Chapter 3

I was happily dreaming away about some Island paradise: white sandy beaches, beautiful tanned skinned girls in reed skirts, and something sweet served in a pineapple ... Then: the earthquake struck! The bed rattled and shook. I could not place the source of the shaking. It seems to come from above. Above! I was confused, earthquakes come from below! Thunder ... there was thunder. Soft angelic thunder ... Thunder rolling softly across the land ... Not a rumbling, but more of a bird song. Birds fly away when caught up in an earthquake; they don’t sing!

Groggy, I tried to roll over and get out of bed. I could not roll over. Something pinned me down! Has the roof fallen in? Feeling around with my hand next to me for Lucy. NO LUCY! The shaking continued. The thunder coming to me through my foggy mind...

“Wake up sleepyhead ... There are worlds to conquer! Come on, wake up!”

“Uh...” I said, trying to clear my mind. Thank God, no earthquake ... Only Lucy trying to wake me. “What time is it?”

“Past four. Didn’t you hear that shot?”

“WHAT shot?”

“The shot when the day broke...” Giggle. “Come on, get dressed, so we can go and watch the African sunrise!” Lucy said. She sat straddling me, fully dressed in her new khaki blouse and ladies bush pants, still barefoot. Her long blond hair, tied back in a ponytail. She smelled of soap and shampoo.

“Okay, I suppose I’d better get up...” I said and tried to get up. Ninety pounds of teen still sitting on top of me. “Come on, get off, so I can get up and go face the day.”

“Okay.” Single word. She started to move, lifting her left leg off. Then she bent forward and kissed me on the cheek. “Morning Dave.”

“Morning sweetness. Did you sleep well?” I asked and stretched my sleepy muscles awake.

“With you holding me? Of course, I did sleep well.” Her face softened. “ ... And safe!”

“Good. Now move!” I said. “I need the bathroom.”

Giggle. “Of course, you do...” And she got off me and the bed. “I need help with these boots.” Lucy held up a pair of “Tarzan” bush grade canvas boots, size five. (That’s the smallest they make them in!)

“Okay. Let me tend to urgent stuff first, then operation “get-Lucy-in-boots’ will commence.”

“Puss in Boots?” Giggle.

“Kitten in boots!” I said. “I never liked that darn cat’s name. Sounds so...”

“Sexy ... Suggestive ... Provocative?” Giggle.

“LUCY!”

“Yes, Master...” Giggle.

“What about that cat’s other name ... El gato diablo? I asked.

“NOW I’m the devil cat! Ghmph! Me? Lovable, adorable me?” And she posed in a demure shy girl manner. Thumbnail in her mouth, head tilted to one side, fluttering her eyelids.

“Lucy ... Let’s go see the sunrise.” I said and ran to the bathroom.

We did get to see the African sunrise, slowly cresting the hills to the east with red, then orange, followed by yellow and white. The sky turned from grey to purple, and then to an azure pale blue. Eventually, daylight spilled over the landscape, painting the land in colours of brown, yellow, red, and some green.

Scattered high above, some small pocket shaped clouds. Their bottom’s, tinged pink by the rising sun, suspended in a formation-like patten, promising cooler weather to come. Possible rain in a few days’ time; a front moving in. Some call it a mackerel sky. Rows upon rows of cirrocumulus or altocumulus clouds, resembling the scales of a fish.

I told Lucy, explaining the theory to her. Lucy stood listening to the explanation. Drinking it in, asking questions. Good questions. Made me wonder as to what goes on in that brain of hers. She’s not an airhead at all.

Long shady shadows, cast by the scattered trees rocks and hills, reached out to the west side of the rising sun. The sound of silence prevailing. Only now and then a southern yellow-billed hornbill’s piercing cry came from a dried-out tree out in the distance. Calling its mate, marking its territory.

I stood there, quiet, looking at the scene unfolding before me, and a thought sprang to my mind:

Africa,

Many words I wanna choose

But, it ain’t no use, They’re not to find

Africa,

Who can catch your beauty in

A word, just this thing, You’re on my mind

I see, the African sunrise, In the second paradise

The African sunrise...

You’re Gods final creation, Where the antelopes play

And the buffaloes stay, You’re God’s final creation

On the eight day...

I see, the African sunrise...

(Song by Helmut Lotti.)

It’s still cool now, after the night. Later the day will heat up to extremely hot temperatures. But now we all, humans and animals alike, still savour the prevailing coolness. There was no sign of a breeze. Nothing to stir the foliage on the few trees around.

The night hunt was over. The predators of the night are going back to where they will lay low until tonight ... Circle of life here on the plains, but not something to mention to Lucy right now.

