The black C-130 military cargo plane banked into a perilous 60-degree descending turn as the pilot maneuvered to align the giant transport for the final approach to Mena.
The craft went full flaps as the pilot pushed full left rudder, putting the plane into a right forward slip, descending rapidly toward it's target, the threshold of the 5,000-foot runway 17.
It was an unorthodox maneuver for a plane of that size and as Terry Reed kept his vision locked on the approaching craft, he remarked to Joe Evans who was standing nearby, "This damn July temperature is just like Southeast Asia. The hotdog pilot in the 130 better watch the density altitude at this elevation. He's flying like he was trained by Air America!"
Though Terry didn't know it at the time, that was precisely the case. He did not recognize the elderly pilot initially. It had been 14 years since their farewells in Thailand. He was about to be reunited with Bill Cooper.
When the cargo ramp descended and the shrill whine of the turbines spooled down, neither Terry nor the other three waiting instructors were quite prepared for the 20 ragtag Nicaraguan "Freedom Fighters" who walked down to the tarmac. By this time in the afternoon on July 8, 1984, the ramp had been heated to frying-pan temperatures by the sun over Arkansas.
Evans turned to Terry. "Yeah," the mechanic with the weather-beaten face said. "Barry tells me most of these pilots they're gonna use down there in Central America are ex-Air America cowboys. I guess your job is to lasso these young mavericks and teach them how to fly heavy iron. I sure don't envy you guys. Just look at 'em."
Terry was shocked. Somehow, he had expected to see soldiers with bloused pant legs, combat boots and berets. Instead what straggled off the C-130 were men in blue jeans, mismatched colors and Adidas and Nike sneakers. They looked like they had just left a blue-light special at K-Mart.
The only commonality in their "uniform" appeared to be their Levi jeans, some stonewashed, some not, and their Sporty's Pilot Shop private pilot flight kits. Rayban sun glasses adorned their faces, as if they were hoping to emulate the look of the stereotypical super-macho Latino pilot. It triggered in Terry's "stress syndrome" a flashback to Vietnamization where Laotian men stood wearing Raybans and brand new flight suits while picking their noses up to the second knuckle.
"Fuck," exclaimed Evans. "I don't even have Raybans!"
The arriving students were quickly moved out of the Sunday afternoon's heat and into the Rich Mountain hangar while the plane's other occupants sat about their assigned tasks. Although Terry would not learn Richard Brenneke's name -- or the purpose of his trip -- until later, he appeared to be a member of the crew and the person responsible for the skid-mounted cargo that was offloaded into another Rich Mountain hanger. What the crates contained was not discussed, but seemed to be important nevertheless. *
Why had they all come to Arkansas?
Because of the Boland Amendment -- or to be precise, the three Boland Amendments passed in varying form. The legal force of these amendments, attached to Congressional-approved appropriation bills that Reagan was forced to sign into law, is still being debated by scholars. They were intended to bar direct military aid to the Contras training in Central America by U.S. government personnel. But by dissecting the fine print, North and Agency attorneys apparently decided that having the military loan the equipment to this operation -- run by contract employees in the United States -- was not a violation.
Why North and the CIA undertook this operation in Arkansas to circumvent the Boland Amendment was clearly because they were barred by law from doing it themselves. But before they could establish when and where they wanted to set up the operation, they first had to define what they wanted to do there. They then had to decide who would be their proxy. And implementing the "how'" would depend on their skewed legal interpretation, that use of non-government personnel, or contract employees, would not be a Boland violation.
The CIA knew what had to be done. The Nicaraguans desperately needed skilled flight crews that could resupply ground troops engaged in a highly-mobile guerrilla war where resupply can be accomplished only with air drops. This was being done with American contract crews who were at great risk of being exposed if they were shot down and captured.
In deciding where to locate the training base, a map of the United States is needed. Initially, all perimeter states, or border and coastal states, must be eliminated because of the concentration of federal law enforcement and coastal defense agencies such as the Coast Guard, the Air Force, the Navy, the FBI, the Drug Enforcement Administration and U.S. Customs.
