Humanitarian work of the Iraqi Army Aviation
مرسل: الاثنين يونيو 20, 2011 4:10 pm
while searchin the net for pictures of the ellusive sudanese nile 'battle barges' I came across an article here..i
http://www.thecovertletter.com/covert7.html
A FEW YEARS AGO I TOOK ADVANTAGE OF AN Iraqi military helicopter and its crew for a humanitarian mission in Sudan, which could have been called Desert Help. Unfortunately, Sudan later sided with Iraq despite its need for massive help to feed its millions of dying people who still suffer today.
Some friends arranged my commissioning as a Kentucky Colonel in 1983. I had no idea then how important it would become for me. Besides, if you please, I've always thought it was good enough to be a Virginia Gentleman.
In May 1989, I was in Sudan, Africa's largest country, organizing distribution of emergency relief and medical supplies to villages suffering from famine and drought. I'd managed to get the Sudanese army's assistant chief of staff to authorize my use of a gigantic military helicopter, big enough to carry thousands of pounds of emergency relief supplies.
The helicopter was to take our humanitarian team to some villagers near El Obeid. This arrangement with the Sudanese army was a special coup since flight costs would be absorbed by the Sudanese government and our organization could use that money to provide more relief supplies.
We arrived at Khartoum Air Force Base at 6:30 on a rare cool spring morning in Sudan. Our escort, a Sudanese army colonel, introduced me to the helicopter's pilot and copilot, who happened to be an Iraqi major and captain, respectively.
Dressed in military-type desert clothes, normal attire for this kind of operation, I saluted the Iraqi officers, primarily as a courtesy in recognition of their authority. I showed the crew the medicines and food. They loaded up the helicopter. I even went over the flight plan with the pilot, pointing out where we wanted to go. Then, with authority, I turned to our team and "ordered" them to board.
AS WE FLEW SOUTH OVER the desert, the major came back to the cargo department and asked, pointing to me, "Military man?" "Yes," I answered, "Kentucky Colonel." My companions laughed.
Their snickers were drowned out by the whirring noise of the Canadian made cargo helicopter's rotor blades. But, the major didn't get the joke. He snapped to attention, saluted me smartly and did an about face that would impress any military officer.
When we landed at the small airport, I discovered my feeble attempt at humor in the desert was taken seriously. In fact, the five man airport police force awaited us on the tarmac. Since I was the ranking officer, the pilot-major invited me to de-plane first to the salutes and courtesies of khaki dressed Sudanese airport policemen for a de facto inspection. There was no time to explain my commission, so I stepped off the helicopter and performed my official duties.
Needless to say, the relief effort went off well that day. The police provided us with a three-truck convoy. They accorded me the honor of sitting in the cab of the truck. My colleagues, who helped provide the supplies, were relegated to the rear, sitting uncomfortably atop the boxes of relief aids.
We made a courtesy visit to the local governor in El Obeid, then on to a straw-hut village some miles from the airport, spending the afternoon working with more than five hundred hungry and hurting villagers appreciative of our food and medicine.
We returned to Khartoum late in the day, exhausted from the work and heat. At our lodging, I was greeted by a tall Sudanese major general. He wanted me to ride in his Mercedes. Away from the others, he presented me his ivory tipped swagger stick, symbol of his authority. He wanted to make certain that I reported positively about the cooperation we'd received from his government. He figured I was a CIA man. I told him the only intelligence I was gathering were the numbers of sick and starving people. Today, I can report that at least on one occasion, the Iraqi air force performed well and with good reason.
http://www.thecovertletter.com/covert7.html
A FEW YEARS AGO I TOOK ADVANTAGE OF AN Iraqi military helicopter and its crew for a humanitarian mission in Sudan, which could have been called Desert Help. Unfortunately, Sudan later sided with Iraq despite its need for massive help to feed its millions of dying people who still suffer today.
Some friends arranged my commissioning as a Kentucky Colonel in 1983. I had no idea then how important it would become for me. Besides, if you please, I've always thought it was good enough to be a Virginia Gentleman.
In May 1989, I was in Sudan, Africa's largest country, organizing distribution of emergency relief and medical supplies to villages suffering from famine and drought. I'd managed to get the Sudanese army's assistant chief of staff to authorize my use of a gigantic military helicopter, big enough to carry thousands of pounds of emergency relief supplies.
The helicopter was to take our humanitarian team to some villagers near El Obeid. This arrangement with the Sudanese army was a special coup since flight costs would be absorbed by the Sudanese government and our organization could use that money to provide more relief supplies.
We arrived at Khartoum Air Force Base at 6:30 on a rare cool spring morning in Sudan. Our escort, a Sudanese army colonel, introduced me to the helicopter's pilot and copilot, who happened to be an Iraqi major and captain, respectively.
Dressed in military-type desert clothes, normal attire for this kind of operation, I saluted the Iraqi officers, primarily as a courtesy in recognition of their authority. I showed the crew the medicines and food. They loaded up the helicopter. I even went over the flight plan with the pilot, pointing out where we wanted to go. Then, with authority, I turned to our team and "ordered" them to board.
AS WE FLEW SOUTH OVER the desert, the major came back to the cargo department and asked, pointing to me, "Military man?" "Yes," I answered, "Kentucky Colonel." My companions laughed.
Their snickers were drowned out by the whirring noise of the Canadian made cargo helicopter's rotor blades. But, the major didn't get the joke. He snapped to attention, saluted me smartly and did an about face that would impress any military officer.
When we landed at the small airport, I discovered my feeble attempt at humor in the desert was taken seriously. In fact, the five man airport police force awaited us on the tarmac. Since I was the ranking officer, the pilot-major invited me to de-plane first to the salutes and courtesies of khaki dressed Sudanese airport policemen for a de facto inspection. There was no time to explain my commission, so I stepped off the helicopter and performed my official duties.
Needless to say, the relief effort went off well that day. The police provided us with a three-truck convoy. They accorded me the honor of sitting in the cab of the truck. My colleagues, who helped provide the supplies, were relegated to the rear, sitting uncomfortably atop the boxes of relief aids.
We made a courtesy visit to the local governor in El Obeid, then on to a straw-hut village some miles from the airport, spending the afternoon working with more than five hundred hungry and hurting villagers appreciative of our food and medicine.
We returned to Khartoum late in the day, exhausted from the work and heat. At our lodging, I was greeted by a tall Sudanese major general. He wanted me to ride in his Mercedes. Away from the others, he presented me his ivory tipped swagger stick, symbol of his authority. He wanted to make certain that I reported positively about the cooperation we'd received from his government. He figured I was a CIA man. I told him the only intelligence I was gathering were the numbers of sick and starving people. Today, I can report that at least on one occasion, the Iraqi air force performed well and with good reason.