Chapter 2

Dawn came with the sun lighting the horizon to the east. The birds awoke first as always, singing the day in with their usual optimism. This is that time of day that one needs to sit on the patio with a mug of coffee. Smell the new day and listen to the birds sing their songs of joy. Look at the sky lighting up and the last of the night stars losing the battle with the sunlight breaking the horizon to the east.

Lucy came up the hallway, rubbing her eyes. At least the t-shirt did not hike up high, like last night. I looked out the kitchen window at the hornbill sitting on a branch of the big yellow-stinkwood tree out in the backyard.

“Morning, sleepy head. You awake enough to consider breakfast?” I asked Lucy.

“Morning Dave. What time is it?” she asked, looking up at the clock on the kitchen wall, blinking her eyes “Oh my! Five ten. I must have overslept.” She yawned and stretched.

“It’s okay.” I said. “Shops don’t open ‘till nine. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

“You’re serious! You gonna buy me some stuff?” She said, brushing her tasselled pillow hair into some shape with her hands. “I need a rubber band. No hairbrush, you see...”

“I can do better. There’s a new hairbrush in the passage cupboard. Help yourself. It’s yours now.” I said.

“Thanks. Ah ... Dave ... how long am I gonna stay here?” She asked, tilting her head to one side.

“As long as you have to. As long as you want to...” I said.

“How long do YOU want me to stay?” She asked, her blue eyes turning soft. And for the first time I touched her. Placing both my hands on her shoulders. She was much shorter than me.

“For as long as you want ... Maybe ... forever...” I said. Lucy’s eyes got wet, she stepped forward, wrapping her arms around my waist, hugging me, placing her cheek on my chest. I felt her tremble slightly. Wrapping my arms around her shoulders, I hugged her tightly. Why I did, I do not know or could explain. It just felt good. Lucy melted into me as if she belonged there. Impulse driven, I kissed the top of her golden head.

“Thank you. You ... You make me feel wanted ... Like I belong here...” Lucy softly said. I just held her young firm body to me. I said nothing.

My cell phone rang, shattering the moment. Lucy stepped away, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and sat down at the table. Dave speaking. Good morning.” I said into my cell phone. I did not recognise the number calling; it was not in my caller list.

“Morning Dave. This is Don Lambert. I need your help.” I knew the guy (see “Return to Sender”). He lives out near Brits on a farm, ten times the size of mine. I have seen him from time to time at Wonderboom ... competent pilot. Waving greetings in passing on the apron at Wonderboom. Chatted once or twice. We had a sit down coffee a few times. He also once rented my PC-12 for one of his clients.

“What’s up, Don?” I asked.

“Buddy, you have a 530 standing around idle and gathering dust. Mine’s in for a major service and there’s a gig coming up. Urgent!” Don said.

“Okay, what’s the gen?” I asked, feeling a slight tremble starting in my body. Don was good for some really wild missions, I’ve heard through the grapevine.

“Some game rancher out near Musina in Limpopo Province, reported five elephants poached. They need air support for a ground search.” Don said. “I won’t be able to go, so, can you fill in?

“I need some more information. What type of logistics and accommodation... ?”

“I’ll e-mail you all I’ve got. It’s a gig for a week or two. Full charter service fees, plus food. The accommodation is a bit of touch and go. Looks like camping out, next to the bird...” Don said.

“Sounds like fun.” I said. “When do I start?” Don laughed.

“Don’t believe everything you hear about me. Well, if you could get to the place today. There’s no chance of getting the poachers now, but they need air support. There are thirty elephants still on the farm, and they think the poachers will come back, so, they need major policing! They’re bringing in all the security they can lay hands on.”

“When is your bird due out?” I asked.

“Another two or three days. Man, I’m just itching to go, but will join up with you ASAP. We’ll be a whole squadron. The South African Police Service will also join in.” Don said, and I could hear the irritation in his voice. “The farm we’re going to borders the Limpopo river as well as the Mapungubwe Nature Reserve. A couple of hundred thousand hectares to be covered. You’ll be cabining at a camp of the Mapungubwe National Reserve.”

“Okay ... SAN PARKS? Did they sanction the flyover of the reserve?” I asked. There’s a restriction on flying in and around national parks.

“They’re the clients! Although the poaching was on private land, that land borders their park and is sort of a buffer between the river and them. They will want to stop the poachers BEFORE the poachers get to Mapungubwe.” Don said.

