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Astrogas
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SUBMITTED
BY: Frank Lohr
Among the more unusual missions that I
flew during my recent tour of duty in
Turkey was the case of "The Non
Current Kitty". Al Robinson, one of
our illustrious Beech Aerospace Services
Representatives (our airplane mechanics),
owned a cat that had to have it's shots
before it could be taken back to the
states. Al, never one to plan ahead, had
waited until the last minute to get the
shots when he discovered that Sinop,
Turkey didn't have a Vet. Possessing the
uncanny ability to have other people bail
him out of his messes, Al approached me
after one of my flights with a plea to
take the cat to the Vet Clinic at
Incirlik AFB the next morning, during our
regularly scheduled runs, and get it it's
shots.
"No fuss, no mess. Astro has flown
before and I have a travel cage for him
so he won't get away," Al assured
me. A used car salesman before he started
working for Beech, Al had me sewed up in
a few short minutes.
The next morning, Al arrived with the
cat. Somehow, he had managed to stuff a
10 lb. white haired Angora into a small
brass canary cage. The cat's pointed ears
stuck out of the top like little radar
antennae and the long fluffy tail hung
from the side at least a foot.
"Fred, meet Astro... Astro,
Fred"...and Al handed the
ridiculously small bird cage to me.
The appearance was of a cat suspended
from my hand by a brass handle protruding
from it's head, so thick was its fur and
so small the cage. Al placed a hundred
dollar bill in my hand and left
instructions that no bribe was too large.
That cat had to get vaccinated! I sat the
cat down on the floor but managed to put
the cage on the cat's protruding tail. I
then made matters worse by knocking the
cage over when the cat screamed and
hissed. As the cage (and cat) rolled to a
stop against the water cooler, hissing
like a deflating inner tube, I was left
to contemplate the fine mess that Beech
Aerospace mechanic and used car salesman
extraordinaire, Al Robinson, had bestowed
upon me.
Since the caged cat had such a tendency
to roll, he rode suspended from the
hanging baggage rack in the baggage
compartment of the C-12. The constant
swaying must have put him to sleep since
we didn't hear a "peep" from
the bird cage the whole trip. I started
to relax after landing when, as we rolled
out on the runway at Incirlik Air Force
Base, the Ground Controller tensed me up
again with the news that we had to
contact the Base Commander immediately
after shutdown.
"Ralph", I asked accusingly of
my co-pilot, "What did you do
wrong?"
Being pessimists, both Ralph and I
mentally prepared ourselves for a first
class ass chewing although we couldn't
fathom the possible reasons.
"Did you check NOTAMS?" I
ventured.
"Of course I checked NOTAMS",
replied Ralph, "Are you sure that
you landed us at the right airport?"
"Yes I am sure, remember the last
time that we were face down on the
concrete here during that TAC alert, it
was because you put the wrong tail number
on the flight plan!" After shut
down, Ralph and I attempted to get
organized so that we could accomplish all
that we came to do.
"Well Ralph," I asked,
"What will it be, the ass chewing or
the cat?"
Ralph immediately, and as it turned out,
wisely chose the ass chewing.
Feeling like a speculator that just
bought cheap land that contained 3
billion barrels of oil reserves, I
grabbed the cat cage and trying to appear
inconspicuous, I eased my way across the
ramp toward the hangers. I had progressed
about halfway across when a blue sedan
pulled up and a figure in the back seat
yelled through the half opened window:
"Hey you!"
I replied with my best "you couldn't
possibly mean me!" looks.
"Yes, you with the cat in the bird
cage."
By now, I was fairly certain that he
meant me since a quick glance around the
ramp revealed no one else fitting that
description. I hurried up to the back
door of the sedan and seeing the insignia
of an Air Force "bird" Colonel,
I prepared to salute. The presence of the
bird cage in my right hand became
painfully obvious, as if I were holding
up a lantern to light the way. Quickly
shifting the wayward feline to my left
hand, I managed to drop it as I saluted
with my right. The Colonel mercifully
neglected to inquire about the hissing,
wailing, white ball of fur in the bird
cage that was slowly rolling to a stop
several feet away.
"My plane is down at Ankara at a
small VFR only airport and the weather is
too bad to take off. What do I have to do
to get the use of your airplane?"
After I found out that he was the base
commander, I called Ralph, who saw my
predicament and was hiding in the baggage
compartment, and suggested that he call
back to Sinop and get permission to
deviate from our planned mission to
accommodate the Air Force.
Ralph called back to LTC Jimenez, the
decision maker and tried to get a
decision. After some classic indecision
on the part of LTC Jimenez, Ralph, a man
of few, direct words rephrased the
question slightly to a more easily
understood structure.
"Shall I tell the base commander
here that I can take him and his party to
Ankara, for which the Air Force would be
most grateful to the Army and you, or do
I tell him that LTC Jimenez, spelled with
a "J" said "pack
sand."
It was an easy decision to make, once the
question was presented in the proper
manner. I still had the business of cat
inoculations to take care of so off I
went while Ralph took care of the flight
plans and such.
"How did you get the cat in the
cage?" asked the Vet, holding the
cat in his hands and admiring it as one
would a sailing ship in a wine bottle.
"I don't know." I replied,
"Do we need to take him out?",
dreading the possibility.
"Oh most certainly, I need to give
him a physical in addition to the
shots."
