Smoke Gets In Your Eyes

A glamour shot of the AS332L2 Super Puma

I have finally completed my conversion to the Super Puma L2. The conversion period took an extensive 4 weeks because the single L2 we had was often plagued with serviceability issues, sitting in the hangar waiting for spares for weeks on end.

The L2 cockpit, depictive of its era



When I went up in Papa Delta for the first conversion sortie, FAM 1, at the end of the hour, the training captain said, "I don't see any major problem with you. You don't seem as lost in the cockpit as some others I have seen. I think you're ready for your C of T. How? Can ah?"

I miss the EC225 cockpit

I gaped at him as if I seriously thought he was in need of a Papal smiting across his countenance. I had not done my instrument flying yet, this was my first L2 sortie, and I was not even flying the EC225 consistently enough to warrant so rapid a jump to this "similar-type variant". I allowed my cold silence to emphasise my vehement objection to a C of T after just one FAM.

How I miss you now, EC225

I did get a second sortie, and after FAM 2, I was surprised to see that 4 days later I was scheduled for the Certificate of Test. And evening passed and morning came, and it was the C of T day. It seemed as if both my FAMs and the C of T were coincidentally scheduled for Friday evenings, when the offshore rhythm abated and the availability of an aircraft was more assured than on most days of the week. By the time I touched down at 1730, I had completed the C of T and my instrument rating test. The examiner congratulated me and I knew then that I had passed my C of T. Next, a line check and I would be legal and ready to resume offshore operations.

Just 1 km away from Maersk Convincer and she is barely discernible from 500 feet

As malinged coincidence would have it, my line check was simultaneous with the unwelcomed descent of the haze upon Kerteh and the entire hinterland.

 

During meteorological conditions such as these, the value of a fully instrumented aircraft with attendant automation cannot be overrated. The unforgiving loss of forward visibility and the absence of a discernible reference horizon lead straight toward disorientation and the propensity for a major incident which the oil and gas world can ill afford, and neither can any helicopter operator company for that matter.

 

Kuala Paka with 2km visibility

The last I operated offshore in the haze, I was in no doubt as to the ability to make an approach although the view forward was obscurred. But this time, it was not possible to see the rig until we were at 500 feet and half a mile from it, that too, aided by the flare boom in full flame. For academic purposes, the line training captain called for a rig radar approach, which in the reduced visibility was a rather relevant practice to keep current with.

Passenger drop off at Lawit Alpha

Over the next three days, I was back into the swing of offshore flying with continuous sectors and no split in duties. I had also noticed that the L2 suffered from a faulty autopilot system. Being the only L2 in the livery now that the EC225s were grounded, it was merely a matter of time before the recurrent fault would mean she would be called off line for rectification. 

Starting up for a flight test

And it happened just about when I was feeling the heat from returning to offshore duties after being a standby pilot for eight months now. On the third day of flying with an intermittent autopilot system, the aircraft captain decided that enough was enough. The autopilot had been self-disengaging now and then during flight, and while reengaging the autopilot returned the system to normal operating status, the worry that it would disengage whilst negotiating a critical phase of flight lurked in the troubled hallways of my mind. During cruise, these niggardly niusances may be acceptable, but were you in a descent or approach with nigh nil visual references outside the cockpit, the escalating workload under systems failure is not encouraging of a safe approach and departure from a shelf hanging on a framework standing off the seabed. The captain did not wait to be in such a phase of flight. We were 40 miles from Kerteh over waters when the misdemeanouring helicopter began meandering, and the captain turned back without prompting, to home base, and snagged the aircraft as was most deserving of the situation.

AOG is not a religious organisation, but stands for Aircraft On Ground awaiting spares

There she waits for her spares, and here I wait to fly her again.

 

Dear Snake Oil Salesman

 

I do think that your fashion sense and personal grooming in imitation of Mark Strong, especially in his appearance in RocknRolla, may work in Hollywood infused Klang Valley, but in Kerteh, should serve no further than to tell us you are better paid than us. We who have no choice but to listen to you yarn, do not begrudge your payscale that allows you to rise above the inequities of government social engineering and affirmative action policies, but that is a fellowship that doesn't cover our lot into identifying with you. I really cannot remember the last time we met anyone in Paka Residence Resort's lecture rooms who wore the inner vest to a 3-piece suit to deliver a motivational lecture. And in the final analysis, you should be aware of how the twain shall never meet.  I mean, you could never hit that mark, no matter how strong you think you are. Ok, ok, I am sorry. You're right. Black is a very slimming colour.

 

I do approve of your deft use of humour, and I am sure you are a beacon in the centre of the barroom, commanding an adoring audience and fawned over by the girls. Ice breakers before the sessions on corporate values were a breeze for you to handle, and you were recognisably glib. You dropped names ever so often like eggs into a linen-lined basket, incurring nary a crack so as to betray your methods of self shoring. I hope to emulate yours skills some day.

 

However, your divide and rule tactics were as on target as those used by government arms when you categorically carved those who had served long and faithfully from other employee labels of yours as "lost souls" who could not be converted into "agents of change" to spur the company on to greater heights by enhancements to their personal performance in the company heirarchy. You chose to dismiss those who had long service records as being immovable simply because of their age. Or simply because they do not respond with juvenile enthusiasm to your sales pitch.

 

In most companies worth their human capital, it is the senior workers who matter most. These are the men and women who have seen enough to know how to make things work. Their skills have been honed over time and persistence, where brute strength is secondary to motor skills and mental precision. Managers in such companies make efforts to retain such employees. If they value human capital that is.

 

Your repetitive slurring of these valuable guys and gals with your branding as "dah 30 tahun lebih" smacks of inherited prejudice aimed at a group who will not be eating out of your hand just because it is you who appears to be the latest agent of corporate bullcrap delivery.

 

Maybe you need to take stock of matters Senor Presenter.