“Breakfast?” I asked.

“Must we?”

“That rumbling you hear is not thunder...” I said, smirking.

“Yeah! Men and their tummies...” Lucy said, sliding her arm around my waist. “Come, let’s go and feed the tiger...”

“There are no tigers here,” I said.

“Yes, there is, ONE!” Lucy said, her face expressionless. We wandered back to camp. I was thinking on her “tiger” comment. What did she mean?

Breakfast, in contrast to last night’s African fare, was a treat of a “ranger’s breakfast,” consisting of bacon, tomato, mushrooms, hamburger patty and chipolata sausages with chips. This, I was led to believe, was “imported” from the main camp’s newest restaurant. Modest, but filling.

“If I keep eating like this, I’m afraid you’ll have to roll me out to the hut, one of these days!” Lucy said, forking another fork-full of chips into her mouth.

“Don’t worry. I’ll cut today’s flight short by thirty minutes.” I said.

“Why thirty minutes less?” Lucy asked.

“I’ll take less fuel, to compensate for your extra weight!” I said. I wonder what it feels like to snort coffee through one’s nose ... if looks could kill, I’ve just been killed. But those blue eyes are pretty. Lucy composed herself and wiped her face with a paper napkin.

“Beast! I’ll have to tame you...” Giggle. “Somewhere around here I’ll find a whip...”

“Yes, Mistress.” I said, taking a fork-full of tomato and mushrooms.

“DAVE! Others might hear.” giggle.

“Others may hear what?” Came from slightly behind me. I half turned in my chair. Pete and Don strode up, followed by a short sandy-headed guy.

“Hi Pete, Don!” I greeted the two. “Don, your bird back out from the veterinarian?” I asked.

“Nope. Scrounged a ride with Pete, here.” Don said, drew out a chair and sat down. “What’s for grub around here?” Pete and the other guy also drew out chairs and sat down. Don and Pete both ordered a “ranger’s breakfast.” The third guy ordered only coffee.

“Dave, meet Paul Du Rand, owner of the next-door ranch.” Don introduced the sandy haired guy.

“Please to meet you, Paul.” I said. “Meet Lucy, my co-pilot.”

With the all-round introductions over, Paul got to the business at hand. He needed to survey his land, to locate all the animals, especially the elephants. He had six big male elephants with very big tusks in his inventory. It was crucial to know where they are located.

He always had a general idea where the jumbos were, but with the poaching going on, he needs to know exactly where they are.

I liked the guy. He was quick-witted and humour filled his speech with little clichés that had us nearly rolling on the ground. Lucy was following the discussion with curiosity, silently flicking her eyes between us. Pete and Don needed to get back to the PC-12 and both of them back to Wonderboom.

“Before I go, Dave, would you like to chat to me outside, I need some info about the PC-12...” Don asked.

“Asked the man with the PC-24.” I said, smirking and got up from the table. Lucy still chatted with Pete and Paul. I followed Don outside.

“Not MY PC-24. I don’t own it.” Don said.

“Get one. They’re like only 129 million bucks,” I said. Don laughed.

“The PC-12 is only 79 Million, and only ONE turbine engine. Half the maintenance cost!” Don said.

“That’s true. I would feel sorry to put the PC-24 down on some runways I do with the PC-12.”

“Oh, she can go there too, buddy. I’ve put her down on a dirt field in KZN. No problem!” Don said. “A royal lady if you fly to some hoy polloi place, but a real tomboy if given the chance.”

“Sorry to ask, Buddy, but, that’s why I got you out here, alone, where did you get that beauty of a co-pilot? She looks too young to hold a licence.” Don asked.

“Well ... I ... Yes, Don, she’s like Tracy. Lost, no family. I found her on the streets. Rescued her ... She’s sixteen...” I said in a voice just above a loud whisper.

“Be careful. I believe here in the bush it’s okay. She’s sixteen, get her a student licence. It will smooth things over. Mai-Loan’s qualified, both fixed wing and rotary wing. Commercial too. Laura’s doing fine, but poor Tracy, she needs to wait another year and a half ... drives her nuts! In the meantime, Mai-Loan plays instructor to Laura, and drags Tracy along.” Don said. “Tracy can even take off! Landing is still a problem though.”

“Must be fun to be all pilots in the household. Are you giving them some stick time in the PC-24?” I asked.

“They get lots of stick time. The three of them discovered an old C172 at the field next to us. Took out all the chickens roosting in it, polished it up and by the grace of God, it could still fly! Even got a Certificate of Airworthiness for it. Now they play about an hour or two every day.” Don said. “Yeah, all three of them in the PC-24 and the old Cessna 172. Keeps me on my toes. Mai-Loan too. Not jet qualified, but we’re working on it.”

