Winds of Destruction: The Autobiography of a Rhodesian Combat Pilot

Operation Nickel

BY MID-AUGUST 1967 I had completed helicopter conversions for Peter Nicholls, Hugh Slatter and Mick Grier before moving to Makuti where the RLI was engaged with incoming terrorist groups. They were also searching for arms reported cached in a cave.

Border Control units continued picking up small terrorist group infiltrations across the Zambezi east of Chirundu at a time when the Zambezi Valley floor was stinking hot and bone-dry. Soldiers were catching up and accounting for almost all terrorists whose water bottles were either empty or contained urine. The few terrorists that managed to reach local tribesmen above the escarpment were reported to the police who either captured or killed them. So ZANU was getting nowhere!

It was whilst I was with the RLI at Makuti, that the officers and men ripped sleeves off camouflage shirts and cut legs off camouflage trousers to counter the heat. All wore veldskoen boots (vellies) without socks because socks picked up irritating burs and sharp grass seeds. Most young farmers had rejected socks years before this for the same reason. In the cool of evening I noticed Army officers were wearing slacks and vellies but no socks. They nicknamed the bare skin of their ankles ‘Makuti socks’; a name that stuck. Thereafter, vellies and Makuti socks were fashionable for most young Rhodesian men.

The search for the hidden arms cache eventually led RLI to a site in the Vuti Purchase Area. It proved to have been the cache point but the equipment had been moved just before its discovery. All the same, it was interesting to explore the narrow cave whose deep bed of bat guano made one bounce as one walked. A ledge on one side of the cave was at the base of a vertical tunnel that led to another small ledge on the open side of the ridge above the cave. ZANU’s keepers of arms had built a long stepladder that gave access to this opening so that they could survey all approaches; which is why they detected the RLI’s approach in time to move their arms cache to safety.

My real interest in the cave was the huge quantity of bat guano that was much sought after by gardeners. Recognising the commercial value of this natural fertiliser I planned to do something about getting it to market when I could find time to do so. However, I obviously talked too much and lost out to one of 3 Squadron’s VR pilots who had the time to set up camp and extract all the guano, which he sold in Salisbury. During later operations I located another cave off the Umfuli River in the Mcheka-wa-ka-Sungabeta range. This cave contained greater volumes of bat guano but I never did find the chance to capitalise on it.

I was still operating from Makuti when, on 14 August 1967, I received orders to get to FAF 1 (Forward Airfield 1). This was an established permanent Forward Airfield at Wankie Town. At the time FAF 2 was being developed at Kariba Airport. In time to come another eight such bases would be built. On arrival at FAF 1, I learned what the flap was about. A large group of terrorists (later established to be ninety-four men) had crossed the Batoka Gorge, downstream from Victoria Falls, during the night of 9 August and had covered a distance of almost seventy miles before Rhodesian forces made contact. The operation was codenamed Operation Nickel.

Most of the deep gorge below the Victoria Falls had been ignored in regular Border Control operations. This was partly due to a shortage of troops but more so because that stretch of the border was considered safe. The bone-dry, unpopulated rough country on the Zambian side of the Zambezi River plus steep-sided gorges and fast-flowing turbulent water with many crocodiles all appeared to form a perfect barrier. But this crossing awakened us to the fact that we had been focusing too much on ZANU’s infiltration methods that involved the use of vehicles to reach the Zambezi River and fishermen’s canoes to cross it.

ZAPU’s Russian advisers had obviously studied our Border Control coverage and techniques and had selected the Batoka Gorge as being the last place we would expect a crossing to occur. Employing a system of ropes, pulleys and two rubber dinghies, men and equipment were ferried from north to south bank on and above the raging water.

The process started at sunset and was completed before dawn. The group rested up on the south bank until late afternoon then commenced the difficult climb up to the high ground. Avoiding all habitation, the group bypassed Wankie town then turned south to intercept the railway line. Terrorist presence was first reported from Matetsi Mission but the report gave no indication of numbers.

We were to learn that one third of the force comprised ZAPU men with the balance being South African ANC terrorists. There was significance in this, the largest crossing to date. It had been jointly planned and launched by James Chikerema who was deputy to ZAPU’s leader and Oliver Tambo, the external leader of the SAANC. (ZAPU’s leader, Joshua Nkomo, was in detention in Rhodesia.) A few days after hurriedly launching their joint force, they signed a military alliance that remained in effect throughout the Rhodesian war.

The force was four times larger than any ZANU group and all its men were substantially better trained. Mistakenly, Chikerema and Tambo considered their joint force to be strong enough to fight off any Rhodesian Security Force (RSF) it might encounter. The force was tasked to establish a safe passage through N’debele territory down the western flank of Rhodesia, right up to the Limpopo River, to give SAANC a permanent route to South Africa.

The whole group was resting in the shade of heavy riverine bush covering both sides of the small Inyatue River where they encountered surface water for the first time since leaving the Zambezi. Close to their position was the Inyatue railway bridge on the line from Victoria Falls to Bulawayo. Having followed the winter-dry riverbed, the terrorists had passed under the railway bridge before locating the shaded water point three kilometres farther upstream. Here they split the force either side of their entry tracks as a precaution against armed follow-up.

It was in response to a railway repair party’s report that a mixed tracker-combat group of RAR and Police moved in. Led by Major Peter Hoskins it comprised twenty men, which was considered a strong force at the time. Tracks of many men led the Rhodesians along the river-line up to the railway bridge. The Rhodesians opened into extended line to cross the high railway embankment and continued forward until they encountered thick riverine bush. Concentrating on the bush ahead, they moved with caution until they came under fire at close range. The Rhodesian’s were lucky not to suffer serious casualties immediately.

When after some time Major Hoskins attempted a flanking movement, Acting Corporal Davison and Private Karomi were killed and the major was wounded. He lay unable to move for something like ten hours before being dragged to safety by his daring Regimental Sergeant-Major, Aubrey Corb. Three separate firefights developed with the terrorists using searching fire on the line of men who, though pinned down, had crawled into cover. With so much fire in an environment of deep shade and brilliant sunlight, where visual penetration into the bush was less than three meters in most places, it proved impossible to detect actual points of enemy fire or judge the terrorist force disposition and strength. What was patently clear was that reinforcements were needed in a hurry.

Flight Lieutenant Mick Grier with Bob Whyte as his gunner brought these in then expended all their ammunition into the unseen terrorist positions before returned to FAF 1 to refuel and re-arm. A Provost flown by Prop Geldenhuysremained overhead the contact scene until after dark to serve as a radio relay (Telstar) back to Brigade HQ in Wankie. Since Peter Hoskins had been separated from his radio, there was concern for his safety. Before sunset one group of SF had led a lateral skirmish towards other SF with a view to consolidating defence and firepower. During this move, a radio was put out of action by machine-gun fire. Prop received a request for a replacement radio and was able to pick up the position of a white map laid out in an open patch of ground on the right flank where troops with the defunct radio had moved.

Bob Whyte, son of Group Captain Doug Whyte, had the replacement radio. Having dropped off troops, Mick Grier located the men waiting for the radio. As he landed the helicopter came under heavy fire. Mick lifted away immediately, but Bob Whyte had already leapt out onto the ground where he immediately attracted terrorist fire that forced him to go to ground.

Lying on his belly in a small depression, Bob realised he was out of the terrorists’ direct view but he could not move. Bob could see the troops who required the radio but he could not get to them. Bob’s quandary was that he had a serviceable radio without an aerial and the troops with a serviceable aerial were just too far away to throw it to him.

After some thought Bob reached into his flying overalls for a screwdriver, which he thrust against the radio’s aerial jack point and tried a transmission to Mick Grier watching him helplessly from above. To Bob’s amazement and relief, he received a reply and was able to make further transmissions when called upon to do so. The benefit of having a working radio outweighed the discomfort of receiving a sharp electrical belt down his arm each time he transmitted. With extra troops now available, covering fire was given for the troops to get to Bob.

The firefight continued until darkness fell but at some stage Inspector Phillips of the BSAP, who had come in with reinforcements, received a bullet wound to his head that would commit him to a wheelchair for life. Any ground movement attracted heavy fire from terrorists who everyone could hear talking Zulu, the same language as N’debele. RSM Aubrey Corb, who had also come in with the reinforcement force, called for but received no answer from Major Hoskins. Everything remained quiet so long as troops stayed in situ. Since movement or sound drew immediate enemy response, Aubrey Corb knew that Peter Hoskins, if still alive, would remain silent unless he was absolutely certain of friendly force positions. At about 22:00 the RSM was on high ground at the edge of the contact site. From this position he fired an Icarus flare knowing that Peter Hoskins would recognise it as having come from an RAR position. Peter recognised the distinctive plume almost directly above him and immediately called from the darkness. During his descent to retrieve the major, Aubrey Corb accidentally discovered seriously wounded Inspector Phillips.

Apart from the blackness of the night, it was decided that casualty evacuation by Mick Grier in the only available helicopter was too dangerous because its landing light would undoubtedly attract enemy fire; so the alternate option of a motorised rail car was used to reach the remote area. But this involved carrying the casualties three kilometres from the contact area across rough ground on a pitch-black night. Major Hoskins insisted that Inspector Phillips be given the only available stretcher because he considered the policeman’s condition to be more serious than his own. Hoskins himself was in deep trouble having been hit in the upper thigh right next to the femoral artery. He had managed to stuff fabric into the wound to stem the high flow of blood but had lost so much during his long wait that he was barely conscious during his ride on a crude makeshift stretcher.

At dawn the troops moved cautiously forward only to find that the terrorists had extricated themselves during the night. A sweep through the area revealed five dead terrorists with evidence that others had been wounded. Large quantities of Russian equipment, mislaid during the battle and silent withdrawal, lay scattered over a large area. Notwithstanding the withdrawal, there was no doubting we were involved with a new breed of fighters. The aggression and efficiency shown by ZAPU and SAANC at Inyatue revealed that they were both prepared and able to fight and were unlikely to turn back for Zambia as might be expected from experiences with ZANU. Rather, they would continue in a southerly direction through the Wankie Game Reserve or along its eastern boundary, which was the railway line.

By 10 am three extra helicopters were available and the trackers had found that the terrorists had not made a completely ordered withdrawal. An initial assessment was that they had become divided in darkness into three separate groups. One large group and a lesser one were heading southwards into the Wankie Game Reserve and a very small group of four had set off south-eastwards along the line of rail. An ambush was established near the railway village at Dett where the four terrorists were killed.

For two days, trackers cast ahead but were experiencing some difficulty in getting a clear lead on the biggest group because the terrorists had spread out employing anti-tracking techniques as they moved through open savannah terrain. The countryside was bone dry, so surface water had to be the key to locating them.

With the general southward movement there was need to relocate forces. No 1 Brigade HQ, commanded by Brigadier Godwin with his staff officers Majors ‘Mac’ Willar and ‘Buttons’ Wells-West, moved to Shapi Pan during the course of the next day, 18 August. A FASOC, commanded by Flight Lieutenant Doug Butler, together with large quantities of drummed Avtur, was positioned next to Brigade HQ.

By the time our four helicopters arrived at Shapi Pans, Lieutenant Ian Wardle and his RAR tracker-combat team had been following spoor of the smaller group estimated to be for fifteen terrorists and twenty-four-hours old. The next morning Ian reported that he was passing Rhino Pens where National Parks nursed sick or hurt rhinos back to health. The terrorists had not seen water since leaving Inyatue and were moving down a line of water pans that were all baked white and bone dry.

A little later in the day I was returning from a deployment task when Brigadier Godwin requested that I divert to establish Ian’s exact position because he had just reported being two hours behind the terrorists and about to enter a forested area. Having established Ian’s location, I returned to Shapi Pans to refuel. Brigadier Godwin then asked me to return to Ian Wardle with a supply of water because Ian felt certain he was close to making contact.

I met Ian and his black soldiers in a tiny clearing deep inside the treed area. Everyone was drenched in sweat and, having filled water bottles and quenched their thirst, delighted in pouring cold water over their already soaking wet bodies. Watching these men made me wondered how the terrorists were faring having had no water since leaving Inyatue. Filthy dirty, unshaven and bubbling with enthusiasm, Ian said he would make contact in less than two hours and moved off at the head of his men. They were all out of sight before I had chance to wind up and lift off.