 

You have no choice but to believe in what you are selling. And you are not selling a single product of your own crafting, although your wares are dependant on your craftiness. You sell what companies tell you to sell, of mission statements and corporate visions. These lofty terms are not more than repackaged advertisments, with the sole objectve of getting people to part with something of value which they would not under normal circumstances do, till under the influence of such motivational talks and team-building games. You would be out of a job if you did not believe in the product you are peddling, and that voice rings hollow because it isn't a product you have laboured lovingly to make. All you have are sleight of hand and voice and gesture. Do not mistake your access to management heads and giving them a piece of your mind as an index of your business authority. You are a calendar item, to be ticked off in fulfilment of a higher agenda. You are, directly and personally, neither threat, asset nor consequence to them.

 

The lost souls you dismiss are those who once believed, but have seen time and time again how promises are not kept, and silence is paid for with alms giving. Yet they pressed on, more out of the need to survive than of trust. And over the consumption of the years, faith gives way to delusionment, and drive gives way to inertia. While managers and bosses loot the spoils, they create artificial performance barriers for those who toil, making year-end rewards unattainable while they themselves fill  their carts to overflowing for parties and celebrations to pat their own backs in salutation and credit. And the 30 tahun lebih guys know the gifts so evidently taken. The greatest error of omission then, is treating them like they don't know what goes on in the upper decks of management.

 

There comes an age and a time, when people pass the point of believing in words and words alone. Words, unsupported by deeds, shall be met with disdain. Perhaps that point is when employees have served long, and have seen the disparity between the two.

 

 The lost souls are not thereby lost souls. They are souls lost by the corporate heads.

 

Until you recognise this, your slick presentations will not sell a single bottle.

Days Of The Remains

As the flying has been in death rattle, so has been my drive to write.

 

8 months have passed, with news of the grounding being lifted being as forthcoming as election promises, replete their with imminently punitive events looming upon the near horizon.

 

I have forgotten the oil fields of Kerteh. I have forgotten the face of the coastline, the tardiness of the Helideck Landing Officers when loading and unloading passengers and baggage on the rigs and the taste of food from the galleys. It has been 8 months since I have flown offshore.

Sometimes, a picture does save a thousand words! Instead of writing down parameters, just snap!!

 

But my paltry salvation is, that it has not been 8 months since I have flown. I have had a few ferry flights, the LIMA assignment and lately, my log book entries have repeatedly shown Certificate Of Airworthiness. Quite a number of our helicopters are at the end of their contractual term, and are being certified as airworthy before being shipped back to their leasing companies, mostly in Oz.

 

It was my third C of A with the Sifu  captain, and the proceedings were beginning to look like an episode of How I Met Your Mother where the typecasting had set permanently in.  It was always the Sifu, moi and for records keeping, the new copilot, Rico. No, he didn't wear a diamond.

 

Having had two previous C of A sorties, I remembered that the the part that I had screwed up previously was the single-engine rate of climb chart. This was where the Sifu would be the flying pilot, and I would select the training idle switches on, each one in turn, thereby simulating single engine failures and the remaining engine would be pressed into service to climb the aircraft to a preselected height. The rate of climb would then be charted to gauge if the rate of climb for that given aircraft weight and the engine in question was within satisfactory limits or no.

The start up was a tad different, because we had to execute a "high-wind" start. On 30 March 2006 there was a fatal incident involving the General Manager of Abad Naluri Sdn Bhd when due to blade sailing, his head was struck by one of the main rotor blades of the Dauphin he was disembarking from. Blade sailing typically occurs at low rotor rpm, when the blades have not reached the speeds at which aerodynamic forces have stabilised to keep them at a steady cyclic motion. Therefore at lower rotational speeds, the rotor blades tend to flap outside of their dampened travel paths and can strike objects or persons within the perimiter of the blade tips, posing an accident hazard, seriously compounded by wind. The provision for a "high-wind" start keeps the rotor brake on until there is sufficient engine power to drive the rotor blades to their operational speed with the minimum delay, obviating the aforementioned hazard.

 

Not all helicopters have this provision. On the S61A-4 Nuri, my "first girlfriend", there was no high-wind start because she had a "rotor lockout" system where the No 1 engine was always started up first, and it drove an accessory drive shaft to run all the pumps and generators and accessories without driving the main rotor blades, facilitating physical servicing and preflight checks, until a full rotor engagement was needed after No 2 engine was fired up. In this arrangement, when the rotor brake was finally released for rotor engagement, there was sufficient force driving the rotors to bypass the likelihood of blade sailing. Different strokes for different folks.

All systems looking good

Anyhow, the high-wind start was executed without incident at 1140H. Ten minutes later we were taxying to the holding point prior line-up on runway for a few hover manouvres. I, of course, sat as quietly as a secretary, calling out temperatures and pressures and various other readings while Sifu had all the fun playing with this toy, dragging it along the runway at ten feet height, this way, that way and on spot turns to determine the handling properties. Then it was time to climb to 3000 feet for the other flight certification items.

The congestion-causing construction of the new bridge at Kemaman

It was a good day to fly. It was slighty hazy, the sea was rippling blue and visibility spread to 50 miles. A strata of cloud played around at Kemasik  at 2700 feet, giving way to good visibilty just before Kemaman. When the Sifu called for the single engine climb items, I was ready to punch the clock and take the engine, gearbox, flight and atmospheric parameter details in periodic increments of 30 seconds until a 4-minute climb was recorded. I had sufficient rehearsals from previous single engine climb tests to not raise a growl from Sifu and that was comforting. Hey, but this was me. I raised a growl from him just before landing anyway.



