Chapter 13

(Mapungubwe, Limpopo Province, just across the Limpopo river.)

The big kudu bull stood under the tree, his grey-brown colour blending in with the surrounding bush shadows. A magnificent specimen of his species, the horns on his head, the crown of his life, were into their third turn.

These antelope are prized by hunters, not only for their magnificent horns as trophies, but the meat makes very tasty “biltong.” For those of you who ask, ‘what the muck is biltong?’ Try thinking of dried meat, seasoned to perfection, something similar to American jerky. Right, now you know. Back to the story:

The Kudu sniffed at the air, sensing the increasing heat of the day. There is a water hole not far from here. He will graze his way to the water hole, all the while being alert for predictors lurking in the bush.

Suddenly the kudu bull froze, his sensitive ears picking up a sound in the bush. A faint sound: a sound that was not supposed to be here. Blending perfectly with the bush, he was not noticed by three men passing by. The three men were dressed in a mixture of camouflage uniforms of various origins, walking silently (to them) the bush path towards a flat top hill a few kilometres away.

The kudu eyed them suspiciously, not moving a muscle. The bull stood frozen until the men were about two hundred metres away. Then he flicked his head, and with a jump from his hind legs turned in the opposite direction, trotting away into the dense bush.

Somewhere to the back of the departing kudu bull, a grey go-away bird called his alarm to the world. An ear-piercing, “Khweeee,” carried on the air around the bush. The three men now know that the wildlife had spotted them. They need to proceed with caution. Slowing their pace, the three walked slowly on. Their objective: Find the attack helicopter base.

(Midway between Pretoria and Louis Trichardt town, at 15000 ft MSL, two aircraft, one an aged nuclear strike bomber, the other, an aged lead in fighter trainer, were cruising along, side by side in a loose formation at 250 KIAS.)

Somehow, with the changing of the seasons, the landscape transitions from all the vivid brown-grey and reds to a lusher green and shades of green. From fifteen thousand feet the circular fields of crops interlace with the older, more traditional, rectangular crop fields, looking rather like a gigantic jigsaw puzzle. During the winter months only the crop fields look green due to irrigation on a regular basis. Now, during summer, the bush brings all the olive green and deep greens onto the canvas, creating a picture of lushness in this otherwise dry landscape.

“This looks the same, the world over. Just get outside the city limits, and you’ll see the farmlands. This, however, is awesome,” came from my newly recruited back seater. “I’ve only seen it from thirty-five thousand feet, through a tiny little airliner window. That’s to say if I was lucky enough to get a window seat.” Giggle.

“It sure looks that way. But you won’t get to see all the detail, like now,” I said.

“So true. So very true. I can even see the rivers and dams. Sometimes there are these little cars travelling along the roads. Look, down on the right, there’s a dust trail right now,” the tiny redhead in the back seat said.

“That’s an eighteen-wheeler truck, probably hauling produce to the markets in either Johannesburg or Pretoria,” I said.

The Angels had decided that Nadia Dabrowska, the Polish girl, needed the flight experience. Therefore, she became my back-seater for the air-show. So, let’s see how this goes down. So far she’s showed no adverse discomfort towards flying in the Impala. Nadia seems to be a bundle of pent-up energy, always on the go. How does my dad always say? “Dynamite comes in small packets.” I wonder if Nadia is even still when she sleeps.

Don and I had run down our display sequence at his home field, flying low and slow, low and fast. We did some individual rolls and loops. With my limited experience in formation flying, Don and I have chosen to not fly any two ship rolls and loops. We will only do straight two ship flybys at the start and end of our display.

“Do you enjoy flying? Nadia asked, her voice sounded far away in the intercom.

“Yes. It gives me a feeling of freedom. Now with this jet, I get to experience this freedom in another dimension,” I said.

“Such as?”

“I can roll this craft; loop it. See the world upside down when I go inverted.”

“Show me.” Giggle.

“What, now?” I asked.

“Yes, now, or are we gonna burn too much fuel?”

“We got plenty of fuel, milady. Hold onto your seat,” I said.

“Okay. I’m strapped in, you know.” Giggle. Nadia said. I keyed my transmit button.

“Eagle One, you awake out there on the beam?” I asked over the radio.

“Sure Buddy! What gives?” Don asked.

“My back seater’s getting bored.” I said, smiling.

“Oh boy, Eagle Two, what you gonna do?”

“Rock her world, Eagle One. Rock her world,” I said.

“Roger Eagle Two, go for it.” Don said, and I thought I heard his back seater giggle.

“Eagle Two, disengaging formation. Breaking right. Go!” I said and pushed the stick over to the right, little right rudder. The Impala’s wings went to forty-five degrees, the Buccaneer on my left, sailing forward at fifteen thousand feet.

