Towerguys World Tour

[ZK-KAG]

Wow, the adventures of Craig start to get wild!!!

Hope you get out of that one!!

~ZK-KAG~

[G-HEVN]

Does your insurance cover being shot down in bandit territory?

[towerguy]

'watch the speed, watch the speed, slow but under control, fly it in' I thought to myself. There wasn't much time to do anything - a quick mayday call, fuel off, grab the wallet and then we were going in.



I don't know if they were still firing at us but I don't remember much of the next few minutes. A screen full of trees, a loud bang and then a kalaidascope of images. I remember a tree branch passing inches in front of my face and then just as suddenly gone. The thrashing of foliage against the fuselage, a tremendous thump and metal tearing like cardboard, the aircraft lurching up on its nose and thumping back down thankfully upright.



I must have hit the panel with my face or something as my nose felt mashed and the front of my t'shirt was covered in blood. The side of my head was thumping like I was kicked in the head by a mule and my right leg felt funny.
Tony was slumped forward unconcious with a lump the size of an egg on his forehead but he looked okay otherwise.
Overall not too bad I thought!
Turning around I nearly lost breakfast. Ben, sitting in the right hand seat must have taken the brunt of a hit with a tree. The entire rear end of the aircraft had torn away, his right arm and half his chest going with it. I won't go into details suffice to say it's a sight I never want to see again.
Unclipping myself I twisted around to check on Mike and nearly cried out from the sharp stab of pain from my right knee. Biting my lip and trying again I got round far enough to see that although out cold Mike seemed in one piece.
Through the open tail end I could see back along the trail we had carved. A mess of broken branches, ripped and gouged dirt and torn foliage. Parts of the tail section were poking out of some bushes about 30m back. Turning back to the front I could see the prop had gone and the remains of the left wing was folded up and over the top of us. Of the right wing there was no sign it was just.. gone.
It was then that I smelled the familiar odour of avgas and saw a thin trail running down the canopy towards the engine cowl.
"Oh chr1st not a good day for a BBQ"! Using my shoulder I wedged open my door as much as I could against the scrub. I managed to unclip Tony and get his seatbelt clear. As his door was up against a tree there was no way of getting him out that way so crawling out myself I turned and began heaving and struggling to get him out my side. It sounds easy but I can tell you ,it's not! I remember thinking Tony really had to take it easier on the corporate lunches in future. Still adrenalin is a wonderful thing especially when coupled with the fear of fire!
Dragging him in fits and starts around the aircraft and back along the trail a bit nearly exhausted me. My knee was not giving me any thank you's either.
Thankfully Mike was easier to get at throught the back but that was about all that was easy.
Man is he built like a Gorilla! it took about 10 minutes of pushing,pulling, swearing and sweating just to get him out and onto the ground. Then another five to get him over by Tony.
Crawling back one last time I did a quick whip round for anything useful, my backpack with the handheld GPS for one, also Tonys laptop was sitting wedged into the corner of the cockpit. I didn't think it would ever run again but he might have wanted the hard drive so it went into the backpack as well.
As much as I didn't want to I gave Ben a once over for wallet or ID etc in case the family wanted it. Thats when I found his small totebag tucked in beside him. Checking it quickly I felt something hard and came up with his pistol and a couple of spare clips. "hmmm" I thought and chucked it in my bag for now. I remembered now Tony had chucked something similar to Mike so had a quick hunt around and sure enough tucked in the back of my seat was an identical bag.
Backing out of the plane I half hopped and lurched back toward the others but lost my footing and fell A over T into the bushes.
It's funny how the small things like that fall can make the biggest changes. It saved all of us.
I don't know how long I lay there just trying to not throw up and to stop shaking, but eventually I remember the sounds of the jungle coming back and the sound of excited voices raised nearby. It was a dialect I'd never heard before and they didn't sound too pleased so I carefully reached into my bag and eased out Bens' pistol.
Quietly I sat up, they hadn't noticed me and for now that was fine with me. This was definitely not a rescue team.
There were three of them. One I could only just see back along the trail, facing away. Just a vague outline of stained white Tshirt, khaki trousers and an automatic rifle held low in both hands.
The other two were standing over Tony and Mike having what looked like a heated argument with lots of arm waving and nodding of heads. Both had skin so black it was almost blue and hair so short it was more of a fuzz. Both had the same faded khaki trousers and boots, the younger of the two was topless and the elder wore a faded and torn camo pattern tshirt but it was the wicked looking Ak74 slung over the shoulder that got more of my attention. The younger one must have been in charge as after a brief burst the elder fell silent and nodded.This young guy looked a nasty piece of work with weapon over one shoulder, knife sheathed behind his back and a huge 'panga' or machete in his left hand which he lifted and was about to lay into Mike with.
The H&K P7 automatic pistol was developed for the German borderpatrol. It has a safety release built into the front edge of the grip so it can be rapidly drawn and used without fumbling around for safety catches. Once it is correctly gripped, just 'point and click'.
My first rounds took young nasty low in the back and up under the shoulderblades toppling him forward into the bush.
The next took the other one in the midriff folding him over to collect my fourth round in the head and push him backward to join his 'friend'. Before I could look, the rapid tearing of automatic fire coincided with the crack of rounds passing my head, the foliage shredding and the tree trunk above me exploding in a shower of splinters. Luckily I had been sitting down! I thought 'my pistol against his rifle, this isn't going to be either good or long'. Then his head dissappeared. I blinked and looked again. sure enough, no head!? His torso dropped to one side and everything went still. I looked at the pistol in my hand and thought 'I don't think I even pulled the trigger?'.
I know it sounds rediculous but I couldn't help myself, I started to laugh, everything seemed uproarously funny, I couldn't stop.
I couldn't even do anything when the two fully camoflaged figures stepped out of the trees across from me.

