J G 927 Posted February 6, 2016 Report Share Posted February 6, 2016 At the end of leg 56 I found myself up shits creek without a paddle in the town of Bouake in the Ivory Coast. Actually being in Bouake is bad enough, but being in the town lockup was a whole lot worse. True, I was safe from being robbed, murdered or kidnapped, or indeed all three of these things whilst in the jail, but that made but a little alleviation to the more personal danger that being inside the lockup presented, that is to say, rape. At least whilst on the outside I could mitigate the offered perils by avoiding certain areas (most of the town in fact), or buying a black market gun, or by my favoured method of self-preservation; legging it as fast as I can. Being in the prison there was no escape. I couldn’t even hide in the toilets as I doubt I would have been able to secrete myself in the bucket in the corner. Please don’t put me back in there! If you recall, I was about to get perhaps a little too intimate than I would have liked with about fifteen unwashed and rather smelly members of Bouake’s criminal fraternity, when to my short lived relief I was wrenched from the prison to be delivered to some none to amicable Russians who were no doubt in the employ of one Mr. Putinfeld. That Mr. Putinfeld who, whilst not robbing, raping or kidnaping me, may well visit upon my being the other Bouake offering, that of murder. So here was my dilemma. Rape or murder. What would you do? On balance I thought it more likely that I would survive rape, at least in the short term, but I have yet to have come across someone who had survived being murdered. On the other hand going back to the lockup meant an absolute certainty of rape, whereas surrendering myself to Putins goons would keep me “virgo intacta” and might just offer a chance to escape sometime down the line. As well as a chance to escape, there might be a chance to use something other than a bucket for those more personal of tasks. I decided to take a chance with the goons. I was bundled into a carb by three heavies, two sat in the back either side of me and the third climbed into the driver’s seat. My abductors rammed a bag over my head and we drove off swiftly. I suffer from car sickness if I can’t look out the window whilst in a vehicle. And so it came to pass that I became first a bit queasy, then quite ill and then finally I vomited. This is not a good thing to do when you have a bag over your head. However I managed to spill some on one of my captor’s lap, to which he took exception, causing him to curse and punch me in the stomach. This action told me something about the I.Q. of the goons I was dealing with. I ask you, punching someone in the stomach just after that person had just vomited? Not very bright. I gave him second helpings. We arrived somewhere and I was dragged out of the car and into a building and sat in a chair to which I was tied. The hood was then removed from my head, and my face was wiped down. I was in a vast empty hanger with just me, right in the middle, and two of my new best mates standing over me. I guessed the third had gone to change. One down must improve my chanced of escape. Oh no! Not the comfy chair! Actually, no the un-comfy chair. The goons conferred in Russian. The one with the length of hosepipe said “Da” and proceeded to hit ne across the stomach with said length of hosepipe. This wasn’t very pleasant, and we hadn’t even be introduced yet. The other goon, whom I shall call Goon A, then asked in English, “Vare es de baton?” I replied “I don’t have it”. Goon B, The goon with the hosepipe, reintroduced my stomach to the hosepipe. Now double winded; I could hardly speak. As I was allowed to get my breath back I considered how best to address the subject of the Baton. It seemed that I had two options; continue to deny that I had it, or to drop Steph in it to get these nasties off my back. I decided on a compromise: I told them that I had already passed the Baton to another pilot, but I had to do the leg after and so would be picking up the baton in Ouagadougou. There was another conference between Goon A and Goon B, and after several minutes of Russian gobbledygook punctuated by a few “das” and a few “neits” ,and then Goon A got on to his mobile phone to someone. More Russian gobbledygook but with a more liberal sprinkling of “das” and “neits” followed before he hung up. The now stinking bag went over my head and I was soon back in the car. This time I managed to soil Goon B’s suit. You would have thought they learned but then, as I said before, you wouldn’t find these guys at a university, unless the university town had a zoo. When we got to our destination, the airport, I was down to one goon. Goon A and I boarded a private jet. Once inside my hood was removed and were soon in the air. I have no idea what aircraft we were in but I thought it might be an Ilyushin IL-96-300. The aircraft was lavishly fitted out as the photos here show. Putinfeld’s board room We walked through a board room like section to the more comfortable part of the aircraft. You could hear the echoes of words such as “Give your report number three.” At last the comfy chair! Well sofa actually. It seemed probable that we were chasing after Steph and the baton and were on our way to Ouagadougou. By now I was worrying about Steph getting caught up in this, I resolved to protect her as much as I was able. It then dawned on me that my personal goon would have no idea what Steph looked