A knock at the door at 6:30 was the only interruption for the three of us as we were doing our final packing and getting ready to head to the airport. Kruk had, of course, requested a wake up call for our room and Vincent used it as a chance to deliver breakfast. We asked him to stay and pooled our spare change to cobble together a proper final tip for all he and his young friend had done for us. It amounted to about $100. He almost cried and wished us well. He'd made sure that the Hotel to Airport shuttle was reserved for us and we were ready early enough to finish the tea and sandwiches we'd been treated to.
Toshek had spent all night preparing his sample bags and then packaging up the whole mess for our flight today. Sophia was always packed...as if she knew what it meant to be on the run. They both were talking a lot about the upcoming week and it was obvious to me that she was the detail person wanting to hear that risk was being managed with defined procedures and he was trying to say that they have to be flexible to react to the unexpected. Having seen Toshek at work when he was preparing for and finally confronting Anatoly, I could appreciate his desire to work things out as they came. Knowing that we would not be in our element, I also wondered if these guys were ready to run if we were overwhelmed. I think that was the main thing that Sophia wanted to hear from Toshek, that if the situation deteriorated, at what point would we bail and how would we protect ourselves as we escaped.
Vincent and the young boy waved at us as the van pulled away from the hotel Intourist. Sophia, sitting next to me in the third row bench seat leaned over and handed me an envelope and told me to open it. I did and there was $1000 in it.
"For me? What for?" I asked.
"Joe wired it to us. Says its a bonus for hazardous-duty." She said, speaking just loud enough to hear over the Russian diesel engine of the shuttle bus clattering like an old tractor.
I then had to wonder if it was for work done or for our upcoming work in Chelyabinsk. I asked, "For which work are we being paid extra?"
"Don't ask me. I am worried about that, too." she said as she nodded her head and grimaced.
"I know that you and Toshek have been talking about it. Are you really worried?" I tried to ask her as quietly as I could without Toshek hearing me two seats away busily tending to his baggage and moving things from one pocket to another.
"Yuri, Toshek, and Vlad don't usually carry a lot of guns. We'll see what kind of 'camping' protection they have collected for this trip. In my opinion, it is one of the few things to keep our hosts from doing something crazy. All these guys are dreaming of is 'numer stulecia'." Sophia told me and then looked at me to see if I understood the meaning of numer stulecia.
"I know what it means." I said and told her to think about the day's adventures for now since we couldn't do much until we saw Yuri and Vlad later today. Sophia just smiled and nodded in agreement.
The driver knew to take us past the passenger terminal and straight to air cargo another half mile into the airport zone amidst enormous warehouses and aircraft storage buildings. I could see Kruk halfway inserted into the engine space of his Antonov biplane as we were approaching. He was in a set of grey mechanic's coveralls but I could see that his shoes were shiny and I thought to myself that Commander Kruk would probably have his best uniform on under those coveralls for our trip. He looked over the top of his glasses when he heard our van approaching and pointed to the spot where he wanted our driver to stop.
"One more carburetor adjustment and I'll be ready for you!" he yelled to us waving with a smile. The Antonov 2 was not the sort of plane that inspired great trust when looking at it since it looked like a cross between a WWI biplane and a 30's era DC-3. Most of the people I'd talked to had said it was an extremely safe plane and that PZL was very proud of its fleet and took very good care of them. Poland had a history of aviation to be proud of so I wasn't going to allow myself to get wound up in undeserving anxiety about our 1000 mile flight from Novosibirsk to Chelyabinsk. Sophia and Toshek never flinched nor showed concern as we were preparing for our flight. They seemed even more amused than I was that we were being treated to this special air transport. Kruk's official and formal approach also made them laugh but they listened closely and obeyed orders as Kruk got us ready for our trip.
"Since I will be flying at a low altitude, I want you to have your parachutes very close to you the whole time! If you go to the bathroom, take it with you! Also, here is the rip-cord...this metal handle near your chest. We don't have time to practice but please raise your hand if you have ever parachuted before." Both Toshek and Sophia raised their hand. Sophia looked at me anticipating that I would be surprised and have a question. I just gave her a thumbs up and never asked her about it.
Kruk went through the use of the seat belts and harnesses and told us that he may request help during the flight if we ran into weather problems or cargo weight shifted. We'd put all our baggage in the passenger compartment with us and strapped it down so any other baggage we didn't know about was in the cargo hold or someplace we didn't have access to. He even gave us some basics about the instrument readings and what we might "feel" if we take controls of the plane later on. When he started to go over Polish aviation history, I decided I'd better cut him off before he got too long-winded.
