Chapter 20

With a hearty English breakfast of bacon, eggs sunny-side up, pork sausage, toast, fried tomato, battered and fried onion rings, crumbed mushrooms and two mugs of dark-roast Kenyan coffee lying shattered in my wake, I ventured out to the Puma. I felt good and ready for the day.

The last couple of days were just not doing any good for my mood, but today I felt I could take on the world and survive. There were no more pains from my shoulder wounds, and I breathed deeply the cool morning air. There was a scent of dust to be smelled, but hey, come on, this is the semi-desert of Namibia. The day is young. The sun will still burn down, and the desert breeze will pick up and drive you nuts.

The Puma sat there tied down under the trees, and some wonderful person realized the need to put the sunshades on the cockpit plexiglass. Kudos to them. Not everyone knows about the delicate interior of the cockpit and the myriad sensors spread around it. It must have been Leah or Lorie. Friederich and Olivia could not be discounted as well. The main thing, it was done and done correctly.

The helicopter sparkled in the early morning light. The first rays of the sun set her aglow. At first, I could not figure out why she shone like that, and then remembered Angie’s threat to “wash and wax” her. Something next to the left main wheels caught my attention and I bent down to investigate.

Yes, there’s the evidence: an empty bottle of car hot wax. I chuckled. “Wash and wax” indeed! But car-grade hot wax? Oh well, they have been misled by the picture of a Ferrari 308 GT on the bottle label. I wondered how many bottles of hot wax they used. Plenty, I suppose. The AS332J Super Puma is a little bigger than your average five-ton truck!

I opened the side sliding door and got up into the big cabin of the aircraft. The familiar smell of “aircraft,” mixed with burned jet fuel stung my nose. Yes, I was home. Let’s go up to the office and see if the sparkling exterior was echoed in the cockpit.

The cockpit was sparkling clean. I suppose Leah and Olivia did the trick here; they would have banned Angie from the cockpit. Although Angie had a faint idea about aircraft cockpits, there were too many switches and knobs for her to flip by accident.

I chuckled, seeing in my mind’s eye the mad scramble if Angie hit the right sequence of buttons and switches for the bird to start up! Or just start flashing her navigation lights and beacon light. Lucky the master battery switch is located on the overhead panel. The starter switches are located on the yellow throttle levers way out in front, by the top of the windscreen, and the four fuel valve switches are on the middle console. Still, accidents do happen.

I noticed that the right-hand side of the pilot seat was mended with a needle and thread. It looked more like someone used dental floss instead of thread. Okay, dental floss is the strongest thread on earth you can use for an emergency repair where a needle and thread are needed. Just ask Daphne from Scooby-Doo fame. Even she knew it, and that is just a cartoon. Goes to show, cartoons can be educational.

Well, the cockpit seems to be fine; dust and grime-free. The windscreen with the two bullet holes was fixed in a way that made me smile. The jagged edges were filed or sanded away, leaving two slightly rounded holes. These were then pasted over with some clear plastic tape. Lucky the bird won’t be flying high enough that we would need or require pressurisation, besides, the Puma ain’t pressurised, and the repair job looks sturdy enough to withstand the outside air pressure on the shield at a hundred and forty KIAS. It will last until we could get her to a proper FBO maintenance facility. The CAA might frown at it, but hey, they are miles away!

Now, let’s look at the rest of the craft. I left the cockpit and got down from the helicopter. Starting my walk around as if I was preflighting the bird, I saw that there were three holes in the side of the helicopter, just behind the pilot seat.

These holes were plugged with some kind of thin metal plates pop-riveted in place. Then some kind of putty was used to make them smooth and leak-free. Yes, the CAA would have a word or two to say about the repair job, but I trust the bird and there was no other damage. She was as good as new.

I walked along the fuselage towards the tail section. I was looking at the linkage and individual blades of the tail rotor when Alex spoke at my back:

“Good morning, Mister Ash. You seem to be fit again?”

“Hi there, Alex. Yes, I feel much better and need to get up to mischief again,” I said.

“Major TC and his team will be leaving shortly. They are getting ready at this moment.”

“Then I better go check in with them and see if they are okay with all the stuff that they need to cart out to Spencer Bay.”