From what is left, a state must be chosen. It has to be rural, under-populated and have terrain similar to Nicaragua's. It should also be a state with a political mind set similar to the banana republics that the CIA operates so successfully in. It must possess the right political environment and political power base that would view the Agency as a "welcomed industry'" and a way to enrich itself while picking up a "political marker'" from Washington for a future favor. In short, an accomplice.
Arkansas was the only state that qualified perfectly in each category. And the icing on the cake was the fact that Arkansas already had become the dumping ground for federal facilities no other state wanted, such as the U.S. Army chemical weapons plant in Pine Bluff and the nuclear storage area in Pea Ridge.
So here they were, finally, in Mena. As the students dragged their B-4 bags into the sweltering hangar, the whole scene was reminiscent of in-processing procedures at Don Muang International Airport in Bangkok, Thailand, where all GIs first arrived for their in-country tour of duty in Southeast Asia. The only thing missing was a bevy of oriental hookers waving through the fences at this latest load of "raw meat" arriving from "the world."
Mohamed Atta and sidekick and bodyguard Marwan Al-Shehhi were the ones identified as having been flight students there. Then it was reported -- in a strangely muted tone for what was big news -- that others of the terrorists had been in Venice as well, including Siad Jarrah, said to have been at the controls of the plane that went down in western Pennsylvania.
Three of the four 9/11 pilots learned to fly at two flight schools at the tiny Venice Airport. A terrorist trifecta out at the Venice Airport. Venice, Florida is the biggest 9/11 crime scene that wasn't reduced to rubble. But it hasn't been treated that way. And no one has offered any reason why.
Both flight schools were owned by Dutch nationals. Both had been recently purchased, at about the same time. A year later terrorists began to arrive, in numbers greater than we have so far been told. All of this must be just a freak coincidence, according to the FBI.
We call it their "Magic Dutch Boy Theory."
How had the FBI known the exact identities of the hijackers less than 24 hours after the attack? If their files had been so readily in hand, why hadn't they apprehended them before they killed thousands? And when conscientious FBI agents did try to raise alarms about known Al Qaeda sympathizers at U.S. flight schools, why were they ignored?
The only answer ever given by the FBI to why the terrorists came to the U.S. to learn to fly was 'because flight training is cheaper in the U.S."
But Atta and Marwan ended up paying more than double what flight training costs elsewhere, according to aviation experts. So price was apparently not the object. And besides, in Florida alone there are over 200 flight schools.
What inducements led them to the two in Venice?
Flight school owner Rudi Dekkers inadvertently released paperwork showing that Atta and sidekick Marwan Al-Shehhi paid $28,000 each for what the chief flight instructor at a nearby flight school, Tom Hamersley of Jones Aviation, explained to us was available at his school -- as well as dozens of others -- for a fraction of this price.
Were the inflated prices Atta and his minions paid some kind of 'terrorist surcharge?'
-- Welcome to Terrorland: Mohamed Atta & the 9-11 Cover-up in Florida, by Daniel Hopsicker
The arriving "Freedom Fighters" dropped their gear and were drawn immediately to the white Cessna 404 up on jacks, with its cowlings and inspection plates removed. They were peering with awe and curiosity into the plane's crevices, realizing that, if they "made the grade", this would be the type of plane they'd be flying.
The sleek, twin-engine craft was exposing its internal engineering marvels inherited from the factory in Wichita, Kansas. The plane was considered a "cabin class" aircraft since it had an "air-stair" or clam-shell door on the left rear side that allowed passengers to board by climbing the self-contained staircase. The seating arrangement in this particular plane had six seats in the rear and a "cabin" up front for the pilot and co-pilot. With the large internal cargo area and "potty" in the aft area, this plane appeared gargantuan compared to the light single-engine aircraft in which the students had been trained. It must have made them feel unsure of ever having the ability to master such a large craft.
The instrument panel, which contained a full set of gauges for both pilot and co-pilot, housed twin air speed indicators showing the plane capable of speeds of up to 237 knots. The fuel-injected and turbo-charged Continental engines could propel the plane to altitudes above 25,000 feet. To them this was the ultimate challenge.