I kept the bank at forty-five degrees, the G-force steady at two point eight. As we came around to the 360-degree mark, I flipped the stick back, and we came upright, flying into our own wake turbulence; evidence of a well-executed manoeuvre. The moment we went level I pulled back on the stick and advanced the throttle to full. The Impala responded by going nose up and climbing, ever-increasing the nose up angle until we were climbing vertically up into the sky. I kept the G-forces under 5 G, so as not to frighten Nadia too much. Luckily, the G-suits would help her compensate.

Over the top and going down fast, throttle back, and a little spot of air brake to keep the air speed stable at 250 knots indicated. Keeping the stick back, the Impala responded by completing the loop, exiting the loop and level out at 15000 feet. There was silence from the back seat.

“Nadia ... You ... You, okay girl?” I asked somewhat hesitantly.

“Wheee! Let’s do it again.” Ear-splitting in my headset.

“Do it again? You liked it?”

“Yes yes yes!” All in one word from the back.

“Okay. You asked for it, but first. Let’s spin your head,” I said and flicked the stick over to the left. The Impala responded by rolling left.

“One ... Two ... Three ... Four ... And level,” I calmly said, as I took the Impala through four rolls.

“Wow ... Now I know what the washing in a tumble dryer feels like!” Nadia said.

“So, wanna go again?” I asked.

“Let me get my stomach back in place first.”

“Okay. Let’s leave it for the show then,” I said, bringing the Impala back on course for a loose formation with the Buccaneer. Don and Mai-Loan have held back a little so Nadia and I could catch up to them.

“Welcome back, Eagle Two,” Don said over the radio as we slotted back into our position next to them in the Buccaneer.

“We were not gone that long.” I transmitted back.

“Get ready for your flypast of your dad’s place. We’re nearly there; couple more clicks to go,” Don said. “Mai-Loan’s calling them now.”

“Okay Eagle One. We’re ready. Eagle Two will take the lead.” I transmitted, looking at the GPS display, the marked waypoint of the farmhouse is coming up fast.

“Roger Eagle Two, go lead now,” Don said, and I opened the throttle a little on the Impala, just enough to go 200 metres in front of the Buccaneer and a little lower, so as not to give Don too much wake turbulence.

(On the Levubu farm, near Louis Trichardt town, there were four people sitting on the patio.)

Everybody on the Levubu farm was outside on the patio when Mai-Loan’s call came in. Lisa took the call, spoke a few moments, then hung up.

“They’re three minutes out! Coming in from the south.” Lisa announced. There was a flurry of movement as everybody got up to go down the steps. Lisa, hobbling much better on her crutches, was the first down the steps. Second prize went to Lucy.

There was a slight low whistle on the morning air. Not a high-pitched sound, more like the sound of the wind picking up in the winter. The whistle grew in intensity. The silver Impala, glowing in the early morning sunlight, came in low over the maize field, flashing past at just over 350 knots. A few seconds later, the dark grey and sky-blue Buccaneer followed. Both aircraft pulled up in a vertical climb, the Impala breaking to the left and the Buccaneer to the right. The roar of the engines of both aircraft, blasted downward on the little group in the farmyard. The sound rolled off the hills surrounding the farm.

The sound of the passing Buccaneer with its characteristic crackling of the air currents in its wake caused Lucy to shudder.

“Wow! That was something,” Lucy said, as the two jets became little dots, high-up in the morning sky. Lisa squinting her eyes to follow the two jets.

“What a flyby! And so fast! I did not even have a chance to wave at them,” Emma said.

“Well, here’s your chance now, Maw, they are coming in again. Low and slow this time,” Paul said, pointing with his index finger to the south, from where the two jets came, growing in size as they approached.

Coming in with flaps down and nose high attitude, the two jets approached, this time at a slower pace. First the Impala came over the yard; both white helmeted figures waved. Then the Buccaneer repeated the flypast, nose high, air brakes out to 12 percent, both figures waving.

Lucy was jumping up and down. Lisa was waving with one hand, resting her weight on her good leg. Emma and Paul just stood arm in arm, smiling. Paul had a fleeting memory of his two-year national service in the South African Air Force flash before his eyes.

The memory, sparked by the sound of thunder, and the smell of burned A1-Jet fuel on the morning air. The sight of the low flying Impala, just before the release of rockets on ground targets during the bush war in the north of South-West Africa, now Namibia, stirred up long forgotten memories. Place names like Grootfontein, Ondangwa, Rundu, Katima Mulilo, Eenhana, and Oshakati came to mind.

Paul again relived the horror of the mortar shells raining down on his platoon, ambushed as they were moving to a new airfield in a convoy of trucks. The wailing of the incoming shells and then the explosions. Detonations that made his ears ring.

Then the 155-millimetre cannons, opening up at his platoon’s back. The shells going overhead and hitting two to three hundred metres in front of them, silencing the mortars. Then, the angels from heaven going past; those brown and green camouflaged Impala jets. Paul again heard the whooshing of the rockets firing from the under-wing pods. The roar of the Impala jets flying at treetop hight, then the silence that followed. Paul shook his head, clearing his mind. Now his son flies an Impala; can he hitch a ride?

