice...” Georgie demurred. She looked at Ally and just envied her energy and dedication. It then struck Georgie that this fourteen-year-old teenager did not have the typical attitude and mannerism of a typical teenager. She seemed to be well ahead of her years.

“I believe you must be good in maths if you want to be a pilot?” Georgie dropped a sceptical question and got a stunning answer.

“Sin(x) and ex walked into a bar. The bartender said: ‘We don’t serve functions here’...” Ally replied with a silly grin on her freckled face.

Stunned, Georgie replied: “Well, young lady ... That answers my question!”

Both girls burst out laughing and the ground crew that was still around just looked perplexed at them.

“You’re no sloth yourself, Georgie. You got the joke!”

As the two girls walked back towards the office, two of the ground crew tending to Alex’s L-39 looked at the departing backs of the girls with appreciative eyes.

“Man! Did you see the landing gear on that Georginia Harper?” one of them, a lanky guy with a grease-smudged cap, remarked, nodding towards Georginia.

“Yeah ... But I think that big ugly guy that came here with her is either her boyfriend or her husband. He’ll mash you up if he hears you commenting on her legs,” his stockier companion responded, glancing warily at Georgie’s retreating figure.

“I don’t think so. He looks like he could be her daddy,” the lanky guy mused, scratching his chin thoughtfully.

“True,” the stockier one conceded with a grin. “But she looks more pretty in real life than on telly. Not much landing lights up top, but that landing gear ... Oh, boy!”

“Yeah, she’s got a real runway model look going on,” the lanky guy added with a chuckle. “But we better finish up here. We have got to be up before the sun tomorrow.”

“Hey, get finished up and let’s go get level for the night,” the stockier one agreed. “No beer tonight.”

“Yeah, yeah, no beer,” the lanky guy echoed, but his eyes lingered a moment longer on Georginia’s figure before he turned back to his work, a smirk playing on his lips.

When Ally and Georgie returned to join us, Leon proposed moving to the lounge area as the office became cramped. This proved to be a good choice, especially as four unexpected guests showed up.

“Good evening, Leon. I hope we are not interrupting something,” a tall, sandy-haired guy greeted.

“Nope! We’re just relaxing after an eventful day. Please join us,” Leon invited.

“We’re not staying long. We just wanted to extend our condolences to you and the crew. We know it must be devastating for you.”

“Thank you, Don. We appreciate it,” Leon replied, shaking Don’s hand. The three others with him were familiar faces from the air show circuit, all excellent pilots. The fourth, a stunning redhead, Nadia, wasn’t a pilot but a back-seater for Dave in his Impala.

“Your display routine is now a little disrupted. Are you going to just do a two-ship display?” Dave asked.

“I’m thinking of cancelling our display.”

“Why? I can get you another L-39 here by tomorrow morning ... Great pilot, and I’ve been bugging him to join my squadron, but he hasn’t taken the hook yet.”

“Who’s the guy? I might know him,” Leon asked.

“Dan Du Preez, ex SAAF. Qualified on Puma helicopters, C130 Hercules, Mirage F-1, Mirage III, and the Cheetah C. Excellent formation flyer, and he has an L-39C in Pretoria. You might have seen ZU-JET around.” Dave Granger gave a run-down on Dan’s Curriculum Vitae.

“Will he be available?”

“At the drop of a hat,” Mai-Loan, Don’s back seater, with jet black hair and with slight Asian features, chipped in.

Leon looked at me, seeking my input. “Alex?”

“Why not? Brian would have wanted us to continue.”

“Besides, we thought of maybe...” Dave began.

“Maybe what?” I asked, smiling to ease the tension.

“Do a five-ship flypast, and do a missing man formation in memory of Brian?”

“We need to practice it first,” I interjected, feeling the weight of the decision.

“The show starts at ten. We can fly out at, say, seven to Lambert Field, a short hop from here to the east, and do a few passes over the runway. Nothing serious, just straight and level line abreast with one aircraft pulling up and away out of the formation?” Don suggested.

“Okay,” Leon nodded, liking the idea. “I like it.”

“I will lead with Dave in the Impala to my left. Then you, Leon, left of Dave. Alex, you fly number four on Leon’s left with Dan in number five to your left. Then, as we go smoke on at the start of the runway, you, Alex, you wait one second and then pull straight up at 800 feet a minute. Over the middle of the runway, you go smoke off, disappearing into the sky. The four remaining aircraft will continue, keeping station with the visible gap you left. It will be a moment for the crowd as well.”

“Good. Then we do it,” Leon consented, turning to me. “Brian was your wingman, Alex. The honour is yours to fly the missing man.”

I glanced at Ally, who had been quiet until now. Tears glistened in her eyes, and I saw Georgie wiping her eyes as well.

“Ally, if your dad doesn’t mind, will you do me the honour of flying back-seat for me during this formation flight?”

“S ... sure, Alex. It will be a privilege,” she softly replied. Mai-Loan and Nadia looked at her and smiled.

“Then it’s settled. I’ll get Dan to drop in tomorrow at Lambert Field. Afterwards, you, Alex, and Dan can do a loop or two, a few slow turns and rolls, just to orientate the two of you.”

“Okay. Do we land back here and refuel, or just go ahead with the missing man formation straight back from Lambert Field?” I asked.

“I suggest we land and refuel before we start our show,” Leon replied. “I don’t want Ally onboard with the orientation flights. Besides, we need to do a safety briefing before the show.”

