Chapter 2

November 7, 17:10 Overberg Ex Military Airfield.

We settled into rooms that were revamped and updated. This part of the airfield was de-commissioned from Air Force standard to that of a civilian airfield. A few military contractors were on-site, doing things that only the Air Force would know and understand, or care about.

Many of these contractors needed the Air Force platforms to be able to provide the services that they were contracted for in the first place, but had their own people to run things, therefore needing only a small Air Force contingent. The contractor presence meant that about 40 percent of the airfield was out of bounds and still classified. The rest was up for grabs to the contractors, each with their own security and “STAY OUT!” signs. Each contractor ‘knew’ that their contribution to the Air Force was the most secret and the most essential.

How Grumpy Charley secured a part of the airfield is a mystery to me, but who cares? Grumpy Charley can get anything if he sets his mind to it. The part that Grumpy Charley had secured for us included four hangars, a large part of apron “B” and unrestricted access to both runways.

Runway 11/28 was 2230 metres, and runway 17/35 was just over 3000 metres long. One just had to be alert to the tower chatter, as both runways intersected at the origin of 17 and 28. Both share the first 200 meters or so, with a confusion of taxiways crossing and intersecting in that small space.

The prevailing winds favoured runway 17 for most of the year. Lucky, it was also the longest runway, but a waste to land a Cessna on a 10000-foot runway.

I chuckled to myself as I thought of a comic line sent to me by a friend. “Boys fly four engines. Men fly two engines and legends fly single-engine!” I suppose that makes us, Leah, Olivia, and me legends? The Mirage 2000 has only one engine ... Okay, let’s skip this and get back to the story.

Our rooms were in nice three-bedroom brick houses: Air Force permanent staff accommodation from when this airfield fired on all its pistons. That was not so long ago, before budget cuts and other crap started hitting the fan. Now I get to savour surroundings that were a few years ago highly secret. Yeah, it’s now just a relic of what it was in the good old days, although the infrastructure is maintained to military standard.

As always, the women decided the layout and sharing of the accommodation. Seeing that the houses had three bedrooms each, Olivia and Leah got to share “Residence #4,” Mai-Loan and Darya took “Residence #5”, and that left a giggling Nadia to say: “Okay Captain, I’ll share with you. Just be warned that I do have a 1911 Colt 45, a sharp White Deer Magnum Bowie blade, and I know how both work...”, while giving me the evil eye, but with a slight smile on her lips. The rest of the angels just smirked, and Don schooled a blank expression on his face. His wife Laura sided with the girls.

“And Dave will lend a hand too if you mess with his girl!” Mai-Loan said.

“I thought Dave was married to the brown-headed vet doctor...” I said. “How can he have a girlfriend as well?

“TWO girlfriends!” Leah said. “Lisa is his wife, Lucy and Nadia are his girlfriends. AND Lisa knows about it and approves of it.”

“Lucky blighter...” I said under my breath.

And as such the bunking arrangements were finalised.

I took the bedroom looking out towards the northeast, and Nadia took the bedroom next to mine. “We can use the back bedroom as an office or planning space,” Nadia said. “Now, what do we do for food?”

“Are you hungry?”

“Famished! I only had breakfast this morning and nothing else.”

“Well, then I have to see to it that I feed you. Let’s go see what Mai-Loan, and the rest are up to. Don might have an idea for food as well.”

Both Nadia and I went next door to “Residence #5,” and the Angel headquarters, since Mai-Loan, the undisputed leader of the Angels, took up residence there. I better watch my step.

November 7, 18:00, off the coast of East London, South Africa.

The sun had just begun its last journey towards the western horizon and daylight would start to fade away shortly. Here in the deep southern latitudes, the nearly-summer sun takes a long time to set, leaving a long dusk before night settles in. This is predominately evident in Cape Town, where the sun will still be above the horizon at 19:00 to 19:20, before sinking away beneath the horizon and starting the long dusk that will still be light enough to see around you up to 20:50 or even 21:10.