"Sh1t Ted, poor sods gone off his nut!"
"Nah mate, he'll be right, just reaction, come on."
On some unseen signal two more figures emerged from the bush. SAS. It seems this four man team had been 'observing' terrorists in this area as 'guests' of the government and we had dropped nearly on top of their bivouac.
By now Mike was awake and struggling to his feet and Tony was sitting holding his head and moaning.
"Hey Ted ain't that Mike Langston?" the short red headed soldier indicated toward Mike.
"Mike who?"
"Mike Langston, you know, that yank SEAL that was over on exchange when we were down in ... you know, where you met that nurse and her friend."
Mike looked up with a wry grin on his face "guilty as charged, hi bluey, I didn't think I'd be seeing you again, at least not like this. Thanks for hauling us out."
"not us mate. Thank your pal here" said Bluey, nodding at me."just about all over when we got here."
Turning his head my way Mike stared for a moment, nodded and said "thanks I owe you one."
So that answered one of my questions, about Mike at least.
Just then the squad leader approached. " Come on you lot, old home weeks gonna have to wait. Ted, Bluey, finish checking them out and get ready to move, this place is going to be crawling soon and I want to be well out of it.Steve and I will police the site and check the trail, we move in ten."
Things started happening quickly after that. Ted cut branches and strapped up my leg so I could take weight on it. Mike was able to help out now and we were ready to move inside the alloted 10 minutes.
Bluey on point followed by Ted,Tony Mike and myself with Steve and the leader ( I never did get his name) bringing up the rear. I hoped that there were either no more bad guys around or that they were as deaf as posts because no matter how quiet I tried to be I sounded like a herd of elephant out on a bush bash.
They said it was only about an hours walk but it seemed a hell of a lot longer. Continually stopping to listen and wait then move again then repeat it all over again. The whole time Tony clutched that laptop like the hounds of hell were after it and him. During one of the pauses I didn't see the others stop and walked into the back of Mike.
"Sorry mate, oh by the way this is yours" and I handed him the totebag with his gun in it. I also gave him Bens.
"sorry about Ben as well"
"Yeah well... dangers of the job I suppose. Thanks again for getting us down and then out of the wreck. As for those two you took out ... if you need I can recommend someone to talk to, if you ever need it."
Steve and the skipper dissappeared into the trees and were gone for what seemed like ages. They silently reappeared 10 minutes later from a totally different direction. "Just a little 'surprise' for anyone following" said steve.
Moving again we walked, and walked, and walked. My head was pounding and my knee had gone through all the stages of agony and was now just a constant ball of pain. I lurched along head down pouring sweat and sucking in lungfulls of foul gas laden air. The whole area reeks of it. goodness knows what it must do to those that have to live in it.
Finally reaching a clearing I was in no condition to help so collapsed down into the grass.
"I'd be careful where you sit round here mate" said Ted " the natives aren't all that friendly".
"really!?" I replied.
Perhaps he noticed my cynicism. Looking round and seeing me nearly totally done in and still covered in my own blood and sweat, he laughed.
"Yeah well I guess maybe you already noticed that".
In moments Bluey, Steve and the skipper had the boat inflated, engine set up and us loaded.
It turned out to be a pleasant late afternoons boating. Thats if you disregard looking out for Hippos and anything toting a gun out to kill you. Oh also the blood soaked clothes, crook leg, headache and one missing passenger. I won't even worry about the wood splinters in the top of the head. Minor details.
We cruised for about two hours up and down tributaries until reaching their vehicles, hidden up in a farm field. From there we were driven back to Port Harcourt and loaded onto a C130 bound for Lagos.
While I was being seen to by the medics the SAS boys dissappeared so I never got to say thanks properly to them. Tony and Mike had disappeared into the aircraft somewhere out of sight. Not that it mattered much. I don't know if they gave me something or not but I was asleep before the engines started.
I remember waking up briefly while deplaning at Lagos and saying 'seeya' to Mike and then again at Lagos hospital.
That place is a book all on it's own. But at least they did keep a couple of pushy reporters away.
Anyway to cut it short. After a few days the swelling on the knee went down, the stitches in the scalp started to really itch so that was a good sign and the various Police and Military types paraded through, all wanting to hear the story and ask all the same questions in a dozen different ways. (I left out the part about who actually shot who. I'm not in handcuffs and want to stay that way.) I still look like a raccoon with two black eyes and numerous small cuts and heaps of bruises. Things are not so bad though. After a week Mike turned up and sprung me out, loaded me into a car
and whisked me off to the airport and into the company Dolphin helicopter. Very plush I must say.
I am now sitting back, feet up by a nice beach along the coast someplace being waited on hand and foot. All expenses paid per kind favour of the company. I don't exactly know how far up the tree Tony is but I'm told I can stay here as long as I need and once I get going there is a Fuel Carnet card waiting with 'TGY' (which is under security guard) and don't worry it will 'never' run out.
It's nice and I'm not going to turn it down but after reading about whats been done to the people of the Niger Delta, what these people are fighting for and having seen, smelled and breathed the place, I'm thinking of going all electric!

