going to be a bitch.”
“Do we have to prep the aircraft?” Malaby asked. The sergeant explained in detail that the aircraft had to be totally defueled as the fuel tanks were in the wings, and which inspection panels had to be removed. “That will take some time,” Malaby conceded. “I’ll have to stand them down to get them ready.”
Allston thought for a moment. “Prep and scan our two OR birds first” – OR meant operationally ready – “and get them back into the air ASAP. Do the three hangar queens last. How long before all five will be OR?” Malaby and the sergeant conferred. They agreed they could have all five C-130s flying in six days, provided the wing spars all scanned clean and free of cracks. “We need to talk.” Allston led Malaby, Lane and the other two majors into the offices on the side of the hangar. The air conditioner ground noisily, barely able to hold the temperature down to eighty-five degrees.
“We’re going to hustle the next six days,” Allston told them. “We’re going to fix the Herks while we keep flying, and we’re going to make this place look military. Move the tents and trailers into straight rows. Clean everything up. Cut down all the brush. Paint everything you can. Inventory the supply tents and find out exactly what we’ve got in the way of relief supplies. And get the tents organized.” The four officers stared at him in astonishment. “And set up a decent laundry service. I’m tired of everyone smelling like a goat and looking like they crawled out from under a rock.” He paused and smiled. “Hey, at least no one needs a haircut. Next, we got a problem with the fuel dump. We need to build a berm around the bladders to contain any leaks. Hire a local with a Bulldozer. Make it happen.”
“Finally, I’d like every Dick and Jane here to fly on a relief mission. I want them to see what I saw at Abyei. But it is voluntary.” He looked at them. “Any questions?” Four very unhappy officers left him alone as he turned on his laptop computer and called up his secure line to send an e-mail to Fitzgerald.
Estimate fully operational in six days. Need more Security Police and 200 side arms.
He hit the encrypt/send button and went to bed.
FOUR
Malakal
T he early morning shadows retreated across the parking ramp and the five C-130s gleamed in the growing light. It was the coolest part of the day as the compound came to life, and the big hangar doors accordioned back to reveal a vacant and spotless interior. The floors had been painted and the maintenance stand used for X-raying the wings disassembled. The inspection team stood by their loaded pallet, looking very pleased with themselves. Outside, Allston and his staff walked around the aircraft. “Colonel Malaby,” Allston said, “well done.”
“Thank you, sir. Please tell the troops.” Then, “Oh no!” She pointed to a big banner stretched high across the front of the hangar announcing BUMFUCK SOUTH. “Who did that?” Allston suppressed a laugh. He suspected a gremlin named Loni Williams had been at work. “I’ll get it down,” Malaby said.
“Leave it,” Allston replied. They walked into the hangar as it filled with men and women, all wearing freshly laundered flightsuits or ABUs, and the UN blue beret.
“Well,” Dick Lane said, “this may be the first Air Force open ranks inspection ever held in Africa.” The four halted as the detachment formed up in ragged groups. Lane groaned loudly. “You can dress ‘em up, but you can’t take ‘em out.”
“Call the detachment to attention,” Allston told Lane. Malaby and the two other majors stood behind Allston as Lane marched forward. He stopped and came to attention.
“Flights!” Lane bawled. “A-ten-HUT!” The 4440th more or less came to attention. Only the eight-man security police detachment had a clue and looked military. Allston told Lane to give them parade rest and the order was dutifully relayed.
Allston stepped forward.
“Do we have to prep the aircraft?” Malaby asked. The sergeant explained in detail that the aircraft had to be totally defueled as the fuel tanks were in the wings, and which inspection panels had to be removed. “That will take some time,” Malaby conceded. “I’ll have to stand them down to get them ready.”
Allston thought for a moment. “Prep and scan our two OR birds first” – OR meant operationally ready – “and get them back into the air ASAP. Do the three hangar queens last. How long before all five will be OR?” Malaby and the sergeant conferred. They agreed they could have all five C-130s flying in six days, provided the wing spars all scanned clean and free of cracks. “We need to talk.” Allston led Malaby, Lane and the other two majors into the offices on the side of the hangar. The air conditioner ground noisily, barely able to hold the temperature down to eighty-five degrees.
“We’re going to hustle the next six days,” Allston told them. “We’re going to fix the Herks while we keep flying, and we’re going to make this place look military. Move the tents and trailers into straight rows. Clean everything up. Cut down all the brush. Paint everything you can. Inventory the supply tents and find out exactly what we’ve got in the way of relief supplies. And get the tents organized.” The four officers stared at him in astonishment. “And set up a decent laundry service. I’m tired of everyone smelling like a goat and looking like they crawled out from under a rock.” He paused and smiled. “Hey, at least no one needs a haircut. Next, we got a problem with the fuel dump. We need to build a berm around the bladders to contain any leaks. Hire a local with a Bulldozer. Make it happen.”
“Finally, I’d like every Dick and Jane here to fly on a relief mission. I want them to see what I saw at Abyei. But it is voluntary.” He looked at them. “Any questions?” Four very unhappy officers left him alone as he turned on his laptop computer and called up his secure line to send an e-mail to Fitzgerald.
Estimate fully operational in six days. Need more Security Police and 200 side arms.
He hit the encrypt/send button and went to bed.
FOUR
Malakal
T he early morning shadows retreated across the parking ramp and the five C-130s gleamed in the growing light. It was the coolest part of the day as the compound came to life, and the big hangar doors accordioned back to reveal a vacant and spotless interior. The floors had been painted and the maintenance stand used for X-raying the wings disassembled. The inspection team stood by their loaded pallet, looking very pleased with themselves. Outside, Allston and his staff walked around the aircraft. “Colonel Malaby,” Allston said, “well done.”
“Thank you, sir. Please tell the troops.” Then, “Oh no!” She pointed to a big banner stretched high across the front of the hangar announcing BUMFUCK SOUTH. “Who did that?” Allston suppressed a laugh. He suspected a gremlin named Loni Williams had been at work. “I’ll get it down,” Malaby said.
“Leave it,” Allston replied. They walked into the hangar as it filled with men and women, all wearing freshly laundered flightsuits or ABUs, and the UN blue beret.
“Well,” Dick Lane said, “this may be the first Air Force open ranks inspection ever held in Africa.” The four halted as the detachment formed up in ragged groups. Lane groaned loudly. “You can dress ‘em up, but you can’t take ‘em out.”
“Call the detachment to attention,” Allston told Lane. Malaby and the two other majors stood behind Allston as Lane marched forward. He stopped and came to attention.
“Flights!” Lane bawled. “A-ten-HUT!” The 4440th more or less came to attention. Only the eight-man security police detachment had a clue and looked military. Allston told Lane to give them parade rest and the order was dutifully relayed.
Allston stepped forward.
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