We requested a rejoin to Kerteh for an Instrument Landing System approach, and were granted, to track to and report once established on the localiser. The ILS would display instrumentally to the pilot, the centreline and the glide path to a touchdown point on the active runway, and it was for the pilot to fly such as to intercept both for a precision approach to land. Or as in my case, I could couple the auto-pilot to the ILS ground stations and let the aircraft do the rest down to 18 feet above the runway. Somehow, and most likely due to being a tad rusty from not flying 18 days a month as I used to, the coupling would not work on my selection of push-buttons. By the time I abandoned the autopilot and started wrestling with the aircraft, I was way above glide slope, although within 5 degrees of centreline or localiser, and losing the battle like a Persian at Thermopyle. But since part of the airworthiness test called for the use of the "go-around" button, I depressed it at minima and heaved my relief, allowing a hands-free climb to circuit height and then tracking back to 7 miles south of Kerteh to set up for another ILS approach.

 

However, timing was not good. It was about 1250H, just about when all the offshore folk were returning from their sectors. When I requested rejoin for another ILS approach runway 34, tower replied, "9MSTI, hold south west of airfield due to 4 aircraft on rejoin, you will be No 4 in rejoin sequence, No 3 estimates at 05 past the hour."

 

Sifu and I looked at each other. That was a good 20 minutes before we could request for another approach. There was time for another few items to be knocked off, and soon after that a second ILS approach was made, and this time the autopilot coupling worked, smoothly at that. One more go-around, then it was finals for a full-stop landing. On base leg, Sifu stirred the monotony with a challenge to his copilot, moi.

 

"Land the aircraft with the autopilot off. If you make it a good landing, I will buy you lunch. If you make a bad landing, you buy me lunch."

 

Let's say that normally, an autopilot off manouvre will make the handling pilot, such as I am, look like he is using the cyclic to stir dodol.

 

"Oh sir, I do need a lunch sir," I replied, not to be daunted until overwhelmed by the agony of defeat. I had my hands on the cyclic and collective, forcing my fists to unclench, fighting my classic reaction when faced with systems failure. I was surprised to find the aircraft behaving well. But not to congratulate myself too early, I held on till the aircraft slowed down for misbehaviour, as would happen when the speed decayed below translational lift, where inflow aerodynamic properties are lost and flying was completely dependant on rotor dynamics. A wobble in hover ensued after that drop in critical speed. Sifu's voice punctuated the wobble with, "I can see my lunch coming now."

 

I touched down shortly after, and that same voice said, "Right. Looks like lunch is on me."

 

Sundram's was a very welcome sight that day.

 

 

What Said Fred?

Right!!!!!

It is for reasons such as the above that my trust  in the mainstream media is eroded.

First, Lord Sauron blames everything on an Elvish Tsunami. Then as more free peoples of Middle Earth stand behind their fellow Elves, and the voices of men, dwarfs, hobbits and Ents hurl revelations of truth at the Black Gates, damage control in the form of 'reconciliation' is put forth. If the manner of reconciliation mooted by former appeals court judge Mohd Noor Abdullah is any measure of the effort, we are many miles from the Truth And Reconciliation of post-apartheid South Africa under Nelson Mandella.

 

I have long stopped buying into the idea that our unity is engineered by Mordor. The utter hypocrisy of  outsourced racist drivel mired with threadbare feelgood campaigning surely has to be the patching of a ripped garment with unshrunk cloth. It merely tears away and the hole made much worse  than before.

 

Middle Earth was not split into partisan blocks from a mere 5 years ago. Who would be so devoid of integrity as to even print that for sale, let alone hope to chance that anyone will even believe it? The wounds upon society have been inflicted systematically and periodically over many generations in order to take hold, and the only wounds sustained over the last 5 years are those over and above the ones we wear from the inception of the current generation of Orcs.

 

The seeds of discord sown by the Nazgul have not rent the races of Middle Earth. None believe this brand of parochialism save for the bands of Warg Hunters, Haradrim and Uruks who stand to gain as they have no other source of influence or comradeship except in the partaking of evil. Those who wear any of the rings of power will be bound by the spell of the One. But it remains with the free peoples of Middle Earth to keep up the resistance  until the resources of evil are exhausted.

Some of you may die, but that is a sacrifice I am willing to make.

 

Lord Farquaad can organise a tournament, just like the one in print above, and yes, people will participate for all manner of reasons. It is nice for a young urban professional to turn the pages of the newspaper and view his remarks on unity and share that with his friends at the mamak coffee table. Which schoolkid would pass up a chance to see his name in print in the press? However, the scale of participation should not be mistaken for the sharing of his cause, especially with the kind of sacrifices he is willing to make.

I do not know when Lord Sauron will ever wake up to the truth that not one amongst the free peoples of Middle Earth buy his brand of anything whatsoever.

There is no secret to why all his illusion-fuelled grandiose embarkations are predestined to nowhere. It is simple, to wit, there is no better teacher than example.

Sometime back, I suppose it was in the late 80s, in the United States, there was a spike in the incidence of military offenses across all armed services. The top brass was alarmed and organised inquiries to get to the bottom of things. In the interviews, both officers and enlisted men revealed that they had come to know that so-and-so, a Major/Colonel/General, is guilty of pilfering/direlection/ abuse of public funds/crony promotions and whatever have you. If he can break all those rules and not be held accountable for them, why on earth should I?

Therefore, should you  be have a reputation made suspect with murder, inefficiency, fraud, corruption, lying, showboating and the list goes on ad infinitum ad nauseaum, nobody will ask to buy your wares on display in public office. Your legitimacy is long lost, and your quiet does not bear the scent of dignity.

 

Who will see the need to be courteous on the street, to stand apart from many with intergrity in upholding the truth, when the Lord at the helm sets such a poor example while insisting on representing all of Middle Earth?

 

Thankfully, and much to Sauron's discredit and proof of his failed campaigns, more people have stood for what's good and right.

 

It also follows that those who do not, merely reflect the example of the leadership shown by those who would weild power over us.

 

The simple trusim that example is the best teacher cannot be done away with.

Perhaps the Pellenor  Fields are taken. Perhaps Osgiliath is overrun.

But we the free peoples of Middle Earth will continue, as we always have, to ignore and be ignored by, the ways of evil.

For the time will soon come when Hobbits will shape the fortune of all.

