Chapter 5

Earlier that day: Mogadishu, Capital City of Somalia. 13 June, 15:48 (GMT +3)

The city was warm, caught up in the heat of the day that just seems not to moderate towards the late afternoon and early evening. The temperature was hovering around 29° Celsius with a ninety-one percent humidity. It could be described as “muggy,” and the wind out of the south did little to ease the discomfort. The wind stirred up the dust and fine sand, blowing it over the city in a hazy dusting that lingered in the air and settled onto everything in a fine coating.

Even the light overcast of clouds kept the heat in, not dispersing it into the atmosphere. Sometimes the sun would peek through the cloud cover and burn down harshly, then just go and hide again.

Although it was dry then, after sunset the rain will come. Not much rain, but just enough to turn the dust blown onto the streets into soggy, muddy pools.

All along the streets of the city the mass of humanity bustled around, each going about their own business: hurrying to and from the markets, standing chatting in groups of two and three on the street corners, or huddling secretively in alcoves. Cars, trucks and little tuc-tuc tricycle taxis hurried in a chaotic intermix of directions, blowing horns and waving hands.

This was a cosmopolitan city, trying to get to terms with poverty and trying to move out of the grip of the economic depression that dominated the country. The ever-present threat of the al-Shabaab rebel group lurked in the background, always instilling fear inside the minds of the people.

The Ahmed Gurey monument stood on the KM4 traffic circle, where four double lane streets and one single lane street converged. The driving direction of the streets mimicked that of the USA, driving on the right side of the road, with traffic flowing anticlockwise around the traffic circle.

On a side street to the south-west of the traffic circle, the Hayat Hotel rose three stories above the shops and stores scattered along the streets, and the hurrying people that moved among them.

The Hayat is a modern hotel, catering to the better half of the population. Prominent politicians, government officials and the well-to-do frequented the hotel and attended the many seminars and conferences conducted in its conference rooms. The cuisine was one of the best in Mogadishu, catering to many local and international tastes, and displaying the dedication and friendly nature of the management and staff of the hotel.

In strict Islamic tradition, no alcohol was sold in the hotel. In fact, alcohol is prohibited in Somalia. During the Italian Somalia era, rum was produced from sugarcane and widely sold and consumed. After the fall of the Siad Barre Government in 1991, alcohol was prohibited, although it is rumoured that consumption still continues in certain places around the country.

Inside the hotel lobby people sat on the brown leather couches, reading or chatting to others. Those on their feet were either on their way to the dining area or moving in and out of the hotel through the glass doors of the main entrance.

Fawzia Mohamed sat facing the hotel door. She was in her late twenties and was dressed in the Somali fashion of the day: a long flowing colourful Baati dress, covering her to her sneaker-clad feet. Her head, back and arms lay beneath a purple Jilbab, leaving her face and neck open.

She was waiting on the arrival of her husband. Tomorrow, they would leave on a flight for South Africa to connect to New York City to join the hundred and fifty thousand Somalis living and working in the USA.

Fawzia’s husband, Ali, had leveraged his Ph.D. in chemistry for a position at the UN headquarters in New York. Both Ali and Fawzia were excited to be going on this new adventure in their life. It was an opportunity of a lifetime.

Fawzia was calm and relaxed as she sipped her Shaah, sweet spiced Somali Chai tea; her husband would arrive any time now. She was in no hurry as she thought of her husband and his loving way with her. Although Ali was ten years older, she could not wish for a better husband or a better marriage. She smiled to herself as she thought of the image of her husband walking in, any moment now, through the hotel entrance door.

What came through the door, Fawzia had never imagined in her wildest dreams...

Mogadishu, Capital City of Somalia. 13 June, 15:59 (GMT +3)

A flash like lightning brightened up the outside of the hotel, followed instantly by the roar of a thunderclap. Fawzia looked up, not expecting thunder so soon in the day. The building trembled, and a crack appeared on the marble column next to her.

A second flash illuminated the lobby of the hotel and this time the roar was a thunderous explosion, blowing the hotel entrance doors inward with thousands of sharp glass shards flying about. The concussion of the explosion bowled Fawzia back over the couch and overturned the leather couch on top of her.