“Let me get things organised here, then I’m off. Mail me the details and whom to contact.” I said.

“Thanks Buddy. I appreciate it. I will get the FBO to get the service done on my little bird and join you as soon as possible ... sooner than later. Mai-Loan is champing at the bit to go in, guns blazing! AND little Missus Ex-Cop, Laura, isn’t far behind.”

“Your ex-cop wife I can understand, but I didn’t know sultry, subdued little Mai-Loan was that blood-thirsty.” I said. “She’s still farming cattle?”

“You’ll never know, Buddy. You’ll never know...” Don said. “And she’s still farming beef! Laura runs her horse-riding school, and little Tracy, besides school, is making money out of chicken and egg farming. I need to escape to get some rest!”

“Okay! Let me go. I’ve got things to do, people to see ... Cheers Don.” I said and disconnected.

“What’s that all about?” Lucy asked. She had, in the meantime, tended to the coffee and pushed a mug over the table to me.

“You up for an adventure?” I asked.

“What kind of adventure?”

“The kind where we fly the helicopter all day, cook food on an open fire, and sleep in a tent at night in the open veld.” I said, looking sideways at her, taking a sip of my coffee.

“With creepy-crawlies around that want to eat us...” Lucy said. The giggle gave her away. “Sure ... We both in the same tent ... Could be fun! More fun than the flying!” I looked at her. Those blue eyes sparkling with a naughty gleam reflecting the silly smirk on her face.

“YOU get your own tent!” I said.

“Ain’t you even gonna protect me from the creepy-crawlies?” She said pouting her lips.

“Okay Princess, let’s get breakfast out of the way. Then quick shopping; we have 580 kilometres to fly in a little paraffin budgie that’s not going faster than 250 kilometres per hour. Just over two hours to fly!” I said. “If we move we could be there by eleven or twelve.”

“Let’s get going, we can get something to munch at the airport.” Lucy said and got up. I swallowed my coffee in one gulp. Adventure awaits.

We got the airport stuff out of the way while waiting on the shops to open. In the meantime, I got Lucy set up in a flight suit. Thick woollen socks and size 4 flight boots. Pete, my chief pilot, gave her first officer epaulettes for her flight suit, holding a small ceremony to have them installed on her shoulders. That smile was a mile wide. Someone else found a pair of Ray-Ban Aviator sunglasses for her. I had to take a picture with my cell phone. Gorgeous!

Nobody asked any embarrassing questions, so I did not explain why Lucy was there or where she came from. She just got into the hangar with me and everybody took to her like ducks to water. The smile and giggle winning everyone over. I think looks also had a big part to play. Although obviously young looking, a cleaned up, good smelling Lucy, was a beauty. That long blond hair, tied up in a ponytail, hanging down her back, the athletic skinny body, sky blue eyes, and a 1000-watt smile! What more can I say?

Lucy needed a full wardrobe. And when I say a full wardrobe, I mean a full wardrobe. She had only the rags I found her in, a coverall, and a flight suit that she was now wearing.

Airport stuff consisted of getting my little bird out onto the apron in front of the hangar. Full fuel and all checks done, she’ll have to sit there until we return from the shops.

Pete was placed in charge of the business. He was by any rate my second in command. A list of stuff that Lucy and I would be needing, was compiled and handed to Pete. Tents, ground sheets, the whole nine yards of camping stuff. This will be flown to Musina in the PC-12.

The shopping trip provided some comic relief. At the clothing store we mostly concentrated on getting her some underwear, jeans and blouses. Shoes were a priority also. Some NEW athletic shoes, and some other shoes that a teenager fancy.

“I don’t need a bra! I’ve got nothing to put in it...”

“Get them! Get six or seven, ... panties too. I don’t know what the laundry facilities would be like once we get to Limpopo.” I said. Lucy giggled and selected some sports bras and one pinkish lacy thing with matching panties. While she selected it, she giggled and gave me some sideways glances.

“Okay, if you say so. But I still think the bra is a waste of money.”

“Don’t get fresh with me, you’re still up for a spanking. And panties might give some extra protection.” I said.

“Yes, Master...”

“LUCY!”

“Giggle.”

