Chapter 10

The white and purple MD five thirty sat on the helipad, just outside the big steel hangar structure that was the residence of “Always On Time Air Charters (PTY) Ltd.” Some said I should change the name to something more “corporate”, thereby, I would attract more business. It did not matter; business was good. At least my employees and I ain’t starving. Besides, the three pilots in my employment were quite happy with their pay. Logbook hours were good too.

The reason I stood in the big hangar doorway was not the name of the company, displayed in bright blue on a grey background, but something that was not supposed to be in the hangar ... well at least, not till later. I did not expect to find it standing there, all shiny in light silver polished metal, oozing “come fly me.”

“WHAT did you just buy!” Pete asked, wiping his hands on a rag and stepping towards me.

“I didn’t expect it to be here already, but what do you think?” I asked, stepping towards the Atlas Impala, all nice and bright and still sporting her SAAF markings. The civilian registration number was boldly displayed in black on the fuselage, just under and in-front of the vertical stabiliser.

“Gorgeous, sexy, wonderful, but how are we to make money out of her?” Pete asked.

“Air-shows, jet flight experience tours,” I said, touching the nose of the craft.

“Yeah. And who’s to fly her?”

“We all. I’ll train first, then you and the rest,” I said.

“Okay, seems that after all, I’ll get a chance to fly one of these birds. Always wanted...” Pete said.

“Yeah, me too. Didn’t know it would happen though.” I said, thinking of what Don said. I will fly the bird, get to know the bird, and we’ll figure out the rest, as we go along.

“The logbooks and flight manuals are in your office. You’re gonna burn the midnight oil, those manuals are seven hundred pages. Each! And there’s five.” Pete said and chuckled.

“You’re gonna be right there with me! So, stop smirking,” I said. I turned and walked up the stairs to my office. At the top of the stairs I stopped and looked back at the hangar floor. Pete was in the process of directing the handlers to hangar the helicopter.

On the side of the west wall, the Cessna 210, Cessna 402, and Pilatus PC-12 stood parked next to one another, sparkling under the bright overhead lights. On the east side wall, glimmering dull in her silver-grey metal finish, stood the Impala. A bird of prey, currently at rest. She looked about the same size as the PC-12, maybe a little shorter.

I went into my office. There was a pile of ledgers and books neatly stacked on the corner of my desk. One ledger had a sticker on it in green and grey, with a graphic drawing, depicting the Impala. Typed underneath: Aermacchi MB-326, Jet Trainer.

I sat down at my desk and opened the ledger and read: Summary: Section 1 — Aircraft Description. Section 2 — Normal Procedures. Section 3 — Emergency Procedures. Section 4 — Weapons Delivery Information.

I turned the page. There was a perspective 3D cutaway drawing of the jet. I read the different notations on the drawing: “APPARATI ELETTRONIC?” “SERBATOIO COMBUSTIBILE?“ This shit is all in Italian!

I turned to the next page. The next seven pages are all cutaway drawings of the aircraft, section by section. All descriptions were in ENGLISH, thank God. Detail on the ejection seat with a thousand and thirty-eleven little detail points to check before flight. Where is my normal seat in the PC-12? How the hell am I going to get all this in three days, not even speaking of flying this thing?!

I turned to the checklists. Preflight checks. Three pages of checklists, in fine print! From the nose of the aircraft, all along the right side of the nose to the wing, under the wing, on top of the wing. All around till you end up back at the nose. Yeah, same with the PC-12, but the PC-12 did not have shears and guillotines for parachute deployment and separation from the airframe! Ejection seats with forty-seven points to check before use. Safety pins to be removed and two arming points.

Then I got to the starting checklist; to the part about if the engine fails to start. There is a section marked “CAUTION.” I read: “Before the next attempt to start, drain excess fuel from the engine and jet-pipe by depressing the tail of the aircraft.“

Okay... ? I read further: “WARNING: Move the aircraft if the ground beneath the tail becomes soaked with fuel.“ How the hell am I going to do that, jump up and down on the tail section? This thing weighs 2237 kilograms, (4930 lb) empty. That’s over two tonnes!

I had about enough and threw the manual back on my desk. I sighed, just about to get up and get a mug of the nectar of the gods, when a shadow fell across the doorway.

“Read the mucking fanual?” A gruff and scruffy voice said. I looked up into the face of a huge guy of about sixty-five. Major-General Leonard Church, SAAF, retired, stood in the doorway. The previous owner of the Impala.

“Leon, good to see you. How you’re doing?” I asked, trying to hide my discomfort about the Impala.

“Better than you! I got rid of that cost-eating monster.” He said and slumped down in one of my visitor chairs. “Taxi it to the runway, nine pounds of fuel a minute!”

“Monster indeed,” I said. “Coffee?”

“Yes, it will be good to taste someone else’s poison,” He said. “Mind If I smoke in here?”

“Go ahead. I myself feel like getting a cigar. Cuban, with lots of kick,” I said.