Time slowed to a crawl, and she saw in horror the people in the lobby being scattered; either flying through the air or being rolled along the floor. One was flung against the marble column next to where she sat on the couch moments ago. The body struck with a sickening thud and dropped to the marble floor beneath, laying still, blood streaming from a ripped and torn torso. Fawzia screamed...

“A bomb. A car bomb. Two car bombs exploded right outside the hotel entrance,” flashed through her foggy mind. “Where is Ali?”

She did not yet feel the blood streaming over her face and arms, nor see the lacerations that the flying glass caused to her body. She was still numb from the blast.

Outside was a sea of fire; bright orange and red tongues of flames shooting skyward under billowing black clouds of choking smoke. Pieces of motorcar wreckage, broken chairs and mutilated human bodies lay strewn over the carpark outside the Hayat Hotel. Disoriented men and women milled around in the chaos, screaming and moaning, streaming blood from their injured limbs and bodies. Smoke was everywhere, and the cries and wailing of the injured mixed with the sound of burning cars and pavement furniture. Dust hung like a foggy mist over everything.

Inside the hotel lobby it was now dark; lights blasted by the concussion of the explosions became shattered bulbs and neon strips. Debris was everywhere and covered the blood-splattered floor.

Those who could still move ran or hobbled, slipping and sliding, out into the streets or deeper into the hotel, seeking safety and cover wherever they could find it.

Slowly, a deadly silence descended on the carnage, except for the wailing of the injured and the roar of the burning fires.

Fawzia tried to crawl out from beneath the overturned couch, but felt her feet being pinned down by something. She looked back at her feet in the gloom of the room. Part of the other marble column had collapsed and fell on her legs, pinning her down.

Then the gunmen came...

Figures in green camo uniforms and with black cloth covering their heads ran into the building, firing their AK-47 assault rifles indiscriminately at everyone and everything. Spent cartridge casings clattered onto the marble floor of the lobby and ricochet projectiles screamed and whined off the walls. Victims went down, sprawling on the floor.

The gunmen ran on towards the inside of the Hayat Hotel, up the stairs to the top floors, firing their weapons as they went. Four of them set charges and blew up the stairs after they were up, cutting off access to the top floors. More and more people, civilians, went down.

Fawzia lay still, shivering and trembling with fright. Then the pain came, and she realised she was injured and bleeding. She pushed her left hand out before her on the floor and saw the blood covering her hand and arm. She was in a state of shock, not really realising the extent of her injuries.

In her line of sight, in front of her, the man who smashed into the marble column was still alive. Blood was bubbling out of his nose and mouth. Fawzia knew that he would not live long. If help did not arrive soon, he would be dead, and there was nothing she could do. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see him pass on and not being able to help.

A cold fear gripped her body, and she uttered one word: “Ali.”

A red mist was forming in front of her eyes and slowly she faded away into blackness, lying still and unmoving on the cold marble floor beneath the overturned couch...

The response was immediate. The Somali security forces were near and on site in a matter of minutes. Patrol vehicles swarmed to the blast scene from all over the city.

The smoke of the burning building could be seen for miles around the city. In the darkness of the night, flashing lights highlighted the scene and sporadic firing from within the building could be heard.

Al-Shabaab claimed responsibility, and a troop of its fighters occupied the top floor, firing on the security forces. The security forces returned fire and stormed the building, rescuing civilians as they went.

Ambulances and paramedics tended to the injured in the streets and carted them away to nearby hospitals for medical care.

Ali Mohamed stood on the pavement outside the Hayat Hotel. He was both enraged and sad.

“You need to move on!” A policeman instructed him.

“My wife ... my wife is in there! I must go get her!”

“NO! If she is in there, we will get her! Now move on!”

“She might be injured! I must find her!”

“Sir, lose not heart nor despair. May Allah give you patience ... If she is in there, we will find her and bring her to you. Now, what’s her name?”

“Fawzia ... Fawzia Mohamed...” Ali whispered and looked at the burning building, tears streaming down his face. The desperation of not knowing his wife’s location and condition ate at his trembling body. Despite the still lingering heat, he felt ice-cold.

“I will see to it that we find her ... Now, just go and wait out of the danger zone, or go help the other injured.”

As Ali turned away the policeman thought: “We will find her, or her body ... Poor man...”

