Chapter 12

The meeting concluded forty minutes later. By 11:20, Darya, Lorie, Roxy, and I were at the airport. The helicopter was sitting in the shade on the apron next to the hangar. It was only a question of moving her a little further away to the pad before we would fly out to a spot away from general traffic on the sea.

Mai-Loan and Darya had student Roxy inside the hangar at a table with a five-oh Browning on the table in a cradle. The two Angels were briefing Roxy on the finer points of the Browning and showing her all the parts.

Lorie and I were taking the time to really go through the 105 and look into all the little nooks and crannies when I spotted the start of some corrosion under the auxiliary hydraulic pump. We both came to the conclusion that it was not a major problem for now but had to be attended to once we were back in South Africa.

The corrosion was due to a small hydraulic spill that was not cleaned properly. It was only starting to show, so we went through all the hydraulic lines to check for leaks but found nothing.

With nothing further to do around the BO-105, we opened all the doors of the helicopter to let the light breeze blow through the cabin and cool things down. I sat down on the right-hand skid step and Lorie dropped onto the back skid leg.

“So, I hear Ash has changed your call-sign to ‘Cobra’,” she said, sweeping her brown hair back over her shoulders. “Damn! I should have put my hair up in a ponytail.”

“Yeah, this heat is also driving me crazy,” I agreed, then added. “Let Ash be happy with renaming me to ‘Cobra’. I’m happy with Smudge. It reminds me of the good old days, way back when.”

“And you went and promoted that egghead brother of mine to a colonel.”

“Lieutenant-colonel. The short pants type of colonel,” I said, referring to the time when the lieutenant colonel rank wore short pants as part of their uniform. It was only full colonel and above that the uniform code made provision for full-length pants. All lower commissioned officers and non-commissioned officers wore short pants.

“Oh, you remember those days.”

“Yeah, before all the political crap started to surface and made life unbearable,” I sighed. “Can you imagine an air force that has no funds for the fuel to put their jets in the sky!”

“That’s the new South Africa for you. Cutting the SANDF and SAPS budgets to give out social grants! Then looting and stealing the rest of the public money...”

“No comment and don’t quote me on it. But I left when I had the chance. At least I got to fly for SAPS.”

“Ash got me into the foundation. There at least I got to fly sometimes,” Lorie said. “Let me go see how confused the two ‘instructors’ got their recruit!” Lorie giggled.

“What is there to confuse her? All she has to do is point and pull the trigger!”

“Yeah, yeah, Mister Springbok Champion Shot. For some of us it is a little different to get to grips with new equipment.”

“Don’t worry, Roxy is a bright girl. She’ll be done by now,” I predicted. Just then the three girls came out the hangar, Roxy and Darya carrying the thirty-eight-kilogram point five-oh Browning between the two of them. The gun was only eleven kilograms lighter than the girls at about forty-nine kilograms each. I chuckled. They like to play with heavy artillery.

“Here come our gunners now. Let’s get the bird out on the pad,” Lorie said and got up from her perch on the skid.

“So, Mai-Loan, are you staying behind?” I asked.

“No. I’ll park on the spot between the gunner seats.”

“Oh! But you might get cramps from squatting like that...” I replied.

“Not to worry, I’ll get someone to massage it out...” Mai chuckled. “Now, let’s mount the guns and feed some belts into them.”

Twenty minutes later we were flying away from the airport on our way east to the ocean. I kept low across the slight hills sprawling along from north to south along the coast, and then we went feet-wet, heading south.

With the midday sun directly overhead, the sea looked azure blue. Nearer to the port of Kismayo a few boats were about, but further to the south the broad expanse of the Indian Ocean was almost devoid of traffic. On the horizon a little south of us, a lonely freighter sailed to the north.

“That freighter makes some funny wakes...” Roxy said, and Lorie and Mai-Loan turned their heads towards the freighter, now abeam of us.

“That’s not the freighter’s wake,” Mai-Loan commented, raising her field glasses to her eyes. “There are two or three pontoon rubber-ducks converging on her!”

“Pirates?” I asked.