"Poles have a stellar record in military and commercial aviation...that we know about! Thank you, Kruk!" I said hoping to halt his speech.
"OK...OK...we'll get started." he disappointingly relented and finished his pre-flight checklist.
I remained outside with Toshek and Sophia having their last cigarettes. I wandered around the tarmac circling the plane looking for the obviously forgotten bolt or latch or open cowling that would bring us down if I didn't make this last inspection. To my relief, I found nothing and was making my way toward the other side of the plane where my colleagues were when Kruk caught up to me and asked me who Toshek and Sophia were. "What do your colleagues do? Are you in business with them? What shall I put on my passenger record for 'occupation'?"
"You have to record our occupation?" I asked.
"It is kind of dinosaur question from socialist days." he explained. "I am sort of curious, though."
"Toshek is a businessman/trader and Cindy is a Project Manager." I told him.
"Project Manager with sky diving experience is interesting profile. Maybe she is former KGB...be careful!" he suggested and advised.
With a wink and a "follow me" gesture from our excited pilot, we all got on board the PZL Antonov 2, strapped ourselves in, and got the lumbering gooney bird's engine started. The engine was knocking very loudly and even Toshek took his attention away from his ichthyol notebook, unstrapped himself from his chair, and quickly tapped on Kruk's shoulder from behind. We couldn't hear what he asked him nor what Kruk said back but Toshek seemed OK with his answer and we waited to hear from Toshek. After we taxied to the beginning of the runway and Kruk throttled the commie biplane up for takeoff, Toshek pulled our heads together and yelled, "Knocking is normal after the piston rod work. It'll quiet down once we get into the air."
Sophia crossed her fingers and I acted like I was saying a prayer. We all laughed as Kruk pulled back on the wheel and the nose of the Antonov 2 lifted. We were finally on our way to Chelyabinsk on the PZL Gooney Bird Express.
The skies were mostly clear that morning and temperatures were a very comfortable 10 C or about 50 F. The wind was calm and we had a very smooth take off. Kruk took a very gradual and long turn to the right heading almost due North after going about five miles West. As he'd told us before, we were avoiding restricted air space over a very large nuclear missile base. He pointed to what he said were the buildings servicing the active missiles. He added for my benefit and amusement,
"As long as the imperialistic West continues to threaten the peaceful Eastern countries of the former Soviet Bloc, Russians will be forced to defend themselves and their loyal brothers!"
We all laughed and Sophia took my coat collar pulling me near her and yelled in my ear, "He says these things very much like the propaganda minister would say on television. I think he was responsible for PZL propaganda program...or he is a good actor."
"I know he was a good socialist at one time. He helped me at FEDEX and is a good man. I don't really care what he believes in unless he decides to crash the airplane to save the world from us." I told her.
Sophia looked puzzled a bit and responded, "It is sometimes important to know what people really think. That is what is paying my bills...for now."
Kruk leveled the plane off at an altitude that I would guess was somewhere around 10,000 feet. I could tell that the air had thinned quite a bit but I knew we were considerably under 14,000 feet...the height of Mt Rainier in Washington State...a mountain I had climbed and could remember my labored breathing as I summited that peak. All three passengers huddled on the left side of the plane looking out the window until Kruk turned around and motioned for us to split up. He asked us to have at least one person on the other side. So, of course, we switched sides for about an hour as Kruk took us in a Western heading straight for our destination. After about 90 minutes, he signaled for me to come to him in the cockpit to tell me something.
"We are fighting a headwind that is a little stronger than I expected. I will land at my usual refueling place and give my friends their presents. We will have to quickly take off after refueling to stay on schedule so I cannot invite everyone for the picnic lunch with Polish people that I promised." Kruk told me with a disappointed look on his face.
"Don't worry about it! We are enjoying the ride. A short break will be nice. Thank you for telling me." I smiled at him and said.
I went back to the window where I had been sitting watching the desolate country below pass by slowly. It looked just like parts of the Dakotas or Wyoming or even Eastern Washington with unending grassland and small hills. Only patches of trees were seen here and there with very little in the way of rivers or bodies of water. Sophia was watching, and, too, seemed a little mesmerized by the unending panoramic views of the steppes. I interrupted her blank stare with news from Kruk that we'd be landing soon to refuel and that our greatly anticipated picnic with the Poles was not to be...since we were running behind schedule with the headwind we were bucking. It hadn't been a particularly bumpy ride but after four hours we were all starting to get a little airsick and welcomed the idea of a short break. Sophia wanted to be in Chelyabinsk as soon as possible but was going to have to tough out an hour on the ground and four hours in the air. According to Kruk, we'd probably be landing around five in the afternoon if we could stay on schedule.