like or even that she was a she if you see what I mean. I could use this to my advantage should the need arise. When my captor went aft to drain his bladder I took the opportunity to write a little note. Putinfeld’s toilet. Air freshener please! Sure enough we arrived at Ouagadougou airport, we were clearly here obtain the baton. I guess the goon had been told to let me collect the baton and then then extract if from me, probably using violence. As I left the aircraft my hopes were raised slightly by the sight of an RAF A400M on the tarmac. Could this mean that Jasmine was in town? I hoped so. The goon and I walked into the terminal and cleared passport control and customs. I was hoping that my goon would have his silenced Makarov pistol detected and thus free me of his clutches. No such luck. When was the last time you went through a metal detector going in to a country? It’s never happened to me. As we walked through the terminal goon hung back a bit so as not to put off a baton carrying person from approaching me. Suddenly there she was with her back to me scanning the terminal for me. I had but one chance, I strode over and accidently barged into her. I caught her arm to steady her. Looking her straight in the eye I said “I’m terribly sorry, I should have been looking where I was going. Are you alright?” My goon hurried over and chivvied me along, but not before I was able to slip the note that I had written into her pocket. Message delivered all I had to do was get rid of the goon. The question is how? Goon A We sat in the terminal for an hour ostensibly waiting for a baton handover which would never come. I still hadn’t figured out how to lose my goon and he was getting impatient for the handover to occur. I could see that this situation couldn’t last forever, and I thought a trip to the gents might distract him from the long wait and buy me some time. I knew that he would be coming with me and so this would not be a chance at an escape, but it might afford a quick look at a location that I might be able to use later. I went into the gents with goon behind me and was heading for the urinals when there was a double thud behind me. I turned around to see my goon on the floor and a young man of about twenty five in a blue suit standing above him. I can only assume it was one thud young man strikes goon, and one thud goon strikes the floor. “Hello, you must be JG” the man said. “Captain Mainwaring, 22nd SAS, but you can call me Rupert.” he held out his hand. I shook it and asked “what did you do to him?” “Just a simple move I have learned along the way, he will come too in a minute or too. Can you help me get him into trap three?” We manoeuvred Goon A into the cubicle and sat him on the throne. The captain proceeded to lower goon’s trousers and underwear so that anyone glancing under the door would see what would be expected. “Let’s just give him a little longer to snooze” said Rupert whipping out a syringe and injecting Goons A’s arse with a clear liquid. “He won’t be disturbing anyone for four to six hours now.” We locked the goon in and left the gents. Waiting outside the gents was Jasmine. I was safe for now! Jasmin asked if I was okay and I replied that I was but for the bruising on my stomach. She asked if I was okay to pilot an aircraft out of here and naturally I said yes. I wanted to be here as fast as I could be. The three of us walked down a small corridor off the main terminal concourse and Jasmine opened a small door at the end of it and we entered a small briefing room. Jas and I sat down at a table and Rupert excused himself going on through a further door. Jas fished out the Baton from her bag. “Isn’t it strange what you find in lost property sometimes” she quipped. She also retrieved some documents from her bag. These included a flight plan from Ouagadougou to Menaka, which she put on the table in front of me. Rather worryingly, Jasmine referred to this flight plan as plan A. Plan A meant there was a plan B. I have a feeling I am not going to like plan B. Plan A Plan A was simple. Take off from DFFD Ouagadougou and fly to GAMK Mena. Two legs DFFD to DRRN Niamey Diori Hamani Airport, and DRRN to GAMK. Easy. “But that is not all we are going to do” stated Jasmine. I knew it, I just knew it! What was I getting caught up with now? This last set of capture, imprisonment and beating was the worst so far, as I haven’t suffered a beating until now. I was not keen to have another ride on that particular roller-coaster. “Spill the beans then Jasmine.” I demanded. “Here is plan B” she stated passing me a second plan. Plan B She continued; “It’s quite simple really, we fly to our first waypoint at 10,000 feet as planned. Then we make as to land do a low pass and then climb to 36,000 ft. Anyone not in the know will think that the aircraft climbing on radar is another flight doing a planed weather survey out to the west and back. We then fly the extra part of plan B and return to DRRN do the same low pass to look as if weather survey aircraft has landed, we have taken off for our second leg, and then we carry on as normal to Menaka at 10,000 ft.” Ok fair enough nothing too risky there if we are to stay at 36,000 ft. there was only one question to ask: I asked it. “Why?” “You don’t need to know that yet. I will brief you when we are in the air.” She answered. I didn’t like the sound of this trip, very cloak and dagger if you ask me, but I owed Jasmine a lot at the moment, so I agreed to do it. She is so