“Do so, Mister Ash. Oh, by the way. I had the helicopter filled with fuel. It’s better than leaving it not topped up.”

“Thank you, Alex. That will help prevent condensation. Water and Jet-A1 don’t mix but can lead to a problem that I would rather avoid.”

“I will speak to you later, Mister Ash. I have a few errands to run.” With that, he walked back to the house. I went to find TC and his team. The wait is getting to me and I need to get out in the field again.

The decision was to take the rubber duck as well. The Ocean Wanderer being on-site helped a lot, but the rubber duck would give us the flexibility to dive in shallower water. The Ocean Wanderer has a draught of 6 meters. Therefore, I suppose the captain won’t venture too close to the shore, and the jagged rocks there added to the danger of running the ship aground.

TC was happy. He’ll erect the camp in a safe spot high above the high-water line and in the shelter of the hills to the west.

It was just past 10:00 when the TC Rangers departed in their motorcade, thus leaving me two days of idle boredom. Angie proposed taking some of the horses that were on site of the guest house and go for an out-ride in the hills surrounding the guest house. A splendid idea and I took to it like a duck to water.

Angie may have planned the horse-riding excursion for only the two of us but soon it evolved into a full-blown “picnic” with foodstuffs and drinks loaded into saddlebags with Gretah, Friederich, Lorie, Darya, and Olivia joining us. Leah stayed behind, “to catch up on some reading.” Yeah, okay. There were more than enough horses to go around, but I think she had other ideas.

“You seem to be a good rider.” Friederich said as we were riding along. Friederich and I led the troop with Lorie and Angie just behind us. Gretah and Olivia followed, and Darya brought up the rear.

“I had five of these fine animals at one time; ex-racehorses that were abandoned around the country and ended up with the SPCA,” I said. “I just sort of paid their medical bills and the SPCA was only too glad to be rid of them. They were some fine horses, and they adapted to me very fast.” (SPCA = Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.)

“When we settle down eventually, Gretah and I, I might look into getting a little spread of land and some horses to start off with. Gretah always harboured the idea of a riding school for kids.”

“Will you ever swap aircraft for horses?”

“One never knows. Flying is in my blood, but I can’t forever keep on flying. It gets to be old, to be away from home always,” Friederich said, and I detected a longing in his voice; like he wants to quit and just go and rest up somewhere.

“You going to sell up the business? What about Angie? Don’t you think she will want to keep going with the business?”

“Angie is like a wild horse; you can’t tie her down. She’s always on the run with something new. Make no mistake, she loves flying, but I don’t see her flying a desk.”

“Well, she said she wants to complete her studies; maybe change over from geology to archaeology.”

“See what I mean? A new idea. A new field to play on.”

“Yeah, Angie, the wild red-hot chili-pepper-pip,” I said.

“Your description is well suited. I think she got her roving spirit from me; always new horizons to be explored.”

“Friederich, she is young. Let her run. She’ll settle down sometime.”

“Tell that to Gretah, she wants grandchildren.”

“Maybe Gretah should wait awhile. Angie’s not yet ready to settle down.”

“And the two of you? I see chemistry, volatile reactions. Don’t think I don’t know that she sneaks into your room at night when she thinks Gretah and I are asleep,” Friederich said, and I think I blushed (if a man can blush). It was suddenly a little hotter out here in the sun.

“Friederich, nothing happened or is bound to happen. Yes, Angie does slip into my room, but that is just as far as it goes. She snuggles up with me and sleeps. No hanky-panky or anything.”

“That, I appreciate from you. But I think Angie has set her snare and caught you. You are what, 15, 18 years her senior? Be kind and gentle with my baby girl. She is priceless!”

“Don’t I know it!”

“I also see that Lorie is somewhat interested in you. The way she looks at you, and the way she acts around you. Be careful and don’t ever hurt my little girl.”

“I don’t think you need to worry too much about Lorie. She’s not romantically interested in me.”

“Oh, no? Don’t you think I can see things?”

