by Geoff Wolak
It’s not what you know, it’s who you know
1
At 3am Beesely’s convoy pulled onto the private airstrip. He softly ordered, ‘Let’s see if we can move this lot before first light, then keep them out of sight of the locals.’
As they emerged from the side of the control tower the airstrip suddenly seemed a lot smaller. Two American C130 transports were already unloading under lights rigged up by their crews and powered by their aircraft; a single engine on each plane ticking over. Trucks, buses and cars were standing by, armed guards everywhere.
The convoy stopped next to the small waiting room, twenty yards from the control tower. Beesely wound down a window, suddenly blasted by the noise of the aircraft’s engines, the strong odour of aviation fuel and the sound of another aircraft landing.
‘That is the Israeli plane,’ Otto pointed out.
Coming in to land, with its landing lights blazing, came a C130 ‘stretch’, painted - unfortunately for stealth - all white. It touched down with a roar just a few seconds later, ground controllers with illuminated orange wands directing it around the back of the other C130s. Otto tapped the driver’s shoulder and the convoy resumed its progress.
Beesely made a point of welcoming and thanking many of the American crew, explaining that they would try and move everything under cover of darkness. Then, as soon as the equipment was clear, the planes could take off again. The American team leader, a Captain, had been asked to board the second Range Rover with the Israeli team-leader, an Army Major, joining him.
As the convoy left the darkened airfield, Israeli pilots stood with folded arms kicking the wheels of American aircraft, all the pilots now huddled together as jokes about ‘size matters’ bounced around.