Am I sorry I shot those guys? Yes and No. Yes because I really think they were driven into a pretty poor situation, but NO because it was 'them or us'. They weren't about to give us a chance so they lost theirs. I had to make an instant decision, whether to shoot or not. There wasn't the time to sit back and reflect, weigh up pros and cons, rights and wrongs. I was taught - make a decision and act! even if it's the wrong one at least make one. If it's the wrong one you can fix it but at least its better than doing nothing at all. You might feel differently and fine. Let me know how you get on under the same circumstances. But until then well ...

I think I'll end it here for now, sit back and enjoy the feel of the cool sea breeze. Another day or three and I think I'll make a move to carry on.



Lagos to Port Harcourt 247.9nm 1.7 hrs



Survey 250nm 2.5 hrs

Totals 13007.6 nm 90.7 hrs

[Ian Warren]

I need to print this out TG , have a good read during sunny arvo , were are u going to get the money's for a new plane ?

[towerguy]

not my problem - it was the companys C210 so they can talk it over with their insurers.

[Naki]

Have you ever considered writing a book?

[Ian Warren]

not my problem - it was the companys C210 so they can talk it over with their insurers.

I'd go more upmarket , lookin forward to follow your tails so to speak

[G-HEVN]

Towerguy Action Hero. Are you selling the movie rights?

oh, and any chance of a lend of your fuel carnet when you get back?

[ardypilot]

This is the most interesting sim tour I have ever read by far!

Very exciting stuff there, youre a great writer Craig

[towerguy]