good at twisting people around her little finger. Ask Brian, he gave her a free ride out of the Cape Verdi islands. The next question was “When.” The answer was that we would be leaving in half an hour. No chance to get settled then. I donned my flying kit and walked out to the aircraft to start my walk round and checks. She continued; “It’s quite simple really, we fly to our first waypoint at 10,000 feet as planned. Then we make as to land do a low pass and then climb to 36,000 ft. Anyone not in the know will think that the aircraft climbing on radar is another flight doing a weather survey out to the west and back. We then fly the extra part of plan B and return to DRRN do the same low pass to perform the radar switcheroo back, and carry on as normal to Menaka at 10,000 ft.” Ok fair enough nothing too risky there, a bit of subterfuge, but if we are to stay at 36,000 ft. there was only one question to ask: I asked it. “Why?” “You don’t need to know that yet. I will brief you when we are in the air.” She answered. I didn’t like the sound of this trip, very cloak and dagger if you ask me, but I owed Jasmine a lot at the moment, so I agreed to do it. She is so good at twisting people around her little finger. Ask Brian, he gave her a free ride out of the Cape Verdi islands. The next question was “When.” The answer was that we would be leaving in half an hour. No chance to get settled then. I donned my flying kit and walked out to the aircraft to start my walk round and checks. RAF A400M My walk around completed successfully I climbed up the stairs turned left and into the cockpit. Having flown fighters for a while I needed to remind myself of this four engine aircraft’s panels. Personally I find coming back to any aircraft reasonably easy once I have reminded myself of what is where. A400M’s Cockpit Jasmin appeared and said the cargo had been loaded. As she settled into the co-pilot’s seat I asked her what the cargo was. She replied that she would tell me later, but that all I needed to know was that its weight was negligible. A closer look at the office The gaping hole that my cargo disappeared into. I went through the engine start up routine and soon had all four engines turning. I then set about my post start up checks, switched on the HUD and was ready to go. Taxi permission and instructions we headed to the threshold. At the threshold Jas and I went through the pre take-off checks and then obtained take-off clearance. I pushed the four throttle leavers forward and we accelerated down the runway starting our take-off run; V1, Rotate and we were airborne. Take-off We had settled into our cruise at FL 100 towards Niamey Diori Hamani Airport, on went the autopilot, and I relaxed. Jas cave an impish grin and said why don’t you go aft and then you will see what the cargo is. I got up, went through the bulkhead to the cargo hold. It was empty except for four soldiers in some serious looking kit and pile of equipment which the men were sorting through. Ouagadougou from the air. FL 100 “Hello” said Rupert. “Meet Bravo patrol, Air Troop. Don’t worry about us, we will be out of your hair soon.” He grinned and went back to sorting out the equipment. Rather dumb struck, I muttered “I’ll let you get on with it then” and returned to the cockpit. I quizzed Jas about what was going on. She just smiled and said “HALO”. “Yes Jas, hello to you to, but what’s with Rupert and the others?” “HALO not hello you numpty, High Altitude Low Opening; parachuting out of aircraft at high altitude, opening the parachute at low altitude. It’s a method of covert insertion. We are going to drop these guys off so that they can carry out a mission. They will exit the aircraft at 36,000ft and open their ‘chutes at 500ft. that way they avoid detection from Radar and minimise the time for visible detection.” “What are they doing there?” I asked. Jas passed me a clipboard with a plasticised map on it that had been annotated in various coloured marker pens. “And how are they getting back?” “They are there to make life difficult for Boko Haram in the search area. To get out they will hoof it 150km to Maiduguri and get picked up from there.” “Make life difficult?” I questioned. “As in problematic when it comes to breathing. Anyway I have told you enough, but I would remind you about the official secrets act stuff you agreed to when you got security clearance for this kind of work.” I knew the tone of voice, Jas was being serious; possibly deadly serious. I never know exactly how far our friendship would stretch if I wronged her on that score. The Mission We were soon nearing Niamey Diori Hamani Airport, and started our approach. To make this look right for any prying radar watchers, I dropped the flaps and slowed the aircraft as I would do for landing. The only different thing was that the landing stayed up. I skimmed the runway and then pushed the throttles forward staying at 100ft I looped around for another approach, but this time staying under all but the local radar. After passing over the runway the second time I opened the throttles and pulled back the stick. Out pretend landing and take-off had to have a reasonable delay between the two so as not to look like a touch and go. Low Pass at DRRN Radar deception over, we climbed up to FL100, then up to FL200 and then all the way up to 36,000 and headed towards the east. An hour or two later, I can’t tell you exactly how long, Official Secrets Act and all that, and we got ready to do our covert bit. 