Tales of the Incredible Hoke Robertson

The beautiful weather here in Manipur, India reminds me of the time Arminta and I were working for the Peace Corps near beautiful Kuala Lumpur. One night we were enjoying a peaceful tropical evening with the warm breeze gently moving the lush jungle foliage, the campfire softly crackling in tune with the calls of the various creatures of the forest. As I often did at night, I was working on my ongoing correspondence with the Sultan of Brunei as we designed the many needed infrastructure improvements to his small kingdom. Over the course of many months, he (or rather his architects) and I had drawn up the plans for his huge palace. It was just something I promised him after that embarrassing comment about his home when visiting him during Ramadam. Anyway, suffice to say that we were both proud of the finished product and Arminta and I still try to spend a week each year enjoying his hospitality.

Anyway, as I was saying, that warm evening in the jungle turned out to be quite something. Just as we were going to bed down for the night, a loud "boom" and flash of light caught our attention and it looked like something had crashed into the jungle about a mile away. Off I sped with our local guide and friend Rachmoy. It took us about an hour to make our way through the thick growth, but we eventually arrived at the spot. There, in the middle of a burned out clearing we found some strange looking craft, partially broken into pieces and still smoldering with an odd orange glow. I quickly started to pull the craft's pieces away to see if there were any survivors, and was amazed that each piece, no matter what size seemed as light as a feather. I eventually found one lone crew/survivor, barely alive and bleeding badly. Rachmoy and I pulled him to safety and did our best to stop the bleeding. Curiously, through some trick of the light, the blood seemed to be a bright yellow and not red. Suddenly we heard the sound of choppers approaching and in no time the place was crawling with US and Malaysian troops. They looked none too friendly, and after I silently rendered a few of them unconscious, Rachmoy and I carried the survivor out and back to our camp. Rachmoy kept the survivor hidden and we nursed him back to health. He was a perfect patient, but constantly taking apart any and everything mechanical or electronic. He was extremely appreciative but very close mouthed at why he was there and what kind of experimental craft he'd been flying. He sure looked unique too, not matching any genetic bloodlines I’d previously categorized in my book Dominant Facial Features Associated with the Seven Daughters of Eve. He finally told us his name, “Steve Wozniak” and he went on to great success. When I finally got some answers out of him years later, it lead to one interesting story, but that is for another day. HOKE ROBERSTON