LIMA 2013

Yes, admittedly it isn't Farnborough or the Paris Air Show anymore than LTDL is a kinship to Le Tour de France.

 

But every LIMA has just got to be good for the mackciks and pakciks of Langkawi. The cab fare hikes, the B and Bs filling up, the brisk business at the hotels and accomodations, surely mean more to the locals than how contentiously the Eurofighter Thyphoon compares to Dassault Aviation's Rafale. All around the Mahsuri International Exhibition Centre, at the grass strip next to the roads leading there and adjacent the airports, all manner of hawkers were plying their trade.

Our ride, the EC225

 

And as for me, the standing lament that Brenda has never had a helicopter ride was finally addressed.

Brenda in offshore configuration

 

The initial sales pitch was that Eurocopter Malaysia wanted an EC225 to be parked on the display apron to comprise their livery which was represented virtually in all arms of the government of the country, ie the Royal Malaysian Navy, the Malaysian Maritime Enforcement Agency, the Royal Malaysian Air Force, the Royal Malaysian Police (though not represented at LIMA by their Ecureuil) and yes, our own offshore helicopter services. We were to fly 9MSTI there from the Eurocopter hangar co-located at the Eurocopter Malaysia simulator centre, over to Langkawi where LIMA was in festive swing and when all was done, to ferry her back to the Malaysian Institute of Aviation Technology at Dengkil.

Rue and her dimples

 

The company was allowing us to bring our families along. I was in the throes of ecstatic agony of a massage when I got the call, and yet I jumped at the chance and conveyed my acquisence to my chief pilot amidst undisguised albeit stifled groans of relief.

Ellen in foreground whilst I am on pre-start checks in the background

 

This was to be my first ever IFR ferry flight, and I set off to do my homework and prep for the flight. Sunday saw us on a drive to Nilai to glance in on Ethan. He seemed none the worse for the wear of his recent transpirations of university life, and he was very kind-spirited about not being able to come along for the ride. I figured that what he had going on in his college was far more interesting than the opportunity for a helicopter ride and five days in the Langkawi sun.

 




Approaching Penang, with the faint strand of the bridge visible in the haze

Monday was start-up and off to Langkawi as per flight plan. As I was referring to an airways chart, I seem to have tossed my General Aviation sense out the window as when I looked down between the crevasses of cloud, I could not positively identify the roads and the paddy fields I was looking down on. By dead reckoning I was somewhere overhead Sekinchan, but no way was I able to pin-point it down to a town. Lumut looked vaguely familiar, and yes, things became more positive as we flew over Penang and then Langkawi. Yeah, no need for a pilot to tell you that it's the Penang Bridge beneath us.

 



Coffee and a view at 303

Eurocopter had inserted a leaflet into the copilot's document holder telling us we were to be put up at the Meritus. When we were at the baking hot dispersal of the Eurocopter hangar in Subang, the name Meritus sounded more like clergy to the uncultured Matisas. But Brenda had wifi access where she was waiting over at Skypark, and she happily reported that "it looked good" on her internet research. However, after landing at the Langkawi International airport's crowded apron and checking in at the Meritus, we discovered that the Meritus was where Eurocopter executives were housed for the occasion, which was opulently indulgent. Yes, and we were booked into the VIP room too!!!



Me girls soaking up the sun

The girls, ie Brenda, Ellen and Rowena had to be abandoned to their devices, as I elected to be with the tech boys who were handling all manner of visitors clambering into the cabin and cockpit for their facebook moments.



Ellen doing her thing

The sun beat down mercilessly upon the tarmac. The dispersal is never a kind area for airshows, as there is no hint of cover anywhere. This always is a contradiction in requirements, as taking cover beneath a gazebo or tent means your sky view is restricted, while on the other hand, you actually need clear skies with a decently high cloud base for aerobatic manouvres, thereby you can't ask for a terribly overcast day or strong cooling winds which would screw up the airshow. So in the end, it's a no-win situation for those who have to work at the static displays.



No questions, just pictures!!!

I will say this though: that amidst the agony of being under the sun and sweating so much as to fill a sty, there were some sweet moments where I bumped into many, many old friends of mine who still serve in the air force. It is always nice to meet Maj "David", who once was my aircraft captain, now a legal officer for the force. He had a long waiting time for his flight, so I spent almost the entire day strolling from booth to booth with him in MIEC, seeking refuge in the air conditioning between periods of time entertaining facebookers milling around the EC225 on the dispersal. There were the Smokey Bandits Mig-29 jocks who shook my hand for what they called a good write-up in You Are Not Family.The air force boys never let me feel that I had left. They accosted me into their operations centre and put a Coke into my hands, had me seated down where I could cool off and forced an air force goodie bag onto me. Sorry, that was inadvertant. What I meant was, this is the kind of hospitality you can never buy. As Maj "David" said, yeah, we are still family. My batchmates were striding around, looking important, all Leftenant Colonels now. Some were liason officers for foreign military delegates. Some were on conferences, some were escorting the ex PM who rivalled Solomon for sitting on the throne for so long. All in all, it was unofficially a reunion of sorts for me.


Rehydrating!!

The searing heat got to me at each day's end. I could only make it back to the room, to collapse in the relieving air-conditioning. Then it was to shower the construction-worker grade pong off me and walk down the street to Chenang for dinner. It was on the third day in the sun that I finally decided to make good my privileges as a Eurocopter pilot and hang around at their gazebo whenever I could, to rehydrate on bottles of chilled Perrier and Pellegrino. This helped to keep the heatsroke at bay till I finally found my refuge at the room in Meritus after closing shop with the aircraft. As the conversations went well with the Eurocopter staff, they even popped open some red for me as an accompaniment to the beef that was served for lunch. Yes, very agreeable indeed!