I couldn't stay sitting around any longer. I'm not a natural 'beach' person so recuperating there was great but the novelty soon wore off. My face is still pretty beat up but the hair is growing back around where they had stitched up some of the cuts. The thing that worried me most though was getting my knee back in action and strong enough to take the pressure if the aircaft had to be flown Assymetric for any reason. There was nothing broken but it's taken hours of physio to get some strength back and I'm still using a cane when I get too tired. I'm like a taller version of 'House' but, so I'm told, not so patient or nice natured.
Using the phone number Mike gave me I organised a lift back to the Airport and a flight back to Port Harcourt to pick up TGY. Instead of the expected taxi, an MD500 showed up at the hospital helipad. Painted all black with a broad diagonal white stripe it looked sweet. 'Cool' I thought as I handed my backpack up to the pilot and climbed aboard. Back at Lagos we landed alongside a white Lear 45 and transfered aboard. Moments later we were taxiing. I must say that you could get very used to travelling like this, wow is eveything done for maximum comfort! Watching back out the window as we lifted off I caught sight of the Helo lifting and turning away to the north. Something is familiar about that, what is it? the image of a helicopter in the same markings cutting across some buildings just stirs something thing in my memory, it's just there but I can't quite get it out.
'Oh well if it's important', I thought, 'it'll come back when it's ready'.
Another reason that I wanted to get moving again was self preservation. The military types that had been visiting regularly were starting to ask some questions that were beginning to lead in directions I'd prefer they didn't. So it's time to do a bolter. If they have any more questions they can post them care of Winston!
It felt funny being back at Port Harcourt again. Okay this time I was back on my own but it still felt strange. Like everything in between had been part of a bad dream but I had woken up with the scars that said otherwise. Oh well at least the weather was being consistant, stinking hot with 99% humidity and the sun strong enough to soften the tarmac.
TGY was parked there gleaming and polished. I like these guys style! Checking quickly, yep, fully fuelled too.
It was while putting my gear in the back that I dropped my backpack. The zip was open and eveything tumbled out.
"D@mn it".It was while picking things back up that I found the wallet.
Faded brown encrusted with dried blood turned almost black. I knew right away that it was Bens but I had thought I had given all his things to Mike. It must have worked it's way under the bottom lining of my bag and just now fallen out.
Picking it up I thought back to that day and remembered Tony and Ben laughing as they walked back from ... the offices!
Sure enough there was the door they had come out of. Maybe if I leave it here with the company they can forward it on to the right place.
Opening the door I don't know what I expected, maybe a smiling receptionist clattering away at an old typewriter maybe a phone ringing and someone working away behind a desk. Well it certainly wasn't that. There was... nothing! Not just no receptionist, no nothing ,no desks no people, just empty space, a few old rags and an empty chip packet laying in the middle of a bare floor. Wandering in to the adjoining offices netted the same results. There was a battered phone on the wall but there wasn't even a dial tone, no one answered when I tried calling, just an empty echo.
It looked, sounded and smelt deserted. This place hadn't seen use in a long time.
Puzzled I closed the door and wandered back to the aircraft. Something just didn't add up here. Why did Tony make it seem like this was a company office if it wasn't. For that matter I suddenly realised that Tony had never specifically mentioned which particular 'company' it was that he was working for! I had always assumed that it was XXXXX as thats the big player here. Well as they say in ATC, never assume it just makes an ass out of u and me! I felt like someone was playing me as part of some bigger game that I didn't know about and I didn't like the feeling. No wonder those military types were starting to get touchy, their inquiries were obviously coming up with more questions than answers, just like me.
Just then the sound of jet engines on the takeoff roll bought me back to the moment. The company jet. Racing, as much as I could, around the end of TGY I watched it rotate and climb away back to the west. No rego and no visible markings that I could see. Looking around the airfield it was noticeable how all the oil company equipment had prominent labels and company logos displayed.
"D@mn d@mn d@mn it!" I felt like the worlds most gullible sucker right then.
I filed with the tower and after preflighting, got under way.
It did feel good to be back in familiar suroundings again as I taxied out.
Once cleared for takeoff I gave her full throttle and pulled into a max rate climbing turn over the field to intercept track and I kept it at max rate till 9000ft.



I wasn't about to give anyone a second chance at an easy shot again!
There was quite a bit of scattered cloud around and I was more than happy to be inside it. I'll probably be paranoid for quite a while. Maybe I'll take up the offer of the shrink from Mike when I get back after all. Hmm thats if Mike really is Mike.
Emerging out of the cloud on my right was Mt Cameroon.



The highest peak in west Africa and an active volcano, last erupting in 2000. Cameroon itself is a land of contrasts. High rocky and dry mountains in the north and west to vast equatorial forests in the east and south. The forests are some of the oldest and and most extensive in all of Africa but over logging is the big threat and there is constant battling to set up conservation areas and reserves. The coast to the west also has an abundance of white sandy palm fringed beaches.
I'm arriving during the 'light rains' which last from March to June before the 'rainy season' which lasts from June till October. I'm not staying long in Douala.



It's hot and muggy, talking of which, it's not good for that either ... muggings! The whole country suffers really badly from institutionalised corruption.
Shooting the ILSDME 30 approach I was visual about half way down.



Once landed and secured I caught a taxi in to the city.



It was only a short flight but it still left me tired and wanting to just collapse and have a cold beer.
I have some hard thinking to do about what has been going on over the last few weeks.






this leg 193.2 nm 1.7hrs

total 13200.8nm 92.4hrs

[chopper_nut]

Jeeze mate, I was going to head down South America in my B26 but after that little 'mishap' you had, Im tempted to stay away from third world countries!