I took Lucy to the camping store for the appropriate bush attire. Five each of, khaki colour blouses, shorts, ladies’ long pants, two pairs bush walking shoes, two pairs bush grade boots, ten pairs of thick woollen socks. A full cover, head to toe, raincoat added to the pile. This elicited a frown from Lucy.

“A tree will not give you much shelter from the rain.” I said. She looked at me:

“Oh.” Single word.”

“Better prepared than caught out sopping wet!” I said.

A large backpack was added to the pile, as well as a lightweight “Daypack,” for carrying stuff while out bundu bashing. All was piled into my SUV, and we went off to the airport. I wanted to be on-site not later than 12:00.

I told Lucy it was 580 kilometres to our destination, but that was by road. Flying straight as the crow flies, it’s 218 nautical miles, about 404 kilometres. Still, a little more than two hours flying.

Time came to fire up the little bird. A first experience for little Miss “I-hide-on-the-airport”. Lucy, a little nervous, was strapped tight into the right-hand seat and looked at all the little round dials in front of her. I smiled at her and patted her on the shoulder.

“You’ve never flown before?” I asked her.

“Very good time to ask me NOW, while I’m all tied up, But yes. Way back when I was twelve or thirteen. Had to go to Port Elizabeth for my grandmother’s funeral. It was fun ... The flying, I mean...” She said.

“Okay Sweetie Pie, this is a little different from a Boeing airliner. You’ll see. Just tell me if you feel dizzy or something, okay?”

“Okay.” Affirmative shake of her head and a shy little smile.

“Okay, here we go!” I said, turning the key on the left of the panel to ON. I flipped the switches in the middle of the panel. Battery, fuel valve, navigation lights, and strobe lights. Checked all doors closed and locked. Flight controls free and moving.

“Okay Pumpkin, see that dial there midway down?

“I see it.”

“Watch. It will show you how the rotor RPM increases. We need it to be in the green between 95 and 100%.” I said, taking the collective in my left hand, my middle finger and thumb on the idle cut off ring. My index finger on the starter button, and the rest of my hand on the throttle. I checked out left and right of the cabin windows. All clear. Pete was standing about 20 metres away in front of the helicopter. I put my mouth to the little sliding window on my left and shouted “CLEAR.”

Pete lifted his right arm above his head, indicating that the tail rotor was clear. I depressed the starter button. A whining sound came from slightly to the back and above us, growing in pitch. There was, interlaced with the whining turbine, a sort of tick tick clicking sound. Lucy sat still, looking wide-eyed at it all. I watched the N1 gauge, playing the throttle little by little, keeping the N1 below 900 degrees.

The turbine whiny sound grew louder and then, expected by me and not by Lucy, the turbine fired with a loud growling sound. The five rotor blades started slowly to spin, faster and faster, slowly picking up from their slight droopy attitude to full horizontal.

All the while, the engine sound increased in loudness. The main rotors spin at about 400 to 500 RPM and the centrifugal force is in excess of four tonnes, trying to wrench each blade out of the rotor hub. No wonder it will take your head clean off! You’ll die not even knowing it.

I slowly increased the twist throttle to full power. This helicopter, the MD 530 F, has a slight negative pitch on the rotor blades, thus sucking air from the ground and sticking the airframe down. You really have to tell it: “Hey! I’m serious,” by lifting the collective up, before she will respond and lift, in ground effect, into a hover. She is also very temperamental (typical woman). The moment she becomes light on the skids she wants to turn around her own axis. So, rudder input is essential, and a serious job.

We came to a hover about 3 feet off the apron. Radio work done, I hover taxied to the end of runway eleven. With no traffic in sight and the blessing of the tower, I pulled more positive collective, and we were off. Climbing away at 500 feet a minute, heading 000 degrees and altitude 7500 feet AGL. At 7500 feet AGL I engaged the autopilot. Yes, this one has a “George.” Cost me a pretty penny, but on a long flight like this one, a welcome blessing!

Keeping my hands near the controls in case “George” loses his mind, I turned to Lucy.

“Well?”

“Adventure!” She said, her voice faint in the headset. “WEEE!” Lucy looked somewhat at ease with the flying, although the little bird vibrated and skipped and bobbed in the air currents. We had a slight headwind. Not much, but it cut our ground speed down to 129 KIAS (knots, indicated airspeed) instead of the 130 or 135 KIAS I wanted. Still, we’ll get there on time.

