Coffee.
Coffee is love, coffee is life, as I sip the black sludge offered from this avian gods forsaken place in the middle of nowhere. GE called me out because some numpty with the desire to fly a F-14 to the Antarctic couldn’t bother opening the “Me and my first gasturbine engine” kit from Mattel™.
In the end, all I needed to do was step out, throw a clipboard in his face and find the nearest bar to get blackout drunk, because frankly, there’s not much else to do when send out on Aircraft On Ground(AOG) jobs. The Bill of Work(BOW) literally said that, I am not kidding. GE paid me good money to get on a dinky toy, buy a clipboard, attach a picture(let’s be honest, words are difficult for fighter jocks) and throw it in the first face I’d see. I did a complimentary inspection, given that a stamp and autograph was required, something something insurance.
Anyway, 24 hour benders are fantastic but my unfortunate “Party Jet 2016 vodka-train into 2017” is still stuck in Columbia. I’d doubt the scientist and shovels worry too much, I left the bar unlocked and made sure the supply delivery had a sufficient amount of potent potables included.
As luck would have it the swing wing monstrosity has left the vicinity of my visual cortex which pleases me to no end. Those things should have been scrapped decades ago but weirdo’s like those two insist on flying em… Yeah bothers me vigorously… Oh well.
I board the violently bright Airbus whilst slowly regretting the lack of water the night before. Oh well, that is the life of maintenance and company flights! I strap myself in before the engines roar to life, knowing the average pilot loves to break these things, and well. I am rather safe then sorry.
ring ring
What…? No way…
RING RING
Sure enough, Someone managed to kill the local flora and fauna with their turboprop and insists on a DC-3 maintenance crew to handle the fixer upper job. Sometimes I wonder of everyone but me is suicidal in this wicked world! Since when are DC-3 mechanics experts on gasturbine engines?!
After few layovers and 5 whiskey’s later I am in Mexico, or so I think. The DC-3 crew assists me in removing whatever remains of the birds and after a quick inspection we call it good enough. Managed to make a few bucks off it too! Who knew catering likes birdies?!
Then again, last I heard was something something Antarctic… Is this even real or am I mistaken in everyone gathering down south?! If so I expect a wreckage strewn runway amidst the white desert. Oh well, my trusty twinjet goes everywhere! I wave off whatever was flying this aircraft and focus on what’s really important, finding tequila!
But, not before I make a quick call to my contacts in Columbia and have them find every GE and PW part they can find and load it in the cargo hull. I’ve got a feeling there’s money to made, and when there’s money to be made in aviation it means vast quantities, obscene amounts. Dragon attracting amounts of money, capisce?!
Another few hours later I land in Columbia, soon to be greeted by my half-drunken rag tag band of scientists and assorted aircraft parts that have been stowed in every cranny they could find. Gotta say, I appreciate their efforts!
A few hours later and I’ve got my next leg figured out, this should give me a few hours to sober up for the landing.
TBC…