The prevailing wind was from the west along the coast towards East London, South Africa. One hundred and sixty-nine nautical miles to the northeast of East London, the USS John B. Tucker, otherwise known in the US 6th Fleet as ESB-6, was doing 10 knots through the sea, just past the defunct lighthouse at Port Edward. Its direction, False Bay on the Cape Peninsula.

Captain Rick Johnson, a native of Denver Colorado, graduated from the US Naval Academy in 2008 with a Bachelor of Science in Political Science and became a US Naval Flight Officer in 2010. He has flown more than 3500 hours in F-14, and F/A-18s. He has commanded various fighter squadrons aboard various US carriers. Now, part of the US 6th fleet, or Africa fleet, and he commands this funny-looking ship: the USS John B Tucker, a ship based on the design of the Alaska-class oil tankers, but minus the oil tanks.

The ship has a displacement of 78000 tons, and a length of 233 metres. The beam of the ship was 50 metres. She draws 7.8 metres draft and can make a top speed of 15 knots. Her range is 9500 nautical miles.

With the oil tanks removed, the ship has an open space underneath the flight deck for mission operations to be conducted and for the supporting mission cargo. There is also an assortment of ocean-going boats up to 11 tonnes that can be launched from the mothership in any mission-orientated state required. These launches are stored either inboard under the flight deck, or near the edges of the cargo / operations deck.

Armament consists of 12 × .50 calibre machine-gun stations.

The aviation facilities aboard the ship consist of a flight deck and hangar that can support four CH-53 heavy-lift helicopters or Bell Boeing MV-22 Tilt-rotor transports. Sometimes instead of the CH-53s, she carries MH-60 helicopters, depending on the mission.

She is permanently assigned to the AFRICOM area of responsibility. At this time she is equipped with the Bell-Boeing MV-22 tilt-rotor transports.

As the ship nears the southern tip of Africa, Captain Rick Johnson stood outside on the starboard wing of the bridge, scanning the land coming in to view. From here they will follow the coastline, always five to ten nautical miles offshore. Near enough to see land, but far enough out to be mistaken for an oiler or a special freighter.

South Africa is an important partner of the United States in promoting peace and security in Africa. Both countries rely on maritime shipping and free and secure shipping lanes for economic prosperity. So, this is part of a courtesy call to strengthen the ties that bind both countries together in keeping the shipping lanes open, and the right to free navigation around the southern tip of Africa that both considered essential.

November 7, 19:00, Overberg Ex Military Airfield.

Nadia curled up on the sofa watching TV; or rather watching TV with one eye and perusing a magazine with the other. There was not much to be watched on TV. As they say, a hundred and thirty-eleven channels of sweet nothing.

I had a manual open and was paging through it. I might have told Mai-Loan that I don’t read, but sometimes it is good to browse the manual of the aircraft that you are bound to fly. I had previous experience with the Mirage 2000 C and D models, but this would be the first time around that I would encounter the N model.

Okay, the “N” model is in essence a Mirage 2000 D but having the “N” suffix told another story. “N” for nuclear capability. Where Grumpy Charley laid his hands on an N model, I don’t know or want to know. And why I was elected to fly an N was also a mystery to me.

In the hangar next to Apron “B,” there were 4 Mirages parked, three M2000C single-seater models, and the twin-seat “N” model. Leah and Olivia will each be flying a “C” model and Nadia and I will play with the twin.

The manual gave the specifications as exactly the same as the M2000D, except the onboard systems were updated and modified for the ASMP medium-range nuclear missile to be carried on the centreline pylon. The ASMP stood for “Air-Sol Moyenne Portee,” a French air-launched nuclear cruise missile with a nuclear yield of 100 to 300 kilotons of TNT. The French doctrine calls it a “pre-strategic” weapon, or a last resort “warning shot.” Yeah, using a nuke as a warning shot ... what the hell do they use when they are serious?

I don’t think I will be called on to deliver a nuke anywhere, anytime soon, so I just concentrated on the rest of the pylons: four Matra SNEB 68-mm 18 round rocket pods on the four underwing hardpoints.

