Chapter 8

The girls did their swim. Water wet bodies in the pool. Playing. Giggling and laughing. Trying to dunk one another. The boys and I got the fire started.

With the second brew in hand, the wood fire was going good, and Laura and Tracy got out of the pool. Tracy started to get a light pink tint to that smooth pale white body. The African Sun. Not to be played with. The ultraviolet rays can turn you to a crisp within minutes.

With the Sun getting low in the west, Tracy and Laura went to change and devise a salad or two to go with the fillet steaks and sausage, expertly seasoned and marinated by Aubrey, soon to go on the grill.

With the girls gone we, Charley, Aubrey, and I got into a good discussion of “Braaivleis”, rugby, sunshine, and the pros and cons of the Ford versus Chevrolet debate. Aubrey obviously, a bow-tie man. Charley, very glad that the “FORCE”, gave him the latest Ranger XLS 4 X 4 Diesel offering. I was having a coke. Stopped the brew just after five.

The meal went down as planned. Hitting the spot. Tracy enjoyed our version of the age-old tradition. The boys enjoyed a brew while Laura took some semi-sweet white wine. Tracy – of course, she just got Coke. “Too young to have me a pint!” But I did see her steal a sip of Laura’s wine. Face pulling and all as the alcohol touched her tongue. But the reply: “Can see where a nice stiff one can do me good.” Giggle and shining green eyes. Me. I enjoyed my coke.

I still did not know if it was the wine or what, but near eight-thirty, both girls ended up on my lap. Tracy on my right and Laura on my left. Both of them had their arms around me. Tracy around my neck. Laura, around my shoulders and chest. Both girls leaning their heads on each of my shoulders. Both giggling and laughing.

I felt a stirring where there was not supposed to be a stirring. I complained a bit about me being crushed. Both giggled and with a “G’Nite Poppa-Don!” And a kiss on each cheek. Then the two scampered off to wherever they had in mind, with Duma in tow as well. Aubrey and Charley just got a wave and a “G’Nite!” Both Aubrey and Charley are just looking at me, grinning. I wondered why?

“Early Morning Tray!” I said as they left. “Up at three, gone at three-thirty!” I shouted as the two disappeared through the door. With a “Right on Cap’n Poppa-Don!” Coming through the open door.

“Long flight?” Aubrey asked as he took a swig of his beer.

“Not that long,” I said. “All of thirty-five minutes or less, depending on the weather en-route.”

“But it’s over three hundred kilometres there!” Charley said.

“Point to point it’s three hundred and forty-nine kilometres, about two hundred and seventeen statute miles, by road. BUT, straight as the crow fly, only a hundred and twenty-nine nautical miles. We’re doing say, about three hundred and fifty knots, that’s six hundred and forty-eight kilometres per hour at seventeen thousand feet. So, tie-down to tie-down, about forty minutes.” I said.

“Boy! Not your average Ferrari.” Charley said, draining his brew and placed the empty bottle on the patio table.

My five-day crash bag was packed and ready. Tracy’s five-day crash bag is done and dusted with the help of Laura. Not much. There is not much space for luggage on a Buccaneer! It went into a small compartment devised into the bomb bay! So, to stow and retrieve the baggage, one needs to open those huge bomb bay doors. Luckily, the compartment has its own lock door. So, no sweat if the bomb bay doors are opened by accident while in flight. No scattering of unmentionables over the countryside.

Aubrey, Charley, and I hung around another half an hour before, checking that the fire was completely out, and retired for the night too. Tomorrow is Friday. I have to depart at the latest at eight AM. Be at Lanseria before nine AM to not only clear customs but also pick up the smallest G-suit and flight boots, size four, I could get my hands on. Tracy’s going to swim in it. THEN, get Tracy dressed in that G-suit and helmet! Some of the manoeuvres I had to make during the Air show would imply that Tracy be dressed really well for her own safety.

Sure! I could leave her on the ground during the display. Now, WHO had that crazy idea? You don’t know Tracy! The wilder the ride, the more Tracy wants. That’s why I said before: I’m in for a wild ride with this little curiosity on legs.

(About that time the Don Lambert instant household came to slow down for the night, somewhere in the vicinity of the Suburb of Pretoria-North.)

Alex was reclining on a bed in a guest house just north of Pretoria. He had his laptop open and was browsing a well-known satellite map of the area to the west of his location. Looking for a way into the farm he was directed too.

The homestead of his attention was between two hills. One large one to the north and one smaller one to the south. The farmyard and house about halfway between the two hills. The larger hill gives a good view of the front and sides of the house. The vegetation is not giving much cover. He’ll have to devise some camouflage. Something he’s good at. Stuff that he learned long ago during various conflicts on the African continent and the Middle East.