My First Love

But as all good things must come to an end, Friday evening was the wrap-up day for us. I had the aircraft towed to the 'hot area', the rectangular tarmac at the southern end of the dispersal, for an immediate lift-off anticipated the next morning. All the other helicopters were parked on the hot area. Yes, including my 'first girlfriend', the S61A-4 Sikorsky Sea King Nuri. I know her nooks and crannies, her blisters and bumps, where the crimson hydraulic seep out, the fuel drain points and all her fuselage skin with intimacy saved for a fond favourite. I walked in a circle around her, my hand tracing the path of where my eyes would fall during a pre-flight check, which I have done in many unusual spots in country and out, over the eighteen years of flying her. I miss her still.


Overhead Ipoh Turf Club at 7000 feet

Saturday morning saw no relief to the heat. We dragged our luggage past the gates and loaded up the 225, while the tech boys charged up the batteries and hydraulics using the ground power unit. After a climb-out to 7000 feet, the flight back was uneventful as always when it comes to IFR airways routes. Major landmarks were discernible through the haze and the backscattered sunlight. We tracked through Butterworth, Ipoh and down to Subang.

Our waterfront

A five hour drive later saw us pulling up in the darkness up the familiar driveway in Jalan Chabang Kerteh. I am often surprised at myself for saying this, but it did feel good to be home again.

But without a doubt, we will sorely miss the beachfront outside room 303 at the Meritus.
 

Siminul Win

First of all, well done to my still serving fighter pilot brethren for a stellar ground attack in Lahad Datu.

 

For the ongoing military operations, may my brothers in arms have courage, as we have courage in you.

 

And it appears that I have not only been exposed but also other blogs have verbatimmed my earlier post and I have been slammed for what I have said. Yes, I shall lose sleep over this!!

 

Amongst what has been hurled:

Bagaimana nak jawap ni?
Nobody is criticising the ATM.
We are angry our ATM are being put at unnecessary risk because of the prevailing stupidity of the PM and HM. Habis cerita. Bila GE nanti kita ABU!

 

and:

I tak faham what this guy is screaming about. So does it mean that we can continue to have a useless government who does not care two hoots of Sabah' borders, yes and to go on issuing ICs to these philipino migrants just becos it is all in the name of Muslim brotherhood, and that they are welcomed to stay in Lahad Datu.. blah2? So we can't criticize the manner in which the episode is being handled and that whatever silly decisions the present ruling government makes, we have to go along? And then we are family? Crap!

 

In the first instance I write on my own blog for my own pleasure and not yours. I seek no consensus nor affirmation. I know full well that I am no Raja Petra with hits in the hundreds per post. LOL!! Nobody read my blog for 5 years and nobody gave a damn. Kinda nice really :)

One of the failings of the internet age is that instead of liberating fertile opinion, it has bred opinionism. The anonymity and impunity of the net allows you to criticise all and sundry, over matters that are not under your control. Sometimes this is great. Other times it is brainless. I admit it serves as self therapy but for most times it remains as self indulgent hand relief. And decisions on territorial sovereignty is a field not open to Joe and Jane Public. Period.

Claimed proprietorship of common sense in questioning the government may be made on the common street, but not along the private chambers where difficult decisions are made. Such decisions are not on your shoulder and yelp as you may here, you have no influence on the outcome whether for victory or for defeat.

But there are those who have no choice but to obey. They bear a burden beyond what you can fathom and they do it even if they feel the way you do about the government. That is where boys are separated from men.

 

It is bad enough that both sides of the political haggling will be exploiting this episode for their own political buoyancy and survival, without those on the sidelines who have no intent in becoming part of the solution volunteering unwarranted comment and contributing to the problem. What makes it worse, especially for armchair generals and politicans alike, is that no matter what we see in the government, they cannot be denied looking good at how their servants have handled the situation on the ground. Much to your chagrin perhaps, but see what yapping does?? Whom do you think you are impressing? What a bunch of reality show couch potatoes!

 

The wonderful thing about a crisis is that we get to see who really loves this land. The charlatans come crawling  out like roach nymphs from the decaying woodwork.

 

What errors may have been committed in the fog of war have been committed. Poor information makes for inaccurate decisions, but it is not unusual in war. Don't you know whom the first casualty of war is?? But laying your hand at the plough and looking backward makes for a very crooked furrow in the land you intend to sow and harvest.  Yet the leaders have reconstituted, and so legitimised their actions that not a single nation under the UN has batted an eyelid over the application of force, especially the elected government of the Philippines.

 

To the uninformed, all war, conventional or counter-insurgency, is as much hardware driven as information augmented. There will be psychological operations through the falsification of information. Indeed, terrorists are called that because they strike terror, not fear, by the ugliness they leave behind them as they move.

 

In that same vein, the spewing of dissent in the media, mainstream or alternative, aids the enemy. Knowing you do not support your elected leaders in a time of national crisis is the very boost of morale to their illegitimate cause that they seek without sweating out a victory on the battlefield. In short, you are unwittingly or deliberately, presenting yourself as a traitor just on the basis of your poor taste in airing your graces and deranged sense of timing.

 

The time for chastising those whom you feel are less qualified than you in leading this operation will come, but it is not this day You can have your devalued two cents worth for unedited publishing later when the dust is settled, but it is not this day. Today we must stand as one. Else the cost will be more than your deluded rantings can salvage.

 

Those who are legally trained understand the need for restraint on public comment over a trial still under deliberation. I do not plead that you accord the same respect over a very trying time for all Malaysians. That is if you believe that in these times there is something bigger at hand than your own sentiments, and that is to stand together with your elected leaders for whatever outcome this may bring; that is if you actually believe in this country at all. We are on the same boat. You can stand with your captain and try to keep the ship afloat, or you can jump off like a hoarde of rats. Your choice reflects your allegience.

I have said my piece. I do not seek to convert the inconvertible who insist on so much while contributing little.

In the end when all falls to dust it is those whom you condemn who will have to watch your sorry asses.

Just sayin'.

You Are Not Family

I have often been asked if I miss being in the air force. This is is a rather popular question, and one even I have foolishly asked when mingling with some senior officers on the brink of retirement. The universal answer was always, yes, and when followed with what it was they missed the answer was always comradeship.

