January 27th: Algiers demo
(We were not permitted to take photos at the Boufarik Air Base)
It is a short ten-minute VFR flight to the Boufarik Air Force Base for the demo the next morning. Taking off with the rising sun, we fly low. We don’t have any charts but as we clear their zone Algiers tower gives us the frequency for Boufarik and hands us over. We call the Air Base and get permission to land.
I demonstrate the short field landing capabilities of the Twin Otter for the waiting crowd of air force personnel by landing with full flap and make the first taxiway, just past the threshold. We taxi past more than a dozen Ilyushin 76’s parked in a row along the mile-long apron, their hulking grey carcasses in various states of cannibalization. Some have been stripped of their engines. On others, two hang below each wing like malevolent seed pods - thin and hollow tubes. Most of the monstrosities look like they have flown through too many sandstorms, the paint blasted and peeling in leprous scabs from their battered noses where the partitioned glass of the navigator stations stare down upon us rheumy and fractal, like the blind eyes of dead flies.
The only other aircraft in sight is a Beech 1900 painted in desert camo with an EO/IR gimbal mounted on the cargo bay beneath it. Presumably, this is our competition.
I pull the condition levers and the engines whine down, the props slowly unwinding to feather as military vehicles drive out to meet us on the apron. Air force officers pile out in their uniforms, resplendent with medals and bars, buttons glittering, adjusting their caps upon their heads and donning oversized aviator sunglasses as they strut out to see the Twin Otter. There must be at least thirty of them swarming us by the time I climb out of the cockpit.
After the meet-and-greet we arrange to have the aircraft towed to a hangar so that we can hang the S.C.A.R. pod on the wing for the demo. We roll by the IL-76 graveyard, the tug towing us. Before we get to the hangar we pass a bay with a couple of Pilatus Porters sitting in the shade, dwarfed by two more IL-76’s which are surrounded by scaffolding, skins and control services removed and their viscera of cables, hoses and wires exposed. I don’t know whether this is where antiquated Russian cargo aircraft go to die or to be reborn. Then I hear the roar of cold-war-era jet engines and look around to see an IL76 staggering away from the runway in a missed approach. Its paint is the dull grey of rotting corpses. The resurrected monstrosity shambles skyward, bloated in the sun.
The hangar is enormous and nearly empty but for two Casa 295s. They are painted a malignant green, dark and hunkering in the rear of the hangar as if into the shadows sequestered there they have tortuously dragged their decrepit bulk, away from the gaping hangar entrance, seeking refuge from the sunlight bright upon the dust that covers the concrete floor. We track the dust from the floor into the Twin Otter as we unload about twelve hundred pounds of gear and equipment and stow it in a cluttered concrete office by the Casas. Meanwhile, it takes half an hour for a score of army mechanics in blue coveralls to find a skeletal hydraulic hoist and outfit it with a battery so that we can lift the pod to the wing of the Twin Otter and mount it.
Once we have the S.C.A.R. pod installed, we are towed back past the macabre display of aircraft and down the long dusty ramp to where the static display will be.
With the aircraft full of officers eager to check out the mission equipment, Mick starts up the tactical station only to discover that the operating system has crashed. We try to distract the generals while Mick troubleshoots, but eventually they tell us that we are to take them flying and show them what we can. “Even goat fucking is better than no fucking,” as Konstantin would say.
I fly single pilot with the Beech 1900 squadron commander in the right seat working the radios. We head offshore from Algiers and loiter over some freighters and fishing vessels at two thousand feet. Mick is able to demonstrate some basic functionality with the EO/IR but the ViDAR system, which is designed for this sort of maritime patrol mission, has crashed along with the operating system. The air force general on board quickly loses patience and tells us to return to base.
The sales team has already bugged out by the time we land. To add insult to injury Mick and I are asked to stand in front of a room of about thirty top brass and give a debriefing, diplomatically trying to explain why the mission was a complete failure.
We go back to the hangar, go through the reconfiguration routine again, removing the pod and stowing it in the cabin, and then fly back to Algiers, tired and demoralized. Mick discovers later that a loose ground wire was the culprit.
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