Read Online Driver, T. C. by The Great Ark - Free Book Online Page B

now. This island was no more than a big sand bar in the middle of the endless, blue ocean waves. We landed in India; again, seven hours later, another island (still not mainland) and fueled again. This stop we had    only a porta-potty break. Each leg of our journey was seven hours long. This transport chopper used the old fifty-five gallon drum fuel tank extension method from Vietnam that I had not seen in years. We were all cramped and cranky. By the end of this leg, I would have more respect for our strange, masked pilot. This raspy voiced Darth Vader pilot became our trusted ally, but never a friend. The mystery pilot's voice roared ' As in the days of Noah, so shall it be' painfully chilling everyone on board to the bone with fear. This dark, soggy, monsoon night was thick, wet, dreary and long. When we finally landed next to three large hangers, we had again traveled a span of seven hours. Three diminished, dusk to dawn lights, one on the front of each hangar, fought for our attention, each trying to shine through the heavy buckets of downpour. Water stood on the football field size pavement over six inches deep, which miserably soaked our footwear as we ran. The wind and constant heavy rain were unmerciful; endless. Each of us was totally spent, soaked and cranky, even Duck (haha). Each person was glad to be free of our chopper prison hell.
    An Indian couple known to Goldwater, welcomed us into their simple house across the back alley from hangar one. We all plunged through their door from the storm and flood. Stopping cold, we wedged tight together inside; no room for us in the Inn. Unk, Moore and I cleaned off chairs in the front room piled high with junk and slept into the next day's afternoon. No food or drink was offered to us and by the looks and smells inside, that was a blessing. Our group of six persons, and very many large cockroaches joined the old couple in refuge from the flood. We all huddled together in their little house. Afternoon sunshine brought still no relief from the never ending rain. At 3pm, we all, (now almost dry) stood in hangar one. Unk was describing our flight plan on large, 'clean', stainless steel mechanics tables. Cold pizza never tasted so good. We tore into our boxes. All except Duck. He ate all of his food in the chopper yesterday. Nobody would show ole Duck any pizza mercy. Nobody that is, except my Sarah.
    We were each to fly one new Boeing B48 to the VPI of India for the big air show. We would be joined there with others to form two groups of six; a stunt formation and team in the show. We would be at the show seven weekends in total. Then the planes would be taken apart and flown (in storage) to Thailand. At this old, formerly American base, refitting of plane's landing gear would take place to make them operational for use on the Great Ark. This whole process seemed 'complicated' and boring. Unk started talking 'Goldwater-like' during our long briefings he was not impressive; both men became overbearing butt holes. All I could think about was one Sarah Coe. She was cozy up tight beside me as we bent over flight plans during the briefing. We both only pretended to listen. Sarah was an expert at the 'one breast' back stab hug; all men know it well. Sarah used it to her great advantage. I felt like an old caged bull pawing the ground, heart pounding, hoping my embarrassing, boyish stupidity did not show. The Big Air Show was very near the VPI of India and took place in a beautiful 'high class area'. This show, for an old aviator like me, was candy store priceless. We all enjoyed flying in the show and gladly put in long hours. The first month was all practice. Unk was in charge of our stunts. Unk, four Boeing guys, four from another ship, myself, and two old, has been Indian Air Force aces made up our squadron's team. Sarah was bumped to 'alternate'. She flew only one fourth or so of the time. The Indian Air Force home team would not allow women pilots and 'Daddy Coe' was