No sooner had we refuelled at Shapi Pans and settled down for a cup of tea when Buttons Wells-West ran over to say, “Get airborne chop, chop, Wardle called ‘contact’ on his HF radio. We heard heavy firing during the transmission but have heard nothing since and cannot raise him. Please get over there and find out what is happening.”

As I headed back with Bob Whyte, who I had taken on as my technician, I attempted, unsuccessfully, to raise Ian. We noticed heavy smoke rising from the bush way ahead and realised this was close to where we had last seen Ian. Even before we arrived overhead we saw that the fire was racing outwards spewing heavy black smoke. Already many hawks were heading towards it to feast on insects disturbed by the fire. Again and again I called but there was no response.

We had started an orbit over the already burnt-out area of the forest before a deep breathing and obviously excited Ian Wardle answered. I told him we had been very worried having heard nothing since his ‘contact’ call. “Hell, no sweat. We have killed most of the bastards but we think a few got away. It is safe here now. Come on down and take a look. I will have a couple of my men watch the chopper.”

I passed on the good news to Brigade and found a bigenough gap in the trees close to where I saw Ian waving his map. The whole area was burnt out so the helicopter had to be placed on the ground very smartly to limit the swirl of black ash thrown up by rotor-wash. Ian and his men were black from head to toe. The whiteness of eyes and teeth and the pinkness of mouths surrounded by matt-black faces emphasised their huge grins. These were very happy guys who had come through a very noisy though short-lived experience. Ian couldn’t wait to take us, step by step, through every action.

After their water break, the refreshed troops advanced in an echelon formation either side of trackers moving in heavy shade under high trees. Ian was next to the lead tracker when he detected movement under the trunk of a tree that had been pushed over by elephants. His eyes immediately focused on the unmistakable outline of the barrel and bipod of a Russian RPD machine-gun. He opened fire instinctively. The whole callsign joined in as terrorist movements were picked up over an area of no more than thirty meters square, centred on the point where Ian concentrated his fire. Suddenly, from this spot, a double explosion rocked the area and initiated a bush fire.

Retaliation from the terrorists was limited in the face of RAR’s overwhelming firepower and most terrorists died immediately. When firing stopped the force swept cautiously forward. Moaning was heard before it turned to screams as one terrorist, his cloths on fire, emerged from behind another fallen tree. Ian dropped him with one shot and the sweep continued right through the area. When certain that there were no live terrorists around, Ian gathered his men for a site debrief. The men who had been on Ian’s right during the firefight had spotted eight terrorists breaking as a group. They knew they had accounted for three, which Ian found lying some distance from the main group of eight dead men, but five had escaped.

Ian was preparing to continue with the follow-up on the survivors when Brigadier Godwin ordered him to prepare for uplift. A Provost pilot had reported the huge extent of the fire and it had been decided to deploy fresh troops ahead of the survivors who had headed off in a southerly direction, probably running ahead of the fast moving bush fire.

Ian had pushed his men almost ninety kilometres in less than forty-eight hours so, although Ian himself was disappointed at being pulled off, his men deserved a break after a job well done. In the Brigade Officers’ Mess marquee that evening the brigadier invited Ian to recount events for the assembled RAR and Air Force officers. Like many of our Army officers, Ian Wardle’s speech was somewhat affected but his briefing was graphic and amusing. About the burning terrorist incident, he said, “The man was screaming, burning and making a general nuisance of himself, so I shot him.”

Wounded Major Hoskins’ E Company of RAR was taken over by Major Ray Howden who, together with A Company under Major Taffy Marchant, established a forward base at Limpandi Dam near the southwestern corner of the game reserve. Murray Hofmeyr was attached to this base to facilitate troop deployments for operations along the Gwabazobuya River and the Botswanan border that formed a funnel through which the main terrorist group was expected to pass. From Shapi Pans two tracker combat units were deployed to locate and neutralise the five terrorists who had survived Ian Wardle’s contact.

Out of the blue a South African Police (SAP) Alouette III helicopter arrived at Shapi Pans. The first thing I noticed about the SAP helicopter was that it was fitted with a Becker Homer, which we had not yet received. The South African Air Force pilot, Lieutenant ‘Weasel’ Wesley, was seconded to SAP to fly Police-owned helicopters. He told us that he had been sent from Katimo Mulilo in South West Africa and that additional SAP helicopters were to follow. This was because of South African ANC terrorists being involved with ZAPU.

For two days after Ian Wardle’s contact, things were quiet at Shapi Pans, so I took opportunity to visit Paul Grobelaar’s large mobile processing factory that handled all elephant and buffalo carcasses from a game-culling operation that was in progress in the Wankie Game Reserve. This unpleasant periodic slaughter of animals was necessary to control population growth but it needed Paul’s support to ensure that no destroyed animal was wasted and that everything was put to good use.

Paul had a small Cessna 140, which he flew to locate small herds of around twenty elephants. Two game-rangers were then directed to the selected herd. They walked in from downwind to get right in amongst the herd before shooting the babies first as this had the effect of stopping the adults from running off. Taking out the adults necessitated fast shooting and rocksteady nerves whilst the great brutes were rushing around screaming in angry panic, often charging the men. Because of their marksmanship and knowledge of vital points from every angle, it was almost unheard of for a ranger to have to use a second shot to finish off a wounded jumbo. They really hated the task but insisted on doing the culling themselves. Because they loved the animals so much, they refused to leave it to other hunters. They dared not fail to eliminate every member of the selected group because any elephant escaping the slaughter would certainly induce panic in neighbouring herds.

Two baby jumbos that had been orphaned by ivory poachers roamed around the camp at Shapi Pans. They loved people and were a bit of a nuisance. Though small in elephant terms, they were amazingly powerful and would push one around seeking to be fed and scratched. Their interest in helicopters was a bit of a worry, but apart from leaving snotty marks on the vision panels they did no damage. Years later, in 1982, I saw these same two elephants. By then they were almost full grown at Ozzie Bristow’s Lion and Cheetah Park near Harare (new name for Salisbury).

I had known and feared Willie de Beer from school cadet camp days at Inkomo Barracks where he was Regimental Sergeant-Major. Now retired from the Army and serving as a ranger with National Parks, Willie offered to take me on a buffalo-culling operation that, because of Op Nickel, was being done by day. Buffalo were normally culled at night using powerful searchlights in specially designed vehicles. The one we used had 40mm holes in its metal sides, showing how dangerous a buffalo bull’s horns could be.

A young ranger aged about thirty by the name of van Heeden drove the vehicle, with Willie and me sharing the front seat. Four black game-ranger-trackers were standing behind us holding a rail that ran around the rear section of the open vehicle. We were a long way southeast of Shapi Pans searching the sandy road for fresh buffalo spoor when one of the trackers pointed to the road and said there were boot tracks of someone moving in the opposite direction to ourselves. We stopped and without hesitation the tracker said that these had been made no more than two minutes earlier.

I recognised the sole pattern immediately. It was the wellknown figure 8 pattern of boots issued to terrorists. Sand was still trickling at the edge of the spoor. Realising that we had passed close to a terrorist who was obviously trying to make his way back to Zambia, I warned the rangers there was the possibility that other terrorists were with him walking off the line of road. We turned around and had only gone a short distance following the spoor when it moved left off the road into the bush.

Willie, ignoring my advice to keep moving, climbed out of the vehicle and followed the tracks a short distance armed only with a dart gun that was intended to anaesthetise buffalo. He shouted out to the unseen terrorist to surrender. Nothing happened so Willie returned to the vehicle. I recommended that I drive the vehicle and drop off the young ranger with one of the trackers in an ambush position once we were down the road and out of sight. This was agreed. When we had gone about 150 metres and had thick bush on our left, I moved the gear lever to neutral whilst maintained engine revs and applied gentle hand-braking. The two men dismounted and we continued on to Shapi to collect troops.

When we returned after sunset a dead terrorist lay on the road. He had appeared as soon as we left and had run across the road, waited a while, then run diagonally across to the other side. His next crossing would be straight towards the hidden ranger who stood up and called to the terrorist to surrender. The unfortunate terrorist raised his weapon but knew nothing of the .375 magnum bullet that removed one vertebra from his neck. Van Heeden said he had aimed for the neck because he understood it was important for identification purposes not to damage a face.

The young ranger was deeply concerned that he might be placed on a murder charge and was feeling guilty because the SKS rifle this man was armed with had only one round of ammunition in it. When studies of papers and a notebook in the terrorist’s possession proved that he had been at Inyatue, the ranger accepted the legal situation but he remained shaken and depressed for having killed a human being.

On this same day, tracks of the five survivors from Ian Wardle’s contact were found and followed into thick bush close to the National Parks southeastern border game fence. A call to the terrorists to surrender was answered with automatic fire. Under covering fire, the RAR officer crawled forward and lobbed in a phosphorus grenade. This single grenade spewed phosphorus over all five terrorists whose smouldering bodies were found close together during a sweep through the site.

Earlier in the day, an RAR patrol spotted two terrorists collecting water from Leasha Pan. Long-range fire was initiated too early when these two men spotted the troops. One broke north and the other south. The man who ran north was ignored by the troops but was killed later that day by the game ranger. Tracks of the second moved south and led RAR trackers to a resting place from which about sixty terrorists had departed in a hurry.

Disastrous twenty-four hours

TRACKERS MOVED FAST ALONG THE trail that showed the terrorists had moved at a run for a considerable distance through open scrubland. When the trackers reached the point where the terrorists had broken through the game fence, Lieutenant Nick Smith arrived to take command of the follow-up along with extra troops flown in by Hoffy.

Two helicopters from Shapi Pans (I was still out with Willie de Beer) joined Hoffy in deploying other troops under command of Lieutenant Ken Pierson. Ken’s orders were to set up ambushes on the Nata River directly in line with Leasha Pan and the point the terrorists had crossed the game fence. It was dark when helicopters, flown by John Rogers and Ian Harvey, returned to Shapi Pans where Chris Dixon, who had recently arrived, joined them and me in a helicopter forwardlift of fuel for the following day.

All night long under a brilliant full moon we lifted fuel to a location just beyond the game fence close to a Botswanan border beacon known as Point 222. This was a frustrating job because we could only lift two drums of Avtur in our underslung cargo nets to Point 222 but then had to use one of these to get back to Shapi Pans for the next load. The net result of four helicopters flying throughout the night was that only twelve full drums of Avtur were available at the remote forward logistics base at dawn.

At the commencement of the fuel lift, Prop Geldenhuys flying a Provost at height provided communication between soldiers on the ground, Tac HQ and Brigade. The first sign of trouble came when Sergeant-Major Timitiya told Prop that Nick Smith had been shot and that he was under heavy fire. Nothing more was heard. Nick Smith failed to come up on the HF radio at the scheduled reporting time of 18.00 and there was no response to any call from Prop, the two companies or Brigade HQs. When Ken Pierson checked in on schedule, he reported having heard heavy firing from Nick Smith’s area and said he could not raise Nick on VHF. Deep concern had already set in as Prop continued trying, unsuccessfully, to raise Nick. I remember how impressed I was by Prop’s cool manner and efficiency in conveying what needed to be said.

Prop was then a PAI (Pilot Armament Instructor) on 4 Squadron, which amazed me because, as a past student of mine, he seemed too young to be doing such a responsible job. It took some time before it dawned on me that I had been just as young in similar circumstances.

More anguish was added to the night when Prop relayed the appalling news that Ken Pierson was dead. Ken had been shot by one of his own men when he moved from one ambush position to another. As dawn broke I flew from Point 222 to the Company HQ were Hoffy gave Bob Whyte and me a very welcome cup of coffee whilst we refuelled from his diminishing stock of Avtur. All he had in the way of food was tinned pilchards in tomato sauce. Having eaten nothing since breakfast the previous day, I was able to face the cold fish and hard ration biscuits in preparation for what promised to be a long day.

At some time during the night John Rogers had flown Major Mac Willar from Shapi Pans to the Company HQ. Mac was still in discussion with the company commanders Ray Howden and Taffy Marchant when Ian Harvey called the ops room to say he had been attracted to the game fence by smoke rising from a small fire. Here he found some of Nick Smith’s troops in a state of despair. They reported that they had run out of ammunition following contact with many terrorists in ambush but did not know what had happened to Nick Smith or Timitiya.