 

I do not miss the comradeship. I have discovered that come any street, I have the ability to make friends. And friends will do what friends do, in service or out in civvy street. That's an entire different  argument there.

 

The point is, it isn't the comradeship that I miss.

 

It's the involvement.

 

Everyone thinks they have heard all there is to hear about Lahad Datu. And God be my witness, I wish I were right there to do something about it. If they called me now, I would be there yesterday bearing arms.

 

I have really had it with the rubbish that has been spewed in the alternative media, where even facebook has not been spared.

 

How easy it is to condemn and criticise the working man, whether soldier or policeman on the ground, over your dissatisfactions with the establishment. How simplistic it is to draft the unfounded analogous parallel to an intruder into your home, when you haven't accounted for turning on the lights and finding your cousin staring back at your baseball bat at the ready to bludgeon his head. How horribly obscene it is to make all this a racial episode, forgetting that all races have died in service to King and country, as easily overlooked that it was not just one race that took up the armed communist struggle in our rainforests. Worst of all, it is an outrage that anyone, individual and entity alike, should look so poorly upon the lives that were taken in the shootout at Lahad Datu by milking it for illicit political mileage.

 

The kind of remarks that have been passed in the alternative media has made me feel that a great many of us perhaps deserve less than what we claim we are entitled to in a transparent and graft-free government.

 

From the comfort of your air conditioned homes and plush offices, you would pose as the intellectual authority on how the police are supposed to handle this quagmire of a crisis. Your gleaning of a few lurid misadventures when you have  brushed with them from the wrong side of the law does not equate to an intimate knowledge of their modus operandi.

 

What recent events have unearthed is a hoarde of the ugliest Malaysian attitudes I have had the displeasure to read. If this is any shade of colour on the civic consciousness litmus, the singular conclusion must be that we are not ready for public opinion to be a driving force for government policy.

 

When do you think that you were made entitled to disclosure of military manouvres? When you survived Outward Bound School?

 

Everything in the military runs on a security classification. Even the "UNCLASSED" documents are for internal reading only. While you are so reluctant to serve, and discourage anyone who shows an interest in becoming a soldier, you think you can fathom the details of who should handle what in such an intricate crisis?

 

There are some professions you have no right to pass judgement on unless you have given your blood into them, soldiering being high on that heirarchy. You're not of the fraternity, so forever hold your piece! You are not family!!

 

Those who slurred at the armed forces as being good only for butt-wriggling exercises have exposed their intelligence for what it is: the myopic inability to discern between a serving soldier bound by discipline, and a retired veteran's group which isn't. Do you know how stupid you sound to those of us from the profession of arms??

Those who charge that our armed forces are low on training and experience should conduct better research instead of infusing beer and conspiracy novels as sources of military intelligence.

You cannot legitimise military action in a civil area unless it has been declared as no man's land and hostilities have been announced. The Malaysian Armed Forces is a highly trained organisation sought after by the UN from our days in conflicts in Congo, Cambodia, Bosnia, the Middle East and the volatile Eritrea. We have officers who have single handedly slaughtered a truckload of Mogadishu warlords on the verge of slaying women and children; we have officers who managed to apply escape and evasion tactics after abduction and torture at the hands of Sierra Leone bandits, veterans of the communist insurgency, and a collective of several decades of service in humanitarian aid and disaster relief areas. They know the legal complications of using military options as a first resort, the implications of having to be bound by the Laws Of Armed Conflict and the Geneva Convention. Indeed, those very laws were manipulated and violated in order to draw our secuirty forces into the killing zone when the intruders waved the white flag as a prelude to gunning our boys down. You just cannot deal summarily with this viscous situation.

I do not envy the position of our governing politicans now because it is such a delicate situation yet they know they are damned if they do and damned if they don't. While they may have bungled during times of civil dissent, these shades of incompetence do not validate the widespread claims by Joe Public that Joe Public has a better grasp on the burden of responsibility replete with the tactical and strategic weildings to make this work and that therefore the various ministers attempting to unravel this mess should resign. Joe, you are indeed laughable because in your self-inflicted significance and stupor you intend to hold the backdoor open for someone holding public office to run off before the assembly of the full orchestra can take place. Do this only if you can close the door and occupy the emptied seat.

 

The Royal Malaysian Police have given their lives to guard your homes in the Lahad Datu stand-off.

 

As the episode has yet to conclude, it is not known yet how many more lives will be lost.

 

But as policemen and soldiers get their orders to move into the area, those orders are obeyed in the face of death. They have no choice. They have always known this and they march into battle when their time arrives.

 

Do not even begin to justify the cost of their lives with the taxes you pay or the job they have undertaken. Nothing you pare out of your ill-gotten gains can pay off the widows and orphans trailing in the wake of those who have done what you can choose not to do. No amount of intellectualisation will ever raise you to the level of sacredity they attain for knowingly going, without a backward glance, especially on behalf of those who scoff at them.

 

Therefore, since you have neither the inclination to take up a gun and work with others by placing your life in their hands and defending their lives with yours, nor the spirit to run for office and face being blamed by your own breed, leave those who have the dirty work to do what dirty work there is.

 

As far as I can see, you have begun by your crescendo of Crucify them!! Crucify them!! only to be followed by Hossana!! Hossana!! when your barking has been choked in your throat when met with the blood of those whom you condemn.

 

I tell you verily, this makes you nothing more than a brood of vipers.

Road Trips, Ballads and Armchair Generals

Retail therapy for cyclists is a coordinated suit

As the calendar turns, Christmas has drawn on towards Chinese New Year. I have been clocking on the miles with the Elantra. As I normally drive Ethan back after he has bussed his way up, it appears that with each trip, I get stuck on a new ballad or pop song.

