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Breaking the rules in Libya

It's May 1964 in Benghazi, Libya. The Beaver has just dropped me off at Santa Fe Rig 2. It's a new location 10 miles from the new Esso port of Marsa Brega, and I'm not wasting any time hanging around the rig today. They won't even start drilling for another 24 hours, so I'm heading down to the coast to see some German fortifications left over from World War II.

I just passed a little ridge overlooking the main coast road, and there are at least three fortified sandbagged areas where there was German machine-gun placement. Stacks of land mines and German jerrycans are everywhere.

It is about 3 p.m. and I am about to turn around and head back to the rig when I see something strange on the side of a low cliff. As I get closer, I realize it is the remains of a World War I biplane. It had crashed and burned. I'm guessing it's Italian. About 20 yards away I see a jerrycan. The history of this country sometimes overwhelms me.

I decide to stop by the Esso camp at Marsa Brega for dinner. I walk up to what looks like a dining hall and poke my head in. Hey, there's Sidney Sorenson, one of the Aussie pilots. I'll join him.

"Hi, Sid. Mind if I join you?"

"Have a seat, mate. What are you doing here in Brega?"

"Oh, I'm on a rig about 10 miles up the road, and thought I'd get some decent grub before I drive back. You're usually not in Brega either. What are you flying?"

"They switched me off Beavers to that DC-3 out on the runway. I'll be in and out of here nearly every day for a while."

The waiter has just placed a nice steak in front of me. I'm thinking how good it is. When I'm about to leave, something just crosses my mind. I turn back and sit down beside Sid.

"Sid, do you ever have any extra room on the plane?"

"Yeah, every day, mate. We never have more than a couple of guys. The plane is mostly for cargo."

"What if a young lady just happened to be at the airport a few days from now? Do you think you might give her a lift?"

Sid is smiling, and I know those risk-taking Aussies won't turn down something like that.

"Well, sure, but how are you going to get word to your wife?"

"If you have a few minutes, I'll write her a note, and tell her to meet you at the dispatcher's office next Monday. What time do you leave Benghazi?"

"Just a little later than the Beavers you guys fly in and out of the desert--around 8:30."

"Great; I'll tell her just to get on the DC-3 with you, and no one will ever know--or care."

"You got it, Richard. Write the letter."

A few minutes later, and Sid has an invitation to Vertis.

"Here, Sid; the dispatcher will get it to her."

"OK, will do, and when we're in the air, I'll radio you an ETA. Pick her up out on the runway. No sense in having the folks in this office wondering what a woman is doing here."

"Gotcha. I'll be by the radio Monday morning waiting for your call."

The first week of this assignment dragged because I had Vertis' visit on my mind, but now it's Monday and she should be on her way. I have just left the communications trailer, heading for Marsa Brega, after Sid gave me an ETA of 9:32. I'm dropping down toward the coast now, and can see two dozen scattered houses. I guess about 50 people live here year-round, loading the tankers and serving as a supply point for rigs in the desert.

I stop at the edge of the runway waiting on the plane. There it comes. Yeah, it's Sid, all right. I start my Land Rover and get ready to drive out on the runway. Is she going to be on the plane? Vertis knows it's against company policy for her to fly on the cargo plane, and it sure is against the rules for her to accompany me to a remote camp in the desert and spend the night at one of the drill sites.

I'm waiting on the edge of the airstrip and watch as Sid pulls up short of the hanger. The side cargo door opens. Yes, she's on the plane! I roar out to the runway, and Vertis hops out of the DC-3 as I pull up.

"Hey, need a ride?" I yell. Vertis jumps into my Land Rover, and we head for the desert. I'm sure the folks waiting for the plane to pull up to the unloading dock wonder what's happening.

"Richard, I can't believe you pulled this off," Vertis says as we drive along. "Aren't you afraid you'll get in trouble?"

"Naaaa, they need geologists in the worst way, and true love sometimes does some unusual things," I say back.

"You mean true lust."

We both laugh, and since we are almost newlyweds, we don't even think about the consequences of violating company rules. Heck, I'm thinking, they won't fire me. They need well-site geologists. But it will be a written reprimand--won't look too good on my record--ah, forget it.

"How was the flight down?" I ask.

"Not bad; a little bumpy, and Sid made me nervous when he dipped in and dropped like a rock to the runway."

"Yeah, that's the way Sid always comes in. He was a carrier pilot before he started flying for Esso Libya."

"One other little thing; I fastened my seat belt when we took off, and after we landed I stood up and the belt came with me. It wasn't attached to the plane."

We pull up to the rig, and Vertis, with her long blonde hair, causes quite a stir among the crew. But the tool-pusher and other Americans on the rig are my friends, and everyone thinks it's a fun thing to do. I take Vertis to the dining hall that night for dinner, and she is the belle of the ball. It is after dinner now, and we're going to have a romantic reunion in my trailer.

It's the next morning, and we're heading back to Marsa Brega where Vertis can catch the DC-3 back to Benghazi. Sid taxies out to the end of the runway and kills the engine on the side of the plane where the cargo door is located. That's my signal to drive out to the plane and deliver Vertis. A quick kiss, Vertis hops on the plane, and I'm smiling as I stand there beside the Land Rover.

Richard Mason is a registered professional geologist, downtown developer, former chairman of the Department of Environmental Quality Board of Commissioners, past president of the Arkansas Wildlife Federation, and syndicated columnist. Email richard@gibraltarenergy.com.

Editorial on 04/22/2018

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