[G-HEVN]

Gosh,
I'm glad I'm just going up through South America - it's going to be positively peaceful in comparison. (Chopper nut: Maybe we could meet up...)

[Florian_S]

Glad to know your back in relative safety!!

[scon]

WOW yea good luck

[Kelburn]

how long has this journey take so far.
I mean look how far you've gone.

[towerguy]

took off on 2nd feb so it's been 16 weeks with stopovers etc so far. a couple of those were recovery so we've seen, so hopefully things will keep moving from here... maybe.

[Alex]

Wow, awesome stuff Towerguy - compelling reading!

Alex

[towerguy]

I refuelled at Douala this morning in the rain. At this time of the year that's situation normal.



You just have to really careful with the fuel drains. Interestingly enough the fuel carnet worked. I had half expected it to be rejected.
I'd had a few ideas about things that had been going on but I had no real theories or anything to go on. Wandering over to the cafe' to grab a coffee I spotted the newsagents with a large poster for Time magazine. That's when I remembered! I knew I'd seen those choppers before! Time had run an article about the privatisation of the war in Iraq and the number of non-military personnel working there. The authorities couldn't get a reliable answer as to how many there were but it was around the 100,000 'private contractors' mark. One of the largest was an American outfit, I can't remember the name, but they were all ex-special forces types and worked contracts all over the world. Everything from Hollywood red carpet affairs to near all-out wars. There had been a photo of one of their aircraft, an MD500 scooting over some rooftops. Black with a broad diagonal white stripe! That would explain Mike and Ben as well. But Tony? What was a bogus business man doing running around West Africa with expensive bodyguards? And why did he need me to do his flying for him when he had all their aircraft available to him? Did the security outfit know he was bogus? or maybe he's not but what he's up to is? Yeah that's more likely. Maybe getting shot down had put a spoke in his works, and what was he looking for out there anyway?
Buying a coffee and guidebooks to the Central African Republic and the Democratic republic of Congo I made my way back to 'Golf Yankee', stopping on the way to drop off my flight plan. IFR Douala to Bangui via overhead Yaounde.



Punching up through the cloud I levelled at 10,000ft, got set up and pulled out the guidebooks to flick through.
Someone must be on my side. That book gave me the 'heads up' that changed everything from that time onwards. Just one little sentence in the middle of a paragraph that changed not just mine but several lives forever.
"30-50% of Diamonds leave clandestinely every year."
I had no reason, no proof, but it just seemed to make sense. Tony had been looking to meet someone and it had all gone pear shaped on him. He was trying to move or get something moved, and muggins me was being used to do it. Like I said, I had no proof and it seems far fetched but I just had a feeling that this was right and here I was flying right back into the dragons den with every turn of the prop.
Thinking it over I decided to carry on for now. They probably wouldn't be looking for anyone smuggling stuff 'into' the country, and I had no proof I was anyway. I'd do a proper look around when I got there. Maybe it would all be 'pie in the sky' stuff and I could forget it and carry on with my holiday. I hoped so.



Just before Yaounde the cloud cleared and I was treated to the marvellous vista of equatorial Africa. Vast jungle and savannah stretching away in all directions as far as the eye could see. I even spotted an elephant crossing one of the jungle clearings.
The whole of this region is the mighty Congo River basin.



It and all of its tributaries shape the land and the way of life here. From the highlands to the east along the Ugandan border it grows and grows until it finally reaches the Atlantic Ocean. The watershed and the forest it supports are second only to the Amazon. With the vastness of the forest, travel is primarily by air or by river but with the coming of progress - and the loggers - the roads are slowly reaching across. Most of them though are still dirt and totally impassable in the wet.
Bangui is the Capital of the C.A.R. but the country is one of the poorest so I hoped the Airport was okay. The charts look okay but who can tell.



After dodging showers again on the way in I landed on rwy 35 and taxied in to the ramp, parking in a corner well away from other traffic and out of sight of onlookers at the terminal.



Getting out I opened the aircraft right up. Where to start? I figured if Tony, or whoever, wanted to transport something but get them back easily then it would have to be somewhere well hidden but still quickly accessible.



