New Horizons Air Service

Chapter 1: Draco - Mission 1

10 April, 1970

Draco:

The whine of a starting heartbeat was what first pulled him from his sleep, but it was the ‘thrum’ of two six-cylinder engines coming to life that put the smile on Draco’s lips. As he’d expected for one of their workdays, Aadi was first to taxi out to the runway, for the Indian flyer the most vital role. It would take his O-2A Skymaster the longest to make the trek from their base outside the boundary of Redcliff to wherever in Rhodesia they were being sent today, but without Aadi, no one else would be taking off. 

The ringing of the red phone next to his headboard before their Indian compatriot had even taken off concerned him, so when Doug ‘Draco’ Downsen lifted the receiver, his voice was flat when reciting their cover-company’s catchphrase, “New Horizons Air Service: your vision takes off with us.” The red phone rings, and we take our wings… he privately mused, trying to wake his mind with the morning sun.

“Prepare to copy.” the calling voice responded promptly, snapping Draco to alert. The distinct properness of the English meant the caller was one of their contract controllers, probably at the British Embassy in the Rhodesian capital of Salisbury.  One of only three locations on the continent that would have our numbers, and direct calls mean direct work.

“Reports of ZANLA gatherings at makeshift camp. Coordinates: 18°40’32.3″S 27°09’48.6″E. Confirm support request.”

“Draco confirms, airborne in ten.” He responded. In that response, Doug confirmed to the controller he understood this was a combat mission and of pressing urgency. His caller gave no reply, simply hanging up on their end, and the pilot immediately took to the large area map printed up on his wall. Weather-tanned fingers traced their way to a spot deep in the Sikumbi Forest, making him scowl. Lots of tree cover, very low visibility overall…“BLU-32s it is then.” 

With that decision made, Draco picked up the whistle hanging from the wall and gave it one long blast, followed by two short tweets. Outside of his one-room stone hovel, the two English-speaking Rhodesian maintainers leapt from their makeshift table where a morning game of checkers had been going and set to work pre-flighting his A-37B Dragonfly. Even early in the morning, the rising sun was beating down on the cheap canopies hastily built over their parking spots. Already, Doug had to wipe sweat from his brow as he quickly zipped up his flightsuit. 

“Bossman! Eh, Bossman!” one of the ground-crew called to him as Doug emerged, dressed and helmet in hand. No matter how many times  Doug told his crew chief not to call him that, Chanda still used the nickname to summon the pilot. “What is it, Chanda?”

“Only one 32 left, so we balanced you out with two 81s on the other wing,” the mechanic reported.

The news made Doug grumble. “Did we put in an order for more?”

“Aye Bossman, but no deliveries yet this month.” Chanda shrugged, adding a new hot item to do as soon as he was airborne: Find out what the hell is taking Santa so long…

Filing that action item away for later, Draco was quick to the cockpit while his ground-crew went over the Dragonfly one last time. Doug had come into this contract with doubts, especially when they saw their operating base near Redcliff, which was little more than flattened dirt strips covered by steel plates for makeshift runways. Yet the expedience and the professionalism of their maintainers had impressed him, which he knew was part of a larger plan. If it were up to me, I’d smuggle you guys out in an instant. Damn Brits sure left you guys hanging when they gave this place up…