Just before the start of Operation Desert Storm, the first Gulf War in the early 90s, Saddam Hussein ordered his troops in Kuwait to set fire to all the Kuwaiti oil wells. His orders were carried out with enthusiasm and fires erupted across the desert. Thick red flames and black smoke spewed from the sand dunes. The sky was full of choking fumes and black sooty deposits fell for thousands of square miles. Fortunately, the global environmental catastrophe predicted by all the doomsayers did not come to pass. Nevertheless, in Kuwait and its immediate neighbours there was still a helluva mess. After the war when peace was restored, the Kuwaiti government with a lot of technical assistance from the Allied nations set about the task of extinguishing the fires and restoring the oil wells to normality. Naturally, they concentrated their attention first on the government-owned oil production facilities, operated by the Kuwait National Oil Company. This left the privately owned oil wells in a bit of a bind.

A certain Sheikh Abdulratbag Shagnasty owned one of the burning private wells, located at some distance from the rest. The Sheikh was an impatient man, not one to wait around on the whim of his government and he decided to take matters into his own hands. He had heard tell of the great Texan oil fire expert Red Adair and he decided that Red was the man for him. He placed a call to Red Adair’s headquarters.

“Mr. Red,” said the Sheikh, after he had introduced himself. “You must come and put out this terrible fire at my oil well. That filthy Saddam (may the fleas of a thousand camels infest his underwear!) is ruining me with his foul sabotage. Millions of dinars worth of oil is literally going up in smoke! When can you come?”

“Well shoot ma crocodile-skin boots, your Sheikhliness,” said Red. “Ah’d sure like to help y’all but well, Hell! Ah’m plumb booked out ‘til Thanksgivin’. Seems like Ah jest cain’t fit you in for months. Ah’m real sorry but that’s the way it is.”

Sheikh Abdulratbag was devastated. “Bismillah!” he exclaimed. “What can I do? Curses upon that bastard Saddam (may his testicles dry up and shrivel like dates left too long in the sun!). If I cannot stop this fire soon and restore my income, it may be that I am forced to sell off a couple of Rolls-Royces and a wife or two!”

“Well now, jest you hold on there before you up an’ do something rash, Sir Shagajacksie,” said Red. “Maybe ma brother can help y’all. He’s in the oil-fire business too. We both learned about puttin’ out oil fires from our Daddy.”

“Your brother?” said Sheikh Abdulratbag. “What is his name?”

“Why, he’s Green. Green Adair. Runs a little outfit outta Lubbock, Texas (that was Buddy Holly’s hometown y’know). His company’s called Green Adair’s Fire Fightin’ - Oil Wells a Speciality. He may be able to help y’all.” And Red gave the Sheikh his brother’s phone number.

The Sheikh wasted no time. He contacted Green Adair immediately and was delighted to learn that the less well-known brother had a couple of days free of appointments that very weekend. Furthermore, the Texan was only too pleased to help and they negotiated a fee of $50,000. The Sheikh gave Green the map coordinates of his oil well and Green told him:

“No problem, Sheikh. You arrange to be alongside your oil well at 7.00 am day after tomorrow and Ah’ll fly in and put out that fire for y’all. Now, Ah’m assumin’ your well is in a flat bit of desert where Ah can land ma plane pretty close in, right?”

“Mr Green,” said the Sheikh. “The desert near my well is as flat as the lizard when he drinks, as my Australian friends would say.”

Two days later at 7.00 am the Sheikh and his entourage were positioned near the well. It was a terrible sight. The main pump house had burned away leaving the well-head exposed and revealing a gaping hole in the main pipe, out of which, with an unceasing bellowing roar, a huge gout of bright red flame thundered upwards, 30 metres high, feeding a thick greasy black billowing cloud of filthy smoke that hung in an enormous shroud for miles in every direction.