Taking my flashlight and a screwdriver I started a walk round like "golf Yankee' had never seen before. I checked every panel and every rivet on every panel trying to see any marks or scratches that I couldn't remember seeing before. Man you would be amazed at how many nicks, scratches, dents, scrapes, cuts and sh1t there are on what looks like a reasonably clean aircraft. But nothing looked out of place or as if it had been replaced. Same with the engines, wings, tailplane and nose locker.
It was an hour and a half later that I found it.
Tucked right up inside the wheel well almost out of sight. A rectangular plastic box screwed into place. It was about the size of a couple of flush boxes. Dirt and grease smeared over it made it nearly invisible and I admit I nearly missed it completely myself. There was an opening at one end that looked like you had to pry it open with a screwdriver so that's exactly what I did. Then I let out the breath that I didn't even know I had been holding.
No explosions or sirens so that's a good start. Noting exactly how it had been on I eased the cover slowly off.
Attached inside secured against the aircraft was a black leather pouch about the size you'd keep sunglasses in. Despite the sweltering heat I felt chilled and just sat there for a couple of minutes staring at it. Undoing the twist ties securing it in place I slipped the pouch into my pocket, reattached the cover and crawled out.
Glancing about nervously I felt like everyone on the Airport was watching me.
Sitting in the right hand seat I opened the bag and tipped the contents onto a Jepp chart spread out on my lap.
Holy F#ck! There must have been about two dozen of them. ... 22, 23, 24. Yeah exactly two dozen rough diamonds. The smallest the size of the fingernail on my little finger and the largest two about the size of the knuckle on my thumb.
Chr1st Almighty! This was more than just sneaking a couple of diamonds out. This was a small fortune. No it wasn't. It was a bl00dy enormous fortune!
I was being used as a mule. A dumb beast of burden and expendable at that I bet!
Wow! I felt angry, I felt upset, and I felt used, stupid, and yes -greedy as well. I felt the whole lot all at once.
Think dumbass think! What to do? Should I turn them in to the authorities? They'd probably just end up back in the hands of some corrupt politician anyway. And how do I explain how I came by them? I'd probably be inside some g0dawful African prison for months while it was all sorted out. And if this was Tony's doing then I was going to get him! Maybe if I just chucked them into the grass and flew away? Nah someone was going to be looking for them and if they were not there then they would start asking questions, probably painfully too!
Blo0dy Diamonds! What did I know about diamonds? I sat starting to feel sorry for myself when I thought 'hang on, I DO know something about diamonds, or more specifically, SOMEONE who knows about diamonds'.
As the saying goes "don't get mad, get even". Well now I was going to start getting even and thought I had the beginnings of an idea how.
Packing up 'Golf Yankee' quickly I surreptitiously scraped a hole in the soil at the edge of the tarmac, dropped the bag in and covered it up. Scraping the loose stones around, it looked like the rest.
Then I caught a taxi into town. I needed to call Pat.
Pat owned a pub in the Northern Territory of Australia. I've been there a few times. It's what I call 'straight line country'. Standing in the middle of the road at the border of Queensland and NT under an empty blue sky, 4 lines run horizon to horizon. The road, the railway, and the powerlines and at 90 degrees the fence line. It's like being an ant on a billiard table. Attached to the fence is a tide marker and the red line is up at 10ft! Looking around, the only movement is the shimmering of the horizon in the sun baked air and the only sound is the wind. Try to imagine how much water it would take to fill this to 10ft deep! I had always wondered why the houses round there, a thousand miles from the sea, all had boats in the yard. Now I knew.
Pats' pub was one of those real timeless Aussie outback places. You know the type, two storied, corrugated iron roof with a wide covered wooden deck around the bottom. A couple of faded couches against the wall where you can sit and watch the dust devils. Mostly the local aboriginal kids hang out there or the occasional drovers dog. It probably was painted once but now it's the same red as the earth and the colour of the rust on the roof.
Inside is the typical old pub, almost a museum of drinking history. Mirrors with scratched advertising around the edges, faded photos of locals and long forgotten football teams. Half a dozen tables with scattered coasters and mismatched chairs. The usual dark wooden bar in one corner with a brass foot rail and - bless you pat - air-conditioning!
Yeah Pat did okay. He didn't make a fortune but had enough to get by and had a couple of the local widows on the prowl for him. He owed me big time for a couple of things and more importantly - he knew how to contact Steve. Just knowing that info was enough to keep him indebted to me forever.
Yes, Steves the one I needed now.
Sitting in the taxi as it bounced its way into town I thought about how Steve and I first met.
Steve was a pom. Short and skinny with dark hair and a pasty complexion. To the rest of us he just seemed an average sort of guy, nothing special, but goodness must have spilled the pheromone bottle or something when Steve was born. Streuth, the birds just wouldn't leave him alone. Even Steve didn't understand it. We'd ask him what it was he did but he'd just shrug his shoulders and grin.
It proved to be his undoing as well. His parents had moved to Amsterdam for work while he was still young and Steve grew up running wild around the less salubrious quarters of the city. Even at a young age all the working girls knew Steve and had adopted him as a sort of younger brother/pet. Anyway Steve being Steve he had his run-ins and grew up learning how 'business' was really conducted. When he told me the story he said he was into 'acquisitions and mergers'. He'd 'acquire' things and 'merge' into the night. Eventually he'd left town just ahead of the pregnant wife of a local magistrate! Piecing together other things he's said, I would say it wasn't his original passport that he left on either.
