THE MORNING CAME TOO SOON. JOHN FELT HE HAD HARDLY GOTTEN to sleep before the bright sun of a new day awakened him. He took a sponge bath, since there was no shower in his room, put on fresh clothes, packed, and was waiting in the hotel lobby when the Ethiopian envoy arrived. His English-speaking host of the previous night was again dressed in white jodhpurs and puttees and wore a wide-brimmed felt hat. He greeted Robinson and, after arranging for John’s baggage to be collected and delivered to the railroad station, suggested breakfast in the hotel dining room. Both ordered French pastry and coffee. After breakfast Ras Mebratu paid John’s hotel bill and called for a taxi, this time a ten-year-old Renault a little worse for wear.
At the station, John was introduced to several other Ethiopian members of his escort party. Only one of the men besides Mebratu spoke English. The grime-streaked train consisted of a small wood-burning locomotive, a tender overflowing with firewood, two freight cars, and three white passenger cars The European-style passenger cars were divided into compartments boarded directly from the platform. John and the Ethiopians boarded their reserved compartment and settled in for the 488-mile trip to the Ethiopian capital of Addis Ababa aboard the French-built, narrow-gage rail line. Robinson’s anxiety from the night before was displaced by anticipation of the exotic, primitive land that lay before him.
A few shouts up and down the platform followed by the shriek of conductor’s whistles, and they were off. The morning temperature along the Red Sea coastal plain was nearly one hundred degrees Fahrenheit as the train began its slow, labored climb toward Addis Ababa, which was situated on the cool, fertile Ethiopian plateau at an elevation of nearly eight thousand feet.
John knew going in that he would not be flying over the friendliest geography a pilot could wish for. In preparation for the job before him, John had read all the resources he could find on Ethiopia—its history, people, geography, and climate. The highland plateau ranges in elevation from three thousand to ten thousand feet and is surrounded by mountains reaching up to and above fourteen thousand feet. Ethiopia, he learned, is the source of the Blue Nile and, because of the snowcapped mountains, is sometimes referred to as the Tibet of Africa. The high plateau is slashed by plunging valleys. In rugged parts of the highlands there are strange-shaped ambas, not unlike the buttes of the American West. The Great Rift Valley slices from Kenya through the plateau, opening into the lowland desert and ending at the Red Sea. To the southeast is the harsh desert bordering Somaliland. To the southwest lay humid tropical lowlands.
The dirt-streaked window of the compartment had been opened, the only relief from the smothering heat. John sat in silence. Looking out the open window, he was struck by the primitive beauty of the rugged terrain but shocked by the almost total lack of anything common with the modern Western world he had left behind. He saw people living in sunbaked mud huts and occasionally a camel caravan, scenes that appeared to have not changed for a thousand years.
Ras Mebratu must have sensed John’s thoughts. He broke the silence and began to discuss the recent history of his country.
“You know, Mr. Robinson, Ethiopia is the only African nation that has been exclusively under black rule for at least three thousand years. It has been a Christian nation since 400 AD. Because of that, and the fact that we have been surrounded by natural boundaries of mountains, deserts, and swamps, and by countries of the Islamic faith since 700 AD, we have been mostly isolated from the modern world.
“Since Ras Tafari became Emperor in 1930 and took the name Haile Selassi he has worked even harder to awaken our land to the modern century. In 1931 he gave Ethiopia its first written constitution. But you have to understand that for Ethiopia, as for much of Africa, the bridge to the twentieth century spans a vast distance and must be crossed slowly if a culture is not to be ripped apart. Justice was traditionally in the hands of the chieftains of each district. They are still powerful and many look upon reform as a threat to their power as do many leaders of the Coptic Church.”
John accepted a cup of tea and several plain cookies from a silver tray offered to him by a servant dressed in white. They passed the border of French Somaliland into low hill country. The train swayed and jerked on the narrow-gauge rails, slowing almost to a mule’s pace as it struggled up the grade in its climb toward the highlands. On the rocky hillsides John could see an occasional round hut made of stones or mud and wattle, the walls often whitewashed, the structure covered with a conical straw roof.