A careful survey of the fur encrusted
cage revealed a small door a little
bigger than the cat's head. The Vet was a
pro, I have to admit. He massaged and
rotated that cat until the bars of the
canary cage parted, and like a baby
emerging from a brass womb, the reborn
cat plopped on the table, exhausted.
The cat snuggled up to me and appeared to
be at ease and I naively thought that the
cat and I had developed a rapport of
sorts.
The insertion of a cold thermometer into
a warm rectum ended all that. In a nano
second the cat had propelled itself up my
left arm and attached itself securely to
my face by hooking four sets of extremely
sharp claws to the back of my head and
neck. The Vet, who was evidently more
concerned about the procedure than my
life, ignored my fur muffled cries for
help and droned nonchalantly:
"Good, hold him still like that for
three minutes while I ready the
injections."
It was at this point I started to panic.
(And become hypoxic.... The cat fur
didn't taste too good either.) But, the
harder I pulled, the deeper the cat dug
in. Thrashing about, I tripped over a
trash can and crashed to the floor which,
lucky for me, the cat took as a cue to
release me and run out the door into the
main office. About this time, the Vet
turned with needle in hand and said:
"Drat, you let him go! Go get him
back and we'll finish up."
Inhaling several deep breaths to
re-oxygenate my blood supply, most of
which seemed to be dripping down the back
of my neck, I sneezed out what had to be
several pounds of cat fur and headed to
the waiting room where Astro was last
seen running. A refined looking older
woman was sitting on the couch holding a
small poodle in her lap.
"Excuse me," I asked, "Did
you see a cat run by here a few minutes
ago?"
She asked for a description as if there
were hundreds running about. Trying to be
accurate, I described it as a 10 lb.
white, extremely hairy Angora with a
thermometer hanging out of it's ass and a
pound of my scalp stuck to it's bloody
paws. She blanched and pointed to the
next room and there, cowering and hissing
in the corner was Astro.
OK, I thought to myself, no more mister
nice guy. In a flash, I had turned the
trash can upside down over Astro and like
a driver pushing a stalled car to start
it , I pushed the cat into the Vet's
office, said: "he's in there"
and closed the door to give Astro and the
Vet some privacy.
About 20 minutes later, the Vet emerged
victorious, the cat safely encased in the
bird cage. The pile of fur on the floor
plus the tattered white smock attested to
the fact that it was not a routine job. Astro, stuffed as he was in the cage,
managed to have two paws outside, swiping
back and forth looking for a target of
opportunity....me! I thanked the Vet for
the quart of Iodine antiseptic solution
that he applied to my various wounds and
walked out toward the airplane with the
cat held at arms length, paws swishing.
I put the cat in his hanging rack at the
back of the airplane and strapped into
the seat next to Ralph.
"Holy !*^#, Fred, what happened to
you?", asked Ralph, his eyes bulging
as big as moon pies.
"Just pussy whipped Ralph, I sighed
quietly, just pussy whipped."
The three Air Force Colonels climbed on
board and we started engines for the trip
to Ankara. I knew the worst was over and
was looking forward to the ride home.
Unfortunately, Astro didn't feel the same
way. What he probably felt was gas pains
because passing 15,000 ft. a smell filled
the cockpit that had to be comparable to
dredging month old dead bodies out of a
swamp.
Ralph and I fought back the gag reflex
and gave each other the "How could
those civilized men back there do such a
thing." look. I was sure it wasn't
Astro since I had left him in the baggage
compartment and the doors were closed.
About this time "Critter" our
crew chief started eating a Turkish
Hoagie sandwich. The stench mixed with
the onions and the garlic of the sandwich
was too much for Ralph and me so we
pulled our oxygen masks down into the
corner away from the view of the
passengers and discreetly sucked on 100%
pure oxygen.
About 500 PSI of oxygen later I glanced
back at the passengers to see if the air
had cleared. The once neatly attired
Colonels were in complete disarray, ties
loosened, beads of sweat forming on their
foreheads, their once pink complexions
now a nice shade of "Army"
green. Ralph and I were convinced that it
had to be one of them since they were the
only new factors in the days flight.
The air eventually cleared, however, and
the landing at Ankara was uneventful. The
Air Force VIPS disembarked and we waved
good-by. Neither the Army nor the Air
Force was impolite enough to accuse the
other of attempted mass asphyxia or even
elaborate their suspicions through facial
glares.
The rest of the trip back to Sinop was
uneventful until I went to get out of the
cockpit and Astro, who the crew chief had
moved from the rear baggage area to the
forward bench seat prior to takeoff from Incirlik, snagged my calf with one of his
perpetual motion claws. That answered a
lot of questions!
We called the strange smell ASTROGAS,
obviously an exciting new chemical
warfare discovery.
Al was waiting anxiously for our return
in operations when Astro and I walked in.
"Any problems?" asked Al.
"How can you look into a face like
this, scarred for life, and ask that
question?", I retorted.
"Well, what were the damages?"
he asked.
"A split ear, torn scalp, loss of a
quart of blood....."
"No, Al interrupted, I mean how much
did it cost?"
"Oh, I answered, that's easy, out of
the one hundred dollars you gave me, it
breaks down like this: $15.00 for the
shots, $60.00 for my pain and suffering
and $25.00 to be held in reserve for an
expected lawsuit from the Air Force for
practicing germ warfare without a
license.......
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