John Rogers and Hoffy lifted Mac Willar with troops and spare ammunition forward to link up with these men. By the time he arrived the rest of Nick Smith’s troops, drawn by the earlier noise of Ian’s helicopter, were also there. Mac moved off with the troops to the site of the ambush where he found the bodies of Nick Smith and Sergeant Major Timitiya. In the meanwhile, I had collected the one and only terrorist captured thus far. He was an SAANC man who had panicked during the firefight and had been found and arrested by locals living in a small tribal village about eight kilometres away.

Hoffy and I landed at the ambush site when trackers confirmed the area safe and terrorists well clear. They had left this position in the direction that should have taken them directly to the ambush positions Ken Pierson had prepared. I joined in on an inspection of the contact site that showed the terrorists had moved across open ground, which they had obviously selected as ideal killing ground for a prepared ambush. They then orbited in a wide left-hand circuit and setup a crescent-shaped ambush along the edge of a line of scrub overlooking the selected killing ground. Here they dug shallow shell-scrapes to await the arrival of troops they knew must be close by, because they had heard Hoffy’s helicopter deploying Nick’s callsign at the fence.

The terrorists may have been forced to initiate the ambush early when troops of the left echelon were about to bump the right side of their ambush line. By this time, however, Nick and Timitiya were abreast of the RPD machine-guns clustered at the centre of the ambush line. Nick was totally exposed with no cover at all whereas Timitiya was next to a lone tree. The firefight that ensued was intense and it was clear that Nick and Timitiya had used deliberately aimed conservative fire, whereas the other troops had expended their limited issue of ammunition. In retrospect the standard issue of two full magazines and only twenty rounds of reserve ammunition was way too little for situations such as this. It was a hard-learned lesson!

Clearly the eight dead terrorists, five with RPD machineguns, in the centre of the ambush line had been taken out by deadly accurate fire from Nick and Timitiya. The tree that Timitiya had used to steady himself whilst firing his MAG machine-gun from the hip was riddled with bullet strikes high above his head with just one single graze mark from the round that struck him in the head. Most bullet strikes to his body had occurred after death. Judging from his line of spent cartridges, Nick had run directly towards the ambush line before he went down because, without any cover, outright aggression must have been his only option.

Of greatest concern was that Nick’s VHF radio had been taken by the terrorists. Also taken was Nick’s FN rifle, Timitiya’s MAG and a number of packs which had been thrown off when the firing started. The capture of SF clothing by the terrorists posed a greater problem than the radio, because all spare batteries were still in the possession of one of the RAR survivors.

Only when the loss of the radio became known was Hoffy able to make sense of a VHF call he had received from an African male asking him to come and pick up wounded men. The caller had used the word ‘helicopter’ instead of the usual ‘Cyclone 7’ when a caller did not know a helicopter pilot’s personal callsign. Hoffy had tried to get this caller to give him a locstat (grid reference) of his position. There was no reply so Hoffy got on with what he was doing.

There was plenty of evidence to show that a number of wounded terrorists had left the ambush site with the main body. Along the trail an RAR tracker detected drag marks leading to a clump of scrub off to one side of tracks that showed the group had been walking in single file. Here the bodies of two more terrorists were found. I popped in to take a photograph of these bodies on my way back to Point 222.

A sudden change in course by the terrorists, who had been heading directly for the RAR ambush sites on the Nata River, must have been induced by the sound of the gunfire that killed Ken Pierson. A tracker-combat group under Lieutenant Bill Winall picked up on the tracks from the Nata River at around 10 o’clock.

The SAP helicopter arrived at Point 222 where the pilot indicated he was keen to become involved. However, we could not task him until we were given instructions on how he, his technician and his aircraft were to be employed and what restrictions, if any, applied. Nevertheless, both pilot and technician were able to assist with the interrogation of the SAANC prisoner who could only speak Afrikaans and Xhosa. They established that an SAANC man was leading the group and that he would respond to radio calls in Afrikaans.

John Rogers piloted the SAP helicopter whilst the two South African men held the SAANC prisoner and monitored his VHF transmission as he attempted to get a response from the terrorist leader. John kept an eye on the Becker Homer hoping to get a direction, but no reply was made. In hopes that the terrorist leader was listening in on the radio, the prisoner transmitted a prepared message in Afrikaans and, using his own pseudonym, recommended that the leader should surrender because there was no chance of anyone surviving as he could see the Rhodesian security forces were determined to kill him and all his followers. We never did find out if those calls were received.

When I flew over to check on his progress at around 11:00, I noticed that Bill Winall had two police handlers with their dogs. His callsign was moving in single file through high dry scrub with the dogs following the trail, now heading east for the first time. Flying high so as not to give terrorists any specific indication of the follow-up, I did a survey of the ground ahead. On the line of movement, about six kilometres ahead of the troops, thick scrub gave way to open, treed savannah where ground rose gently to a flat crest before descending more steeply to the banks of the Tegwani River. On a section of this river bright-green trees lining both banks contrasted strongly with the otherwise drab brown countryside. Here I found surface water in the riverbed, the only water for miles around.

Having seen this, I flew off northeastward well away from the area before heading back across the line of the followup group. When I passed over Bill Winall’s callsign, I was surprised to see how little progress had been made in the twenty minutes since I had plotted his last position. The line of men was moving very slowly in terrific heat and most noticeable was that the dogs were no longer leading but were trailing behind the troops.

At Point 222 I liaised with John Rogers and Major Mac Willar who had been gathering in new troops for deployment ahead of the terrorists. I told them of Bill Winall’s last position and of the water in the Tegwani River. We agreed the terrorists must have reached the high ground from which they would certainly have seen the green trees along the Tegwani River. This would undoubtedly attract them, having been without water since leaving Leasha Pan. I suggested we try jet-strikes along the south bank of the river and this was agreed.

An Airstrike Request was processed through Flight Lieutenant Doug Butler’s FASOC at Shapi Pans. We asked for a Hunter strike at 15:00 to be followed by a Canberra strike at 18:00. The reason for two strikes was that, if the terrorists had been caught in a Hunter strike, survivors would return to water and any kit they might have abandoned after about two hours believing that no further strike would occur. If on the other hand they had not yet reached the water when the Hunters struck, thirst would make them move to the inviting green trees feeling confident that no further air action would follow.

At 14:50 I passed high over Bill Winall and in veiled language told him that, “Cyclone One (Hunters) will be making a speculative strike, I repeat speculative, on a location ahead of you.” It was necessary to use veiled speech knowing that the terrorists might be listening to me on the captured radio. Ten minutes later, on a different frequency, I talked the Hunters onto the stretch of green trees on the south bank of the Tegwani. Four Hunters struck with 68mm rockets and 30mm guns exactly as instructed.

John Rogers’ helicopter was without fuel so he commandeered the SAP half-full helicopter to control the Canberra strike. At 18:00 he talked two Canberras, each with ninety-six 28-pound fragmentation bombs, onto the target. On his way back to Point 222 he switched from the airstrike frequency and immediately received a frantic call from Bill Winall. Bill’s callsign had been attacked by the terrorists and had suffered serious casualties. He had fought them off but did not know how far they were from his position.

John Rogers was too low on fuel to go to Bill’s immediate assistance. At Point 222 all fuel drums lay empty and it was getting dark. The SAP helicopter as well as John’s and mine were empty and it would be ages before Hoffy, Chris and Ian returned with fuel from Shapi Pans. In any event, any thought of going into Bill’s location that night was discarded as any helicopter with its landing light on would be a sitting duck to the terrorists whose location was not known, but whose aggressive intentions had been demonstrated on three separate occasions.

Earlier in the day I had seen an old half-filled drum of dieseline at a disused road camp near the game fence some two kilometres north of Point 222. In darkness Bob Whyte and I pumped this fuel into our helicopter to get us to the Company HQ where only one full drum of Avtur remained. We had been airborne less than ten minutes when our fuel-filter warning light came on. This meant having to land immediately to clean the filter. Four further night landings in remote ground were necessary before we finally reached the company base. There we had to drain our fuel tank of all polluted dieseline before we could take on Avtur to get us to Shapi Pans to join in on another night of lifting Avtur to Point 222.

The Shapi Pans base was deserted except for a handful of full Avtur drums because Brigade HQ and FASOC had already departed for Tjolotjo. This small village lay east of the action and only half the distance to Bill Winall’s position with operations moving that way. Shell & BP worked throughout the night transporting hundreds of drums of fuel from Bulawayo to Tjolotjo.

At midnight we lifted out the last of the fuel from Shapi Pans. Back at Point 222, after forty-two hours without sleep, the helicopter crews managed to get in four hours’ rest. At first light we commenced lift-out of Bill Winall’s dead and wounded to Tjolotjo where the Brigade HQ and FASOC were already established. This is when we learned the details of what had happened to Bill’s callsign.

Bill had not yet reached the edge of the treed area at the base of the rising ground when I spoke to him about Cyclone 1. He realised Hunters would be striking but failed to take in my essential words “speculative strike, I repeat, speculative”. Bill saw the Hunters and heard their strikes as his weary callsign continued its move to the area where trees provided welcome shade at the base of the rising ground. They reached this point before the Canberras’ strike and Bill had told his callsign to rest and ‘brew up’. Most men removed their boots and were sitting or lying down brewing tea. Unfortunately for Bill, he had come to the erroneous conclusion that we knew exactly where the terrorists were, hence the airstrikes. But he failed to follow fundamental soldiering procedures by not conducting a perimeter clearance patrol or even posting sentries.

At about the time Canberras were running in for their strike, Bill felt confident that all was well when, without warning, a black man in Rhodesian camouflage dress appeared out of the bush. In a loud voice he said, “Good evening gentlemen. I am a terrorist,” whereupon he threw a grenade into the middle of the callsign as a wave of terrorists charged forward, lobbing grenades and lacing the area with automatic fire. In spite of being caught so badly off guard and suffering casualties, the callsign retaliated so fiercely that it drove off the attack, killing two terrorists in the process and wounding others.

Hoffy and Ian picked up the seriously wounded before I put down where a soldier signalled me to land. Two terrorist bodies were loaded on the cabin floor behind me. As I looked over my shoulder I noticed the bowels of one spilling out onto the cabin floor just as the stench of death reached me. Being squeamish, I started to retch. Bob Whyte saw this and came around the front of the helicopter, lighting a cigarette for me. As I drew on the fag it had the effect of multiplying the stench so I really had to force myself to regain control. Deliberately I took in very deep breaths of the foul-smelling air.

Whilst this was happening, a third body had been placed on top of the two dead terrorists. Only then did I realise it was an RAR soldier. The body of a white policeman, who I realised must be one of the dog handlers, was about to be loaded when I signalled the troops to wait for the next helicopter. I asked John Rogers who was waiting to come in behind me to uplift the policeman’s body. As I got airborne I spotted a dead black dog lying about 100 metres from the troops. I passed John Rogers its location and requested him to uplift the dog too. Though he did this, John said later that the stench of the dead dog had been horrific. This Alsatian was Brutus whose handler survived the attack.

On the flight to Tjolotjo I could not take my mind off the dogs. There were specific issues that occupied my thoughts.

Firstly, the dogs had been pulling against their leashes for about two hours before losing scent or becoming too tired to work. Secondly, had the dogs been free to track untethered at their natural speed, they would have caught up with those terrorists in less than an hour. Thirdly, the dogs were totally pooped by the time the callsign stopped to rest so, with human scent all around them, they had no chance of detecting the terrorist group. And finally, I had found it very easy to see the dogs from the air.

From these simple facts, the idea came to me that by using a helicopter to follow one or more dogs along a trail, it would be possible to overhaul terrorists quickly. The question I asked myself was, “Could dogs learn to be controlled by radio from the air?” This had to be explored so I decided there and then to follow this up when I returned to base.