Then the policeman bowed his head and uttered a prayer: “If all else, and it is so, may Allah give her an easy and pleasant journey and shower blessings on her grave...”

Then the rain came down. Not a drenching downpour, but just a light, soft misting from the low overcast.

And so started the thirty-hour siege of the Hayat Hotel in Mogadishu. At the end of the day, thirty hours later, twenty-one had died and more than a hundred and seventeen were injured. All the insurgents were killed. Al-Shabaab gambled but lost.

The building was destroyed. Countless injuries and misery was dealt to the people of the city of Mogadishu. Reuters, NBC and other news agencies carried the breaking news. Some gave eyewitness accounts in TV interviews, printed media and on live updates on the internet and streaming services.

Press releases were given, but only one was important to two people: a policeman and a husband:

MOGADISHU: Reuters: After a siege of more than thirty hours, Security Forces of Somalia successfully broke the siege of the Mogadishu Hayat Hotel and rescued civilians trapped within the destroyed and devastated building. One critically injured woman, the wife of Somalia’s newest UN delegate, twenty eight-year-old Fawzia Mohamed, was found under the rubble of the main lobby of the Hayat Hotel. She is reported to be in critical, but stable condition.

Don and Dave’s Airfield. 14 June, 08:32 (GMT + 2)

Breakfast was done and dusted. I refrained from having a second mug of wake-up juice. Have you ever tried to take a leak in a G-suit? No, I thought not. Well, in the movies you don’t see it, because they “went” before the scene was shot. Yes, Uncle Google will tell you that fighter pilot G-suits are rigged for such an event, but believe you me, it ain’t funny, or comfortable. But just before saddling up in Eagle Four, I “went,” just to be sure.

The canopy was still open, and the ground power unit had been disconnected. Eagle Four was alive and running on her own. So were Eagles One, Two and Three.

Monitoring the Exhaust Gas Temperature (EGT) to remain stable at 860° to 862° Celsius, I flicked my eyes over all the other instruments. Altitude bug was set at 37000 feet on the altimeter, and that altitude would be reached in just over six minutes after the take-off. The Mirage 2000C has a climb rate of 17000 feet per minute, but that means going straight up vertically under full afterburner. Not today. We will do a leisurely climb at 6000 feet per minute. The g-forces would be less, and we will only use the burners for the take-off.

“Eagles Two, Three and Four, close canopies,” Ash transmitted, and I shut the canopy of Eagle Four, and locked it down. I noted the time. It was 08:55.

“Ready to roll. Eagle Two, Three and Four. Follow line astern,” Ash transmitted again and there was a chorus of “Roger, Follow line astern, “ over the airwaves. One by one we crept forward and fell in behind the Mirage in front of us.

Once on the runway, I did the final cockpit check and was ready to take off. Eagle Four vibrated with pent-up power. She wanted to go, to go do what she does best: fly.

“Eagle flight, Winds calm at two point fiver knots, 087 degrees true. You are cleared for the take-off...” Tracy transmitted on the air-band radio.

“Copy wind calm at two point fiver knots. Cleared for the take-off.” Ash acknowledged the transmission.

“Eagle leader to Eagle flight, take-off approved. Make your run on me.” Ash transmitted to us.

The Mirage 2000 N surged forward, the helmets of Ash and Nadia flashing red in the early morning sun. They were followed by Eagles Two and Three. I pushed the throttle forward to full military power, and a moment later the afterburner kicked in. Eagle Four accelerated down the runway, the g-forces of the acceleration pressing me into the seat.

In front of me, Eagle One lifted off, followed closely by Eagle Two and Eagle Three. V1 decision speed came up, All looked in order, there were no warning lights showing, and all instruments were within limits. The engine performed at its peak. All was well, and the decision was to fly. V1 speed is the last possible speed at which I could safely abort the take-off and still stop the aircraft on the runway.

A few short seconds later Vr speed registered in the cockpit. Vr being the safe calculated speed for the aircraft to be rotated on the runway for a safe transition to flight mode. Rotation meaning; it is safe to lift the nose from the runway, increasing the angle of attack on the wings to produce lift for the transition to flight. It is also known as the speed at which the aircraft will safely fly.