Minutes after my announcement to Sophia, Kruk cut the engines down to an idle and the Antonov biplane began to tilt downward toward a landing strip and an unnamed village that promised fuel for us and Polish treats for the airstrip tenders, a mostly Polish extended family that had been living nearby for decades since forced removal from the Lvov area in the 1920's. While not a smooth landing, Kruk was under control the whole time and when the plane stopped, he jumped from his seat and greeted the twelve or possibly fifteen people that were running up to the plane from a small building that was on the edge of the runway...if you could call it a runway. Their smiles could be seen for a hundred meters as they ran to the plane. A young man, possibly a teen-ager by the looks of his face, but quite tall and husky was pulling a cart behind him. I guessed he would be loading Kruk's presents to haul back to wherever they lived. I hadn't noticed any houses and wondered how these people could live so far out in the steppes without visible signs of an economy, agriculture, or any industry. We all deplaned and greeted the excited crowd and got hugs and kisses from everyone.
Everything said was in Polish:
"I am Darek. Welcome to Nowy Wies! (New Village) This is Zofia, and that is Bartek. My wife Magda. Our children, Danuta, Benjamin, and Stanislaw. Are you tired and hungry? Surely you will stay and have dinner with us? Can you spend the night? Hello Wladek! Thank you for coming again! We look forward to every visit that you can spare for us. Tell us what is happening in the world. What is going on in Poland? Russia? United States? These guests, are they your friends? They look very nice. Oh please come to our little shack on the airport property and have lunch with us!"
And as Darek was speaking, so too were the children:
"Hi Mr. Kruk! Do you remember me?! I am Danuta. Did you bring candy? We love everything you bring! We are getting older now but we still look forward to your presents of food and candy and drinks. Juices for us?! Those Polish cherry juices are so sweet and wonderful! Not all of the food seeds you left us in the springtime would grow but we had wonderful tomatoes and squash. We love you Mr. Kruk!"
I looked over at Sophia and she was talking to one of the older girls, probably fifteen or sixteen. She had long blonde braided pigtails and was dressed in a white peasant top, a plain pink skirt that had probably been bright red when it was new, and a very colorful neckerchief with a Polish embroidered design...probably a traditional Krakovian scarf since they were the most popular. Sophia was smiling and laughing then walked over to the plane, reached inside where she had left her bags and pulled out a pen and paper to write something down. After writing, she tore off the piece of paper and gave half of the sheet to the young woman and folded up the other half, putting it inside her rear pant pocket. They hugged and kissed in the Polish style: left cheek-right cheek-left cheek (...or is it the other cheek first? I never got it right but it never mattered to me in 22 years of living and kissing like this.)
The young big Polish boy, very shy and only nodding to us as he passed to unload the plane of what Kruk had brought, began putting the ten or twelve packages on his cart. Those packages had been in the rear cargo hold, and appeared to be canned goods, ultra-pasteurized milk in cartons, medical supplies, some clothing, shoe boxes, lots of candy and chocolate, as well as coffee and tea. The big boy also wrestled some sort of machine screwed to a wooden Euro-pallet onto the bottom shelf of his cart. I guessed it was a small generator. We were all then rushed to the airstrip "terminal" to have some warm drinks and eat a lunch that had been waiting for us.
Also waiting in the terminal "lobby" was the next welcoming committee of Babcias and Dziadeks (Grandmothers and Grandfathers) with sweets and vodka for us passengers. Kruk grabbed one shot of vodka and drank a "bruderschaft" with one old man whose dementia was such that he always told the stories of bruderschafts with hero pilots at the end of the Second World War. Every time he saw Kruk, he'd demand a bruderschaft and Kruk would happily play to the old man's memory challenged romantic past. Kruk looked at me and shouted across the room, "We leave in 45 minutes or whenever they refuel the plane! Tell your friends to eat and drink something and take a walk to get yourselves rested!" Toshek and I walked around inside the terminal marveling at the beautiful tapestries and art that adorned the walls. There was enough beautiful folk art from the Tatry mountains and all the other regions in Poland famous for their embroidery, pottery, tapestries, wood carvings, and glass art to fill two huge Cepelia warehouses in Warsaw or the Sukiennice (Cloth Hall) in Krakow.
One of the Old Style Cepelia shops in Warsaw filled with Polish folk art.
One Polish Regional Booth of Dozens in the Sukiennice in Krakow
Every opportunity I could escape to monitor progress on our refueling, I would sneak around the corner away from the party and watch the young man tending to the airplane. He was unhooking the gas refueling line when Sophia came up behind me, grabbed my jacket sleeve, and took me to see Kruk behind the terminal building holding court arguing politics and laughing at the same time as the men and women around him were stuffing him with little treats that had been specially prepared for his visit. Sophia and I watched the show, then she let out a big sigh and said, "Enough...go get him. Time for us to go."