As I landed at Tjolotjo I took a really deep breath and held it as long as it took to bring the rotor blades to rest then leapt out into the fresh air. The RAR troops laid out the three bodies then complained bitterly about the body of Corporal Cosmos having been carried on top of dead terrorists. They found this to be extremely offensive. I apologised explaining how I had been retching instead of watching the loading of my helicopter. A huge N’debele sergeant told me I had nothing to apologise for. He and his men felt that “the troops who loaded the bodies should have known better than to lay Corporal Cosmos on top of terrorist scum.”

From here on follow-up operations, which now included RLI troops, had the effect of fragmenting the terrorists, following a series of contacts in which one more RSF member was killed. Operation Nickel eventually wound up when it was clear that at least twenty terrorists had made good their escape into Botswana. Many years later, after Nelson Mandela’s SAANC came to power in South Africa, someone on TV mentioned that Chris Hani, then leader of the SA Communist Party, had been one of those who escaped from Operation Nickel. Joe Modise, Nelson Mandela’s first Minister of Defence, was another.

Thirty-three SAANC and ZAPU men were known to have been killed, thirty-four were captured and twenty-seven were unaccounted for which, although a military success, had cost Rhodesia dearly in that eight of our security forces had been killed and thirteen wounded. One RSF man lost for just over eight terrorists killed or captured was considered far too high a price to pay. This was certainly a wake-up-call for the military.

There was a great deal of media coverage about the death of Spencer Thomas, the dog handler I had asked John Rogers to uplift. Spencer was a third-generation Rhodesian and his Alsatian Satan was missing, but not presumed dead. For two months Satan was lost until found by locals who lived many miles from where he had run from attacking terrorists. The scruffy and emaciated dog was returned to the Police Dog School where he quickly regained weight and his shiny coat.

Radio tracker dog project disallowed

BACK AT NEW SARUM I discussed the idea of using a radiocontrolled tracker dog with the man in charge of the Air Force Dog Section. Warrant Officer Peter Allen was certain the concept would work. I then went to Wally Jefferies in the Radio Section and asked if he thought it possible to make a two-part, lightweight radio arrangement for fitment into a harness for a dog. One radio was to be a receiver with earphone on one frequency. The other was to be an open transmitter with microphone on a separate frequency. Wally had a storm of questions that I was able to answer before he told me, very cautiously, that he thought it possible.

Squadron Leader Rogers had already given me his approval in principle so it was just a matter of getting Air HQ’s authority to explore the possibilities. The two most senior members of Air Staff immediately saw the advantage of speed tracking with helicopters and dogs. Both were especially interested in the possibility of wresting advantage from terrorists who might be lying in ambush. Except for the accidental death of Ken Pierson, most of our losses during Operation Nickel had come from ambush situations, hence the Air Staff interest. They realised that, if the tracker dog system worked, it would become essential to have additional airborne helicopters with troops for vertical envelopment of terrorists located by dogs.

With no objection from Air Staff, I put the same case to the Technical Staff. Here I found the same cynicism as when I had sought permission to develop pressure refuellers. The self-same officer who had spiked that request with his story about refuelling Spitfires from four-gallon Jerry cans spiked this project also. He asked, “PB, if we train elephants to fire machine-guns, will that interest you?” I said it certainly would but that this was not what I had come to discuss.

Any project requiring expenditure of money had to be wholly approved by both Air and Technical branches so the radio tracker dog plan, contested by only one officer, seemed to be doomed, at least for the time being.

Find Sherriff

ON 15 SEPTEMBER 1967, I flew to Sipolilo Police Station where Flight Lieutenant John Swart awaited me. He had been on a four-day exploration walk with Chief Superintendent Ted Sheriff in the northern section of the Umvukwes mountain range. They had become separated and big John’s search for the older and equally big Ted had been fruitless, so he walked out to seek help. His main concern was that Ted may have fallen and incapacitated himself in rough country that was full of ridges and deep ravines.

The mineral-rich Umvukwes range, known as ‘The Dyke’, runs for over 150 kilometres in a near-continuous mix of folded mountains and sharp ridge lines running from the southern Mcheka-wa-ka-Sungabeta mountain range to the high ground of the Zambezi escarpment between the Musengezi and Hunyani river exits into the Zambezi Valley. Within a northern section of this range known as the Horseshoe mountains there existed a unique species of palm trees known only to this areatogether with rare orchids and a great variety of birds. John and Ted’s interest in these wonders of nature had been the reason for their exploration trip.

The helicopter is a truly amazing machine when it comes to searching for someone who wants to be found. John Swart directed me to the spot where separation had occurred. In less than five minutes we made a detailed search of the area that had taken John one whole day to cover. It took another five minutes of searching to find Ted at the bottom of a deep ravine next to a fast-flowing stream from which we winched him to safety. Apart from his embarrassment, the chief superintendent was none the worse for his experience.

Mountain flying

IN OCTOBER 1967, I CONDUCTED Terry Jones’ helicopter conversion and finalised the mountain-flying phase Hugh Slatter needed for his helicopter instructor’s rating. Mountain flying was a very important aspect in helicopter training because it prepared pilots to recognise and manage dangerous wind conditions, to judge distances when approaching to land on high ledges and peaks and to conduct mountain rescues using the cable winches that we called hoists.

Mountain-flying training, though potentially dangerous, was great fun. Invariably our rest breaks included picnic lunches, trout fishing and naked swimming in icy mountain pools. For Hugh’s training with technician Ewett Sorrell we commandeered Corporal Jerry Duncan of the Station Photographic Section to make pictorial records of helicopter operations in the mountains.

One photograph we wanted necessitated placing Jerry on an impossibly small slippery rock to show hoisting work against the backdrop of Martin’s Falls.

In November John Rogers received notice that he would be leaving us. His disappointment at leaving helicopters was offset by his posting to command No 5 (Canberra) Squadron.

On the other hand, OC 1 (Hunter) Squadron, Squadron Leader Norman Walsh, was really distressed about his posting off Hunters to take command of helicopters. Like most pilots who had not flown helicopters, Norman looked upon thesemachines with disdain: “Bloody egg beaters! Not aircraft at all!” He was echoing a general view and did not believe me when I told him that he would come to enjoy flying Alouettes more than Hunters.

Family in helicopter

IN THE LATTER HALF OF December and early January 1968 I was with the Army at Kariba for local training. Air HQ took advantage of this by having me take over FAF 2 so that the permanent OC could take long overdue leave. This gave me opportunity to get Beryl and the children to Kariba for the Christmas and New Year period. We stayed at the Cutty Sark Hotel on Lake Kariba where I was in continuous contact with FAF 2. Staying at the same hotel was Hugh Maude who had been one of Winston Churchill’s wartime secretaries

Hugh Maude was a political friend of the Rhodesian Government and hated what the Labour Government was doing to destroy our country. He was enjoying a break from political work at Kariba and asked me to take him on a visit to FAF 2. Debbie and Paul already knew Hugh because of his friendship with my mother and Berry. So they asked him if they might accompany him in his chauffeur-driven car. Beryl and I in our own car were leading the way when we came upon ‘George’, a well-known elephant bull who was always close to Kariba Airfield.

George was browsing close to the roadside so I passed him and stopped well forward leaving plenty of room for Hugh’s driver. The chauffeur obviously did not know too much about elephants because he stopped before reaching George. I told Beryl I did not like this and was signalling the chauffer to come forward when George decided it was time for fun. He charged first towards us then turned for the other car.

The chauffeur reversed at great speed but George was moving faster. Only when the trunk of the screaming jumbo was over the car bonnet did George break away having enjoyed his naughty car-chasing habit. Five minutes later we arrived at FAF 2 and listened to simultaneously spoken stories from our two excited children. Hugh and his driver were noticeably quiet.

Next morning, on Christmas day, I received a call from FAF 2 to say that the SAP helicopter permanently based there was well overdue from a task it had been sent to conduct in the Chirundu area. Beryl and the children accompanied me to the airfield where they were to wait whilst I flew down to Chirundu to investigate the SAP helicopter situation.

My technician, Corporal Butch Phillips, and I were about to lift off when we saw the entire FAF contingent walking towards us with Beryl and the children in tow. The senior NCO came to my door and shouted, “Sir, you cannot pass up the opportunity to give your family a ride in the helicopter. Nobody here will say a word. Please take them along with you.” I was going to refuse when I realised that Debbie and Paul had already been ushered aboard, their faces full of expectancy. I relented and Beryl came in to sit beside me.

By its very nature a helicopter is too easily misused. Some pilots had given rides to unauthorised persons, but this was the first and only time for me and it troubled me for ages until I felt certain I had got away with it. The children never breathed a word though they must have longed to tell their friends.

This, their first flight in any aircraft, started out under patches of low cloud on our route along a green valley in the high ground running to open sky on the lip of the escarpment where the Zambezi River exits the Kariba Gorge. The spectacle was breathtaking as could be seen in the facial expressions of my family.

We had just descended to follow the river at low level when I spotted the SAP helicopter approaching up-river towards us. As I turned to climb back up the escarpment, the other helicopter came into loose formation adding more excitement for the children. Having been airborne for just a short time, I decided to fly another five minutes by routing back to the airfield through an area that carried plenty of wildlife. I was showing the various animals when eight-year-old Debbie pointed ahead saying she could see a rhino. Butch Phillips and I could not see the beast but Debbie kept pointing directly ahead. I held track for over three kilometres before seeing the rhino at the edge of bush that was yet another kilometre ahead. Debbie’s eyesight amazed us all.

Training Norman Walsh

FLIGHT LIEUTENANT MIKE GRIER ACTED as OC of the squadron for the month between John Rogers’ departure and Norman Walsh’s arrival. There was need to get the new OC converted onto the helicopter in the shortest time possible and, as ‘B’ Flight Commander, the task fell on my shoulders. Norman’s training started on 9 January 1968 and was completedin record time on 21 February.

Of all the pilots I instructed on helicopters, none was more frustrated by the learning process than ‘steely-eye jet pilot’ Norman Walsh.

He simply could not understand why he could not control the Alouette III in the hover and muttered angry words to himself when the aircraft failed to respond to his bidding. During his second flight he was attempting to keep theaircraft stationary at about three feet but, as happened to all pilots, Norman was over-controlling on cyclic. The aircraft would pitch nose down and move forward, followed by overcorrection so that the nose pitched up and the machine moved backwards before the next over-correction induced forward movement.

I had seen this all before and what Norman actually said as the aircraft seesawed back and forth, I do not remember. Nevertheless I had to switch off my microphone to conceal my laughter as aircraft pitching and Norman’s frustration grew progressively worse. Hardly able to see through my tears, I took control, steadied the aircraft and handed it back to Norman. “It’s all right for you,” he grumbled, “You’ve had plenty of practice,” and the over-controlling started all over again. By the end of this flight, Norman’s brain started providing the right signals and he was able to hover jerkily from point to point around the white-lined square we used to practise precision hovering.

As with my previous students, Norman’s flying training was mostly at high weight. At the conclusion of the operational conversion phase the usual ‘round the houses’ exercise was flown. We started with mountain-flying at Chimanimani, then flew a series of legs via Army and Police positions up the eastern border, along the Zambezi to Victoria Falls then down to Bulawayo to conduct helicopter enplaning and deplaning training for the Police and Army. Every conceivable aspect of helicopter operations was practised along the route in widely varying terrain, temperature and altitude conditions. Because of his personal experience, Norman became a stalwart in supporting the need for this type of training. By now he had grown to love helicopters and in his dealings with the Air Staff he was able to convey that the final ‘round the houses’ flights, though great fun, served an all-important purpose in more fully preparing pilots for most operational situations. As had happened to me, Norman Walsh did not have long to wait for his first operation on helicopters.

Tracker dog project

BEFORE JOHN ROGERS LEFT THE squadron, he raised the subject of the radio tracker dogs. Though Air HQ approval had not been forthcoming, he suggested that I should look more deeply into the concept and not let it die. Encouraged by this, I arranged for trials to see if a dog could be taught to respond to radio instructions from his handler. Peter Allen decided to use his big Alsatian, Beau, for the purpose. This concerned me because Beau was well on in years and had been trained as an attack dog.

Thousands of Rhodesians had seen Beau in action at a variety of shows where he and Peter Allen were brought in by helicopter to demonstrate the ‘arrest of a criminal’. Although the Air Force man acting the part of the criminal wore a protective sleeve on his arm to give protection against Beau’s large teeth and powerful jaws, Beau was strong enough always to throw the man to the ground. This is why I felt we should be using a less aggressive animal.