“Yes, Friederich, you are correct. You can see things, but not everything. Angie knows all about Lorie and me, and there is nothing romantic. Just look back a couple of horse lengths and see the two interact. Do you think that if Lorie was romantically interested in me, she would make Angie a friend?”

“No, I suppose not, Then, on the other hand, Angie is a little naive still. What is it then with Lorie and the way she is around you and with you?”

“Well, if you breathe a word of this, I’ll have to kill you. It would not be good for both Lorie and my careers.”

“What, that she is your side-line smooch, the more experienced woman, and Angie is okay with it?”

“No! Lorie is my sister. There you have it. Now, keep your mouth shut, or else...”

Friederich gaped at me.

“And close your mouth, there are flies around here.”

He burst out laughing with tears rolling down his face; wiping them away with the back of his hand.

“Your sister?” He whispered.

“Yip! My baby sister. And you might look again at the way she and TC are acting; there’s something brewing there.”

“You don’t say? I thought I saw it but thought that it was just a fling to forget you, her first choice,” And Friederich laughed again. “See how wrong an old man can be?”

“You’re not that old, Friederich. So, keep on flying; it’s good for the soul. If and when we get out of this mess, I might have you go play with a Spitfire.”

“You have a Spitfire?”

“Clipped wing Mark 9 E. I found her on a scrap metal rubbish dump in Durban. Took me five years and some bucks to have her restored to an airworthy state, not to mention the hours and months spend sourcing original parts. But she flies. And she flies well, and it’s like she really has a soul...”

“Wow, you must be proud, owning a Supermarine Spitfire. Boy!”

“I had her painted in the 1944 colour scheme of 40 squadron South African Air Force, representing Lt Col. Bob Rodgers personal aircraft while he was OC of Forty Squadron in Italy. When you see her, you’ll notice that the roundel doesn’t have the normal British red in it, but the South African orange roundel. Squadron markings WR RR.”

“Evelyn! But ain’t she flying around the United States?”

“Yip! She was. But that Evelyn was not Bob Rodgers’ aircraft. That Evelyn was also found on a scrap heap and restored, painted to that of Evelyn, but not historically correct. Bob’s aircraft was a Mark 9 E Clip-wing. Anyway, Evelyn was sold to a collector in the USA who subsequently resold her to someone in Brazil who repainted her in some other colour scheme. So, mine will be the 40 Squadron, Bob Rogers aircraft. PT672, markings WR RR, and registered as ZS-PIT.”

“Oh, I get it. ZS-PIT. Z for South Africa, but SPIT as in, Spitfire! You rascal you!” he laughed.

“And then next to her in the hangar, you’ll find a North American P51D. Make your choice. You could play with both, but beware of the P51D. If you open the throttle too fast on take-off, the engine torque will pull you left off the runway, and make you do an impressive ground loop, or worse still, flip you upside down! A real wild mustang, maybe something like Angie.”

“No wonder they aptly named the P51 a Mustang! Suddenly I want to go home and play,” Friederich said, and I could see the little boy inside him awakening. Suddenly the tiredness in him was gone.

“Let’s get this mess out of the way first, and then you can all come and relax at my place in Southbroom,” I said.

“Where do you keep your aircraft?”

“I’ve got a hangar out at Margate airfield, about fifteen minutes’ drive from my place.”

“I’m sure we will intrude on your hospitality,” Friederich laughed.

“Make sure Gretah and Angie pack their swimsuits. There’s a pool, a tidal pool, and a long white unspoiled sub-tropical beach. And it’s the Indian Ocean, therefore nice and warm,” I said.

He got a far-off look on his face as if he was miles away in thought. Then he looked back at me with a grin on his face.

“You said found on a rubbish dump?” Friederich asked and looked sideways at me.

“Yes, found on a rubbish dump, but it’s not a FORD. I checked. The engine was made by Rolls-Royce. And I use a sky-blue F250 to tow my horse boxes around. I still have that Ford.” I said, smiling.

Friederich smirked. “And Gretah has a little compact Chevy Spark, parked in Swakopmund. I probably need to go buy a new battery though. The one in it is probably pasted by now.”

“Well, let’s cross that bridge when we get there,” I said.

“Yeah, I might just sell it, and just get her something new. Maybe a Ford.”