I flew on a heading of 023 degrees. I was aiming to miss the Makhado Military airspace and go for a pit-stop at Louis Trichardt Civil field in another thirty minutes or so. Pit-stop not so much for me, but just to let Lucy stretch her legs. Sitting strapped in, into her harness, could be stressful.

North of Polokwane, slightly to the west, we saw the landscape change. The bushveld giving way to the savannah of the north. Here and there, some flat top hills were to be seen. The sheer cliff faces, light brown with some small trees, clinging to the cliffs. On the open plains below, herds of antelope, zebras and the occasional giraffe or two, were grazing.

The scenery changed as we neared our destination. The flat top sandstone hills became more frequent. The cliffs took on a more dark brown and reddish hue. The baobab trees, although scattered throughout the grasslands, with their huge stocky trunks and short thick branches, became more prevalent. Lucy had her nose glued to the side window, drinking in the scenery.

Away in the distance, the Limpopo river, winding its way to the Indian Ocean, glinted in the midday sun. The lazy flowing waters of the river, a grey brown colour. I could just make out the confluence of the Shashe river and the Limpopo River, Coetsers Island, just peeking out at the confluence of the two rivers. At this point the Shashe river looked wider than the mighty Limpopo river.

Just after twelve we circled the real-world place that minutes ago was just a map reference. I was pleasantly surprised to see that it was a well-organised, temporary camp site. From the air it seemed a semi-permanent established bush camp.

At least I did not need to dig a hole, if I needed to go ... Know what I mean? TO GO! Well, you’ll get it if you have camped out in the wilderness before. I looked out the left window of the little bird, so Lucy couldn’t see me smile. I was wondering HOW I was to show HER, how to dig a hole for the time she needs, TO GO...

Life seemed to spring from the huts and trees as I came in low over the camp. Surprise even as I noticed a windsock, crude, but an operational windsock, well away on the side of a clearing, big enough to land three or four helicopters like ours.

One black guy, dressed in khaki bush gear came out onto the clearing. A 7,62 millimetre FN rifle slung over his shoulder. It looked like he knew what he was doing, as he stood with his back to the wind, arms outstretched to his sides, then guiding me in. Looking for obstructions and loose debris myself, I followed his lead and landed the helicopter fifteen metres from him.

The downdraught from the rotors creating a mini dust storm around us. Small pebbles, picked up by the downdraught, were flying outwards from the chopper at more than a hundred kilometres per hour, sandblasting everything in its path. The guy out front, obviously has done this a few times before today, as he was wearing a motorbike full-face helmet!

I shut down the helicopter and waited until the main rotor was down to about 60 RPM, then engaged the rotor brake. The rotors came to a stop, slightly flapping up and down. All systems shut down and I unbuckled; Lucy followed my lead.

As I stepped down onto the skid, a huge white smile in an otherwise pitch-black face greeted me. He stood to attention and gave a real smart salute.

“Hallo, my name is Samson. Welcome to Kwela Camp.” He said in a grumbling voice that sounded like distant thunder. Samson struck out his hand and I shook it in greeting.

“Thank you, Samson. I’m Dave and this is Lucy” I introduced myself and Lucy as she came around the nose of the little bird. Upon seeing her, Samson bowed forward with his hands held as if in prayer in front of him.

“Welcome to our humble camp, Missus Lucy, with ‘Mavhudzi like DUVA.’ (with hair like the Sun) “Come, come ... let us go sit. Refreshments will be given...” And Samson turned on his heel, smart, sharp, like on a military parade and walked off to one of the bigger, sandbox style B-huts with a sort of veranda in front of it. Lucy looked at me.

“Come. You’ll get to know these people. Friendly, but don’t embarrass them. If he gives you something, thank him, AND take it! They mean well.”

“I feel like I just met a ... a King.” She said. We followed Samson, who was boldly striding towards the big B-hut, like in so many military compounds. I felt like I just joined the Army, waiting on the Sargent-Major to start barking orders!

I distinctly remember old “Boetie the Butcher,” way back at Maleoskop in Mpumalanga. Dressed in his battle gear, pointing at a tree in the distance, he said one word I’ll never forget. He said: “Hardloop.” Of course, me being slightly a little English, I asked: “What did you say?” He took out a little pocket Oxford Dictionary, paged though it and then said: “RUN.” Well, he had such a mean, evil, killer look in his eyes, I didn’t run, I “hardloop-ed!”