Wally Jefferies made a small receiver that was inserted into a back harness made especially for Beau in the Safety Equipment Section. In less than one week Peter Allen had his dog obeying radio commands when Beau could neither hear Peter’s normal voice nor see him. The next step was to work the dog along human trails laid by two persons. For this we had to add a transmitter in Beau’s harness so that his ‘out of sight’ handler could hear Beau’s breathing whilst also receiving his own transmissions to his dog.

First runs were made on thirty-minute-old scent trails over short distances. These were stepped up progressively to six-hour-old trails with longer runs. Beau did well but he always expected a good bite at the end of each run. Because of this, the men who laid the trail had to wait up a tree out of Beau’s reach. Peter Allen’s call, “Beau, come-come-come”, always worked and Beau backtracked rapidly to receive his handler’s applause and fussing.

When Beau was ready to be flown to the starting point of a trail, we fully expected teething problems. The plan was for Peter to climb out of the helicopter, with both Beau’s and his own radios switched on, and run Beau on leash a short distance to be sure he had picked up the trail scent. Peter would then release his dog and, shouting above the noise of the helicopter, “Go Beau, go, go, go”, remain static as he continued urging his dog by radio. On the helicopter’s radio I could hear Peter’s commands overlaid by the noise of the helicopter and Beau’s breathing.

Peter had then to run back to the helicopter and jump in, all the time urging his dog, “Go Beau, go, go, go.” We lifted vertically upwards to pick up Beau about 200 metres ahead. He wore a bright day-glo patch on his harness to make finding him in long grass easy. On the first two flight trials Beau started off well, but when the helicopter was over 300 feet high, he turned back to run in circles below the helicopter awaiting uplift. His love of helicopters was frustratingly obvious.

On the third try he managed to ignore the rising helicopter and had run over two kilometres with the helicopter orbiting above when he suddenly skidded to a halt to relieve his bowels. Having done this, he lost interest in the trail and, again, ran in circles barking madly for uplift. The fourth attempt was successful. Beau ran three kilometres and nearly caught one of the trail layers who managed to climb a tree in the nick of time. He then sat under the tree watching his ‘quarry’ until Peter called, “Beau come, come, come!” whereupon Beau ran towards the helicopter for uplift. No one was more pleased than Beau who leapt into the helicopter and licked me all over my face as I lifted into flight.

From now on Beau ran the trail each time but he always hoped for a good bite at the end of an ever-increasing trail distance. One thing we were trying to get him to do was go to ground when he had sight or direct scent of those he was tracking and bark just once. Amazingly Peter achieved this, thereby proving that even old dogs can learn new tricks. There were times when Beau really amused us by going to ground and hiding behind the smallest of bushes as he sounded once with more of a suppressed yelp that a bark. From the direction he pointed we were able to establish where his quarry was hiding.

We now knew that it was feasible to use a helicopter and one or more dogs to run down terrorists without sacrificing dogs in the process. Even on the hottest day Beau could cover fifteen kilometres in about forty minutes following a trail laid eight hours earlier. He tended to be slow initially where the scent was oldest then progressively increased speed as the scent became younger and stronger. Squadron Leader Norman Walsh had been on 7 Squadron for a while by the time we had achieved this. Right from the start he supported what we were aiming for and was impressed when he witnessed a run. As a result, he arranged for Wing Commander Dicky Bradshaw to fly with me to see Beau in action.

Dicky Bradshaw was convinced by what he saw and arranged for Director General Operations Air Commodore John Deall and Staff Officer Operations Wing Commander Sandy Mutch to visit 7 Squadron to see for themselves. They were both satisfied that the tracker dog concept should be progressed for operational employment.

Two days later Norman Walsh was instructed by HQ signal to give me a blast for the unauthorised stripping of A60 radios to make Beau’s receiver and transmitter and for expending flying hours without Air Staff’s knowledge. My OC showed me the signal but said nothing. Instead he visited Air HQ to state his opinion that senior technical staff officers, with no bush warfare knowledge whatsoever, were not paying close attention to the needs expressed by operational pilots andtechnicians. Squadrons were still feeling their way in preparing for intensification in the bush war that surely lay ahead. Norman contended that Air HQ’s fullest support and co-operation was essential, particularly where squadron commanders had added support to sensible ideas intended to promote operational effectiveness.

Operation Cauldron

OPERATION CAULDRON WAS INITIATED BY National Parks game-ranger Dave Scammell who, when driving with African game-scouts below the Zambezi Escarpment, noticed boot prints of two persons crossing the main east-west access road. Right away Dave recognised that the prints were from terrorist issue figure 8 and chevron pattern boots. RLI troops were flown in and a tracker-combat team under Lieutenant Bert Sachse took control.

Squadron Leader Norman Walsh, John Barnes, Mark McLean and their technicians were called forward next day after Bert Sachse’s callsign contacted a terrorist group, which took an awful pounding. During the follow-up on survivors, a major base was located near the Chiwore River resulting in a second punch-up on the same day as more RLI callsigns deployed. RLI gained further successes with survivors scattering in all directions. Continued follow-up operations resulted in the discovery of five well-established bases along the Chiwore River stretching from the Zambezi River southward for over eighty kilometres to a sixth base that was later found close to where the Angwa River exits the escarpment. The sixth base was still well short of the populated area the terrorists had sought to reach secretly.

About 250 ZAPU and SAANC terrorists had established this line of bases with more to follow after reaching the African population above the Zambezi Escarpment. Once established with the locals, they expected to create safe routes all the way through Rhodesia to South Africa—an aim that had failed in the west because of Operation Nickel. Again we had been caught off guard by ZAPU choosing a section of the Zambezi devoid of routine patrol coverage. We had absolutely no hope of covering every inch of our long border and had concentrated on ZANU’s dependence on Zambian fishermen to help them cross the big river. In any case, ZAPU did not fit into our planning so far east.

Operation Nickel had taught ZAPU that regular food and water had to be guaranteed to transit men and material across unpopulated ground. To achieve this, all the camps were sited on fresh water pools along the Chiwore River’s course where there was also an abundance of game for fresh meat all the way to the populated high ground. Each camp lay under heavy riverine cover to prevent detection from the air. Centuries-old elephant paths were used so as not to create new paths that might show up on aerial photographs or be seen by reconnaissance pilots, both considered by ZAPU to be the primary threat. Captured documents in good condition and neatly written recorded quartermasters’ control of meat issued out to large numbers of men.

Underground tunnels and ammunition bunkers amazed the soldiers just as much as the enormous quantities of arms, ammunition, explosives and staple food supplies they contained. As it happened, the camps had only just been completed. If we had detected ZAPU’s presence a few days earlier, over 100 ZAPU recruits who had portered stores and provided manual labour would also have been subjected to the RLI’s attentions, but they had returned to Zambia. About 150 ZAPU and SAANC trained men remained in Rhodesia.

Apart from meat found hanging in the camps, the source of huge meat supplies was evident to our forces who came upon the rotting carcasses of elephants whose trunks had been removed but whose tusks remained firmly embedded in their sculls; certainly not the work of poachers! Buffalo with only hindquarters removed lay in grotesque attitudes attended by hyenas and vultures.

Control of Op Cauldron forces was through a Joint Operations Centre (JOC) established in the small farming town of Karoi. The JOC comprised senior Army, Air Force, Police and Special Branch officers. Also included was Internal Affairs in the person of the District Commissioner. A FASOC for fixed-wing aircraft operated from Karoi Airfield. A tactical HQ and forward base for the RLI and supporting helicopters lay ninety kilometres to the northeast at Dean’s Camp sited on a small hill at the base of the Zambezi Escarpment. The camp had originally been a road construction site until it was taken over by the Department for Tsetse Fly Control. At this base dust and flies added to the discomfort of the Zambezi Valley’s heat. With every helicopter take-off and landing Dean’s Camp disappeared in a cloud of dust. Fortunately it was taken away quickly enough by the permanent gentle breeze but not before finding its way into every tent and building. Living conditionswere rough for Norman Walsh, his helicopter crews and the small RLI command unit.

VHF communication difficulties in the vast expanses of the flat valley floor were overcome by placing a radio relay team on the high mountain feature, Chiramba-ka-doma. This mountain lay to the east of the terrorist camp line between ZAPU bases 4 and 5. Daily resupply of water, rations and radio batteries was made by helicopters whose pilots’ mountain-flying training had fully prepared them for the turbulence and cloud interference encountered when flying into the tiny sloped patch at the summit of Chiramba-ka-doma. Callsign for the radio relay point was ‘Cloud Base’.

The leader of the terrorist force was Hedebe who was known to be carrying over $1,000 on his person. This had every RLI soldier hoping he would get to him first; but Hedebe had other ideas and proved himself to be a slippery foe.

In the valley RLI continued to have short-duration contacts, killing and capturing many terrorists, which caused further disintegration of an already scattered force. Many individuals tried to make their way back to Zambia via the line of camps not realising they had become death traps. Many were killed in RLI ambushes at these camps and along the Zambezi River line. One ZAPU terrorist did not go the Chiwore River route but set off for Zambia in a northeasterly direction. After more than a week without food, this emaciated man stumbled into an SAS patrol somewhere near Kanyemba. Given normal Army field rations, he gulped these down then dropped dead. When Captain Brian Robinson had recovered from the surprise of the incident, he sent a signal to the Quartermaster General offering SAS congratulations for his unit’s first confirmed kill. The QMG was not amused!

Everything was going RLI’s way until, on 18 March 1968, contact was made at the Mwaura River with a large group led by Hedebe himself. Under Lieutenant Dumpy Pearce, troops of 3 Commando RLI were pinned down on the north bank by intensive fire coming down on them from heavy bush on the higher south bank. John Barnes with Senior Technician Monty Maughan arrived in their helicopter and put down 600 rounds of MAG fire into the position of the unseen enemy. Their intention was to draw attention to themselves and give the ground commander a chance to move his troops to a safer position. Since this had no effect whatsoever, and the troops remained pinned down, John called for heavy airstrike.

Meanwhile Mark McLean with Corporal Brian Warren came in at lower level to draw terrorist gunfire, which was returned in short measured bursts. Though the helicopter expended only 150 rounds of 7.62mm MAG ammunition, Mark’s actions gave Dumpy Pearce the break he needed to move his men to safer ground. Then, under Mark McLean’s directions, a pair of Vampires put in accurate strikes with 60-pound squash-head rockets and 20mm cannon fire before a Canberra checked-in preparatory to making an attack with ninety-six 28-pound Frag bombs.

Newly appointed OC of 5 Squadron, Squadron Leader John Rogers, had elected to fly the air task, much to the annoyance of his experienced Canberra crews. When he called one minute out, Mark passed low over the target to place down a phosphorus grenade as a visual marker. The marker was on the terrorists’ position but wind carried its white cloud away from target. The bomb-aimer concentrated his aim on this cloud with the consequence that bombs were released off target, some to explode near ground troops waiting in the ‘safer ground’. Fortunately no one was seriously hurt.

When the somewhat annoyed troops moved forward, no fire came down on them because the terrorists had pulled out. By the time they had swept through the abandoned area and established the direction of flight, it had become too dark to follow tracks. The following day the tracker-combat callsign was moving on a trail heading straight for the escarpment.

At the same time, a smaller callsign was following frothy pink splatters of blood from a single terrorist who obviously had a serious lung wound. By late afternoon they had not closed on this man but reported that spoor of two hyenas overlaid the tracks of the wounded terrorist. Believing the terrorist would not survive the night, the follow-up troops were uplifted for re-deployment to more important task.

It was probably five years later when I was asked by Special Branch if I remembered the Op Cauldron terrorist we had given up for dead because hyenas were following him; I certainly did. “Would you like to meet the man?” I was asked. It seemed unbelievable but I met the recently captured terrorist whose beaming face showed he was pleased to be alive following his second brush with our security forces. His story was amazing. No white man would have survived the ordeal he described.