“Possible. Let’s go check it out,” Mai-Loan replied. I flung the 105 into a left bank and dropped to wave-top hight. The 105 responded with vigour, and the speed came up to near Vne. (Velocity never exceed air speed.) With all the weight aboard, she did not even feel sluggish. That’s why I just love the BO-105 helicopters.

As we approached the freighter, I could see that there were three rubber-ducks near the ship. Two were holding off while another tried to circle the ship. I also noticed some water fountains erupting around the circling rubber-duck. Yes, this is the normal modus operandi of the pirates, and the water fountains confirm that someone from the ship is firing on the rubber-duck.

“It’s pirates!” Mai-Loan confirmed my observation. “Shall we have some fun?”

“Why not!” Darya interjected, and I heard her five-oh being cocked.

“Roxy, lock and load, line up on the dingy near the ship, but don’t hit the ship!” Mai-Loan instructed.

“I’m going to pass the ship from north to south. Be ready!” I commanded, and changed course to the south along a line that would put Roxy in a position to fire. This will be the first time that she fires that cannon, but at least she will have something to aim for.

“Now! Fire! Short bursts! Press and release, press and release! Like we told you, Rox!” Mai-Loan reminded her.

We came in three metres above the ocean surface and as the rubber-duck came into Roxy’s view, I felt the recoil of the five-oh stutter through the airframe of the 105. I compensated for the sideways deflection caused by the five-oh recoil.

“That’s it! Good Girl! You are hitting the boat! Look. Its burning. NOW, stop firing!” Mai-Loan instructed. By this time, I was passing the big freighter and lifted the 105 up and over the stern of the ship, flicking the 105 over to the right and reversing my course to the north, giving Darya a chance at the rubber-duck.

As I brought the 105 around to line up a second time, I saw the first rubber-duck stern down in the water, and some figures fluttering in the water near the stricken boat. The water had a red tinge near the boat. Soon the Zambezi sharks will be around as well.

“Jeez, Roxy! You left nothing for me, Girl! That thing is sinking ... You blew it to smithereens!” Darya chuckled.

“There’s two more! Let’s go!” Roxy exclaimed, and I smiled to myself. Roxy had her first heavy artillery kill and was craving for more!

“They are running away and are no threat to us,” Lorie said. “But let’s at least check them out.”

“Okay, if you say so...” I replied and banked away towards the two rubber-ducks high-tailing it for shore.

Flying at wave-top height, the rotor wash kicked up spray from the surface, blowing it back in the wake of the 105. As we came within 100 metres of the back boat, I saw a guy standing up amidships in the boat, pointing a rifle at us. It could have been an AK-47.

I swerved to the left side to throw his aim off, but Darya made no mistake. The rattle of the five-oh sounded out, and I felt the recoil pushing the 105 more to the left. I countered with right pedal input, and some right cyclic.

She did not miss a shot as the five-oh shells struck home, cutting the pontoons to shreds. The boat hit a swell and went up in the air, then like a deflated balloon, crashed back into the water. The outboard engine separated from the boat, and it was dead in the water, slowly sinking below the surface. Six heads bobbed in the water around the sinking boat. Darya stopped firing and was quiet.

“Leave the other one,” I said. “Someone needs to get back to shore and spread the gospel...”

“What about the survivors? We can’t just let them drown!” Roxy cried out.

“Okay, okay.” Responded Lorie, “I’ll contact the freighter to pick up survivors and pass them over to the authorities. But it is almost irrelevant; piracy carries the death penalty.”

“I think we can go back and relax,” Mai-Loan announced. “Roxy has graduated!”

“Then we need to go do a graduation feast!” I replied.

“Do I get a certificate?” Roxy asked. Giggle.

“You do, Girl. Yes, you do.” Mai-Loan replied.

“Even if I have to write one with a pencil, until we can have one printed!” I added.

“That’s why I like you guys so much!” Roxy tittered. “You always have a plan.”

I turned us back towards the freighter. Lorie tuned the comm two radio to the general shipping frequency and called up the freighter. The skipper of the vessel answered in perfect English and thanked us for our intervention. He was on his way to the port of Alexandria near Cairo in Egypt, going via the Red Sea and the Suez Canal. He agreed to pick up and hold survivors, if any, for trial.

