Chapter 381

I made my way to the front of the plane where the crew had set up seating. There were three rows across the front of better seats and then a row extending down each side of jump seats to make up enough seats for all my people in a small area.

I took the left front jump seat so I would have a little more room to use my portable office if I needed to. I slid the cooler and office under my feet as a leg rest, pulled the seat belt tight and waited for takeoff. The seats had a minor head rest, so I closed my eyes, leaned back and waited for the takeoff.

“Ma-am, Ambassador Jones, the Captain would like you to sit in one of the extra officer’s seat during takeoff,” I thought about asking if they had an officer’s seat for all my men but decided against making waves.

I climbed the stairs to the flight command center, sat in my appointed seat and fastened the multipoint seat belt. Moments later the tug moved the C17 into position to depart Morton Field. A few minutes more and we were airborne. It was 0800, just 14 hours to go.

I stayed in the seat until we reached cruising altitude and then they announced that it was OK for my people to move around. I asked about phone and computer use. Satellite phones were the only thing that would work. Computers could be used but there would be no internet connection, which I expected. I moved back to the jump seat.

I started a daily diary; I thought it may be interesting reading after my 6 weeks were over. I kept a separate ledger of things that Marcy could cross check for billing.

Seven hours into the flight I was the kind of hungry that snacks could not cure. I was sure everyone else was too. This morning while we were waiting for the crew to load everything into the plane, I had the restaurant make 50 cold subs of all kinds. They were in a cooler in the back seat of my Suburban. There was another cooler of drinks. Maybe they were not frozen - there were a couple of plastic bags of dry ice in each cooler.

“Is anyone hungry?” I asked. I went with four guys to bring the coolers to the front; I carried the empty trash bag and a big bag full of all kinds of chips in those little lunch size bags. This was the second of many more meals with my men and ladies but the first at 20,000 feet. I offered subs to the plane crew.

I lunched with my men and ladies; Linda, Ellen and Alice had befriended the other ladies who were part of the group. Blackhawk pilots Julie, Bambi and Lexy were talking aviation talk with the crew of the C17. They even got a tour of the command center.

Fourteen and a half hours after the start of the flight, the pilot announced that we would be landing in a few minutes at the Entebbe International Airport; it was 4 AM Kampala time. I called the security desk at the embassy and gave them our arrival time. Ambassador Bernardi had agreed to send a couple of embassy cars to help get my people to the embassy and that 0530 would be an appropriate time to send the cars.

It was an hour before we were parked and the massive rear door was lowered. The skid steer was the first thing out; then both Suburbans. The truck and trailer was a different story. It just did not back out like it drove in; repeated attempts to back it out were failures. They were over steering and getting the trailer all sideways.

I gathered that they normally let the assigned drivers from whatever branch of service drive the equipment into and out of the plane’s cargo bay, because they were the ones most familiar with the equipment. But, because we were civilians they did not trust us, so the Air Force guys were doing the driving.

But this was ridiculous as Andy and I watched the comedy. I had driven trucks through the sand with double trailers, up mountain roads pulling trailers so narrow you could not even step off the running board.

Finally I could stand no more, “Stop! Get out of the truck. Andy, give me distance with hand signals,” I said.

It took five minutes of jockeying to get the mess they created back straight then I backed the truck and trailer slowly out, down and off the ramp. I now hoped that there was a truck driver in my group who I could trust to drive the rig for 25 miles to the embassy.

When I shut the truck off I heard someone asking the whereabouts of Ambassador Jones, standing outside the truck.

I stepped out to shake Ambassador Bernardi’s hand and then said a quick thanks to Andy for the on the spot hand signals. I told him to go with the plan we had talked about for getting everything to the embassy.

We walked to sit in my Suburban; it was closer than the limo he came in.