Terry entered the hangar along with Emile Camp and the other two flight instructors, pseudonymed "Nebraska" and "Oklahoma."
The man who appeared to be in charge called the wandering group together for in-processing. It was not unlike that first day in Bangkok, filling out forms listing next-of-kin and being briefed on the essentials such as mail deliveries from Central America.
The majority of the briefing was conducted by an Hispanic dressed in fatigues and known only to the flight instructors as "Diego," the "temporary field commander" on loan from Panama who had the bearing and attitude of an experienced military drill instructor and professed to be an ex-helicopter pilot.
"Take those fuckin' sunglasses off, soldiers!" he shouted at the motley crew of trainees, who appeared to be worn out from their flight. He informed them that the four men standing behind him were the "contract instructors" who would teach them advanced flying techniques, and, in particular, aerial resupply procedures they would use in combat -- if they measured up and didn't wash out.
Diego then joined the students as the instructors were asked to introduce themselves and recap briefly their individual aviation backgrounds. The students were then given copies of the Cessna 414 information manual, which, for the purpose of their classroom work, would become their "bible." They were told to memorize it from cover to cover and be prepared at any time to answer questions based on its content.
A brief outline of the aviation curriculum was discussed and they were told that it would be the instructors' job to upgrade them to multi-engine aircraft, giving them the ability to fly safely in the more advanced 400 series-style aircraft.
Once that was accomplished, they would be taught aerial delivery procedures and how to apply these techniques in a hostile environment, meaning when someone was shooting at them from either the ground or air with a combination of both small arms fire or missiles or, even worse, from interceptor aircraft.
The four instructors, who by now knew each other fairly well, were working from lesson plans they had developed which capitalized on their particular expertise and strengths.
A key lesson learned from Vietnam was the need for an expert ground controller at the infantry-company level, whose job was to coordinate the delivery safely from the ground. In other words, he became "air traffic control" in the field and in many cases the success of a mission depended on him.
In this first class of 20, four men were there to become these ground controllers. The U.S. Army had developed this joint training technique where controllers train with flight crews to learn what a pilot has to contend with during these maneuvers.
By now, the skid-mounted cargo containing the field equipment and weapons had been brought into the hangar and each man was given his issue and told to board the white, one-ton Chevy grain truck presently backing into the hangar. The six-foot high sideboards of the truck would shield the occupants from view as they headed for nearby Nella. The only thing that might have seemed odd to the local residents that day occurred when Ramon Vanardos, the truck driver and the man assigned to be the local "supply sergeant," stopped later at a local fast-food joint and ordered 60 cheeseburgers and 60 orders of fries -- "to go."
Terry and the other instructors followed in his S-10 Chevy Blazer as the truck turned off U.S. Highway 71 nine miles north of Mena and west of what is called "Y" City. The truck could barely negotiate portions of the narrow dirt road maintained for the U.S. Forest Service to fight fires in that area of the Ouachita National Forest.
The students were being tossed about the truck bed as the vehicle forded Clear Fork, one of the creek beds running off the Belle Fourche River. "Oklahoma," one of the flight instructors in Terry's blazer, noted, "God, I wish we could take pictures of all this. No one's ever gonna believe this happened after it's all over. Surely the government's gonna invade Nicaragua before we get these guys trained, don't ya think?"
Terry answered, "Yeah, I'm sure you're right. Based on what I've seen we have to work with, we're only gonna need five years to get these guys up to speed." Everyone laughed. The worst was yet to come.
What is called Nella is nothing more than a wider place in the dirt road, an intersection in the woods six miles from the highway. About a mile and a half east from the intersection, after passing the Shiloh Country Church, was the 109-acre property to be used for the practice drop zone and training base.
Local property records show that the land had been purchased in October, 1982, at about the time Barry Seal first arrived in Mena and set up his operational headquarters at Rich Mountain Aviation. Though Seal put up most if not all the money for the land, about $50,000, Fred Hampton and his wife were listed as the nominal purchasers. Hampton, the fixed base operator at Rich Mountain, suddenly began to deposit large amounts of cash in his bank during this period, after being on the verge of bankruptcy only a few years earlier.