We urged the skipper not to identify our helicopter in any of his log entries and just refer to an unidentified aircraft. He said he would.

We bid them a speedy and safe voyage and then turned back to base. The day was heating up, and the air-conditioner in this bird ain’t that good. But what do you expect from a free helicopter? Don told me that he paid six million Rand for his MD530, and it did not include an air-conditioner unit in the cabin. Damn! Cheap helicopters...

UN Compound, Kismayo Airport, Somalia. June 18, 13.55 GMT +3.

Back at the ‘exotic tropical villas’, Ash’s description of the compound bungalows, we went back to our own quarters. Showers and lighter clothes were the priority.

I finished my shower and dressed in cargo shorts, t-shirt and tropical sandals. I peered into the tiny fridge for something cold to drink and took out a buddy bottle of Coke from the six-pack I bought the day before. I just ignored the six-pack of Budweiser beer. One never knows when one might be called upon to fly again. The Mirages are standing idle, and the 105 is getting loving attention since Ash found her, and we “took” her off the hands of the “previous proud” owners. Eight hours from the bottle to the throttle, that’s the consensus among us pilots.

My cell phone vibrated on the small coffee table, and with a sigh, I picked it up. Ash! Oh well, here we go again...

“Hi there, Boss. What’s up?”

“Just touching base with you. I hear through the grapevine that you had some fun this morning?”

“Yeah, we took Roxy out to get a feeling for the five-oh and bit off some good targets for her.”

“She still seems to be on a high. Even trembling a little,” Ash chuckled.

“Gee, I thought the adrenaline would have subsided by now!”

“That filly is raring to go shoot up half the pirate fleet out there. Darya just giggles about it.”

“Mai-Loan and Darya created a monster!”

“She’s your monster. So, go tame her...” Ash chuckled again, finding the thing with Roxy amusing.

“Were we not all like that when we tasted first blood?”

“Yeah, once upon a time, long, long ago...” Ash said softly.

“ ... in a galaxy far, far away,” I completed for him.

“Where are the two now? Still there with you and Angie?” I asked.

“No, they went back to their five-star suite,” Ash replied, then, “You feel like going for something cold?”, changing the subject.

“I have an ice-cold Coke right here in my hand,” I replied.

“No man, you’ll rust up! I meant something COLD!”

“Ain’t we flying again today?”

“Nah, maybe tomorrow, late.”

“Okay, then a Bud will be good!”

“Catch me and TC at the canteen.”

“I’m on my way!”

“Cheers!” And he disconnected. Well let’s go see what mayhem those two are planning. Damn! Those two, Ash and TC, are worse than the redheads put together!

I knocked on the interconnecting door, opened it a crack and called:

“The boss wants to see me. I’m going to him and TC!”

“Yes Dear!” Roxy called back from somewhere inside the bungalow.

“Don’t be late for supper!” Darya added.

“It depends!” I called back.

“Depends on what?” Darya asked.

“Depends on what’s for supper...”

Laughter and giggles.

“What if I say ... I’m for supper...?” Was that Roxy’s voice?

“ROXY!” Darya chided. Yes, it was Roxy’s voice. Let me be off.

“Okay! I’ll be back!” I called and closed the door.

I wonder if the canteen sells rubb ... No never mind.

Walking into the air-conditioned bliss of the canteen made me sigh a sigh of relief. TC saw me come in and signalled the bartender.

“Hey, Ronny! Come and get something cold,” Ash called and sat back in his chair. “It’s fire hot outside, and you sit around and drink Coke. You’ll rust up, man!”

“How’s the girls? In particular your latest gunner?” TC asked with a grin on his face.

“Well, last time I saw them, both were in high spirits,” I replied.

“This time there’s no carrot-tops around, so sit down and relax.”

“Don’t let Angie or Nadia hear you, TC. You’ll wake up with a slit throat.” Ash chuckled.

“I’ve come to notice that the two, Angie and Nadia, ain’t too friendly with the unmentionable one.” TC said, and the bartender delivered my beer.