“Have one of mine,” Leon said handing me a Cuban cigar. “Not so bad, son. Forget the manual. I’ll get you up and flying that sweet little bird by this afternoon. She’s not as bad as the manual makes her out to be. Besides, we’ll do it in Afrikaans, not in Sicilian Italian.” and he laughed a gruff out of the heart laugh. All of a sudden, it dawned on me that I was in the proverbial, “el Toro poopoo!” (Deep shit, if you know what I mean.)

The afternoon saw me getting to grips with the “sweet little bird.” There were a lot of little hatches and inspection holes, all with little recessed pull handles to be checked and secured.

What felt like an hour later, Leon spoke the magic words: “Let’s take her around the patch.” I had some butterflies in my stomach, but soon I was caught up in the “getting into the hot seat” routine. Helmet on, oxygen pipe connected to the g-suit and aircraft. Second oxygen supply pipe connected to the seat. The seat had its own oxygen supply in case of an ejection. Leg restraints strapped my legs to the seat. Again, in case of ejection, so I don’t break my legs when flying out of the cockpit. Phew! And I haven’t switched on the electrics yet!

“Don’t worry Dave, I’m in the back. I can fly her from there. Not Like Don’s relic, this one is dual control,” Leon said. “A wee bit newer.” I was not so convinced, but I suppose practice makes perfect. One day I will look back at this day and say, “So what!”

Taxiing the bird was just like with the PC-12, only a little more power. Leon let me do all the “office” work, guiding me with a cool, confident, and steady voice.

Lined up on the numbers, I set the flaps to the take-off position. I scanned the surroundings. There’s a lot more visibility out of this tear-drop canopy, nearly three-sixty degrees of sight. Radio call to the tower. Somehow, I knew that about everyone on the airport is watching the take-off. It’s a little unusual to have an ex-war bird, still in her markings, fly out of the airport.

“Okay. You’re good. Like with the PC-12, go full throttle, and remember, she’s not got a propeller in front! No torque! She’ll accelerate clean, and at 80 knots lift the nose wheel a little off the tarmac. At 90 to 95 knots, she’ll fly off. Keep her level and straight. She’ll climb like a homesick angel, therefore keep her near level, to control the climb and build airspeed.” Leon said.

“Roger that.” I said, and pushed the throttle forward. Oh well, you can only die once!

As the throttle went forward, the Rolls-Royce Viper engine responded. A thunderous roar built up to a crescendo in seconds. The Impala’s airframe vibrated a little, then she rolled forward slowly as I released the brakes. All of a sudden, and in a split second after the craft began to move, she shot off down the runway, nearly catching me off guard. I glanced at the airspeed indicator. In the snap of a finger she was at 40 knots. I felt rudder authority coming alive.

“Sixty Knots ... Seventy knots ... Eighty knots,” Leon called out from the back. I pulled back on the stick. The nose wheel came unstuck, the rise in the nose only noticeable with the slight downward movement of the horizon.

True to Leon’s word, at 92 knots all became quiet. The rumbling of the wheels on the tarmac went away. I felt a little drop in my stomach. The wings rolled a little left as the wind caught us, but the Impala righted itself. Just a casual shake, sensing the wind and saying, “I’m here!” to the elements.

I retracted the undercarriage. With 135 knots coming up, I retracted the flaps. The Impala responded by lifting her nose skyward. I countered the move with stick input, trimmed for level flight and set the throttle for a speed of 230 knots. I was flying a pucken Impala! Wow! I smiled. Then I heard a grumpy old voice saying to me; “You still got to get this thing down ... In one piece!” Oh, stuff you! Let’s live for the moment. Go drive a boat or something.

“Nice,” Leon said. “Couldn’t do it better myself. Now! Let’s play!”

Don and Mai-Loan sat in Joe’s office. Don had a little smile on his face. Mai-Loan, on the other hand, felt a little uncomfortable. She got the vibe that Joe was not at all at ease with her. She was aware that she did not always operate within the boundaries of the law. Not that much on the outside of the law, but not altogether within the law. Something that Joe suspects but cannot prove.

“Don, it looks like you opened a can of worms again. If those turds are willing to risk firing a missile on a civilian helicopter, then they have something valuable to hide,” Joe said, not looking at Mai-Loan.

“Blue, why do you avoid me?” She asked. Joe looked up and directly at Mai-Loan.

“Now I’m ‘Blue’ again? Do you call all the men in your career, ‘Blue’?” Joe counter asked.

“A name of endearment, as close as I dare to come,” Mai-Loan said, looking Joe straight in the eye. Joe shuddered. This is the Dark Angel at work. Confident, cold, direct. Don sat quietly. This exchange needed to be done. Joe and Mai-Loan need to find a mid-point of understanding.

“Mai-Loan, I came to know you as Choa-Xing, Chinese undercover operative. I worked with you on three cases. I thought of you as a law-enforcement officer. Now I have come to know the other side of you; that you only work for yourself. That you control a band of girls like you; in the same game as you.” Joe said and sighed.

“What game is that?” Mai-Loan said softly. “The only game I play is to equalise the balance of good versus evil.”

“You’re a criminal, Mai-Loan. A loose cannon. A rogue; one who thinks that you can settle each and every situation with a gun and violence,” Joe said.