The land was an ideal training site. It bordered huge reserves of heavily-forested federal land to the southeast and northwest. Just about anyone could operate with impunity. Forest rangers were told by their superiors to stay out of this area except in extreme emergencies and to ignore activities that were military related. Terry was told by Seal that U.S. Army Special Forces personnel stationed 30 miles to the north at Fort Chaffee, who were on continuous maneuvers in the area, provided security by "shadowing" the site. The soldiers, unofficially, would "co-mingle" with the students during maneuvers and war games and be bivouacking near enough to fend off any wandering campers or peering eyes. What Seal had neglected to tell Terry, but he would later learn, was the "shadows" had shadows -- in the form of the FBI.
The only thing that would have seemed strange to anyone wandering into the area was the new and expansive barbed wire fencing, anchored to steel posts, strung around the site. The poverty-stricken farmers in the area used only homemade wooden fence posts that they cut themselves from the surrounding forest.
There was other "security," too -- in many ways the best that money could buy. Seal confided to Terry that the people who lived in the area had been "purchased," and would be getting "government subsidies" that didn't originate from the Agriculture Department. In other words, they were paid to see, hear and speak no evil of the Agency's operation.
As Varnados' truck made a right turn and headed south into the property, it passed the dilapidated old farm house that had been converted to mask a training headquarters and command post. This was Varnados' home. He told anyone who might ask that he was living there as a caretaker. Behind the house was a satellite dish and a steel mast supporting an antenna similar to what a ham radio operator would use. Via satellite, Akihide Sawahata in Little Rock could talk to this facility on a secure frequency, as could the training aircraft.
"This is neat. Who would guess this old farmhouse is packed with state-of-the-art communications gear?" said Nebraska, a former Special Forces officer, as Terry's Blazer slowly went by and angled down a hill behind the house toward three brand new Butler-style, pre-fabricated chicken houses.
These weren't your normal gabled roof, sheet metal chicken houses, a common site in Arkansas, home of Tyson's chicken. However, the scene captured the image that prompted H. Ross Perot to call it "the Chicken State" when he was running for the Presidency. These were actually high-tech portable barracks. Camouflaged to look like chicken houses, two were living quarters and one was used for a classroom. One of the two used for quarters also housed the latrine and mess hall. All consumables, such as food, were government issue and supplied from Fort Chaffee.
In addition to having plumbing and electricity, they were fully insulated and built on temporary wooden foundations, not the usual concrete. They were heated and cooled by portable military climate control units, which were mounted externally. An equipment shed behind the farmhouse sheltered the portable military generators and lighting equipment that would be used to guide the aircraft toward the field for simulated night airdrops. Also housed there was the Ford Cub tractor that towed the military trailer containing a 400-gallon tank where fuel for the generators was stored.
Within view of the complex, farther down the hill, one could see that what had been a pasture was now a usable landing strip. The 2,300-foot north-south runway area had been sodded and additional drainage provided to carry off the water resulting from the expected summer torrential rains. Varandos had recently mowed the strip with a belly-mower attached to the tractor's undercarriage and the hay that had been planted along the edges of the strip was ready to be harvested. On the west side of the field was a camouflage netted area suitable for aircraft parking.
Truly, the CIA had thought of everything. The Agency had at its disposal all the modern, air-transportable equipment similar to the type that the American public would discover years later as it watched "Operation Desert Storm" unfold on television. Nothing had been left to chance. They were bivouacked!
The students had been told to dig in for a four-month intense training program. It would not only include flight training, which they looked forward to with excitement, but a continuation of basic ground combat training to transform the trainees into spit-and-polish soldiers. This they hated.
"Diego" was the drill instructor. His job was to continue basic military training and discipline. After deboarding from the truck's cab, and in typical military fashion, he ordered the men out of the truck and into their "barracks". They were instructed to "return looking like soldiers" for a briefing in the "classroom."
The four instructors waiting in the classroom were now somewhat taken aback as the students were transformed by having shed their slovenly civilian attire and replaced it with military-looking, sanitized GI jungle fatigues.