“Put it on my tab,” Ash instructed, and the bartender took off. I took a long sip of the ice-cold Budweiser and smacked my lips.

“Oh yeah, nectar from the gods on a hot day!” I commented.

“Don’t let Don or Dave hear you. They think the nectar of the gods comes from Kenya or Brazilian coffee...” Ash said.

“Well, on a hot day the gods seem to differ,” I remarked and continued: “So, TC, when this dust-up is over, where to for you?”

“Nam,” TC said.

“Nam, as in Namibia?”

“Yeah. Anglo-American took over most of the De Beers mining concessions and there’s much security work to be had. I can go there and take most of my crew with me.”

The London based mining conglomerate? Funny, a British company called Anglo-American...”

“Yeah but started way back in the nineteen twenties with American money. That’s why it is called Anglo, for the owners, and American, for some of the shareholders.” TC elaborated. “It was founded by Ernest Oppenheimer in Johannesburg of all places. So, in fact a South African company with British owners and American money. Now that is multi-national!”

“Sorry I asked...” I said and sipped my beer.

“They are into mining. Gold, copper, diamonds, coal, you name it. They don’t make aeroplanes, therefore you would not know them, Ronny.” Ash interjected.

“Thank God they don’t make aeroplanes. Imagine a gold airframe, with diamond windows, bound together with copper wire, and running on coal!” I chuckled. The smoke and steam trail would cause a stir among the global warming activists!”

“Yeah, wise guy. You’ve got half a day tomorrow to reconfigure your bird for the transfer,” Ash said matter-of-factly. “We leave at 23:00 tomorrow evening. We’ll be back at first light with the packages. So, be ready to fly...”

“And her majesty, the cabbage patch queen?”

“She will be waiting with you on the apron. Try to be nice, Ron.”

“I promise nothing. If she screws up, she goes out the door. I hope she can fly...”

“Oh brother!” Was TC’s only comment. Ash just looked at me.

“Remind me to never make an enemy out of you, Ron. If you don’t like someone, they can’t make it up to you for you to start to like them again, no matter what.”

“Working with her don’t mean I should like her. Or trust her...”

“And if there’s a trust break,” TC sighed. “I run the other way...”

“Wise words from mister Kenny Rodgers: ‘You got to know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em, know when to walk away, know when to run... ‘,” I said, finished my beer, and signalled the bar tender for another round for us three.

“Thanks, Ron,” Ash saluted, as the bartender delivered our liquid refreshments. “Now, have you ever landed on an aircraft carrier?”

“No. The only aircraft carriers I’ve seen were in pictures, but I suppose it is the same as landing on any ship?”

“Sort of ... Just this time you’ll be guided by the LSO of the ship. The LSO will stand by to guide you in. Not normally his job, but hey, they think you are a rookie.”

“Okay...” I answered. “I take it he will use the normal helicopter operational signals?”

“No, he, or she will talk you in.”

“Well, I will be able to see the freaking deck. The sun will be up by the time we get to the boat.”

“Ship! It’s a ship Ronny!” Ash admonished and TC chuckled.

“Ship, boat, sailboat, row-boat, kitchen sink, bath tub. What’s the difference? They all swim in the sea...” I said and took a swig of my beer.

“Well don’t speak of a 101300 long-ton ship as a boat! You’ll be landing on CVN 70, the USS Carl Vinson out of San Diego. Call-sign; November Charley Victor, Victor,” Ash said. “And do try not to fuck up the landing. Most of the ship’s company will be watching!”

“I’ve landed on ships at sea before, Ash, I know the drill. I’ll drape the South African flag over the skids and sing God Save The Queen!”

“Oh brother! Save a nation with such a comedian...” Ash sighed.

“You mean; With friends like Ron, you don’t need enemies...” TC chuckled.

“The Queen is in the UK! NOT the USA!” Ash exclaimed.

“Whatever...” I said. “I thought Oprah Winfrey is their Queen ... or is it balloon girl, Kim Kardashian? No ... it’s Julia, Julia Roberts...”