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The Flag of Laos.

Vientiane, Lao PDR (People’s Democratic Republic)

Wednesday, 22nd November 1995

     As I descended past 5,000 feet, I continued to slow the 737 down, which had been leased to the Communist Laotian Government by a sleazy American operator working out of Miami.  Captain Dave, in the right seat, pointed out the Wattay International Airport on the north edge of the Laotian Capitol Vientiane, resting on the east bank of a bend at the Mekong River.

     When we approached the muddy, mighty Mekong, with its scattered sand bars, Bangkok Control handed us off to Vientiane Approach Control.  Dave was handling the radio and verified we had the runway in sight, whereby Vientiane cleared us for the “Visual Approach.”

     Gliding across the Mekong River, I left Thai airspace behind and penetrated Laotian airspace as we changed over to the Tower’s frequency and received clearance to land.  The airport lay adjacent to the river, which acted as the border between both countries, therefore things happened rather rapidly.

     Wattay International possessed a single, narrow runway at 9,843 feet in length (Runway 130°/310° magnetic, SE/NW).  It didn’t have a proper instrument landing system, only an antiquated NDB approach using two ADF radio beacons.

     Rolling out on final for Runway One-Three, I had Dave set the flaps to 40, adding a bit more power due to the extra drag, as we passed over a Lao farmer in a rice paddy with his water buffalo, at less than 300 feet, doing 130 mph.  The paddy was a brilliant green in the late afternoon sun, and in future I’d use it as a marker for locating the runway’s threshold from a long way out, while still in Thai airspace. 

     So at this juncture, dear reader, no doubt you’re wondering what on earth am I doing, working for a slippery Miami operator, in another communist country.  Let me attempt to make a long story short.

     Yesterday, while enjoying my “extended holiday” at Patong Beach, Thailand, I received a frantic phone call from Captain Fred McNulty.

     You remember Capt. Freddy, dear reader, the gentleman that gave me a quick and dirty checkout in the 1946 Grumman Mallard flying boat, at Patong Bay, back in May of 1993.

     Capt. Fred had a buddy, Capt. Dave, who was in a terrible jam and desperately needed a qualified B-737 Captain...like immediately.  Fred and Dave had apparently grown up together in Florida, but Fred couldn’t help Dave out as he was locked into a contract with Thai Orient Express, flying a B-727. 

     It seems the Miami people had placed Capt. Dave in charge of this contract with the Laotian Government, supplying a single B-737 and crew for international airline service.  Capt. Dave had previously hired Swedes, a captain and first officer, except the Swedish Captain had mysteriously disappeared!  Plus the Swedish First Officer, for some reason, was scared out of his wits, and intended to bailout on Dave when they reached Bangkok tomorrow on the regular scheduled flight!

     Fishy...fishy...fishy, no doubt you’re thinking, dear reader.  And you’re totally correct...it couldn’t be any more flaky.  Although, in the spirit of “Terry and the Pirates,” the tingling in my left testicle told me I couldn’t possibly pass up this adventure.

     In addition, I did owe Capt. Fred a favor for letting me fly the amphibious Mallard.  Besides, the beach combing was getting to be a drag...”Uncle Petie” was missing the flying.

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