The students, they had been told, were the children of the Central American elite, people who had seen their property and businesses seized by the Sandinistas. To them, the Sandinistas were simply communists taking orders from Moscow and Havana.
"Boland es un Communista," [Google translate: Boland is a communist] the students would chant while double-timing in formation, a phrase to be taught to them by their permanent drill instructor who had not yet arrived from El Salvador.
It was apparent to Terry that whatever else the U.S. government and others might have been doing, they had certainly taken the trainees' blind hatred of communism to a new level. They had gotten their "minds right" on the issue of motivation. Having studied the psychology of learning in the Air Force's Leadership Academy and again during FAA Flight Instructor training, Reed considered them over-hyped and, therefore, overconfident and dangerous, considering the training they were facing.
The first thing he would have to do was, just as the flight instructors manual said, "gain their confidence." He realized in order to accomplish that objective he would initially be forced to show them what they didn't know about flying. He had to convert them from their "overly confident state" and return them to one of "being receptive to the learning process." In other words, the instructors decided, they would scare the hell out of the students once they were in the air.
The trainees seated themselves at the metal tables placed in rows in front of the four instructors.
What ensued was a classified, detailed briefing of the training program and what was expected of the students to successfully complete the course. Each instructor, in turn, told the students what aspect of the aviation program he was responsible for and why he had been recruited for this covert program.
They were made aware of the fact that "Oklahoma" was actively involved with an international flight training school licensed by the Federal Aviation Administration and would train them from the same FAR 141 curriculum. The students appeared elated and honored that they would have to meet stringent American "airman-check" procedures and would be learning something that they could use the rest of their lives -- if they lived through the dangerous multi-engine training.
"Oklahoma" addressed them: "I don't speak Spanish. And I hope that's not a problem. But my first task will be to test all of you on basic single-engine and FAA regulation knowledge in order to determine your level of proficiency before advancing to the multi-engine course. In other words, view me as your hurdle to flying the twin-engine plane you saw in the hangar today. I will be your check pilot as you advance throughout your training."
It was clear Oklahoma was by-the-book and brought to the program the necessary FAA "attitude." The students, recently graduated from their single-engine instrument curriculum conducted elsewhere in the U.S., knew what a check-pilot was. They immediately identified Oklahoma as "Mr. Chicken Shit." He would allow no deviation from the rules.
Nebraska was next. He produced the training materials prepared for Phase I of their flight training. A realization of the written work that would be involved brought a collective groan. As he distributed the stacks of booklets, he briefed them in a very military, monotone voice.
"I taught helicopter flying for the U.S. Army during Vietnam. My style is to pretty much follow the Army's method of instruction. If you don't stay up with your ground school work, you're fucking grounded. Diego will administer all ground material to you and I fully expect all assignments to be completed on schedule or you simply don't fly. If you do not maintain the required 70 percentile passing grade for each phase, you are permanently grounded and you will be sent home. Any questions?"
From his military bearing and emotionless style of his delivery he was readily identifiable. He was Chicken Shit No. 2 in both the air and on the ground. Emile Camp was next. His Louisiana drawl wowed them.
"I just want y'all to be good pilots and the kind of students that I'm proud to sign off as havin' schooled under me. I'm sure ya'll will work hard so we can getcha flyin' that twin-engine Cessna on one engine in bad weather and full of bullet holes, with proficiency. My job, besides flyin' with ya and gettin' ya up ta multi-motor speed, is ta keep ya in good airplanes. And as ya know, we've selected the 400 series Cessna to be the airplane ya'll be 'type-rated' in for the purpose of graduation. After that, you'll be upgraded to the Beech 18 if we have one available, and if ya can handle a tail-dragger."
By his laid back style, it was obvious that Camp was a likeable guy, a noticeable dichotomy between him and the previous two men they had heard.
Then came Terry. He initially spoke in Spanish, which they clearly enjoyed.
"La solamente cosa que yo amor a mas de avuelta es una muchacha bonita sin ropas y con pequenas nalgas." (The only thing I love more than flying is a beautiful, young, naked woman with a small ass). This evoked cheers and catcalls.