He had been wounded in the attack made by Vampires. He panicked and ran off even before the main group under Hedebe left the contact site. All night and the next day, he struggled for breath as he made his way to the foot of the escarpment. In the late afternoon his attention was drawn to a helicopter coming from behind him. Only then did he see, for the first time, the two hyenas as the helicopter frightened them off. When the aircraft landed it was so close that he could see the rotor blades whirling above low scrub. He tried to get back to it for help but moved too slowly. As the helicopter rose into full view he waved madly trying to attract attention but he was not seen before the helicopter turned and disappeared.

The two hyenas then reappeared and stayed about thirty metres behind him as he commenced his breathless ascent of the steep escarpment. By then it was almost dark and he was too tired and breathless to continue. So he sat down and faced the hyenas as they moved left and right in short runs, each time coming closer. When they were no more than ten metres away he shot one but missed the other and chased it with a long burst from his AK-47 rifle. Overwhelmed by tiredness, he lay down to sleep; surely to die.

He was amazed when he awoke at dawn, wheezing and frothing with his clothing covered in freezing-cold, caked blood. But he was still alive! All day he struggled slowly up the steep escarpment until evening when he lay exhausted and wanting to die. Again he was amazed at the dawning of the third day. Still wheezing and frothing he struggled to his feet and wobbled on ever higher. By nightfall he had reached the high ground and was about to lie down when he noticed a light shining some way off. He noted its position by reference to a tree and went to sleep; again not believing he would survive the night. But, yet again, he awoke on the fourth day.

Taking a line on the tree and noting the relative position of the sun he plodded off. At around 10 o’clock he came to a farm store that sold goods to the local African people. He was recognised for what he was but told the superstitious storekeeper how he had been unharmed by hyenas; an omen the keeper should know was deadly to anyone reporting his presence.

Using his Rhodesian money he bought a large bottle of Dettol for his wound as well as something to eat and drink. He repeated his warnings of doom to anyone reporting him and returned to the bush. Under shade in good cover he cut a long thin stick and stripped the bark away. He then inserted the stick into the wound in his chest and manoeuvred the stick until it came through the exit hole on his left shoulder blade. Then, moving the stick in and out slowly in long strokes, he poured the undiluted Dettol into the entry point and down his shoulder into the large exit hole of his terrible wound. Having emptied the bottle and removed the stick he knew in his mind that he would heal. He settled down to eat and drink before falling into a deep sleep that lasted for at least two days.

The Special Branch man asked the terrorist to remove his shirt so that I could see his scars. The shiny black puckered scars and the dent caused by the loss of a section of shoulder blade showed how large the chunk of shrapnel from a Vampire rocket must have been. I asked the man, “Was it not very painful when you pushed the stick through your body? Didn’t the Dettol burn like crazy?” He said that these were not a problem. “I was choking on neat Dettol blowing out of both holes and into my throat. It was the choking that nearly killed me!”

Returning to Op Cauldron itself. On 26 March 1968 three young Rhodesian Light Infantry soldiers were killed in two separate actions; all three happened to be under the age of eighteen. This caused such an outcry throughout the country that every soldier under eighteen years of age had to be withdrawn from operations. Most were in the field at the time and had to be gathered in by helicopters. Almost without exception they objected strongly and tried to lie their way out of having to return to base.

In the meantime Hedebe’s group was already well south and closing with the farming area on the high ground above the escarpment. So a second forward HQ manned mainly by police reservists was established at Doma Police Station. This was called Red Base. When I arrived there my first tasks were in support of small teams of PATU (Police Anti-TerroristUnit) who, using African game-trackers, were cross-graining for Hedebe’s group along the northern most farms fence lines. Quite by accident I learned of shotgun traps set for wild pigs in maize fields where they did great damage to crops. Through the Police I arranged for the farmers to disarm all the gun-traps to safeguard PATU cross-graining patrols as well as the RLI tracker-combat group following Hedebe’s trail.

Red Base was well organised by PATU who were all local farmers. With wives roped in, they provided excellent meals and a good bar service. Toilets and showers were pretty basic but they proved to be an absolute luxury for Norman Walsh and his technician when they flew up from the discomforts at Dean’s Camp. Following a hot shower and a good meal, Norman prepared to return to flies and dust whilst grumbling at me for being “a sporny blighter with all the comforts”.

On 2 April, I flew from Red Base to the tracker-combat group, now on lush high ground some five kilometres north of the east-west fence line running next to the maize fields from which gun-traps had been removed. I found the callsign of about 15 RLI men moving in shallow echelon formation across an open grass vlei with clumps of trees and small rock strewn hills ahead. As soon as I saw the lead trackers I also saw the well-defined trail that the terrorists had made through lush green grass. I followed this trail without difficulty to where it turned east just short of the fence line.

The trail meandered in and out of heavily treed patches until it reached the last group of trees with open grass vlei beyond. I could find no exit line and became confused by many trails that looked identical to the one I had been following. I did a fast low-pass next to the trees and noticed many small patches of upturned earth made by wild pigs digging for roots.

Realising that pigs were responsible for the multiple trails, I opened my search and picked up the terrorist trail running north into a line of small hills covered with large boulders and trees. The trail led through an open gully of short grass before it circled around and led back to boulder-strewn ground overlooking the open gully. This looked to me like a deliberate ambush set-up. I was absolutely certain Hedebe and his group was waiting here for the RLI troops, so I called for troops to be helicoptered in.

There was immediate reluctance on the part of the Army to use a small reserve of troops that had only just reached Red Base. So far as the local commander was concerned, responding to calls from the air was unproven, whereas the tracking callsign was still on fresh tracks and must, sooner of later, catch up with the terrorists. I guess Norman Walsh changed the Army’s mind because troops were made available quickly enough.

I remained over the spot whilst John Barnes and a second pilot flew in RLI troops of 3 Commando. My fuel warning light had come on, forcing me to leave the area as soon as I had shown John the terrorists’ position. On my way back to Red Base, the troops called ‘contact’ and then I heard John Barnes voice being overlaid by his own MAG fire. John’s gunner, Brian Warren, killed one terrorist and another three were killed by the RLI. Unfortunately the use of only ten RLI soldiers against more than twenty terrorists was insufficient to prevent Hedebe and most of his men from escaping. Nevertheless, the Army acknowledged that the terrorists had been in a very good ambush position and, had the Air Force not wrested the advantage from them, the tracker-combat group would almost certainly have suffered serious casualties.

Disappointed at having missed the action, I flew back to pick up the terrorist trail again, this time at Army’s request. It proved successful and showed that the terrorist survivors had moved east through vlei grass before moving onto a well-worn cattle path running along the fence line. The direction having been established, I made a reconnaissance of the ground well beyond the farming area and returned to Red Base. John Barnes and I then flew an RLI ambush party to a likely site I had chosen well ahead of the terrorists. Here the only well-worn path for miles around crossed over a dry riverbed.

The soldiers remained in position until, at 10:00 next morning, the troop commander called for the ambush to be lifted. The soldiers were preparing their kit for helicopter recovery when Hedebe’s group suddenly appeared, comingdown the very path for which the ambush had been sited. The terrorists were just as surprised as the troops. Both sides opened fire simultaneously as the terrorists broke north and disappeared into the bush. Neither side sustained casualties and Hedebe had survived his third encounter with RLI. Back in the valley contacts with small groups and lone terrorists continued on a daily basis. By 4 April it had become clear that Hedebe’s group of around sixteen men constituted the only worthwhile objective when, much to my disappointment, I was recalled to base to continue helicopter instruction. Terry Jones replaced me.

Two days later the RLI killed most of Hedebe’s group in a series of running actions. Four of these had holed up before being taken out with phosphorus grenades. After this action helicopters had to fly out the terrorist bodies because there was no road access into the contact areas. Prior to Op Cauldron we had always loaded terrorist bodies into the cabin. This created real problems because the helicopter’s nose-down attitude in loaded flight caused blood from the bodies to flow to the rudder pedals and around the base of the instrument console. The corrosive effects of blood, though bad in itself, was made worse when water was used to clean up because diluted blood simply penetrated deeper into unreachable areas. Because of this, blood was allowed to dry so that most of it could be brushed or vacuum-cleaned away.

Whereas we continued carrying our own dead inside the cabins, there were so many more dead terrorists to carry that we were forced to reduce the blood spillage problem by carrying their bodies in underslung cargo nets designed to carry fuel drums.

The four terrorists killed by phosphorus were lifted by Flying Officer Terry Jones who was instructed to fly them to Karoi. Phosphorus is really naughty stuff and only burns when exposed to air. When in contact with human flesh, phosphorus burns until below surface where oxygen is denied by flesh closure over entry points. Terry Jones was blissfully unaware of the fact that, in flight, the airflow had opened the dead terrorists’ wound points sufficiently to expose and re-ignite phosphorus that was then also burning the cargo net.

Because of turbulent flight conditions, Terry did not register the weight loss as all four bodies broke through the net. Only on approach to land at Karoi did his technician look down to see that the net was tattered, empty and trailing high. Terry reported the matter to JOC Karoi just before a somewhat irritated farmer phoned the JOC complaining that Air Force had just dropped four smoking bodies onto his front lawn. After being persuaded that this had been an accidental release, the farmer was pleased to hear that an Army truck was being dispatched to clean things up.

Op Cauldron was wrapped up when it was clear that Hedebe plus one member of his group had broken north and reached safety. sixty-nine terrorists were killed, on the basis of body counts, though many wounded were believed to have died and not been found. Fifty terrorists had been captured.

I was at Kanyemba on another unrelated operation some weeks later when a call was received from the Portuguese Chef do Post at Zumbo to say he was holding Hedebe in his prison cell. One of our helicopters flew an SB man across the Zambezi to collect him. Like everyone else around, I was very disappointed when Hedebe climbed out of the Allouette. He had obviously taken a beating but otherwise was of medium height, scrawny and very ordinary in looks; nothing like the tough rebel leader we had pictured in our minds.

Apparently Hedebe had gone down the Angwa River and, once inside Mozambique, sought the help of locals to take him across the Zambezi River to the Zambian shore opposite Zumbo. This is where the Luangwa River, which separates Mozambique from Zambia, joins the Zambezi River. The people agreed to do this. When, however, Hedebe got into the canoe he was laid low with a blow to the head and was bound up because, unknown to Hedebe, the Mozambicans knew that they had a reward coming from the Chef do Post for handing over any live terrorist. When the locals told the Chef do Post of Hedebe’s coming for help, the Chef do Post gave them hell for letting Hedebe walk to the river, saying he might have escaped. An old man responded by explaining that he could see no sense in carrying Hedebe to the river when he was fit to walk the long distance and wanted to go there anyway.

Some time after Op Cauldron there was a need to uplift large numbers of RAR and RLI soldiers from different locations and take them to their vehicle transport sited at a single pick-up point. At the time, there were four helicopters available for the task, mine being one. I elected to undertake the RAR uplift with another helicopter, and tasked the most junior pilots to do the RLI uplift. This was an entirely selfish decision!

All of the troops had been in the bush for many days without having bathed or changed their clothing. The use of deodorants was forbidden because even the lightest scent would give terrorists early warning of troop presence. It was for this reason that had I elected to collect RAR soldiers. Experience had taught me that the smell of white soldiers is appalling after only one week without a bath, whereas the smell of black soldiers, in equal circumstances, was much easier to tolerate.

The difference between black and white body odours was probably due to diet. For me the smell of unclean black men is similar to that of faintly rotting onions. With the passage of time, the intensity increases but the basic odour remains much the same. On the other hand, the smell of unclean whites varies from individual to individual ranging from stale, sour milk to rotten meat. Collecting RAR was fine because I knew exactly what to expect and each man entering the helicopter smelled the same as the next. With white soldiers, I found myself retching from the foul stench that changed as each man came aboard; and no batch smelled the same as another.

P. K. van der Byl

P. K. VAN DER BYL WAS a very colourful, eccentric minister in Ian Smith’s Rhodesian Front Cabinet. Of South African aristocratic stock, he spoke with a very affected nasal accent in a style somewhat akin to Eton graduates. He did not wear underpants and dressed ‘to the left’ in a manner that confirmed his reputation for being well endowed.