It was while working bar in Sydney that Steve met Tania, a tall stunning brunette with 'model' looks. Once again Steve's magic went to work and before he knew it she was head over heels in love and two months along.
Steve, being the reliable and upstanding type that he was - did a runner, heading out on the fruit picking circuit. Tania headed home to Melbourne and spilt all to daddy. Bad move Steve.
Daddy. Mr Eastermann. Big Lou Eastermann. Yeah that's right THAT 'Big Lou Eastermann'. What the Americans would call 'a made man'.
Nothing on the eastern seaboard of Australia moved that he didn't own, control or know about. Whether by Rail, shipping, air or especially by truck. Anything to do with freight. That was just the legal side of the family business. Casinos, kickbacks, extortion, drugs, you know-the usual range, made up the rest of the business.
Tania was the apple of daddy's eye and daddy was seriously not happy. Boy was that an understatement. If Steve ever set foot anywhere big enough to have more than an outhouse then he was dead meat.
Anyway Steve and I met while doing the grapes outside Merbein, which is near Mildura up on the NSW/Vic border. We were sharing a 10ft square corrugated tin pickers shed for the season. Sitting around in the evenings after work we'd have a few 6packs of VB or resches and chew the fat. Some evenings we'd sit down by the Murray near the rope swing and chuck rocks at the snakes and it's there that he'd told me the whole sorry tale. About his dad working in the diamond trade and all the girls he knew working in another trade.
It was about this time that word of his whereabouts got back to Melbourne.
Two weaselly looking fellas turned up one day at the hut. Luckily Steve was on the dunny round the corner at the time and out of sight.
"Hey kid you know Steve Thompson?"
"I know a Steve, don't know his last name though."
"Short, dark hair, skinny guy."
" Yeah sounds like him alright, why?"
"Where is he?" great manners these guys had.
Being an open and honest type of guy I immediately told him the truth.
"Went into Mildura about 2 hours ago, said he was going to the bank and then over to the baths for a swim. Probably end up at the pub if I know him."
As they got back in the car I asked them " you guys want to leave a message or something?"
B@stards didn't even answer, just spun the car around and kicked dust all through the hut and sped off in toward town.
We moved Steve and all his belongings over to an old pickers hut on the NSW side of the river back in among the trees and stocked him up for a couple of weeks.
The weasel brothers, as I'd nicknamed them, came back that evening wanting to know if Steve had come back yet. I said he'd come back and when he heard about his visitors he'd packed his gear and taken off on his bike headed west. Didn't say why.
I knew there was a major intersection not far that way so he could have been going anywhere.
After taking my name and giving me a split lip and a good thump, they left. I hid Steve for 2 weeks while I finished out the season. We dumped his bike in the river so it wouldn't be found - pity because it was a good bike. Then I smuggled him out of the district and eventually up to Port Douglass in Queensland where he knew a girl that would help him and more importantly would keep quiet about it.
I hoped so as I didn't want to end up on the wrong side of all this myself.
It turns out her brother had been forced out of business and badly beaten because he refused to pay 'protection insurance'. He'd moved to the Northern Territory and bought a pub. He would arrange for Steve to disappear for a while. That's where I had first met Pat. We had a few adventures of our own where I had pulled him out of trouble and he'd done likewise for me, but those are another set of stories.
Pat helped Steve and told me if I ever needed to contact him then I could leave a message, he'd get it through. I didn't ask how or where Steve was. Sometimes I figure it's best not to know.
But now I needed Steve.
Finding an Internet cafe that actually worked here in the center of Africa was less of an ordeal than I expected. Go figure. The machines were surprisingly up to date and the connection not bad. I guess the odd tyrannical despot occasionally gets something right some of the time. Quickly downloading an anonymiser program I logged through an anonymous hotmail account and sent the message to Pat. Then I spent about half an hour setting a couple of other things in motion before logging out. I wanted to be away as quick as possible as that little voice was now in full scream and it was saying 'get out, now!'. It was time to move.
Runups were done briefly on the taxi, hoping 'golf Yankee' would forgive me this time.
"M'Poko tower Zulu Golf Yankee taxiing for 17 vacating VFR to the southeast with 1008 and ready."
I noticed an official looking sedan racing up to the control tower. It was the typical movie type of thing. Black car screeches to a halt, two official looking types pile out looking right at me, turn and disappear in the tower door.
"Zulu Golf Yankee backtrack line up rwy 17."
"Zulu Golf Yankee lining up 17."
As I turned at the end the Tower called again.
"Zulu Golf Yankee return to the apron please."
I read back "Zulu Golf Yankee cleared takeoff, rolling 17."
An honest mistake, I must have just misheard what he'd said. Really!
Feeding on the power I accelerated down the runway to the accompaniment of the Tower Controllers continuous demands for me to stop. It sounded like several other voices raised in the background as well. I'm in the middle of Africa in a country that has 30 to 50 % of its diamonds smuggled out illegally with a fortune in contraband diamonds hidden in the wheel wells, an implausible half baked idea of whose they were and how they got there. And they want me to come back and have a chat? Yeah right Mate!