And the loadouts kept coming: air-to-air missiles; air-to surface missiles; SCALP EG air-launched cruise missiles, and laser-guided missiles. What the hell does Grumpy Charley need this hardware for? I don’t think it is to take out the street gangs on the Cape Flats. No, there must be another reason. A reason that he’ll reveal at a time of his choosing.

“Anything interesting in your romance novel?” Nadia asked without looking up from her magazine.

“Nothing too earth-shattering, only a question.”

“What question?”

“What the hell does the boss want to have this kind of hardware for, and why do we need to train on it? Where is this going?”

“That’s three questions.”

“Okay, three questions.”

“Are you complaining? We get to play with some sophisticated aircraft, and you question the chance of a lifetime to get the experience. Just think how it will look on your CV.”

“Why must you girls always be right?”

“Because we are always right.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Seeing that we would be flying over the sea most of the time, are you going to take her supersonic?”

“Maybe,” I grinned like a naughty schoolboy.

“I just thought that if you do, I can say I’ve been in supersonic flight!” Nadia said, her green eyes going greener, as she shyly looked at me.

“I think it is part of the training. We won’t go all the way to Mach 2.2, but Mach 1.6 will do.”

“Why only Mach 1.6?”

“Else you can’t say you were supersonic. Going supersonic means you got to do at least above Mach one point two. And if old Grumpy Charley can lay his hands on it, get us something that can go above Mach 5.”

“Don’t you think that is pushing it?”

“Only if you want to put it on your CV that you went hypersonic.”

“Nope! Supersonic is plenty good. Anyway, I think I’ll turn in for the night,” Nadia said, got up, and stretched. “See ya in the morning.”

“05:00,” I said.

“I’ll make coffee. Breakfast, I believe will be at the mess. Why do they call it a mess?” And she looked at me with a slight smile on her lips.

“The term goes back to the Middle Ages when British sailors began calling their meagre, often grub-infested meals a mess. It originally meant food for one meal.”

“Thank you, mister walking encyclopaedia! Just know, I’m a woman of fine standing and don’t want a ‘mess’ for breakfast!”

“Good night, Nadia. Sleep well.”

“You too, and no sleepwalking. I still have my 1911 Colt!”

“I don’t sleepwalk.”

“Such a shame that you don’t...” And with that, she spun around and went out to her bedroom. I gawked at her departing back and wondered what she meant by “such a shame that you don’t?” Women! Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em. Can never understand ‘em.

I wonder what Angie is doing. Oh well, let’s turn in for the night.

November 8, 04:10. False Bay, Cape Peninsula.

Spring means a vibrant and sunny state of affairs in any part of the world. The flowers bloom, and the birds sing in the trees, yet here in False Bay things are quite a little different.

The South Atlantic Ocean swells were rolling in through the 30 kilometres between Cape Point and Cape Hangklip, the east and west bastions that mark the entrance to False Bay, and there was an air of foreboding in the dark sky.

The southeaster wind was just a breeze at the moment, and the clouds were pushing in from the southeast; soon to bring an overcast to the area around False Bay, Cape Town, and all over the Cape Flats. Even Stellenbosch and Paarl will be covered. Far out on the horizon to the south, a thick bank of clouds looking like a building front, lay covering the Atlantic.

If you know this land, you will know that by 11:00, the southeaster will be blowing at full force at between 30 and 45 kilometres per hour, and the clouds will disperse.

From the little harbour at Kalk Bay, a lonely fishing trawler was making way towards the middle of the huge bay, riding the swells from the south and sending white spray across its bows every time it dipped into a trough.

Inside the little enclosed bridge, two figures looked out the bridge windshields.

Down below, on the after deck covered by a makeshift wooden enclosure, five more figures huddled around an electric stove. Today they need to get to Smitswinkels Bay and put themselves up in one of the houses there.

To get to Smitswinkels Bay, one needs to either go in by sea or take the long winding walkway from the top of the road leading from Simon’s Town. There is no other way into the Smitswinkels Bay Valley. There are no roads, no cars, or any other means to reach the houses at the bottom of the valley on the beach. Either walk in or go in by sea. Going in by sea means a wet and tedious way of doing it, but it is much quicker than walking in from the road at the top of the cliff.

