He didn’t seem to hear, and gestured that I follow him. I glanced at Isabelle, who gave me a nod and passed me up a notebook and pen. I squeezed past her and followed Gunner down the aisle.

He was heading for the rear of the aircraft, which was partitioned off with a grubby green curtain. Behind it, the seats had been stripped out and the space had been filled with crates of AK-47s and ammunition, lashed to the floor with ropes. Gunner seated himself on the floor between a couple of the crates and waited for me to ask him a question.

I crouched down beside him. The only thing I really wanted to know was how long it would take for us to get to Enugu, and how I could get to Udi from there. But that obviously wouldn’t do. After a few seconds of silence, he gave me a look that indicated he wasn’t impressed with English journalism so far.

‘How long do you think the war will last?’ I said - the first thing that had come into my mind.

He thought about this for a moment, and then replied solemnly: ‘Hopefully, it will end soon. But first we must finish it.’

I dutifully noted down this pearl of wisdom, and tried to think of another question that might satisfy him.

‘Do you think it is a just war?’

He looked up sharply.

‘Just?’ he snorted. ‘Of course. Ojukwu tried to break this country into pieces. But to keep Nigeria one is a job that must be done.’

He was parroting Federal slogans at me - I’d seen the last sentence on a poster on a street in Lagos just a couple of hours previously.

‘So you don’t think the Biafrans have a case for secession?’

‘What case?’ He leaned forward and made sure I met his gaze. ‘I am from the East. But I no agree with this so-called “secession”. It no serve the interests of our region, and it no serve the interests of Nigeria. It only serve Ojukwu and his rebel clique.’

‘You’re an Ibo?’ I said, surprised.

He held up one finger imperiously. ‘Please, Mister BBC Journalist, do me the courtesy of allowing me to finish. I am Ibibio. I no like this Biafra idea from start, so I go leave the East and join the army to help crush the rebel movement.’

‘That’s an excellent quote,’ I said, and he straightened his shoulders a little and jutted out his lower lip. ‘Thank you very much for taking the time to talk to me.’ He looked disappointed, so I asked him his name and rank to round the thing off for him.

‘Captain Henry Alele,’ he said, proudly, and I noted it down. He looked at me expectantly.

‘And can I just ask, for our readers, how you got your nickname? Were you on anti-aircraft duty?’