 

For Christmas it was Maroon Five's One More Night. A sudden trip to meet up with old buddies had me listening to REM's Losing My Religion on the repeat loop. Then when sending Ethan back after Chinese New Year, it was Billy Joel's Vienna. I have nobody to annoy, and my OCD can have me repeating the track till I get the lyrics corrected, or at least in as far as in-car-audio will allow me to.

The Fuji tethered at the watering trough while I go to the saloon for a..coffee

 

But digressions aside, for the past 3 months I have been rather indulgent with retail therapy over my little vices. Being jobless begs an escape from  sheer boredom, and not to denounce Kerteh, but even in a place as Spartan as this, I have managed to run up the bills. They were, though, in my defense, healthy indulgences, such as cycling jerseys and other knick-knacks for the new Fuji.

The EC225 and her stablemate Sikorsky 76

 

However, the honeymoon cannot last forever, and it appears to be coming to its end not a day too soon. Three of us pure EC225 copilots who have had no previous experience on the other stablemates of the company have just completed 3 days of ground school for the Super Puma L2. Next will be the type technical exam at DCA, followed by the C of T. Soon after I should be operational for offshore flying. Eurocopter has said that the EC225 will be flying by April, but have not come out of the closet with the cause of the May and October ditchings of 2012, and Exxon has been firm about not allowing their clients to board the EC225 till full disclosure and rectification, of the root cause is seen to. This stalemate means that we EC225 fellows will have to convert to the predecessor in  order to not go to rot, and thereby make ourselves worthy of our monthly salt.

 

As an idle pilot, apart from my cash-absorbent but wholly therapeutic indulgences, I loiter at political blogs. I do not take this as a means of knowing the truth, because judging from the content of the articles in the "alternative media", these websites are no more journalistic than any other form of the mainstream, but they do provide what we all seek: an alternative to controlled media. To be fair, it is not so much the journalists that I abhor, as to be real journalists, they merely report what occurs as fairly as their flavours allow. It is the commentors though who are a completely mired kettle of fish.

 

Virtually every single one of them wants to forward a conspiracy theory. Were these logically and intelligently drafted, they would at least make for a good bowel-moving read. What gets published instead of the desirous writings is a bloodletting and condemnation of all the institutions of government in vainglorious attempt at pseudo-intellectuality, basking in the afterglow of a Pyrrhic victory. And none more do they like to take a swipe at than the military. Which rouses my ire instantly.

Air-chauffering the 3-star on a visit to all the anti-piracy radar sites on the east coast of Sabah

 

The recent incursion at Lahad Datu is a case in point. The alternative media did spill it out in teasing doses with the effect that the general public came back spewing outrage with a passion that leaves the Ms Bhavani's Listen Listen Listen episode dumbfoundingly eclipsed.

 

Most of these baying mongrels cannot tell the difference between a policeman and a soldier, let alone demarcate their varying jurisdiction and channels of authority. There was universal condemning of all purchased military hardware and serving men and women as having slept on the job after consuming a salary coming from the taxes that they pay. One would be so convinced that these armchair Generals had paid our soldiers, sailors and airmen personally at the frontline out of their own pockets.

Serving the country by way of operations over Sabah

 

Really, guys, you do not know exactly where your tax ringgit have gone, and whatever goes into a soldier's salary does not come close to justifying lives that are on the line beyond the proportion that any salary can compensate. In all reality taxes paying the soldiers' salary is the cleanest manner of disbursing your tax ringgit compared to all else that transpires.

 

Formation flight over the wetlands of Bongawan

Remarks such as these only serve to give the picture that they are conceived by a generation of spoilt brats who have either grown up on the ill-paid labours of maids, or paid maids to do a job that they would not, and therefore surmise that money can buy a person's will, pay for human life and even substitute good character. The fact that all soldiers also pay taxes eludes them, and they have grossly overlooked the fact that you cannot exhort someone to 'do the job and don't makan gaji buta' when you do not know what their job is, are not qualified to lead them and even less, do not share their training, qualifications and wordless obedience to directives no matter how they feel about their orders coming from the ruling government.

Low level flight from SiAmil to Semporna, 30 feet from sea level at 120 knots

 

The intricacies of Sabah's mysterious background is a result of centuries of watermanship along very porous coastlines. Having flown over these areas at heights so low only a fisherman would have spotted me at speeds that would have made him jump out of his skin, I know as well as anyone else who works these borders how easily penetrable they are. There just isn't enough hardware and skilled personnel to cover the miles of coast, and this is compounded by the state's, nay, the country's extensive coastline as an immense littoral state. Incursions into the east coast especially, have been taking place for as far back as when I was a schoolkid in KK anytime the Moros needed to outsource their recruitment. These exercises are nothing new, but pseudo-Generals express outrage as if this were a problem that the army was not already contending with.

Nose down for a towering take-off

 

In the late 90's when the 5th Infantry Brigade mooted redeployment away from the coastal islands, the village heads pleaded with the Field Commander not to as the infantry dug into the islands served as the only buffer against the frequency of pirates raiding the villages. Well, I did sit in at the lunches and listened to them entreat the Field Commander, as I was flying him on the tour. Yes, the army brass relented. No withdrawal took place and the status quo reigned till the Moros decided to elevate their enterprise to the international level in 2001 with the abduction at Padanan-Sipadan to the embarassment of the local cops. Now the military is used as reinforcement of the police in Ops PASIR ( Padanan-Sipadan Island Resort), but one must bear in mind that the military does not lead the neutralisation of domestic threat. They have other primary duties. You just cannot militarise a civilian area unless a declaration of hostilities has taken place, when civil law then is superceded by wartime rules of engagement.

Moi, doing a troop changeover at Seliku

 

The comments section on the alternative media, apart from slurring the security forces, called for a cessation to negotiations and that the splinter troops be shot dead. Brilliant aren't they? This is neither Hollywood nor is it a situation where we can take the High Noon posture of gunboat diplomacy that Globocop would prescribe. So much water has passed beneath this bridge that we cannot take the option of burning it behind us. And as sullied hands are at work, resolutions are a delicate affair. Assigning blame at this juncture is a fool's paradisical relish, for some of us inherit a mess not of our making yet we have to unravel it for everybody's sake.