“You will see many such structures,” Ras Mebratu explained. “They are called toucouls, sometimes spelled tukuls in English.” John nodded, still looking out the window at weird-looking cacti scattered across the surrounding semi-desert of which much was covered in black lava sands. Ras Mebratu took a sip of tea and continued.
“The emperor has outlined administrative reforms and has enlisted the aid of such experts as de Halpert of Britain, Auberson of Switzerland, General Virgin of Sweden, and Evertt Colson of your own country, but as I have said, changes must come slowly. The emperor cannot overwhelm his people and still retain their loyalty. I am afraid you may see slavery in practice while you are here. The Italians use that sad fact against us in their propaganda. His Majesty has worked many years to stamp out its existence. Nevertheless, a practice so long rooted in custom is not easy to abolish, as the history of your nation clearly illustrates. His Majesty has set up a bureau to administer the repression of slavery, but still the Italians use it against us before the League of Nations.”
Mebratu paused, giving Robinson a chance to ask a question that was foremost on his mind. “What of your military situation? I have heard that some feel the emperor may have placed too much faith in the League of Nations.”
His host was very quick to point out that it was not his place or desire to comment on the judgment of the emperor. He then smiled. “But it is my task to inform you of the situation here and I will be candid. We had hoped to receive some aid from England and France in the event the League of Nations cannot prevent war. Now we realize we will receive very little aid if any. What is worse, the League of Nations has declared an arms embargo against both Italy and Ethiopia. That must make Italy happy. They manufacture arms, tanks, and aircraft. We have only agricultural products and must import all manufactured goods including, of course, modern arms. We have an army of maybe three hundred thousand men. Only a quarter of them have had any form of modern military training. Some of our young officers have been trained in England, some in France, some trained here by a Belgian military advisory group led by Colonel Leopold Ruel. Most of our armies will be led by their chieftains, those loyal to the emperor. We have four hundred thousand rifles of various types, very few machine guns, about thirty light and heavy antiaircraft guns, Oberlikons, Schneiders, and Vickers. Most of our two hundred or so artillery pieces are antiquated. Ammunition and spare parts for such varied weapons is a problem. We have a small mixed batch of Ford and Fiat armored cars. The Imperial Guard is well trained and equipped, but it is not large and is used to protect the emperor.”
John had known before he left home that the situation in Ethiopia would not be promising if war actually occurred, but he was stunned by the facts being given to him. “I just read that there are one hundred thousand well-armed Italian troops already on your border, with more on the way. The article said they are backed by two hundred trucks and tanks and two hundred aircraft. If war comes, what can you do to hold against such odds?”
“You are certainly straightforward with your questioning.” Mebratu smiled. “But why not? You have come a long way to offer your help. But I must caution you. There will be journalists and others in Addis Ababa that will want to talk with you. Your question and my answer must remain between us.”
Robinson nodded that he understood.
“The emperor has withdrawn his troops from the borders to avoid any further incidents that could be used by the Italians as an excuse to attack. If there is war, it will come from the Italians and the world will know it. If the Italians cross our border, we will withdraw still further to lengthen their supply lines. We have few roads. Their mules will be of more use than their trucks over much of our land. To use mechanized vehicles, they will have to construct roads and bridges in many places. Our advantage is in our rough terrain and our soldiers: We have not been beaten in two thousand years by any outsider. Our warriors need little. They are tough, and they are zealous in their honor. In battle you will find them desperately courageous. They are fanatical fighters. They will stand or die for their homeland.”
Mebratu fell silent a moment. “But to win against modern tactics using mechanized infantry, planes, tanks, and artillery all coordinated together in the attack? Who has faced that? Could France or England or Poland win against such strength and tactics? Who knows?”
Mebratu paused again to gather his thoughts. “If war comes, the emperor will try to delay the enemy’s advance and appeal to the leaders of the Western world to stop the fighting. If they will not or cannot, we will fight for our country as long as we can.”
John sat stunned. For the first time the reality of the circumstances that he faced lay stark and naked before him. His ambition and enthusiasm to find an avenue by which he could prove beyond doubt that a black pilot could handle any challenge in the air had landed him in an ancient land facing war against terrible odds.
Well, Johnny boy, you got what you asked for. You gonna do the best you can. Nothin’ else you can do now. Ain’t gonna run. Just have to crawl over your fear. That’s the first thing you got to do, and I reckon you got a mountain of it to crawl over.
