The Friendly Skies

LIEUTENANT COLONEL Oliver North is my personal hero.

Normally, I wouldn't feel such a strong affinity for a man who subverted the chain of command of the American government in order to promote bloodshed in war-torn countries. Usually, I would consider such behavior unworthy of esteem. A bad thing, if you will.

But two considerations reversed my opinion of the man. The first was that Ronald Reagan himself proclaimed North "a real American hero." If it's good enough for old Ronnie, it's good enough for me.

The second was that I was recently on a JihadAir jumbojet bound for Teheran with a heavily armed terrorist who claimed to be a close personal friend of North According to this guy, North is a "real swell fellow."

My good friend and hygiene guru Rutger Fury had taken part in an impromptu interfaith cooperative hijacking, being as we were in need of a quick ride to Teheran. We figured that Iran would be the best place from which to cover the evolving arms scandal.

What we hadn't counted on, though, was that after a few drinks our fellow hijackers would get a tad unruly. In retrospect, Rutger and I shouldn't have insisted that the stewardesses waive the $2.50 mixed drink fee, because once we all started hitting the sauce in the way only free sauce can be hit, the expedition lost all sense of organization.

We had convinced the others to let us off first at Teheran; but, after Rutger began extolling the virtues of one particularly fine American institution located in the desert outside Reno, our companions demanded a time-consuming detour to Nevada.

I realized that we might never get to Teheran--one of the Algerians was beginning to reminisce about the casinos in Monaco--so I decided to work my fellow passengers for leads.

I FOUND A LIKELY source wearing fatigues and a "Mom and Dad were martyred and went to heaven and all I got was this lousy T-shirt." He introduced himself as Holy Jihad Freedom Commando X. "But you can call me Tim," he added.

I thanked him. "Tell me, Tim" I said, "As a militant Islamic extremist, does the fact that the Reagan Administration arranged for arms shipments to Iran make you feel any closer to the American people?"

"Why, of course." he answered. "Not so much for what they sent us--as you know, Allah has made us impervious to bullets, so military hardware is more or less unneccessary--but it's the thought that counts. Especially during this holiday season--it's a time of loving and giving, and that means a lot to me."

I admitted that the holidays had special meaning for me too, but queried, "Don't you feel that, as extreme fundamentalists, you are bound forever to be in conflict with the Reagan Administration regardless of any over-tures?"

Tim knitted his eyebrows. "I don't follow you. Yes, we are extreme fundamentalists, striving to take away religious freedom from others--but why should that cause conflict with the Reagan Administration?"

The sound of gunfire erupted from the back of the plane. A group of Basques had annexed the territory surrounding the lavatories and refused to let anyone through unless they admitted that "we're Number 1." As we hurried back to join the fray--we both had a few drinks in us waiting to be processed--Tim told me about Lt. Col. North.

"A great guy," he told me, "Why, he'd give you the shirt off your back. Of course, first you'd have to pay for the shirt in gold bullion, to be deposited in a secret Swiss bank account, but the principle's the same. And he's a guy who knows how to take initiative. I had him over to my house once for dinner--I went to the kitchen to open some beer and by the time I got back he had subletted half the place to foreign agents. You have to admire that kind of spunk."

A brief cease-fire cast an eerie silence over the plane as it winged like a giant silver bird into the firy glow of the North American sunset. The atmosphere grew oddly contemplative.

"Although I have to admit," Tim said, "I didn't have him back to dinner after that."