PIREP Leg 10 UKLR Rivne, Ukraine to UKFF Simferopol, Ukraine...or maybe Russia.

[J G 927]

I arrived at Rivne airport having picked up a lift from Brize Norton in a Fat Albert¹ thanks to my mate Bill². Those of you who read my AWTC5 adventures will know who I mean but also I had a good number of friends in the RAF now, so hitching a ride with them wasn't a drama these days, in fact, it was one of their that was helping to supply the aircraft for this leg.

 

The Charlie One-Thirty. disgorged its cargo, apparently essential aid for the loyal Ukrainians in east Ukraine, indeed the chimp unloading the stuff said it was a bit like the aid Mr. Putins relief convoy sent in to the separatists not so long ago although it looked like a couple of Saxons to me and some other more dubious stuff as well.. Best not seen I thought, and as it was minus five and starting to snow I said goodbye to the Hercules crew and headed off to the warm immigration hall as fast as I could.

 

Once I had my passport scrutinized, stamped and laughed at, yes it is the photo they were smirking at, and as I was a tad early for the baton,I went to inspect the aircraft for my first flight of the Around the World Challenge 6 leg. It had been delivered earlier in the week and was ready and waiting in a hanger for me.  All seemed to be in order with the aircraft but more on that later. Meanwhile I thought I would have a dekko at the town and do the tourist thing for the day or two that I had free.

 

Rivne, or PiBHE in the local lingo (don’t ask me to pronounce it), dates back to the thirteenth century and has a bit of a chequered history. It has been part of the Duchy of Lithuania, part of the Polish Commonwealth, then the Russian Empire, briefly Ukrainian, before being Polish again, then German and eventually being gobbled up by the Soviets, only to become Ukraine again after the collapse of the Soviet Union. It was an important centre for eastern European Jews, that is, until the German bit mentioned above.

 

Rivne

It is not a big place with a population of just 250,000, but it’s an important cultural centre and rather a nice place with beautiful parks and museums.  I noted this from a pamphlet and, as it was now minus eleven degrees C, I went straight to a warm bar. And rather bizarrely, a cold beer.

 

The bar was heaving with a large amount of local tottie. Ukrainian women are particularly interesting. The young women of Ukraine stunning, there is no other word to describe them. But here is the weird thing; the older women are quite the opposite. It has you wondering how they go from hotties to hags. Do Ukrainian men wake up one morning to find their gorgeous wife has been replaced by the worst kind of dinner lady imaginable? Oh the mysteries of the east, we may never know. It a Shrek thing.

 

 

Mysterious Transformation.

The men, however are almost universally dressed in what must be Ukrainian trendy.  Black shoes, black jeans and a black leather bomber jacket.

 

Having let my mind wander, I decided to get cracking on planning the leg. My plan was simple. Essentially it was to take off, fly to the Crimea and land at Simferopol. No messing about. I went to the airport to see when TRB was due and to submit my plan. TRB was late for some reason, not due in for a day or so, so I completed my plan and submitted it for approval on the understanding that it could be dated for any day in the next week Mr Bribe coming to my rescue here. This time my plan was scrutinized, pointed at and laughed at. This confused me as my plan didn’t have a photo of me attached to it, and if anything they were laughing louder than they had done at my passport. However, Jobsworth one and two stopped. laughing abruptly when their boss turned up.  Boss man gobbed off to them in the local lingo, and after several Ukrainian yes sir, no sir and three bags full sirs handed boss man my flight plan.  He didn't laugh.  Perhaps he didn't get his minion's joke as well as me.

 

“Ah Mr Guest” said one or the officials in an accent that made me think that he would next be saying “Welcome to SMERSH, it is time for you to die!”.  He didn't say that, what he said was; “You are a funny man, you want to fly to Crimea? Yes, yes that is very funny (but he still wasn’t laughing), and in a military aircraft, that is just so funny, oh the English sense of humour!” He sneered.

 

He stopped sneering very abruptly and became Mr Angry. “No it is not possible, the Russians are there. Are you spy? Yes I think you are! Come with me!” He wasn't a happy bunny now. In fact he was so unhappy that I was stripped and given the rubber glove treatment.  After this I was given some prison issue clothes and thrown in a cell.

 

Well I thought, look on the bright side. This will save on accommodation bills and the cell was clean, it had a metal bed with a wipe down mattress that actually looked like it had actually had been wiped down. I had been in worse places, and some of them were hotels.

 

My Cell

In the morning the door opened suddenly without warning. A jug of water and a bowl of cardboard porridge was placed in my cell and then I was left to my own devices for the rest of the day. In the evening the old bowl and jug were removed and replaced by new ones.