“How did you end up with that girl. Mai-Loan, that is?” I asked.

“Long story. I ended up finding Tracy first, then mayhem ... I’ll tell you someday ... over a beer and a braai!” Don said, lighting up his ever-present pipe.

“Sounds like fun. Now, I need to get the lay of the land around here. My first time up here in this latitude,” I said.

“You make it sound like the roaring forties. Latitude, my word.” And Don laughed.

“What do you know about these poacher dudes?” I asked.

“Just about as much as you. I’ve contacted my friend at Interpol to get some dope on it; he’ll give me some good info. When I get back here, three or four days from now, I’ll fill you in.” Don went silent for a moment then: “By the way, are you connected, e-mail, I mean?” Don asked.

“Yes. Why?”

“I’ll just drop you a mail with the file. Read up some and get acquainted with the situation.” Don said.

“Okay, do so, I’ll look out for your mail. Well, let me get Lucy and go fire up the little bird...” I said a little anxiously.

“Nice paint job on your bird! What inspired it?” Don asked, looking at the MD530 sitting out on the “parade ground” with its overall white paint, interlaced with purple flashes all over.

“You know me ... I like crazy psychedelic paint jobs!” I laughed.

“Looks like a purple fuselage wrapped in white paper and then some very big stray cat ripped the paper with its claws!” Don laughed. “Well let me get going. Pete has seen to it that your camping needs were delivered. Not that you needed it!” Don said. We both went back inside. I was thinking about the “stray cat claw marks” statement from Don. I looked back over my shoulder at the bird. Yes, it sort of looks that way, must have been a huge stray cat. A stray tiger, maybe?

Before it became too hot at around nine, Lucy and I (rather me with Lucy looking) pre-flighted the bird. While I was standing on a small stepladder, trying to check the engine, Samson came strolling out. He had two FN 7.62-millimetre rifles and a medium-sized canvas pouch with him. I got off the ladder.

“You may need this. Never know if you’ll run into trouble.” He said, placing the rifles and canvas pouch in the back of the chopper.

“Been a hell of a long time since I used one of those.” I said “But I doubt if Lucy has ever been near one; I’ll have to teach her.” Lucy eyed the rifles with fearfulness. I saw the look in her eyes.

“Good ones, these. New, been used once or twice. Fully auto, if you require it. BUT it’s got only a 30-round magazine, and at 700 rounds a minute you’ll run out in 4 seconds.” He said.

“I’ll watch it.” I said.

“There’s a range near Venetia diamond mine; they’ll let you use it. I’ll call them and tell them we have a helicopter patrolling the area, and it might need fuel from their airport. Also, I’ll ask if you can use their firing range.” Samson said.

“Thanks! Appreciate it.” I said, taking a rifle in my hands and looking at it. The 7.62 x 51 millimetre FAL FN muzzle velocity was 840 metres per second. Nearly twice the speed of sound. Effective range 600 metres. And these two have scopes mounted on them.

“It’s zeroed at 300 metres. The scopes are good for 400 to 600 metres. Happy hunting!” Samson said, then turned and strolled back to the main hut, or ranger station, as I’ve come to know it’s called. I looked into the canvas bag and saw 12 spare loaded magazines and some packets of .308 NATO ammo. Lucy looked at me:

“Are you gonna have me shoot that thing?”

“All sports have their own injuries! You’re here in the bush, might as well get to learn how to protect yourself...” I said, explaining.

“From WHAT?”

“Creepy-crawlies, poachers, whatever threatens you...”

“Oh!” Single word. She didn’t look to happy. I placed my hand on her shoulder.

“Baby, I know it’s not what you think. Everyone needs to be able to protect him or herself. Life can sometimes be violent; don’t be the victim, be the one that survives!” I said.

“Okay.” Giggle. “One must do what one must do. Life ain’t all laughs and giggles!” She said and lightly touched the second rifle, cautious, as if it would bite her. I’ll get her to settle with the idea.

“You look like a ranger, maybe we should make you BE the part...” I said, smiling at her.

Giggle. “Ngiyabonga kakhulu! I look the part of a ranger?” Lucy used the isiZulu words for ‘thank you very much,’ I was astounded.

“You speak Zulu?” I asked.

“Only a few words, like good morning, good evening, thank you and how are you...” She said, still looking at the FN rifle. “You gonna make me a cowboy...” Giggle. “ ... Cowgirl, I mean...”

“Yes pumpkin. I’m gonna make you a survivor! All we need now are some hand grenades and rocket launchers for the helicopter!” I said. “And, dressed like that, you do look like a game ranger!”