36,000 ft Ready for the drop. We put on our oxygen masks and I decompressed the aircraft. When fully equalised I opened the cargo doors and before you could blink…….. Cargo drop ……….my cargo had gone. Cargo? What cargo? Door closed, I re-pressurised the hull and we turned back for DDRN. Another dull hour or two and we were ready to complete our deception. With Diori Hamani in sight we made as to land and then sharply banked around for another pass and a simulated take-off as planned. Second pass at DRRN Soon we were on our way to Menaka as if nothing had happened. We headed off over the remains of the jungle that soon gave way to a more arid landscape. It’s a bit weird going from jungle and scrub to sand and scrub, but soon we were flying over sand and rock desert. Final Leg. Our desert destination It turns out that the town of Menaka is where it is because there is water. Enough to keep a small patch of green and a few hundred souls in water where all around is barren and dry. On Finals We made our approach on to an uncontrolled strip of flattened sand and rock with a bit of scrub around it. Our props sent up an enormous cloud of dust as their wash touched the ground before we did, making the last few seconds of the landing as good as doing it in the dark. Parked at Menaka, Mali. I grabbed the baton and Jas and I exited the aircraft. We walked straight into the stifling heat of the Desert, instantly I started to sweat and instantly it evaporated from me It was nasty, and I made a mental note to keep hydrated. We stopped and looked for an airport building. There wasn’t one. The airport and, you have to understand, I use this phrase in the loosest possible way, consists of a long flat surface bordered either side with a stone wall. There were gaps in the wall where paths entered the walled off runway area, and a group of what looked like tents to one side tucked behind the wall. Menaka its self is just a grid of mud walled, flat roofed compounds in the desert. Not much at all. The river Ezgueret runs next to the town in a wide and shallow wadi, although I didn’t see any actual water in the "river", there was some scrub like vegetation scattered across the wadi floor which indicated water of some sort. How the populous survived here, I do not know. There must be water and the scrub must be fodder as I saw a few goats, but I didn’t see any other crops or water sources whilst I was there. Probably not the best party town in the world then. We walked over to the tents where we were greeted by some sun-dried locals with an “Assalaamu ‘Aleykum” to which we replied “Wa alaykumu s-salam” in our most polite and in my case only Arabic. We were invited to sit on some carpets and offered mint tea and sweet pastries by our gracious host. As we sipped the tea and ate the pastries Jas, who spoke Arabic, explained why we were there and who we were waiting for. It seemed that the idea of transporting a blue stick around the world was amusing to these semi nomadic people. In their world all energy was expended on staying alive in this harsh environment, and praying to God of course. We were offered the use of a tent for as long as we needed it and it was there we waited for Kieran. Hells teeth it was hot. There really was nothing here, no airport buildings, no fuel services, nothing except a flat strip in the desert. The town was a couple of kilometres away, but in this heat it may as well have been on the moon, you’d have died of thirst before you got there. And it wouldn’t have been worth the effort. As soon as we had passed the baton on we were going to take the A400M to RAF Akrotiri, the sanity of Cyprus and cold beer. Aircraft Labori Rolands' fantastic new A400M Op System Windows 7 CPU Intel Core i7 6700K Skylake Processor 4.00 GHz (Overclocked to up to 4.6GHz) GPU Chillblast NVIDIA GeForce GTX 970 4GB Ram 16GB Corsair/Crucial DDR4 2133MHz Memory Mother Board Asus Z170-A Motherboard Hard Disks 500GB Samsung 850 EVO Solid State Drive1000GB Samsung 850 EVO Solid State Drive Link to post Share on other sites
hlminx 301 Posted February 6, 2016 Report Share Posted February 6, 2016 A great escape, and a great PIREP John! Deftly handled Link to post Share on other sites
hurricanemk1c 195 Posted February 6, 2016 Report Share Posted February 6, 2016 Excellent escape, and superb shots. Nothing to stop you now! Link to post Share on other sites
Captain Coffee 2,030 Posted February 6, 2016 Report Share Posted February 6, 2016 Terrific comeback from two cliff hangars you were left upon. Bet that hot as blazes tent is a sigh of relief after the former accommodations...and a well appointed tent at that...mattresses...Swanky Even. I loved your 'side job' and the sneaky non-landing...You didn't mention it, but I trust you changed your transponder code after that "Didn't touch and go". Link to post Share on other sites
brett 2,315 Posted February 8, 2016 Report Share Posted February 8, 2016 Way to go JG, another close call but the Jaz pulled you out of it. Thanks for taking the hit or should I say hits for the Baton. Link to post Share on other sites
stu7708 244 Posted February 10, 2016 Report Share Posted February 10, 2016 Well played JG, very nicely handled. I bow to the new master of ATWC stories!! Link to post Share on other sites
mutley 4,498 Posted February 11, 2016 Report Share Posted February 11, 2016 Great PIREP John, I hope you get to Akrotiri ok Link to post Share on other sites
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