I lifted the nose wheel off the runway by pulling slightly, ever so gently, back on the stick, and Eagle Four shook herself free from the ground. We were flying, and she started to climb like a homesick angel. The G-forces pulling at my stomach, telling me we were climbing a little wee bit faster than an elevator going up to the top floor of a building. Within a millisecond the g-suit compensated for the change, and I sat comfortable in the driver seat, enjoying the feeling and the rush of the ground falling away beneath me.

One by one the Mirages ahead of me turned towards 51 degrees magnetic. I followed as the wings came level: “Eagle flight, climb and maintain flight level three seven zero. Maintain own navigation. Contact Waterkloof Centre on 116.9. Have a pleasant flight and safe flight. Good day to you!” Tracy transmitted from the little tower back at the airfield.

“Climb and maintain FL370, follow own navigation. Contact Waterkloof Center one, one, six, point niner. Good day Foxtrot Alpha Juliet Golf, see you soon.” Ash replied. We were on our way climbing to 37000 feet at 6000 feet per minute. The time on the cockpit clock displayed 09:01.

We all tuned in to Waterkloof Centre on frequency 116.9 Mega Hertz. Ash called them up, and was subsequently handed off to Johannesburg Centre at 119.5 Mhz.

“Johannesburg Centre Zulu, Uniform, Mike, Alpha, Romeo, and flight of four with you,” Ash transmitted after the frequency change.

“ZU-MAR, radar contact 18 nautical miles South of Modimolle. Continue your climb to FL370. Turn west heading 053 magnetic and continue your own navigation,” A young lady voice from Johannesburg Centre acknowledged our presents.

Ash repeated the instruction and was rewarded with: “ZU-MAR, traffic is Boeing 737 descending through 21000 feet from Harare to Johannesburg, 15 nautical miles north-west, report them in sight.”

“Got them on TCAS. No threat. We’ll pass 5 nautical miles to the east of them. 8000 feet higher,” Ash confirmed the presence of the airliner.

Soon we were at 37000 feet and Ash ordered us into “Echelon by the right,” formation. This meant that each aircraft formed up on the leader to the right of him, and a little down and to the back, representing the rungs of a ladder if viewed from above or below. We did not close formation too close to one another, maintaining a separation of forty to fifty metres. This wasn’t close formation flying.

At 09:22 we crossed over the Limpopo river into Zimbabwe airspace, about midway between Musina and Madimbo. Not bad, flying 462 kilometres in just 21 minutes. Winds aloft were about forty knots dead on our six, adding speed to our already Mach 0.98, or just over 1200 kilometres an hour.

At 09:31 we approached Buffalo Range (FVCZ) on the Bubye River with the rolling hills of west Zimbabwe starting to unfold before us.

“Are there traffic police up here setting up speed traps?” Leah asked.

“No. Why?” Ash replied.

“Oh, I see we are speeding ahead a bit at Mach 1.06,” She retorted.

“Oh, shit! I must have been dozing. Sorry!” Ash replied.

“It’s okay. Fuel flow is still good within the parameters,” Leah reported.

“Yeah, but let’s tone it back a bit,” Ash replied. A few chuckles were heard on the inter-plane intercom. We all reset throttles and other trims, and soon we were back at Mach 0.98.

How long we’ve been at Mach 1.06, I didn’t know, but it did eat up the miles and at 09:40 we crossed into Mozambique airspace. Fuel was still over 167%, and the Mirages were still drawing fuel from the external tanks. Chimoio (FQLH) was dead ahead on the nose.

At 09:55 Ash ordered a course correction to 000 degrees magnetic, and we all complied. After the turn he ordered; “Descend and maintain 12000 feet.” We were nearing our destination. To the north-west of us I saw the Village of Nsanje and the River Shire, just shimmering in the morning sun. Blast! We were just under halfway to the Horn of Africa, and Somalia.

Blantyre came up, and we set up for a landing on runway 10. We did this in reverse order.

“Eagle Four turn west heading zero one zero ... go!” I did. Banking the Mirage through near 90 degrees of bank, I broke formation. Leah followed next and Olivia followed her, with Ash just behind them. It is always an awesome sight to see jet aircraft breaking formation in that order. First turning along its longitudinal axis to wings near vertical and then breaking away to the right.