 

In the morning the door opened suddenly without warning. A jug of water and a bowl of cardboard porridge was placed in my cell and then I was left to my own devices for the rest of the day. In the evening the old bowl and jug were removed and replaced by new ones. Oh, I just said that didn't I. Well I just wanted to imbibe some feeling of how exciting my life was at that time. On the third day the fire alarms went off, causing a mild panic in me.  Was I about to be burned alive?  It turn out that the fire was in another building that was used as a store, so the drama was quickly over.

 

In the morning of the fifth day the door opened suddenly and, to my surprise there stood a uniformed woman who had clearly been through the mysterious transformation mentioned above. She didn't enter the cell, probably because she must have been wider than the door, but told me to follow her.  I judged that it wouldn't be a good Idea to annoy such a woman so followed dutifully behind her.  I was shown into an office and into the company of laughing boss boy from earlier. The name on his desk was in unintelligible.  No I don’t mean that he was called Mr Unintelligible, what I meant was that it was in Ukrainian and therefore used an alphabet that was unintelligible. Anyway, he introduced himself as Vasyl.

 

Straight away he apologized for detaining me, you couldn't be too careful with the situation in Eastern Ukraine etc. etc. Some wheels had been turning in the background, exactly what, I didn’t know, but I was sprung and that was a good thing. Vasyl then went on to say that unfortunately it still would not be possible to fly to the Crimea because of the ongoing dispute there.  However he said, if I was to fly to Moldova that would be okay with the Ukrainians and Russia will consider flights in from that country. He managed to say “Russia” as if it was a sexually transmitted disease. It was looking like I had a bit of a detour on my hands. Then he broke the news that would prove to be a major problem later in this leg. All of my clothes had burned in the fire.  However the prison would be providing me with new ones, and yes they were Ukrainian trendy.  Black shoes, black jeans and a black leather bomber jacket.

 

Vasyl helped me out with the flight plan to Chisinau, Moldova, the distance of 550 Km was well within the aircraft's range so as soon as I had the Baton, that was to be my first port of call. From there to Simferopol I was on my own. It was doable in one hop as it was only about 450 Km.. What was yet to be proven was; was politically doable? Vasyl said goodbye and turned to go. He hesitated, turned back and said “Good luck with the rest of the challenge, I enjoy Flight Simulator also.” He had clearly got to know of the challenge and had a change of heart.

 

 

 

I went to the airport bar and ordered a beer. I got a cold Lvivske 1715, a typical Pilsner Ukrainian bier with a name you can’t pronounce. Not so good for the export market then. A young man entered the bar and after looking around, made a bee line for me. “Hi, are you J G?” he asked, and after confirming that I was, sat down on the bar stool next to me.  He ordered a Livwhatsername, pulled out the baton and handed it to me. “Thanks Ted” I said. “You don’t mind me calling you Ted do you?  Perhaps Eddie-Baby? Sweetie? Sugar-Plumb? Frank?  Perhaps we shouldn't go there.  I spent the next ten minutes explaining myself about the Monty Python sketch.  Either he hadn't heard of it or he was just making me squirm for a laugh, and I can’t blame him for that. We finished our beers and Frank, sorry Eddy-baby and I went our separate ways.

 

Having procured the Baton, I went over to the hanger to meet my navigator and help run out the Blackburn Buccaneer. My Navigator (who wished to remain anonymous) was to be a friend who had ferried the aircraft to Rivne. The weather had become cloudy and a bit warmer but the outlook wasn't too good.

 

 

 

We refueled the aircraft at one of Rivine’s fuel stations, and started going through the checklists prior to setting off on the first part of this leg. The flying Banana was a favourite aircraft of mine, now an historic aircraft but not so long ago it was in action in the gulf, delivering the good news to Sadam and his minions. Soon we had taxi clearance and set off for the active.

 

 

 

 

 

 

We were told to line up and wait and spent a minute or so being a very expensive snow blower before being given take-off clearance. Once given, we started our take-off role.

 

 

 

 

 

This navel aircraft was built to fly low, so that’s what we did for the first two or three minutes flight keeping the aircraft on the deck. Soon ATC piped up and instructed us to climb to 5,000 feet and so our bit of fun was over. The weather was closing down and so we climbed to get above it.

 

 

 

 

Glimpses of the ground became smaller and further apart as a snow storm swept in. we climbed higher still to get above it and were soon above a dense blanket of cloud. The weather below the fluffy blanket it was very nasty indeed.

 

 

 

 

We spent a long time skimming over the cotton wool blanket, all the while getting nearer and nearer to Chisinau with no sign of a break for us to land through. The time had come to make our decent and we gently dropped into an opaque wrapper.  Down an down we went, I thanked God for the radar altimeter as I tentatively lowered the aircraft through the storm, all the while being thrown around by ever increasing turbulence.