Following the Vampire strikes against Hedebe’s group, PK decided to visit the site. He was not really known to the men in the field at that time and his arrival at Karoi for his helicopter flight to site was quite an eye-opener because his dress was so appalling. Below his Australian bush hat he wore a pink shirt with bright-blue tie, khaki shorts with black belt, short blue socks and vellies. On return to Salisbury he appeared on national television properly attired in suit and tie. Speaking of his visit to the airstrike site and making grand gestures with his hands he told of seeing “Blood, blood everywhere!” In fact we knew the red fluid splattered about the area was mopani sap oozing from shrapnel wounds to the trees.

When the RLI and SAS got to know him better, PK became very popular with the soldiers. His ridiculous accent appealed to them just as much as his strange dress. He often requested to be taken on patrol so he could “shoot a terrorist” but asked that care be taken not to get him “lawst”.

After one of his many field visits, he was flown back to Salisbury in a helicopter piloted by Peter Simmonds. Contrary to orders given Peter to take the minister to New Sarum, PK ordered Peter to drop him off where his servants would be awaiting him close to his home. When the helicopter landed in Salisbury Botanical Gardens, right next to the main road during rush hour, all vehicles came to a halt to watch the unbelievable sight of ‘white-hunter PK’, with elephant gun over shoulder, leading white-clad servants carrying baggage on heads.

After he became better known to the Air Force, he arrived by air at Thornhill to attend some official function or another in Gwelo. Station Commander Group Captain Ken Edwards offered the minister lunch in the Officers’ Mess after his official function was over. PK said he had an awful headache and declined the offer. However, when he returned to Thornhill, he told Ken that he had changed his mind and would love to take up the earlier offer of lunch before flying back to Salisbury. Not surprisingly the caterers were in a bit of a tizzy for receiving such late notice but, as always, they presented a superb meal.

There were many officers and wives enjoying a Saturday lunchtime drink in the Grog Spot when John Digby walked in wearing P. K. Van der Byl’s very smart Homburg hat. He had found this on the table in the entrance hall to the mess. “Surely the minister with his British Army background knows better that to leave his hat in the entrance hall of an officers’ mess when its rightful place is in the cloak room!” Having said this, John placed the hat on my wife’s head.

Beryl immediately sat on the bar counter and posing in an exaggerated manner made some statement in PK’s affected accent. She was still doing this when Eddie Wilkinson whipped the hat from her head and, before he could be stopped, poured a full pint of beer into it causing instant loss of shape. Some officers took sips from the hat before it became the object of a roughhouse rugby match during which it shrivelled and shrunk into a shapeless mess. Once the match was over, the hat was unceremoniously driven down one of the horns of a kudu trophy hanging on the wall. When the minister was ready to leave, his headache immediately re-developed because he could not find his prized hat. Group Captain Edwards tore into the Grog Spot to see if anyone had seen it. Everyone pointed to the kudu horns.

PK took off for Salisbury in a thundering bad mood and John Digby phoned officers at New Sarum to brief them on what had happened. A whole group of them rushed off to find hats and gathered at Air Movements in time to meet the minister. As PK emerged from the Dakota, everyone doffed their hats in greeting. Unable to respond, the minister’s annoyance and headache worsened. Fortunately he was humoured sufficiently to accept the offer of a drink in the mess where his headache dissipated before his departure for home in good spirits.

John Digby took all the Saville Row hat-maker’s details from the destroyed hat and, through his brother in London, had a new Homburg made. When Terry Emsley was persuaded by John to present the new hat to PK, the minister vowed never again to leave it unattended in any place other than a hatbox in the boot of his car.

For all his eccentricities and flamboyance, PK was a bright politician who spoke fluent German. I heard it said that he very cleverly saved Rhodesia many millions of dollars by ‘confiding’, very loudly, with a fellow passenger on a Lufthansa flight out of Germany. This was done to make sure that an agent, whether British or American I do not know, sitting behind him could hear his words. He knew the agent was trying to establish the purpose of his visit to Germany—and PK wanted to oblige. This was because he had just received confirmation from home that the new Rhodesian Mint had successfully started pumping out high-quality Rhodesian dollar notes. By boasting loudly about the German firm that was about to deliver Rhodesian currency through an agency he named, he triggered a UN action that blocked the deal. Thanks to PK, this ‘UN sanctions-blocking success against Rhodesia’ not only saved millions in foreign currency at UN expense, it highlighted anotherof the country’s self–sufficiency triumphs.

Roland Coffegnot

SUD AVIATION’S CHIEF TEST PILOT, Roland Coffegnot, made his second visit to Rhodesia to discuss any problems we were experiencing with our Alouettes and to fly with instructors. Being Sud Aviation’s test pilot for the Alouette III’s, Roland knew the absolute limits of these machines, which made flying with him both enlightening and frightening.

The first thing he demonstrated to me seemed crazy. In the hover at about shoulder height he applied full rudder. The helicopter tail swung around with increasing speed and the nose pitched progressively downward until it seemed the main rotor blades were about to strike the spinning ground. At this point full opposite rudder was applied to stop the rotation, which caused the aircraft to shoot off into forward flight as if catapulted. It was nice to know this was possible but, not seeing any operational value in the manoeuvre, I never tried it myself.

Next, Roland asked me to hover. I was settled when, without warning, he slammed the fuel-flow cock closed. This was my first-ever powerless landing that worked out well enough, although touchdown was a bit heavy. Only then did Roland realise that I had no prior ‘engine-off’ experience, so he repeated the exercise twice. Next on his programme were three engine-off autorotations from height, which I enjoyed. This is when he told me that, when instructing a student, I should always cut power when the student least expected it to happen.

He insisted that it was absolutely essential for an instructor to be quite certain that his students would automatically check the yaw that occurs with power loss and instinctively ‘dump’ the collective pitch lever to ensure minimal loss of rotor speed. Hesitation would be fatal. He then demonstrated and made me practise hair-raising, power-off, forced landings from the hover at 500 feet. When hovering below this height recovery from an engine failure was impossible.

At the moment the engine cut, it was necessary to dump collective and pitch the aircraft into a vertical dive. The helicopter accelerated rapidly in its hair-raising descent but this kept the rotor blades spinning at a safe speed. The nose was then pitched up quite rapidly with the ground rushing up as the rotor blades spun up to maximum rpm, providing plenty of rotor speed to reduce the descent rate to zero for a gentle roll-on landing. As with the power-off practices from forward flight, use of the collective pitch control, other than to prevent the rotors from over-speeding, had to be left to the last moment to utilise the kinetic energy within the spinning rotor blades to make a controlled touch down. Good judgement was paramount.

Roland made it known to Air HQ just how important it was for pilots to experience and handle unexpected power failure. This was accepted and 7 Squadron instructors were cleared to cut power in flight. However, Air HQ ruled that this was only to be done at base where the resultant forced landing would be onto a runway. This ruling completely defeated Roland Coffegnot’s insistence that pilot reaction could only be adequately tested if engine failure was induced when a pilot least expected it. When flying anywhere near the main runway with an instructor, pilots were always wide awake and expecting fuel flow to be cut.

Operation Griffin

IN MID 1968 BERYL AND I went on long-overdue leave. During our absence ZAPU made its third attempt to establish the safe route through Rhodesia that they so dearly wanted to create for their SAANC mates. The employment of large forces during Operations Nickel and Cauldron had failed dismally, but ZAPU’s James Chikerema and SAANC’s Oliver Tambodid not seem to grasp the reasons for these failures with high losses. This time they used a small group of twenty-nine menwho crossed the Zambezi River on the night of 15 July.

Their crossing point between Chirundu and the Kariba Gorge aimed for a shorter route to the African populated areas of Vuti Purchase Land and Nyaodza Tribal Trust Land where they intended to establish firm bases. However, unbeknown to them, they had an SB plant in their midst. Glenn MaCaskill had launched his agent into Zambia in April 1968 and was surprised by his early return as a ‘trained terrorist’. The agent had slipped away as soon as it got dark and made a beeline for the Police base at Chirundu to report the incursion.

The group’s spoor was located at 08:30 on 16 July by trackers and Border Control troops. RLI troops were brought to immediate standby at Kariba and four helicopters with two Provosts bolstered FAF 2’s regular contingent. Terrorist tracks were followed westwards to the opening of the Kariba Gorge then southward up the steep escarpment line before entering a level, south-flowing valley with moderately high hills bounding its flanks.

Ahead of the tracker group, Second Lieutenant Jerry Strong’s callsign was established in an ambush for the night of 17-18 July. At 07:00 on 18th he broke ambush to conduct a cross-graining search. He came upon the terrorists’ tracks and asked his OC, Major Rob Southey, for two additional sticks (then five men) including a tracker to be flown to him.

A narrow river running from the eastern high ground with very steep slopes was the place the terrorists had moved from the main valley to rest and shelter in amongst large boulders that packed the twisting ravine. Jerry’s callsign moved along the north bank of the river line with a supporting callsign paralleling on the south bank. Two terrorist backpacks were then located giving warning that the terrorists were very close by. Twenty metres farther on lead scout Lance-Corporal Lahee on the north bank came under fire from about ten terrorists. This forced him and the whole of Jerry’s callsign to retire a short distance and regroup in cover.

Jerry and Lahee then moved to higher ground and crawled forward onto a ledge to overlook the cave from which terrorist fire had come. They lobbed in all of their hand grenades, fired one 32Z rifle-grenade each and emptied their rifle magazines before they became pinned down from a different terrorist position. They could not withdraw.

Overhead, Norman Walsh and his gunner ‘TJ’ van den Berg stood by to give covering fire from their MAG but, because he was pinned down, Jerry found it impossible to give proper direction. The callsign on the south bank then made contact killing one terrorist but sustained one wounded casualty before becoming pinned down also. Reinforcements arrived on Jerry’s side of the river allowing him to draw back under their covering fire. At this point Major Southey arrived and, together with Jerry, he moved callsigns downriver before crossing over to move up the south bank with the aim of relievingthe pinned-down troops who were taking casualties every time they moved. This failed and the rescuers themselves became pinned down by heavy accurate fire from well-sited terrorist positions.

Up to this point the terrorist group was thought to be ZANU because ZANU had not shown up for a long time and the crossing into Rhodesia had been conducted in typical ZANU fashion. Besides, SB had not disclosed anything to ensure their agent and their methods remained secret. But now the aggressive resistance, good tactical siting and controlled accurate fire, made it obvious to the troops that they were in contact with ZAPU.

While refuelling, Norman Walsh discovered that his helicopter had sustained two 7.62mm strikes to fuselage and tail rotor and Peter Nicholls’ had taken a single strike through the rear fuselage and fuel tank which, by design, had self-sealed. This was the first time aircraft had sustained hits, but at no stage had the aircrew seen a single terrorist.

Unable to give direction for helicopter supporting fire and realising that terrorists under boulders would be immune to vertical gunfire anyway, Jerry suggested to his OC that Provosts with Frantans might provide a solution. Time had flown by and it was already 15:00 with only two and a half hours of daylight remaining.

Tony Smit and Ken Law few in from nearby FAF 2 with two Frantans each. With the troops so close to the terrorists, it was essential to drop the first Frantans short of their target. Release of each Frantan had to be made in a steep dive whilst turning hard starboard to avoid the southern face of the mountain. After release, still turning steeply, high ‘G’ and full power had to be applied to recover from the dive where the river exited into the open valley.

First Frantans fell well short against the mountain face. Tony and Ken returned to FAF 2 for more Frantans, which they managed to drop into the riverbed itself then progressed in two steps nearer to the pinned-down troops. Unbeknown to Tony and Ken, terrorists were taking casualties from their fery strikes even before they reached their intended strike point.

By this time Major Southey and Jerry Strong, having sustained two wounded casualties, had pulled their callsign back using the Provosts attacks and smoke grenades to cover their withdrawal. But the callsign they had attempted to relieve remained pinned down, even after the last of sixteen Frantans had been expended. Because of this, Hunters and Vampires on airborne standby over the area could not be used before dark. Meanwhile more Frantans were flown to FAF 2 from New Sarum.

It was not until 19:30 that the callsign, which had been pinned down for over eight hours, managed to move out under cover of darkness with its casualties. RLI, PATU and South African Police callsigns set up ambush positions in the riverbed base and on the high ground as helicopters came in to lift out the RLI casualties. In doing this, Norman Walsh and Peter Nicholls faced great difficulty because of steep mountainsides and the blackness of the night in conditions of thick haze.

