The Congo Chronicles
A Pilot's Memoir
by
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While talking to Sylvie, Jack was flying toward the compound, trying to locate it in the pitch dark. He saw the lights of the military camp and from that figured where the compound was. He tried raising Claude, but with no success. Dropping lower and reducing power, he slowed the Fieseler-Storch to a walk. It seemed as though he was standing still. At this speed he would have no problem landing inside the compound, but he had to be able to see it first. He would have a landing space running slightly uphill, between the tennis courts at the bottom of the garden and the pool terrace at the side of the house. The approach was clear except for the ten-foot fence topped with razor-wire and he had about four hundred feet to land and stop. Going uphill would help him slow down. If Claude had cut the small fruit trees scattered on the lawn he’d make it. Landing in a strange aircraft he’d never flown before, at night, in a space about the size of a small soccer field with everybody shooting at him from all sides and no assurance that he’d be able to takeoff and make it out of there, now, that was a challenge! Jack suddenly started to sweat as the full implications of what he was doing sank in. He was going to get killed. He knew it. He felt it deep inside. And then suddenly, as if a wand had been waved, he knew it would be okay. Just then Claude’s voice came through, sounding strained. They were okay, but had repelled another attack and this time they had breached the house. The place was a mess and Claude had taken a panga cut in the thigh. He had stopped the bleeding, but had a hard time getting around. Cooper would have to put out the marker lights and had them ready by the door, if Jack was ready. They thought the attackers had retreated back through the fence at the southeast corner. It wouldn’t be long before they’d be back with reinforcements. "Okay, get the markers out there and I’ll come around and see If I can put a kink in the competition before I come in. Be ready by the corner of the house we won’t have much time to load and get out." "Cooper is out there now. Can you see the lights?" "Yeah, I see one, two, okay three. They’re all there. Here I come. No more transmissions ‘til I see you." Jack didn’t want the distraction of the radio. It was going to be tough enough as it was. Lining up on the east boundary of the compound, he flew barely over the trees and turned his landing lights on. Suddenly the night disappeared and the road next to the compound was thrown into daylight, revealing figures milling around a military truck. Jack held a grenade out of the window and let it drop on the truck as he wrapped around in a tight turn. Then he reached for a second grenade that he let drop just as the first exploded with a bright orange flash just behind the truck, shredding the canvas top and the figures crouched inside. Not waiting to see what happened to the second grenade, he made a sharp left turn, lining up to the right of a tree on the approach path and reached up to crank down the aileron droop which slowed the plane to a crawl. With full flaps and aileron droop he had to keep the throttle up to keep from dropping too fast. The fence and the tennis courts blurred past, much more slowly than he’s anticipated. He reduced throttle and flared the nose as the ground came up to meet him, blanking out his view forward. It was like suddenly going blind. He quickly looked to the side, but had difficulty adjusting his depth perception to the shorter field of view. Just then he felt the landing gear spring outwards as it made hard contact with the ground, but it didn’t bounce and Jack saw the house rushing towards him on the left. Chopping the throttle, he braked as hard as he dared without nosing up and at the last second pushed hard left rudder and swung the plane around to a stop. His legs were shaking uncontrollably as he sat there pushing the brakes through the firewall.
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About the Book
Set in the turbulent days of the Belgian Congo’s explosion into independence in 1960, a young American pilot, Jack McKenzie, is thrown into a series of dangerous, fast-moving adventures as he tries to survive the chaos and save his friends and the girl he loves from the anarchy that engulfs the country as independence is forced on the former Belgian colony. Only his courage and resourcefulness enable him to survive. Along the way he is thrown into contact with African spiritual powers that change his life forever. While a work of fiction, The Congo Chronicles are based on the author’s experiences while living in West Africa and the Congo.
About the Author
Thomas Dunham was born in Richmond, Virginia and raised in Switzerland, attending school in Geneva and Connecticut before graduating from Dartmouth College with a BA in English. Interspersed between the years at school were two years spent in the U.S. Marine Corps and four years in the Navy flying combat aircraft. Since graduating from Dartmouth he has had a far-ranging career in international management with a Fortune 500 company, an industrial manufacturer launching its European presence, and his own business ventures, as well as being a licensed trader on the Southwestern Indian reservations. He has lived in Switzerland, Belgium, Sweden, Denmark, The French Cameroon and Congo Brazzaville and has traveled extensively in Europe, Africa, and The Far East. A pilot since the age of sixteen, he has logged thousands of hours of flight time in over ninety-six types of aircraft, including multi-engine jets. He lives in Newfane, Vermont with his wife, Joan.