 

To the armchair Generals, I would say, let those who are yoked with the job, do what they must, unfettered. If you feel you can do it better, sign your name where it matters and take up a gun. Either way, your rants do not inspire confidence that you would know which way to get seated on a commode let alone resolve this country's myriad and intricate crises.

A Full Table

'Twas a good table, 'twas!

All I could say on that grey morning of 22 Dec as I walked out to the dispersal was "Hi there gorgeous!!"

 

It had been more than a month since I last had control of the aircraft, and the ground confinement was beginning to inflict its own kind of cabin fever. Therefore I was grateful indeed to be called in for a flight test, and with that to wedge in my last flight for the year. It's more than most EC225 pilots can ask for of late due to the circumstances.





Hello there 9M-SPF!!



The requirement was for a flight test, for the HUMS device. 40 minutes of airborne time inclusive of maximum continuous power level flights were needed to get the HUMS analyses running. It had been a while since I had looked upon the face of the east coast from the air. It was a cloudy day, swift carpets flying in laden with rain, normally scattering precipitation over the range and into the Klang valley, but these were the incipients of the monsoon that would send Kuantan into its worst floods in 20 years.

Through the veil of mists, mother earth shows her face

There were many other helicopters in the air that morning. Since the company was not flying clients, our rival company across the tarmac had to work four times as  hard, and the traffic density reflected this quadrupled effort. I listened to the familiar sounds of departure calls from the pilots and the voice of the air traffic controller providing separation whilst accounting for our aircraft tracking the coastal route to Dungun at 2000 feet. His instruction to us was to remain over the land whilst the rest of the boys headed offshore, simplifying the separation process, and I reassured him that we would keep feet dry.



Gazing towards Dungun and a rain-swept shoreline

After establishing our location at Dungun at 2000 feet, I made the position report to the tower controller. Looking at the clock, I quipped to the captain that we had at least 20 minutes in the area to burn for the flight test. We adhered to the flight test profile, alternating between 100 knots and maximum continuous power, punching in the HUMS to record the flight regime conditions accordingly.

Penerak

On a coastal route with that much time on our hands, I kept an eye on the Distance Measuring Equipment from Kerteh, to make sure we didn't stray out of the zone boundary at which we would come under Kuala Terengganu approach control. As we approached the 25-nautical mile mark, looking down, I saw Penerak for the first time since I joined the company. It was an airstrip, used as a reporting point between controlling authorities for the handing over and taking over control of aircraft. It has been used by various armed forces in joint training especially under the Exercise Bersatu Padu, but from the air it looked pretty disused, somewhat the way the Kuala  Penyu airstrip looks.



Sandbars enfringing the coast

Eventually our flight time was satisfied and I was given control of the aircraft for the approach to land. I noticed that I was not as tense as usual, even though I bore in mind the nature of this French machine as a less than willing partner than an American aircraft. As I completed the paperwork, I realised that this would be my final logbook entry for 2012. With Christmas on the horizon and predicted dates for the EC225 to be back on line being mid February, that closing thought was pretty much conclusive.



No chestnuts. Sigh....but there's  lamb!!!!

Christmas itself was a novel event. I had foreseen the usual, as we had done last year. A mundane attendance at mass. A sermon to pay no attention to. A drive to Kijal and its non eventful restaurants, with its unexciting menu at hand. But as it turned out, Christmas was to involve more than just the family.



Support your barbequeue Chef!! Pour him a Drambuie neat on the rocks!!

Mum-in-law was down, and so was Ethan on his Christmas break from the foundation course. Even though in the past, weeks of choir practice and a rousing midnight mass was what lent us the Christmas spirit, this diasporadic Catholic existence in Dungun made me consider that the spirit was to be sought elseways.

Thrills at the Grille

The visit from Father GT was a sure ripple in the monotony. He brought along a guest whom we had seen in our Dungun shoplot church, and well, we got to know her. We had a home-cooked lunch, and as I looked around the table where we nine were seated, I realised that I shouldn't have so foolishly pre-empted God's ability to turn a day around on its head. Brenda's own table was one that could only be described with words of satiety. Which was all good as Tina, Father GT's guest did invite us for a dinner following Christmas mass at Dungun. Which in turn was good because she and her mother, Mrs Gomes turned out a table so good that one would forget the existence of the various Arabic restaurants along the east coast. The Indian ginger pickles continuously called my name, and toasting after dinner with ginger wine warmed the belly as decently as any hearth could.

And he called for his pipe and he called for his bowl...

Then there was Christmas night itself, when two workmates and one parishioner dropped by armed with a bottle of red each. They stepped into the house and started on the hummus and celery while I fanned the barbie coals to embers before grilling loads of beef and lamb to succulent perfection for a loud and cheery dinner.

And they brought unto him gold, frankincense and myrrh

In all this, wouldn't I want to share good cheer with more of my friends? It is a day when frailty and humility was the choice of the supreme power of the universe, to befriend creation's most recalcitrant breed.

 

Would I not seek to bridge what gaps there may be? Indeed should I not??

  

Yet it is at this time of the year that the mouthpieces of the executive should seek to injure all and any manifestation of goodwill. We are not to be wished Merry Christmas. It is haram. Such edicts are no more God-ordained than the intent that drove the slaying of babies after Christ's birth in the hope of wiping Him out in the process: that innocent good is a mere pawn in the hands of those who wield power and authority.

  

I am speaking not against anyone, but speaking up for my friends across the faith divide. I was not deprived in any way, of Christmas wishes from my friends whatever  faith they professed.

  

For this, I thank you. What you do represents the way you believe your Creator to be. And come to think of it, just as was described in the Gospel of Matthew that the infant Jesus survived Herod's infanticide, the good we harbour shall survive the evil that is inflicted upon us.

  

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year my friends. May your days ahead be blessed.