This time the jets did not come back. Climbing back to 15000 ft, they became small dots in the sky to the west south-west, heading 263 degrees magnetic, on to Gabarone, Botswana. The roaring sound of the jets slowly faded away. Both Lucy and Lisa stood there, staring into the empty sky.

“Come girls. Let’s get some coffee...” Emma said. Reluctantly the two girls turned. Emma saw the moistness in their eyes, and she knew this was going to be a tough call as to which girl is going to be her daughter-in-law. They are both what she wanted for her son. What now? She recalled the words she overheard her son say last night. “I love you both, but I can only marry one.” which one? What about the other one? Oh, let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.

(Sir Seretse Khama International airport, FBSK, Gabarone, Botswana, Africa.)

The landing in Gabarone was textbook as usual. We were vectored past FBSK to intercept waypoint APNIT, then on to waypoint APNS, turning 77 degrees magnetic to intercept ILS 08 on final approach to FBSK’s 13451-foot-long runway zero eight.

The reception, on the other hand, was something else. I thought that we would be ushered over to the display parking, but instead we were ushered over to the military part of the airport.

I parked the Impala next to Don’s Buccaneer. Don and Mai-Loan were in parking bay 20, Nadia and I in parking bay 21, right in front of the Botswana Defence Force VIP hangar. A mistake, or were we in for a wild ride? Don also had the idea that something was up.

“So, why are we parked here?” I asked.

“I’ve no idea. I’ll go and clear this up,” Don said as he walked over to the parking supervisor, some guy in a Botswana military uniform. I looked at the girls standing there next to me.

“How was your flight, Cheeky?” Mai-Loan asked Nadia.

“Very nice, thank you for asking, Dee A.” Nadia said.

“Dee A, Cheeky?” I asked.

“Our call-signs. But maybe we should think about changing Nadia’s now to Flips or Spinney!” Giggle. Mai-Loan said, dark eyes smiling together with her face, looking a little mischievous. I laughed. The Angels have some humour in them too, although they could have been more creative with “Dee A” for Mai-Loan. Dee A, Dark Angel? Yeah, a little more creativity could have been better. How about Ace of Spades? Nah, Queen of Hearts? Nah, I’ll think on the subject, maybe come up with something else than Dee A.

“Well, I’ll vote for Cheeky. It suits her temperament better,” I said, and got swatted by both Mai-Loan and Nadia. “Ouch!”

So, what are the other call-signs? I asked.

“Olivia is Hopper and Leah is Ski-bunny,” Mai-Loan said. I laughed.

About then, Don came back with a puzzled face.

“So?” I asked.

“No mistake. We park here. We’re guests of the Minister of Defence for some or other reason,” Don said. “We’re to be escorted to VIP accommodation, before we meet His Excellency the Minister.

“What,” I exclaimed.

“Well, he did invite us, maybe we should just go with the flow,” Don said, smiling.

“Okay then Bud, let’s go check out our accommodation. I could do with something cold right now,” I said.

“I second that!” Mai-Loan said.

“Ditto.” Nadia confirmed.

“Well let’s go then.” Don said, just as a Humvee type vehicle drove up to us and stopped. Later it turned out that the Humvee type vehicle was a Chinese clone of the Humvee, called the Dongfeng or Hanma. This vehicle relies on imported US parts, even the Hummer H1 chassis and the GM V8 6.5 litre diesel engine.

I chuckled softly to myself. There is this saying that if the Americans design something, four hours later China has it duplicated. A little far-fetched. But don’t you think the Sukhoi SU-27 looks a little like the F-15? Or, why does the Chinese Chengdu J-20 fighter jet look like the USA F-22? Take the Sukhoi SU-57 ... doesn’t it look like the USA F-35? Does it operate the same? Nope, not a patch of the original.

Makes you think about industrial espionage, doesn’t it? Or who is ripping off whom? Let the Obama, Trump, Joe Biden, and Xi Jinping of this world sort it out. We, we’ll just fly the jets and drink some moonshine ... not our problem. That the primary specimens are better than the Chinese-made cheap clones, good! We’ll drink to the Chinese test pilots and tip a hat to the fireballs they make.

(Later that day, in Gabarone.)

The meeting with the Minister of Defence was sort of a surprise. Yes, he invited us to the air-show. He’s looking forward to seeing the Bucc and the Imp do a display. But that was not the main reason for him inviting us to his country. Where he got it, I did not want to speculate about, but he had good information plus the correct number of casualties from our brief fire-fight with the poachers.

He had some information we did not have: The exact position of the poachers’ location, and the number of poachers in the camp. Thus, confirming our suspicion of the camp located on the satellite photos. There were also four trucks loaded with five tonnes of ivory tusks each, stopped, searched, and confiscated. The fifth truck did not appear, or the information could have been wrong. The drivers of the trucks confirmed that the trucks were loaded at the camp, although the drivers had no idea about the ivory hidden in the cargo of grass.