He needs to be careful. In the morning, the sun will be behind his back if he chose the larger hill. He can also be detected from the airport side if he chose the larger hill. Taking the opposite hill, the sun will be in his eyes until about eleven or twelve. Although he will be closer to the compound.

He did find that, in order to survey the yard of the farm, he needed to move around from one hill to the other. Something he did not like. He might be seen. He did not know the extent of the “Company” his source said. It could mean anything. Friends, family, farmworkers, anyone. Well, he is prepared. If there must be collateral damage, so be it. The Bitch must be silenced! That’s the objective. He must first observe, then wait until dark. Then strike.

He must move early. Before sunrise. Alex chose to take a position on the larger hill, a little down the hill, screened from the airport. With his mind made up, Alex shut down his laptop and turned in for the night. The hunt continued on. The race he has to run.

(Let’s see what happens the next morning on the farm)

With my alarm assailing my ears at three in the morning, I rolled out of bed. Breakfast will be at Lanseria. So, ablution run. Got dressed in my flight gear.

As I came out into the passage, Tracy and Laura were going down the stairs. Tracy in Tracy toggs, jeans, and running shoes, light green blouse, a baseball cap with a ponytail sticking out the back. Laura is still in her pyjamas. Some fleecy light pink top and pants. Slippers on her feet. Delightful disarrayed blond pillow hair. Looking like she could be just hugged. Catching up to them in the kitchen, I didn’t try to read the slogan on Laura’s pyjama top. It was written over very obvious “A”, maybe close to “B” cup tits.

The kitchen run provided a wake-up mug of coffee. Got my hugs from Tracy and a sleepy sweet-smelling blond. And off we went. Tracy and me. We got to the airport and used a small tractor to pull the Bomber out of the hanger. The prefight was an elaborate thing on this old bird. But in under fifteen minutes those Rolls Royce Spey engines were roaring away. Heat shimmering out of the twin exhort tailpipes. The aircraft slightly trembled and vibrated. Ready to be unleashed. Ready to make big holes in the sky. Displacing the air, cutting, and slicing.

Onto Runway 9 and with all checks done, canopy closed and locked, we blasted down the runway. Tracy’s grin was a mile wide. At 130 KIAS the nose wheel came unstuck. Moments later we lifted off. At fifty feet above the runway, I tapped the toe brakes to stop the wheels from spinning, retracted the undercarriage and flaps. The Buccaneer responded by surging forward. She’s in her element. She’s flying. Lightly loaded at thirty thousand pounds. About fourteen metric tonnes. She’s a large aircraft.

With the sky lightening in the east, I looked right. The large hill to the south of the airport sliding away to the back of us. I banked into a twenty-degree turn to the right. Keeping the airspeed to two hundred and twenty knots, we made a one-eighty degree turn from east to west.

Tracy, strapped into the Navigation Officer slash Weapons Officer seat in the back of the tandem two-seat cockpit, was having a high exciting time. I was afraid she might set the cockpit on fire. Coming out of the turn and rolling upright, I increased the throttle to maintain three hundred knots. I lined up on the farmhouse and dropped to two hundred and fifty feet AGL. Let’s wake up those sleepy heads!

(Meanwhile up on the large hill.)

Alex had just arrived at what he thought to be the perfect position, from where to scout out the farmhouse below. The day was dawning to the east. An early light grey lighting of the sky. Slowly getting brighter. A promise of a hot, cloudless day ahead.

Alex just settled into his lookout position. Sitting down with the ghillie hunting suit covering his head and shoulders. It will be hot later. He did not mind. All he thought of was the hunt. The morning light is getting brighter. The sun will show its head in a few minutes. Alex could see more as the night shadows withdrew further and further away. The night-time stars lost in the early light of dawn.

Alex heard a low whistle in the morning air. Growing in intensity. Alex looked out to the east where he thought the sound came from. A slight tightening on his belly told him he heard that sound before. He was sure he would not be spotted, but memories of attacking MIG Jet fighters had him sweating. In his imagination, he saw and heard bombs screaming down and bursting around him. He willed himself to stay calm.

Then a jet aircraft came in low over the farm. Streaking low over the house and with an ear-splitting roar, pulling up into the sky. Climbing out and turning to the northwest coming around to the south. The ground shook and trembled as the sound waves hit the south side of the hill.

Alex saw the markings on the aircraft. Old SAAF markings. Blue Castle with gold outlines and a golden Springbuck in the middle. The Orange white and blue vertical stripes down the front of the vertical stabiliser. The black number “426” near the back of the fuselage. The T-tail configuration. Black smoke emanating from the twin jet tailpipes as the aircraft shot past at well over three hundred knots. There was a crackling in the air as the jet passed, like a hundred little thunderclaps competing with one another.