The fishing trawler took a course south out into False Bay, braving the swells, and the ocean waves. Later it would swing back west, just past Murdock Valley, but beyond the prying eyes at Simon’s Town Naval Base.

Inside the bridge, the skipper drew on a cigarette and squinted through slightly closed eyes at the run of the sea. Why did the boss need him to take the guys out this morning? Could it not have waited a day or two? Oh well, the boss wants what the boss wants, and he will do it. There’s good money in it for him. One never says no to good money, or to the boss.

And so, the little fishing trawler crept towards its objective: to land the scouts on the beach at Smitswinkels Bay, to watch and report if the red-headed woman returns to the cave. A fruitless exercise, according to the skipper of the trawler, but one that must be done.

November 8, 04:50, Overberg Ex Military Airfield.

With the morning chores of waking up out of the way, I was up and washed and dressed and about to venture into the kitchen. There was already an aroma of brewing coffee filtering through the house, showing that Nadia was up and busy in the kitchen. Sporting an olive-green flight suit, flight boots, and her ginger hair in a tight ponytail, she looks the part of an aviator. It was a shame that she had no pilot wings pinned above her flight suit left top pocket. I need to put that right. At least a navigator’s wings will be good. This calls for a visit to the ‘Pilot Shop’ on the base. I can fit this in just before breakfast, as the shop will be open. Yeah, these guys rise early around here.

My cell phone vibrated, reminding me to switch it back to ringing mode.

“Good morning, Charley. You’re up early.”

“Early bird catches the worm! Why? You still in bed?”

“What do you think? I’m about to get my first mug of coffee.”

“Good! Then you can tell me what you know of the “Hard Livings.”

“Not much, but I know Rashaad Williams is the main man and has his hand in more crime pies than that is good for anyone’s health.”

Chuckle.”At least you did not say, ‘cream pies.’ I have new information, and you’re not going to like it.”

“Okay, pile it on.” I sighed. “Is it about Angie?”

“No. And leave the redhead for a while. She is fine and living a good life. You might see her shortly, but in the meantime I need you, and the girls to get up to speed on the aircraft.”

“Okay. Say, why do we need to get acquainted with the ‘Vlamgatte,’ and what news do you have?”

“I will tell you later why you need to get to know those aircraft. We will be using them from time to time, but now you need to get to know them inside out.”

“I trust your judgement on this. Now, you called to tell me something.”

“I told Mai-Loan, and she said you should hear it first-hand from me, else you won’t believe it.”

“So, fire away.”

“Do you recall the little problem with Nadia and Dave’s two girls?”

“Slightly, yes. Not much detail but go on.”

“Nadia and the two girls were abducted by a Japanese crime syndicate a few years ago.”

“They did not mention it in too much detail, but I know about it.”

“Well, it seems that the same foreign crime syndicate is trying to move in on the Hard Livings and their business.”

“Okay...”

“I predict a full-blown war will hit the streets, and we have to see to it that the innocent bystanders will not be collateral damage.”

“How are you planning on doing it, mister wise guy?”

Chuckle. “You need to go visit Mister Williams and offer your help.”

“And if he refuses it as he would likely do?”

“Then we will cross that bridge when we get there.”

“Charley...”

“ ... I love it when you call me, Charley!”

“Yeah, yeah! What about the training and Angie?

“As I said, Angie is fine. She might contact you shortly. Stop worrying about the little redhead.”

“So, you knew all along that she is fine?”

“No. Not initially, but yes I did come to know that she is safe and not anywhere near the city.”

“Charley?”

“She found some goodies in a remote part of the cave at Smitswinkels Bay, photographed them, and sent it to me. Before I could react to the problem, some guys we believe to be a street gang, came to the cave by boat. Fortunately, Angie saw them in time and escaped through a back entrance to the cave. The crooks saw her and tried to get to her, but the ever-resourceful Angie gave them the slip. She then disappeared. I thought at first the gangs got her, but an informant told me that she evaded them. They, the Hard Livings Gang, have been searching high and low all over the city for her ever since then.”