“Is there any other language that the turds of this world understand, Blue?” Mai-Loan asked. “You make laws that say, “no one may kill animals in a reserve”. What law should we make so that the turds will respect it?”

“Stop calling me Blue!” Joe spat. “We have laws in this country, and you shall abide by them.””I have the right to defend myself. And my fight is not with you or the law.” Mai-Loan said with an icy edge to her voice. Then softer. “Let’s bury the hatchet, shall we? We’ve got a mutual foe to fight.”

“This once, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Don’t waste it.” Joe said.

“It seems that you have a problem with Mai-Loan, Joe,” Don spoke for the first time. “Just so you know, I’ll always take her part and defend her with all I’ve got. Don’t get in the way.”

“You are just as bad, Don. Corrupted by the situations you get into. I have a standard to protect.” Joe said.

“Joe, just protect your standard, and where you cannot get results, leave it to Mai-Loan and me. We’ll clear your ass. So, don’t bite the hand of the one that feeds you. You can be in the limelight. My buddies and me, we’ll be in the shadows protecting your ass.” Don said and got up. “Come Mai-Loan, there’s nothing here for us. We’ll have to go with what we have.”

“Wait!” Joe said. “I may have my issues with Mai-Loan, but let’s get to a working relationship. Just don’t get me mixed up in shit I don’t need. My pension is at stake.” Joe said.

“Good!” Don said. “Can you get me the satellite imagery of the area in question or not?”

“Yes! You’ll have it by tomorrow, and then every three days, a fresh set.” Joe sighed.

“You can do better Joe. Get me an uplink via my laptop.” Don said.

“Bring your laptop in. I’ll have it done. And Don ... don’t ruin our friendship.”

“Joe, lay off Mai-Loan, and you’ll be the first to make the arrests.” Don said and did not add; ‘If any are left to arrest,’ to his statement.

After Don and Mai-Loan left, Joe sat quietly behind his desk staring out the window of his office. Joe thought back to the Mai-Loan he met a couple of years ago at the Chinese Consulate: Choa-Xing. She was introduced to him as Chao-Xing, a Chinese special operative. She was working a case and needed his help.

Then several cases later, he found her to be what he never suspected. Operating on several identities: Chao-Xing, Amirah Rahal and Mai-Loan.

Don seems to be comfortable with her. But, and a big but, is Mai-Loan her real identity? Is she really Vietnamese? Vietnamese by birth? Only time will tell. Joe sighed. Let the sleeping dogs lie, don’t disturb them.

Leon looked at me, smiled and lit one of his foul-smelling Cuban cigars. The Impala was parked on the apron in front of my hangar, reflecting the sunlight off her polished skin.

“Now, do you feel more comfortable?” Leon said.

“I still have the jitters. That is one hell of a filly,” I said.

“Yes, very good description. But did you experience that she can be very docile as well?” Leon asked.

“She’s a good plane. Responsive, agile, and very fast,” I said.

“Let’s get some coffee and a potty break, then you take her around the patch. Go out to the north-west. Go play. Just watch your altitude. Start your playing around 7000 or 8000 feet, just for safety’ sake,” Leon said.

“You think I’m ready, after only one orientation flight?” I asked.

“Who did all the work today? I didn’t touch the controls,” Leon said. “Start-up to shut-down, you did it all.”

“And you think I can do it all alone?” I asked.

“Don’t downgrade yourself Dave, you are one heck of a pilot. This is just a little sidestep for you; natural progression,” Leon said. “Look at her. She’s just oozing with passion for flight. She’ll do everything. You just guide her.”

“I noticed how she always wanted to settle into level flight. When we took off, that little shake of the wings. Going inverted, she just flipped over and stayed there, I had to will her to flip upright again. Yes, she’s good. A thoroughbred, made in South Africa,” I said.

“See! Not all comes from China, made cheap!” Leon laughed. I felt a little assured. Looking back towards the Impala, I thought that at the end of the day I will come to love this little silver bird, never mind the cost of flying her.

“You know, Leon, you can come fly her whenever you want.” I said.

“Thanks Dave, I might. I’m getting too old for her now, although she’s getting on in years, her airframe is good for a couple of years more to come. She’s gonna outlive both of us...” Leon said, looking out to the Impala, his eyes a little misty.

“Treat her well, Dave. Be good to her ... Now let’s get coffee!” Leon said and walked ahead towards the hangar, swinging his helmet in his left hand. I stood on the apron. Everyone thought I bought a toy. If only they knew that if Don gets his way, the Impala is going to experience her glory days one more time. Her day in the sun.

“By the way!” Leon said over his shoulder. “I’ve got some paraphernalia belonging to the Impala; you must come get it all.”

“What paraphernalia?” I asked.

“Under-wing pylons, external fuel tanks, Matra 155 rocket launchers, and launchers for 37 mm and 68 mm rockets. Two .50 mm machine-gun pods. All part of the bird’s inventory.” Leon said. I stopped dead in my tracks. Fhat the Wack! Am I dreaming? This bird’s fully equipped and ready for war. Okaaay...