“I’m with you, Leon,” Don said, and Dan concurred with a nod.

The get-together and impromptu meeting broke up. Don, Dave, and their two back-seaters went on their way. John and Georgie also made a move to go rest up.

Tired and drained, I got into the crew van with Leon and Ally to head back to the guest house. The weight of the day’s events hung heavily on us, but there was a shared determination to honour Brian’s memory and make him proud.

A Sleazy hotel room in the outlying reaches of Rustenburg.

The man named Sloan Thornton knocked on the hotel room door, the paint cracking and flaking from years of neglect. The once-white paint on the walls had turned grey in places, and mould crept along the ceiling. There was a musty, mouldy odour in the air that stung his nose. Irritated by the lack of response to his knock, he rapped on the door again, louder this time. He tried the door handle, but it only gave a few inches before stopping short on a safety chain.

“Spanner!” he called. There was a grunt from inside the room. “Come on, Spanner! Open the fucking door!”

“I’m coming,” came a voice from inside, followed by a murmur.

“I’ve not got all day. Come on, man!” Sloan repeated.

The door creaked open, revealing a man with tousled hair, dressed only in faded underpants. He looked at Sloan with half-mast, bloodshot eyes. Sloan pushed him out of the way, and the man, Spanner, stumbled against the wall behind him.

“Are you bloody high again? I told you to lay off the merchandise!” Sloan accused. On the bed, a scantly dressed young girl in lacy underware stirred and sat up, then fell back on her stomach and continued to sleep. Sloan looked at her. Of course, he looked.

“Jeez, Spanner! They will throw you in the slammer for freaking girls as young as that!”

“She’s eighteen...” Spanner replied. “What do you want?”

“Why did you have to go and kill the bastard? You were just supposed to give him a fright!”

“I did not kill him! He killed himself!”

“Yeah, but you started it. If word gets out, you are going to fry, and I’ll swear I don’t know you.”

“Words are not going to come out. I work alone.”

“And that half-pint naked in your bed?”

“She’s high. She doesn’t know anything and doesn’t hear anything.”

“I hope you are right. Now we must recruit another one,” Sloan said, adding, “Do you know how difficult that is? Huh? Do you have any idea?”

“He was useless anyway. Now get out.”

“You little mother fucker of a son of Satan ... You don’t speak to me like that!” Sloan hissed.

“What? Do you want a piece of that pussy over by the bed?” Spanner grinned, his mind still foggy with the white powder, hard liquor and the girl he did that evening.

“I wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole!”

“She’s okay, man ... She ain’t dirty. She’s clean.”

“Never mind. Just see that you are sober tomorrow. You’ve got work to do.”

“What work? Another little thingamajig into an engine?”

“NO! You must start looking for someone we can recruit.”

“Okay, Boss. I’ll be good tomorrow.”

“I bloody hope so!”

“Don’t sweat it, Boss. I can handle it.”

“Sometimes I wonder why I keep you on.”

“Ag, please, Boss. Just go,” Spanner pleaded, casting an eye over to the bed.

“Spanner, tomorrow we will talk again,” Sloan said, turning and leaving the stinking room. Damn! It smelled like an orgy in there.

Outside, in his car, Sloan opened the glove compartment and took out a Kleenex baby wipe from the packet he had. He wiped his hands thoroughly, then tossed the wipe out the window. The old hotel was situated in a seedy back lane, littered with garbage and the smell of decaying refuse mixed with the stench of stale urine. The building itself was a relic, with faded signage and grime-covered windows that hadn’t seen a good cleaning in years.

“Maybe Spanner needs to be taught a lesson too,” Sloan thought to himself. Looking around to see if there was any traffic in the side lane, he started his car and drove off, the engine’s rumble echoing down the narrow, dingy street.

Saturday. Early morning. Rustenburg Airport, North West Province.

“Eagle Leader and flight of five ... Airspace cleared. FAPN and FABS notified. Runway one six as your centre line. You are cleared into the box,” came the female Irish-sounding voice through my headset. The Hawker-Siddeley Buccaneer led us in on the centre line of runway 16, its low-visible grey paint scheme blending seamlessly with the silver of the Atlas Impala jet to the left of Leon in his military camo and grey L-39, with the shark mouth like ZU-MIG.

I was to Leon’s right, and on my right, the vibrant black, white, and brown of Dan Du Preez’s L-39, ZU-JET, caught the rays of the sun, reflecting brightly off the fuselage. In the back cockpit Ally was quiet. The gravity of the object of the flight was obvious to her.

We streaked in at two hundred and fifty knots. The speed indicator on my panel registered four hundred and sixty kilometres an hour; the L-39s were calibrated in metric. We were two hundred feet above ground level of Rustenburg runway 16. The 4016 by 49 feet runway dead centre on my L-39’s nose.

“Smoke on ... Go,” Don transmitted, and we all hit the smoke system buttons. Grey-white smoke streaked out behind five jets. The big white “16” runway number flashed underneath the nose of my aircraft. I counted, “One thousand and one, one thousand and two...” By that time, the formation was midway down the four-thousand-foot tarred runway.

“Red Two, break, break, break!” Don Lambert’s call came through my headset. I pulled the stick slightly back and applied full power to keep the jet climbing away at eight hundred feet a minute. Glancing back and down, I saw the formation dropping away.

“You okay back there, Firefly?”

“Yes Alex. I’m doing fine,” She replied, but I was not so sure.

“Red Two, smoke off ... Go!” Don transmitted, and I deactivated the smoke trail button.