Upon arriving to Pleso Airport to catch my inaugural flight to Sarajevo, I saw myself sanding in a line with other UNPROFOR fellow soldiers, in the open, next to a counter with a gate-barrier operated by a CIVPOL policewoman. Beyond the gate-barrier, standing alone in the middle of the snowy apron, there was an old Antonov aircraft. The vintage airplane was stubborn to continue flying no matter the year, time, weather or place. It was painted in white … or at least a good part of it was white; not considering the smoke and oil stains on the wings and on the rear fuselage. On its tail, and on its fuselage, it proudly exhibited big black UN letters, showing the world it had enough of Cold War and was now a Peacekeeper.
At the gate, the CIVPOL female agent was making sure the boarding list was correct, checking the travel orders and ID cards of all the passengers.
– “Welcome to Maybe Airlines” – She said. – “I just saw the crew, weather is not too bad and they are not shooting into the air in Sarajevo; therefore, Maybe there will be a flight today!”
The nickname “Maybe Airlines” was because no one really knew if the scheduled flights were going to take place, or not. It was not a question of availability of the crew, or of the aircraft; it was the overall circumstances that dictated the schedules. “Maybe Airlines” was a tenderness nickname for UNPROFOR air wing that everyone loved. We not only loved it, we were proud to fly on it. There was even a “Maybe Airlines” stamp everybody wanted to collect on their military travel orders; even the (many) civilians visitors wanted to have it on their passports … and they got it!
Meanwhile, a crew vehicle approached the Antonov, and the policewoman raised the gate-barrier yelling to the queue of blue helmets standing in the cold:
– “Passengers to Sarajevo; please move to the aircraft, show your ID to the crew and board. Leave your luggage here, because we will carry it to the aircraft on a trolley.”
Walking towards the aircraft, we all studied the former soviet veteran, wondering if it was a good idea to board it. I must have had a very suspicious expression, because the Russian load-master guessed my thoughts and said:
– “My friend, welcome to Maybe Airlines; we will be departing shortly and … Maybe we will be arriving in Sarajevo … Care to join us?”
After seating on the cargo bay of the aircraft, the Load Master yelled:
– “This will be non-smoker flight, because we carry ammunition … make sure you seat on top of your bulletproof vest before strapping in … have a good flight!”
The rear ramp closed and off we went.
Although the sexiest destination of “Maybe Airlines” was Sarajevo in Bosnia, they also used to fly to Tuzla (also in Bosnia), to Zagreb and Split (in Croatia) and to Belgrade (in Yugoslavia).
Years later, the “Maybe Airlines” franchising was applied to all UN missions with an air component. However, regardless the place and the situation, I always remember the old stubborn Antonov that refused to be on an air museum and kept on flying.
OPen samento 