“Good call. Keep the wifey happy,” I laughed.

“Says the man caught by my daughter!” Chuckle.

“At least I think I can afford her!” I cut back.

“My sympathy, Ash. Women are more costly than aircraft.”

“Oh, I think I could manage,” I said, and we both laughed. “And by the way, the Spittie has a Rolls-Royce Merlin V-12 1650, 1490 horsepower engine. The Mustang has a Packard-Merlin V-12 1650, 1490 horsepower engine. Both the same engine, even down to the engine mountings, just different names. The Rolls-Royce engine was licence-build by the Packard Motor Company in the USA, therefore, the same thing, down to the last bolt and nut.”

He looked over at me and laughed. “Same fire, different women!” He managed to get out.

“While we are on the subject of secrets ... What has Roland got on you that he’s using to force you to smuggle his diamonds out of Angola?” I asked.

Friederich was quiet for a while, then he looked over at me and sighed. “Not so much of a secret, but something that if it became general knowledge, could kill my business,” he said after a pause.

“SWAPO, or South West Africa Peoples Organisation, was in Angola. From there they used a hide-and-seek type of warfare against the South African government. These were the dark days of the bush war. After the war ended and South Africa withdrew from the area, SWAPO came to power as the government in Namibia. I helped some refugees to cross the borders into and out of Botswana, Angola, and Zambia.”

“I suppose that could be a little embarrassing if word got out, or like you say, become general knowledge,” I said.

“Yes, it could. So, I have a secret, and you have a secret. Let us respect one another.”

“I know when to keep my mouth shut. Don’t worry, we never had this conversation.”

“Thanks, Ash. We sometimes make irreversible mistakes that will haunt us for the rest of our lives...”

“Don’t I know it,” I said. “But it’s water under the bridge, and you can’t turn back the tide.”

“Nope. Let the skeletons remain in the closet. And by the way, Angie doesn’t know any of it.”

“Then let it rest. See those trees up ahead? The stream is just beyond them.”

Our objective for the day was approaching in the distance. I hoped that the creek there will be running. Alex said “Maybe”.

The day progressed with an air of relaxation. It was cool under the trees, and everyone enjoyed the picnic. Even the horses seemed to be happy; grazing undisturbed on the sweet grass under the cool trees.

The creek was just about running, but at only about half of its normal flow. The water was clear, and one could see straight to the bottom of the pebble-strewn river bed.

Angie was sitting on the grassy bank with her feet in the stream, playing her feet in and out of the water, while supporting her body with her hands on the ground to the sides and back of her.

“Penny for your thoughts?” I asked as I knelt down next to her.

She looked up at me. “Oh, I was just thinking of how life tumbled past the last couple of years, and how glad and blessed I am to have my mom and dad with me.”

“Yes, Angie, it is truly a blessing. It could so easily have gone the other way. But it did not. So stop worrying and let us get this last hurdle out of the way.”

“Will it then be over, Ash?”

“I can’t see into the future, but I trust it will be over.”

“What then?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

“You’re always positive, ain’t you, Ash?”

“You use fewer muscles in your face to smile than not to. So, stop worrying about things you can’t control and smile; live for now. Tomorrow will bring its own can of worms.”

“If my mom was not looking this way, I would have kissed you by now.”

“Save it for later,” I said and smiled.

Giggle. “Watch it buster! Kisses draw interest...” Angie said and fluttered her eyelashes, smiling sweetly.

“Don’t do that!”

“What?”

“Fluttering your eyelashes at me. You’ll make me want to kiss you right now, right here, with or without your mother seeing it.”

Giggle.

“Let me go find something to drink. Can I bring you something?”

“Nah, I’ll go get something just now. I’m wondering if I can get back on the horse after all that I’ve eaten so far today.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you up.”

Giggle. “What, pushing me up onto the horse with your hands on my bottom?”

“I’ll see you later. Let me go.” I got up and walked off to where the others were sitting in a circle, still munching away on the picnic foods.

Later that evening, while I was in my room, waiting on the arrival of a certain redhead that I knew would be coming, my cell phone rang. I should dedicate a special ringtone to that number.

“Hi, there! Missing me?”