"Do you guys think you have the 'right stuff'?" Terry asked, once the macho commotion settled down. "Well I'm your primary night instructor, and I'm going to teach you all about the 'fright stuff.''' Some of those who hadn't yet mastered the subtleties of the English language required a moment of interpretation from fellow students. Then, again there was laughter. Terry continued.
"But, in all seriousness, I like flying at night, which is how I trained for the majority of my ratings. Therefore, I have volunteered to be your nighttime instructor. That does not mean I am loco. Multi-engine flying is demanding, but it should also be fun. This course will be very dangerous, especially the night training, and I will demand nothing short of excellence from all of you. But, it is my style to let you fly the airplane from hour one. You will learn nothing by me flying the plane for you. I already know how to fly it. My job is to teach you. I admire your motivation for volunteering and I will do my best to help you liberate your country. Any questions?"
The student nearest the front of the class, who had been focusing on the "prosthesis" Terry had built to keep from using crutches, asked, "What happened to your foot?"
"I crashed an airplane on April Fool's Day and almost killed myself. I'll try to prevent you from doing the same." They thought he was joking at the time, but they would learn the truth later. But he had lied about being crazy, he was a little loco.
It was dusk outside and time for taps. The students had taken note of the difference in the men who would teach them. A flight schedule was passed out covering the next two weeks of scheduled activities. From the looks on their faces, the trainees were aware of the complex task ahead. As the four instructors left the room, Diego announced.
"Reveille is at 0430 hours, fall out in full flight gear behind the barn after breakfast at 0530."
You could hear the moans in the darkness outside over the sounds of the crickets and the lowing of animals.
After returning the other instructors to Mena that night, and while driving back to Little Rock on the darkened Highway 270, Terry used the time to meditate upon what seemed like the strange, dual... yes, surrealistic, life he was leading.
How many other "Nellas" are there out there? And how many other guys out there are living a dual existence? A few? Many? Is this what America has become, having to go underground to do what its leadership thinks is right? Is this the government I'm dealing with? Am I working for the government? Or is there more than one government? If so, how many? Should I feel honored or ashamed to be singled out for this? Am I a traitor or a patriot?
Has democracy broken down, as Lenin said it would? Is it dead? Or is this its rebirth? Or has it always been like this and I was just never involved? Is the CIA right? Is Congress right and really reflecting the people's will this time? Is there such a thing as the "people's will?" Is this how we got into the Vietnam war, or how we got out?"
The haunting questions raced through his mind.
Then, he thought about the hospital, lying there and talking with Barry Seal. He had almost died that day, needlessly. He felt he had been given a second chance ... a chance to die right. How you die, he then realized, is something a person does have a degree of control over.
Had the American Colonists sneaked off to covert camps where foreigners would teach them how to fight the British? Had the countries who trained the Colonists debated the morality of it all? He began to feel like a dog chasing his tail. There's no place to go for these answers, he decided. You just have to live it out, he decided, and see if you die right. Who is John Cathey, really? How did Barry Seal fit into all of this? Who is Seal -- really?
Terry became so engrossed in his thoughts he hadn't realized he had driven the entire distance back to Maumelle until his headlights lit up the front of his house at No. 8, Ten Tee Circle near the 10th tee of the private golf course. He turned off the ignition and just sat until his wife approached the car and said: "You look like you could use a beer. I'll trade you one for your thoughts."
A sudden surge of pain emanating from his injured foot brought him around. "Yeah, I'll take the beer, but you don't want to know what I was thinking. "
_______________
Notes:
* Brenneke would later testify that most of the crates contained weapons and other gear to be used in the training program. He would also say that he found cocaine in some of the crates and while on the ground at Mena, called Donald Gregg, then Vice President George Bush's chief of staff, and complained about the drugs. He quoted Gregg later as saying that was none of his business. Brenneke later claimed his role in this affair was that of a money-launderer for the Agency, that he worked out of Panama where the flight had originated and that he had just thumbed a ride on the flight.'
1. Oral deposition given to the Arkansas Attorney General's office, June 19, 1991, page 16.