John hoped the fear that had crept up his spine did not show in his face. He looked directly at his host. “I’ve come a long way. Can you tell me where I will be needed and what I will be asked to do?”
“Of course, Mr. Robinson. We have only a few radios, our telegraph service is poor, and we have few roads linking the outlying areas of our country due to lack of money and the very rugged nature of our land. We will have to use every means we have to establish and maintain communications with our armies, even the ancient methods of drums and runners. We have less than two-dozen aircraft, none of which are suited for combat. None is even armed. With the embargo we are not likely to obtain more. But the aircraft are vital for this reason. Even the few radios we have do not work well in the mountainous regions. An aircraft can cross in one or two hours rugged terrain that would take days or even weeks for messengers to cross. Aircraft will often be our only means of rapid communication and liaison between the front lines and the capital. They will be essential for message delivery, observation, and vital transport, besides any special assignment the emperor may request.”
Ras Mebratu paused to give John a chance to respond. Robinson’s mind was in a whirl. Less than two-dozen unarmed planes against Mussolini’s two hundred bombers and fighters. How the hell can we even begin to think about maintaining communications when the more pressing question is how can we hope to survive against such odds? I don’t even know what kind of planes Ethiopia has. How will they maintain the ones that survive more than a flight or two? Where will they get parts? And, God help me, I’m going to fly them! John tried to swallow but his mouth was too dry. He had no reply.
Mebratu continued. “His Majesty is anxious to meet you. You have come highly recommended. As you know, he was very disappointed in the flying ability of another black North American, Hubert Julian. Julian has returned to Addis Ababa.”
John looked more than surprised. He looked startled. With a smile, Ras Mebratu waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal.
“Julian is assigned to the infantry and will not be allowed to fly. The emperor is not in a position to turn down volunteers, but he did firmly forbid Julian to fly. He should be no problem to you. The only value Julian has to Ethiopia is hopefully to enlist support and funds from America.”
“Now, more to the point of your duty, Mr. Robinson. You will be offered the rank of captain to begin with, along with the authority you need to conduct air operations. We have, of course, some trained Ethiopian pilots now, and French aviators, but we expect the Frenchmen to leave if war is declared. It is the emperor’s hope that he will be able to rely upon more than your flying ability. He was particularly interested in reports he received of your leadership experience. We know you helped organize a black owned and operated airfield, a pilot’s organization, a mechanics school at Curtiss-Wright, and a flying school. It is the emperor’s hope that your experience will be put to good use.”
John remembered the words of the Carolina pilot from the Great War whom he had met aboard the ship crossing the Atlantic. The man had said that when he volunteered for air service duty in France, no one was able to talk him out of it. With a knot forming in the pit of his stomach, John now knew what the man had meant. Everyone John knew had begged him not to go. He now wished he had listened. Ethiopia’s plight was far more serious than his worst fears. I had the foolish idea that by coming on this “adventure” I could help open the field of aviation to blacks. If I’m killed it will do nothing of the kind.
Well, you’re here, Johnny. It’s too late to look back and I’m not gonna run away. You’ve been afraid before, John boy, but you’ve never been a captain. The thought struck him as funny and he laughed out loud, startling the somber group around him.
At first the countryside that slid slowly past the window was drab and sparse with only an occasional round, thatched roofed house to be seen, but as the small engine pulled them ever higher, the vegetation became greener and there were more such farm houses. They passed the primitive villages of Aisha, Diredawa, Awash, and Hadama, all consisting of squat mud and wattle buildings, some whitewashed, most left natural. The train made frequent stops to take on firewood and water. John welcomed such breaks from the long hours of sitting in the rocking, soot-soiled coach. The stops gave him a chance to stretch his legs.
From time to time they would see a goat herder or a farmer tending his fields with primitive tools. Robinson saw a graceful impala, later a wart hog, and was startled to see zebra. Once, they passed a small band of warriors clothed in white shammas, waving rifles, spears, and swords at the train in salute. Some had shields made out of animal skin. God almighty! thought John. The Arabian Nights in a contest against modern steel.
He watched the sunset and thought of home as the train chugged into darkness, its hissing and puffing echoing off the hills and canyon walls.