 

 

 

 

 

Suddenly, very suddenly we dropped out of the cloud at 500 feet.  I knew the airfield was directly ahead of me but the snow was so heavy I could see very little.  An then, there it was, the runway lights glowing diffusely in the blizzard. Down went the wheels and I put on the last degrees of flap.  My airspeed was a little high so I put on some air break and visualized the two sections of the rearmost fuselage splaying out to provide the much needed drag.

 

 

 

 

Soon we were safely on the ground and had quickly taxied to the stand.  We shut down the aircraft and dashed for the cover of the airport buildings.  My co-pilot need a piss and so I flipped open my guide book and read up on Chisinau.

 

Chisinau isn’t a very interesting place these days, although its history is remarkable if only in its misfortune. There is virtually nothing older than the late 1940’s, the city being destroyed in World War Two. Firstly it was taken from Romanian control in 1940 by the Russians who did much damage in taking the city, and then this was compounded by a massive earthquake later that year. Then, in 1942, the job of destruction was taken on by the Germans as they occupied the city by force. After the Germans, the Russians came again in 1944 battling hard against Hitler’s best, pulverizing what was left of the place as they came. During the Soviet occupation post war the place was rebuilt with Stalinist architecture. Grim. So not a good place to live during WW2, worse if you were a Jew, 10,000 Jews were murdered by the Germans in their initial occupation alone, the total murdered during German occupation must have been many more, but the exact number is not known.

 

Chisinau

 

My mate, having finished his comfort break, joined me and we moved off to go through immigration. Having arrived in a military aircraft, the local officials were deeply suspicious of my intentions, like the Ukrainians they thought us spies, and this belief was compounded as we wished to fly on to the Crimea.  They decided to investigate the matter with the higher authorities and while we waited for the outcome of their inquiries…. They threw us in a cell.

 

 

Oh no not again…

 

This was extremely unpleasant. Even the filth was filthy. Believe me, the Ukrainian cells are much nicer. We shared a cell with another guy who was suspected of being a spy, like me all in black.  I wondered if he was from Ukraine, whatever, he was a thug on a man and didn't speak any English. Fortunately we weren't there too long as they straightened things out after an hour or two. We left the prison and booked into a hotel.

 

In the hotel I noticed there was a perfumery. Good I thought, an opportunity to get the wife a present to pacify her when I return from what was proving to be a longer period away from home than expected.  I went to the counter and asked the pre-transformation girl if she had any Clarins face cream. She replied that they did not stock Clarins, but perhaps I would like to choose something from the range on display in the cabinet behind her? I had a quick look and said “hmmm… N^o7?”. Oh I see said the girl.  Please wait while I get him.  I must have misheard, I am sure she said get him. She flitted away for a few seconds and returned with a big scary bloke dressed in black like me.

“Have you come from the prison?” He asked.

 

When I answered yes he said “I am Number 7, your destination is Simferopol?” and when I replied that it was he said “Good, you must be Number 13. Here is the package.” He handed me what looked like a suppository. “You know where to keep it, and you know the price of failure.” With this he pulled aside his jacket to reveal a full shoulder holster. I can tell you I was almost in need of number 2 when I saw the gun. “You will be met by Number 4, who you know.  You will hand the package to him and to no one else. Your flight plan will be approved and you must leave as soon as possible.” And then he strode off. I popped to the loo (rest room for our American cousins) to, well, stow the package. Who the hell was Number 4 and why did Number 7 think my name was Number 13?

 

 

That afternoon I submitted our flight plan to Simferopol, which was immediately cleared, no questions asked, which I thought was odd given the problems I had at Rivne. Things were looking dicey, if I admitted I was not Number 13, my goose would probably be cooked. Likewise if I didn't deliver the package to Number 4. So I put two and two together and reasoned that I should pretend to be Number 13 and having taken the package from Number 7, I should deliver the package to Number 4.  Whilst a bit worried about the contents of the package, I was satisfied it was well hidden and all would be just fine.  I decided not to tell my navigator of my numerical mix-up. How stupid can I get?

One good thing about my spell in the clink was that the weather had at last cleared. My co-pilot had taxied the aircraft to the fuel box and then back to the stand.

 

 

 

 

We soon had the baton on board and were going through the pre-start checks. We fired her up and after a few minutes we were taxying out to the active.

 

 

At the threshold we contacted the tower and were on our way. Hmm the package was out of Moldova undetected, half the job done.

 

 

Wheels up and climb to 15,000 feet and settle down to a comfortable flight.  And so it was for the first forty minutes or so.  Suddenly my navigator called out we have a bogey closing fast! – No make that two! I immediately unclipped my oxygen mask and checked my nose. No, all was OK there. I then realized what he was actually telling me.  Ha-ha, I thought, he is playing “were on Buccaneer mission game”. Well I wasn't in the mood so I told him to stop playing games and get on with the navigation. “No” he said, “look out to the left!”  So I looked, and this is what I saw:

 

 

 

“Errm… isn’t that a Mig 29” I asked. “yes” said Nav, “and there is another one the other side!” And so there was.  They seemed to have a lot of missiles on them and I don’t think they were a baton welcoming committee.