Levelling out at 1000 ft I headed over the river into the D.R. of Congo. I least I was in another country already. I hoped that would delay pursuit and muddy the waters as they are not the best of friends. After 20 miles or so I figured I was safe enough to turn east. I didn't think the antiquated radar they had would pick up a non-transponding primary target down low.
Quickly entering a direct track to Gbadolite into the GPS I set the autopilot and set mixtures etc. and let 'Golf Yankee' do her thing. I needed some time - time to think and time to let my hands stop shaking. Who tipped them off? and why?
Grabbing my flight bag I knocked back a couple of Panadol and some water, grabbed out maps and pen and paper and started to write. I only stopped when it was time to call Gbadolite tower for joining.



On the ground I was relieved to find no meet and greet committee so figured I had about an hour, or at least that was what I was going to allow myself.



I had now put together in my head more of an idea of what I wanted to do, so again taking a battered wreck that passed itself off as a taxi into town, I again hit the web. The www the worldwide wait! I wanted to hit the side of the machine. It wasn't doing too badly, but right now a Cray Supercomputer would have seemed slow. Eventually I had what I was after and printed it out, again another wait. I paid the attendant and gave him a decent tip to forget he'd ever seen me. Probably not much point but you never know.
I struck a bonus getting out of Gbadolite. The tower was unmanned. I must have been between scheduled flights or something. So I just played Nordo and got outta Dodge. I know it's not good airmanship, but I was operating on nerves and the big sky theory. Eventually though the cloud started to build up and dark was coming down rapidly, so I bit the bullet, called Kinshasa control, got an IFR clearance to climb.



They didn't have any messages or demands so I took that as a good sign.
Night fell rapidly as I slid in and out of IMC.



It's like flying out over the ocean in the dark. No lights to be seen apart from the periods between clouds when the sky positively shimmers with stars.
Eventually I joined for the ILS approach into Kisangani.



The runway lights seemed to float in the blackness and it was like doing a night carrier approach. The runway slowly growing, hardly moving, then suddenly you are over the approach lights and everything speeds up as the lights whip past.



Shutting down I leaned back in the seat. I daren't shut my eyes just yet or I'd be out. I still wasn't back to normal and all the adrenalin and heavy thinking had taken its toll. I felt like I'd had a six-pack. Damn, the fuel gauges were just about sitting on the empty stops so I'd need to take care of that tomorrow.
No one around now. Locking the aircraft I made sure nobody was nearby or watching and then I dropped and slid under the engine and retrieved the pouch from the wheel well. No point leaving it here, just in case.
Waking a dishevelled looking character sleeping in the back of what it said was a taxi, I got dropped at the nearby 'hotel'. It was probably first class around here - all the walls were still standing and it still had a roof. The room was a dump,a communal bathroom and the bed was little more than a wire hammock. I took it and slept soundly all night long.



These legs
Douala (FKKD) - Bangui (FEFF) 760nm 3.9 hrs
Bangui (FEFF) - Gbadolite (FZFD) 190nm 1.1hrs
Gbadolite (FZFD) - Kisangani 400nm 2.4 hrs

total 1350nm 7.4nm
Totals 14550.8nm 99.8 hrs

[ZK-KAG]

Riveting story!!!

More more!! hehe

[Naki]

Good stuff - haven't read a good novel for ages!