Kruk came out of his state of elation when he heard my voice over his own, "Kruk! Plane's ready to go! Wind's a howlin' against us! All aboard!" We'd given him a full 90 minutes with his Russian Polish fans and it was no secret that all three of his passengers had enjoyed the stopover. The hugs and kisses were followed by the tears and promises (by Kruk) to be back soon.
It was true that the wind had picked up and we would now be fighting a stronger headwind than before. We filed back into the plane trying to shrug off additional hugs and kisses from our hosts and then shut the door. We took a short inventory of everything that we thought we should have with us to make sure we hadn't left something outside and then signaled to Kruk we were ready. The mighty Gooney Bird fired up again...less the irritating knock of earlier in the day...and we lined up on the smoothed out track that served as the runway here at the Nowy Wies stopover. Kruk had us airborne in less than 100 meters and we were off! Nest stop...Chelyabinsk!
***
"No chance for flying lessons today!!" yelled Kruk from the cockpit back to us. "Just too windy and difficult to fly even for me! I am sorry!"
"No worries, Kruk!" I yelled back. "We want to arrive safely and I don't think all of us are feeling so well for professional flying lessons." About that time an especially hard gust of wind and turbulence hit us and Toshek, without his seat belt on while coming back from the toilet, hit his head on the bulkhead over him. He said he was ok but I could see blood coming down his forehead and he was now occasionally vomiting and then holding a paper towel to his wounded scalp.
The windy conditions eased up after a couple of very tiring hours and the last hour of our flight was a night time air-tour of the surrounding villages and towns as we approached Chelyabinsk. Kruk pointed out the closed cities we passed on our right and left as the airport got closer. Weapons production, special metal smelting, refining, and fabrication, and nuclear related sites were all around. Again, I thought of Richland, WA and the Hanford Reservation in Washington State as comparable instances of Cold War research hidden from the eyes of the enemy. (Actually no longer hidden since we are always watching them and they are always watching us by satellite.)
"Fasten your seatbelts, please!" yelled Kruk as he turned toward us. "We are cleared for landing in Chelyabinsk." He had been barking on his radio in English with the control tower at the airport but I could tell that he was having a hard time getting them to respond in English.
"PZL - Flight 42 cargo plus passengers requesting approach details...over"
"Pa Ruski...pizhalsta...PZL 42 cargo! Over"
"International language of air traffic is English...please...thank you! PZL 42 again requesting approach guidance. Over! "
"Kurwa! Huj!(Swear words in Russian and Polish) pa ruski!" (Say it in Russian!)
"Da...da...daj spokoj!" (OK...OK...give me a break!) in Russian and Polish.
We landed smoothly despite the international air traffic communication issues and Kruk brought the Gooney Bird up to the "Corporate and Commercial Aviation" hangar and terminal. No immigration or passport related formalities were required but there were more armed policemen and SWAT team looking characters carrying AK-47s than I had ever seen in one location. Because of them, we were asked to show our ID and that caused a small sensation that an American was arriving as some kind of SWAT action was getting ready to take place. Kruk asked the ground crew officer that was helping us what was going on and the answer, though somewhat cryptic, sounded like a group of mafia types were expected to fly in anytime. Toshek, Sophia, and I looked at each other and almost said in unison, "I wonder if that is who we are meeting later tonight!"
Kruk got us to Chelyabinsk before our deadline and had shown us a good time along the way. Before my tired, bloody, and a little bit vomit stained partners got too far away, I asked them if I could use $300 of the extra cash to tip Kruk for all he'd done. Neither Sophia nor Toshek objected and only Toshek commented, "We have enough for the assholes ahead of us. Kruk deserves it."
Kruk was very grateful for the cash and tried to put on a good face initially in refusing it...albeit a little too short lived to be believable. We gave the three cheek kiss, I thanked him, and I told him that he now had all my new contact numbers. We said goodbye and waved at each other three times as I was jogging to catch up with my colleagues...carrying my toolkit, my diplomatka, and small suitcase.
Ahead of Toshek and Sophia, about 50 meters, I could see Yuri and Vlad standing behind a fence that was being guarded by two AK-47 bearing Russian gorillas larger than Vlad. Even from that distance, aided by the light that was shining on their lined faces, I could see that they were as exhausted as we were. I was hoping that they had matters in hand and had good news for our next week in the Siberian wilderness...but their faces certainly weren't telling that story as we approached.
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