 

 

I called up the tower at Simferopol and explained who we were and that we had a logged flight plan. I then asked what the f**k was going on with the Mig reception committee? I was told not to be alarmed as since the people of the Crimea had voted to become part of Russia, it was standard practice to intercept all aircraft flying towards the Crimea that flew below 25,000 feet. And so we were escorted down, our new best mates only breaking away when we were on short finals.  We touched down and rolled along the snow blown tarmac. We were directed to a gate and once there shut down the aircraft. Engines off and canopy open we heard the two Migs touch down behind us.

 

Simferopol was full of Russian aircraft, lots of Mig 29s like the two that had intercepted us a good few Aeroflot passenger jets. there was also an Ilyushin IL96. The aircraft had clearly landed just ahead of us and did not belong to any Russian airline. It was surrounded by excessive security. Strange I thought.

 

 

 

The IL96

 

I said goodbye to my co-pilot who was to fly the Buccaneer back to the UK after a quick refuel. He couldn’t wait to go, I think the whole Mig thing had put the wind up him a bit.  After a brief interview with some strangely co-operative Russian immigration and customs officials, made for the bar thinking I could use the loo there and discreetly retrieve the package. I bumped into one of the guys from the Il 96 as I went for the little boys room. He looked very like Vladimir Putin and was surrounded by bodyguards. I didn’t think it could be him, he looked too short, and he also had the remains of what could have been a comb over.

 

 

 

Angry man. Hasn't he got crinkly hands - too much dirty washing?

 

The man asked me what I was doing in Simferopol in an RAF aircraft, to which I replied that I was just passing through, and that the aircraft was in fact ex-RAF and a flying museum piece. I then asked him; “Why are you in Crimea?” For some reason he really really didn’t like this. He got very worked up indeed and started gobbing off in Russian. I would say unreasonably angry. Perhaps he had misinterpreted me? He was still shouting at me in unintelligible Russian when two of his heavies grabbed me and dragged me off to cell in the airports security section.  Bugger, but it gave me time to think. I had a lot of questions and no answers......

 

Who was Number 4?

 

Who were Number 7 and Number 4 working for?

 

How was I going to find him and deliver the package?

 

Could I keep the package hidden?³

 

What would happen if I failed to make the meet with Number 4?

 

How was I going to get out of jail this time?

 

Oh yes, there was also the small matter of the baton…..Things were looking bleak, all I could do is wait and hope.

 

 

 

What was wrong with my question?

 

Blackburn Buccaneer - Flying Stations

Mig 29                        - Flyaway Simulations

Scenery                      - Orbix Global

                                   - Orbx Global Vectors

                                   - FS Global 2010

                                   - REX 4

 

 

¹ RAF slang for a Hercules.

² Please see ATWC 5 Leg 15.

³ No it was hidden in the Baton, where else?  Oh boy, you lot have grubby minds!

[hurricanemk1c 195]

Excellent story and leg there John (if you can read this in prison!). You get all the fun......

[brett 2,314]

You are starting to match my jail time JG.  Great story John, surprised I have to ask what addons did you use.

[stu7708 244]

Just hang tight John, I'll have someone come over an pick up that baton from you (can't promise we can bust you out of Jail though)...

 

We just need to draw straws on who get's the honor (?) of heading to Crimea (shuffles the bunch and makes sure I get first draw).....

 

 

Great flight, intriguing story and great shots.. just what I've come to expect from you mate 

[J G 927]

You are starting to match my jail time JG.  Great story John, surprised I have to ask what addons did you use.

 

Thanks for reminding me Brett. Post edited to add add-ons used.   

[mutley 4,497]

Above and beyond the call of duty JG and well done for hanging in there.

A superb PIREP as usual 

[ddavid 149]

Interesting story, J.G. - not sure about the transformation being specific to Ukraine, though! Thanks for sharing.

Cheers - Dai.

[Bruce (a.k.a. brian747) 142]

Well done, John, great PIREP - although you really need to work harder on keeping out of clink! 8-)

Congratulations on an "interesting" time..... ;-)

Cheers,

B.

[The red barron 41]

OH I SEE!! First you complain that I'm late, and try to blame me on the fact that you're in jail! Then you decide to call me Sugar Plum; amongst other names! (perhaps I should have sent one of the Boeing engineers, would've gone down well) just because you spent time in jail and might of had a soap dropping incident...... Now you're in jail, again..... there goes my sympathy (and chances of bailing you out)...  I do here though that the company credit card can be used as a bribe for bail, and Sharron....

 

Apart from that, great PIREP!

 

 

 

[Captain Coffee 2,030]

Ha,  great PIREP JG.

Hope you enjoy your stay at the Simferopol Suites!