The Sheikh and his men scanned the horizon, searching for a sight of Green Adair’s plane. The noise from the burning well drowned out any hope of them hearing the plane’s approach. Suddenly one of the Sheikh’s men stiffened. He grasped the Sheikh’s shoulder and pointed. There, in the distance, flying just below the smoke cloud, was a plane.

As it came closer, the watching men began to make out its shape. It was an old turbo-prop cargo plane. It had seen better days. The paintwork was faded and missing in patches. The engine exhausts seemed to cough intermittently and they were definitely adding their own contribution to the smoke cloud. The plane banked and did a slow circuit at about 500 feet. From the ground, the watchers could read faded lettering on the fuselage:

"Green Adair’s Fire Fightin’ - Oil Wells a Speciality - Tel: Lubbock 35637".

The Sheikh was elated. Salvation was at hand.

The plane lurched out of its banking turn and dropped towards the desert in a slow and wobbling approach. The engines coughed a few times; the arthritic landing gear deployed in a series of uncoordinated jerks; the plane touched down, bounced, settled and approached the oil well and the waiting men. It seemed to speed up just before it juddered to a creaking halt about 200 metres from the burning oilrig. The engines barked themselves to a standstill and the propellers creaked into silence. There was a pause.

Slowly, a vertical crack appeared in the bulbous nose of the aircraft. It widened as the two halves of the nose swung apart. A ramp descended and settled on the desert floor. Another pause then a vehicle emerged onto the ramp. It was an old and battered jeep. Behind the wheel was a figure clad from head to foot in a bright luminescent green fire fighter’s protective suit. His head was enclosed in a visored hood connected to breathing apparatus and on top of his head sat a sturdy steel oilman’s helmet.

He drove the jeep down the ramp and accelerated towards the oil well fire. At increasing speed he approached the wellhead in a curving run getting closer and closer until the jeep swerved into the inferno and crashed right into the burning wellhead! The driver, surrounded by roaring flames and thick black smoke, appeared to be engulfed but he sprang from his seat, leapt towards the inferno and beat out the flames with his hat!

He paused to make sure the fire was out then he turned and walked towards the speechless awestricken onlookers as he unbuckled his breathing gear and stripped off his face mask and hood.

“Well, howdy,” he said. “Which one of you gentlemen is Sheikh Abdulmuskrat Shagawhosis?”

“It is me!” said Sheikh Abdulratbag. “Let me shake the hand of the bravest man I have ever met!” He grasped Green Adair’s hand with both of his own and pumped it up and down, shaking his head in admiration. “That was the most amazing, heroic, skillful deed I have ever witnessed. You arrived here in your ancient aircraft, drove immediately in your battered old jeep directly into the heart of the flames - without a moment’s hesitation! You leapt fearlessly straight into the fire and, without flinching, you extinguished the inferno with nothing more than your hat! Truly you are a superman!”

“Well, hell, Ah don’t know ‘bout that,” said Green, shaking his head.

“And modest too!” The Sheikh enthused. “Like all real heroes!” The Sheikh paused. “Mr Green Adair,” he said in more formal tones. “You have performed a great service to my house, the noble house of al-Shagnasty. Furthermore, you have performed that service in a truly heroic manner. We had agreed on a fee of $50,000. Here it is.” He handed Green a thick envelope. Then he snapped his fingers and one of his men stepped forward carrying a brassbound wooden chest. “However, by your heroism and your skill you have earned a greater reward. The chest contains $100,000 in gold coin. May you live long and prosper. May your tribe multiply like the stars in the heavens and the sands of the desert and may your name be honoured among brave men!”

They shook hands and the men crowded round, slapping Green on the back and cheering his bravery.

“Tell me, Mr. Green Adair,” said the Sheikh, as the noisy tributes settled down. “How will you use your money? Investments on the stock market, perhaps?”

“Well, Ah’ll tell you, Sheikh,” said Green. “Ah reckon the first thing Ah’m gonna do is get the brakes fixed on that goddam jeep.”