As soon as the landing light was switched on, it lit up the haze ahead making visual contact with ground impossible until dangerously low and close. Fortunately Norman noticed that, when flying to one side of Peter, he could see the ground quite clearly where Peter’s light was aimed, whereas Peter himself was blinded by his own reflected light. Norman told Peter to switch off his landing light whilst he flew high at ninety degrees to Peter’s flight path and illuminated the landing area.

Norman, blinded by his own white pool of illuminated haze whilst flying high enough to clear all high ground, could just make out Peter’s bright red rotating beacon lights which helped him point his landing light onto the area ahead of Peter’s flight line. Now Peter could see the ground clearly all the way and only needed to switch on his own landing light for the landing itself. This worked like a charm so, having collected casualties, Peter climbed and gave the same assistance to Norman. This virtually eliminated the dangers of approaching high ground at night. The same procedure was later used successfully in many night operations where Trojan aircraft, equipped with a handheld searchlight accompanied single helicopters for casualty evacuations at night from difficult terrain.

No contact was made with terrorists during the night. Tony Smit and Ken Law dropped a few 600,000-candlepower flares before midnight to help troops search for movement but none was seen. At 06:10 next morning Tony and Ken placed down four more Frantans on the terrorist position that had been so troublesome the previous day. Then Jerry Strong led a sweep up the river. There was no resistance because the terrorist survivors had made good their escape over the high groundbetween ambush positions. Twelve dead terrorists were found, most burnt by Frantans.

Sergeant Major ‘Bangstick’ Turle in the meanwhile was leading a tracker-combat callsign on the trail of survivors whose tracks were found to be moving south over the high ground, then across the main Kariba road into flat ground east of Kariba Airfield. As the callsign was approaching a dry riverbed, the sergeant-major smelt the unmistakable stench of rotting flesh. One hundred metres farther on he came upon the terrorists and took out all ten ZAPU, without casualties to his callsign. Most of the dead terrorists had been burnt by Frantan, which accounted for the early warning stench.

Twenty-seven ZAPU had been killed and one captured. Another was thought to have escaped but in reality, though listed in capture documents as a member of the group, he was the SB plant.

Tracker dogs proven

FOLLOWING AIR HQ APPROVAL TO progress the radio tracker dog project, BSAP Dog Section Officer Ted Spencer and his dog Jill joined Peter Allen and me. From the outset Jill, a Doberman Pinscher-Bloodhound cross, worked well with Beau. But Beau refused to be outdone by the bitch that was a much faster tracker. He stubbornly insisted on working every inch of every trail himself.

The route the Op Griffin terrorists had followed from the Zambezi River up to where contact occurred offered us the most difficult testing ground for the dogs. In August the area was very hot and dry giving the worst possible condition for scent tracking. Accompanied by Wing Commander Porky MacLaughlin from Air HQ, the original trackers of Op Griffin commenced a moonlight retrace of the terrorists’ route and timing from the point where tracks had originally been detected. By dawn they were moving along the valley on the high ground.

Keeping to the same timings of the original follow-up operation, the dogs were placed on tracks at 08:30 when the sun was high and ground conditions were already hot. Jill set off on the trail immediately but Beau had to cast back and forth across the trail, so poor was the scent. Jill never moved more than 100 metres before stopping and looking back to wait for Beau to catch up. This went on for a while until Jill ran into a herd of elephants giving her such a fright that she rushed back to Beau. Beau took no notice of Jill, now following him, and led her straight through the elephants which, in spite of the helicopter’s presence overhead, all turned to watch the dogs pass by. Then a young bull with trunk high, and presumably trumpeting, gave chase for a short distance before breaking away. Beau had never seen an elephant before, so we were surprised and delighted by his apparent nonchalance as he passed through before Jill resumed the lead.

During the steep climb up the escarpment, it was very noticeable that the dogs were moving faster. Peter Allen attributed this to improved scent retention by higher grass and larger areas of shade. When they came out onto the open ground at the top of the escarpment Jill ran straight into a bull rhino, which immediately charged, sending her helter skelter back to Beau. Beau saw the big fellow coming and ran in a semicircle, which Jill and the Rhino followed.

Once the rhino broke off his chase we thought the game was over, particularly when we saw Beau plunge into a waterhole with Jill in tow. Both dogs submerged their bodies and enjoyed a long drink. We were considering landing to pick them up when Beau ran out of the water, shook himself vigorously, and started casting for scent. Again, Jill followed suit and, of greatest importance, the radio links were still working. They had to range more than 200 metres across the original line of movement before Beau picked up the trail and Jill, as always, moved off ahead of him. I picked up the steep riverline into which the terrorists had turned from the valley in which the dogs were still running strongly. Both dogs disappeared into thick riverine bush and we watched anxiously for them to reappear in the rocky river-line itself. Instead we spotted them coming out of the trees well beyond and continuing to run along the side of the open valley.

Again I wondered if we should recall the dogs, particularly as I was running low on fuel. But then they turned into the next gully running into the mountain. At this point both dogs went to ground and Beau gave his funny yelp. Just ahead of the dogs we saw Porky MacLaughlin and his group. The men who tracked the Griffin terrorists had taken more than twenty-four hours to cover the same ground that these two dogs had run in a little under one-and-a-half hours.

At that very moment there was no way I would have believed that the radio tracker dog system would never be used in operations. We had just seen it work in the worst possible conditions. Unfortunately however, Air HQ passed the entire project to the Police. Though some effort was put into continuing with the work already done, it failed because regular police dogs were expected to conduct routine urban dog patrol work with the specialist radio tracking as a sideline. Worse still was the fact that operationally inexperienced handlers managed the dogs and all training was done at Mabelreign, which was a long way from New Sarum.

Had I remained on helicopters things might have been different because I envisaged Air Force Dog Section preparing four dedicated dogs in conjunction with a handful of battle-experienced soldiers who would be trained to handle them in the field. All training would have been done at New Sarum where all important helicopter participation was at hand.

Operation Mansion

AS A CONSEQUENCE OF OP Griffin, ZAPU had failed for the third time to establish a safe route through Rhodesia. But they tried again in yet another attempt in mid-August 1968. The crossing was made way over to the west at the headwaters of Lake Kariba. Operation Mansion was established when the crossing was detected 500 metres from where the Gwai River flows into the Zambezi Gorge.

Terry Jones, with his helicopter gunner Senior Technician Willy Armitage, tried unsuccessfully to get at the terrorists who were cornered in a cave on a steep riverbank with RAR troops poised on the ridge above them. Then Mark McLean and Corporal Technician John Ness had a go at dislodging them. Although one terrorist was killed, Mark could not flush the terrorists out into view of the RAR troops, so he requested his supporting FASOC to call for heavy airstrikes.

Vampires flown by Keith Corrans, Wally Galloway, Graham Cronshaw and Prop Geldenhuys struck with rockets and cannon fire. A Canberra piloted by Peter Woolcock with John Digby delivered a noisy load of ninety-six fragmentation bombs. The airstrikes broke the terrorists’ will and RAR troops inflicted some casualties before nightfall allowed survivors to escape back into Zambia.

ZAPU’s operations had been receiving a great deal of press coverage outside of Rhodesia. The party’s propaganda machine, ignoring dismal failures, claimed that its military wing had killed many Rhodesian troops with the downing of many more helicopters than we owned.

Operation Excess

ZANU HAD BEEN QUIET FOR AGES but then, spurred on by ZAPU’s exaggerated claims and an urgent need to prove itself to the Organisation of African Unity, launched a large group across the Zambezi River at Mpata Gorge. Having failed repeatedly, ZANU had learned to avoid the long distances previously used to reach populated areas. In this case they aimed to get to the large sparsely populated Dande Tribal Trust Land, but without getting too close to the police station and Army base at Kanyemba.

A border patrol unit only detected the crossing eight days after it had occurred. This was the consequence of infrequent surveillance of the rough ground at Mpata Gorge and because, in winter, there was no water for many miles beyond the Zambezi River. Operation Excess commenced when Lieutenant Christopher John (Dumpy) Pearce of the RLI took over from the border control unit and commenced a follow-up southeastwards through rough, dry country. The whole region had plenty of trees but in the dry season they were leafless making the hot breezeless conditions extremely uncomfortable.

An RLI Tactical HQ commanded by Major Rob Southey was established on the site of a disused road camp on the main east-west Zambezi Valley road where it crossed the Angwa River bridge at Mato Pools. The main JOC that had been established at Karoi for Operation Cauldron was still in situ to oversee Op Excess. On 28 July 1968 I led a flight of four helicopters to support the RLI operation.

My first task was to resupply Dumpy Pearce with water and rations a little after midday. I located Dumpy near the source of the small bone-dry Ruponje River on the north side of a watershed ridge, where I shut down to have a chat. Dumpy’s callsign was hot, sweaty and tired, but in good spirits. The men welcomed the cold water and ice I had brought them and rested whilst Dumpy and I talked. Dumpy estimated that they were seven days behind a group of approximately fifty terrorists. I asked him to point to the spot on the nearby ridge where he believed the tracks were heading. Having noted this, I got airborne and found I could actually land there.

It was obvious that aerial tracking this old trail in such dry grassless conditions was a non-starter but I had other ideas in mind. Looking over the ground ahead I could not help seeing a patch of bright-green trees about twelve kilometres away beyond a series of descending ridges. The walking distance was at lease twice the direct distance. The trees were off to the right of the direction the terrorists had been heading, but they gave the distinct impression of being sited on water. I was absolutely certain the terrorists must have been drawn to the spot having travelled so far without water. I called Dumpy and asked if I could fly his trackers forward to see if my guess was right, promising to have them back within fifteen minutes if I was wrong. Dumpy said it suited him but I must first get Rob Southey’s blessings. For this I had to climb quite high to make contact with RLI Tac HQ. Rob Southey did not accept my suggestion, so I set heading for base.

About one minute later, I received a call to say it would be fine to return to Dumpy and lift his trackers forward, providing Dumpy was with them. I raced back to pick up Dumpy and two trackers. When we landed on smooth short green grass next to the copse of green trees, the trackers climbed out and immediately pointed to terrorists tracks on the very spot we had landed. They established that there was no surface water as I flew the rest of Dumpy’s callsign forward to tracks now assessed to be five days’ old.

Pressing my luck, I headed off low and slow over a vast expanse of leafless trees in the direction the trackers were moving and noted a single prominent and unusually high tree with distinctive smooth yellow bark. Although it was a long way ahead it was certainly on the line the trackers were moving. At this stage I was short of fuel and returned to base.

I went to Rob Southey to suggest moving the trackers forward again. Colonel John Hickman, the Officer Commanding the RLI, was visiting and I learned that it was he who had persuaded Rob Southey to let me try the first move. Though this had been successful and had brought the RLI two days closer to the terrorists, Rob seemed reluctant to move trackers to ‘the tall tree’. One could hardly blame him, because it must have seemed improbable that the terrorists would have seenthings the way I did. However, he changed his mind when Colonel Hickman said, “You have nothing to lose Rob!”

I returned to Dumpy, picked up his trackers and put them down close to the yellow tree. They were more surprised than I to find that a man had climbed the tree to scan the route ahead whilst the rest of the group had waited close by. Dumpy’s men were brought forward onto tracks, now estimated to be thirty-six-hours old. Again I pressed my luck and, dealing only with Dumpy, moved trackers forward about six kilometres to where the trees gave way to open ground along the dry Mwanzamtanda River. Here the trackers had to cast 200 metres before locating tracks that were under twenty-four-hours old. I had just sufficient fuel to bring the whole callsign forward before returning to base feeling well pleased with myself. We had closed from seven days to one day in less than three hours. Had Colonel Hickman not been at the Tac HQ, this would certainly not have occurred and a new method of gaining ground might have been lost.

It was late afternoon and with my enthusiasm at a peak I searched forward. I dared not proceed at low level with terrorists so close and climbed to 1,500 feet. Almost immediately I saw dark-green trees ahead and sensed this was the actual position of the terrorists. Alan Aird had been with me the whole time and he also saw the water in the heavily treed tributary that flowed into the Mwanzamtanda. This otherwise dry rivulet ran northwards along the edge of a rocky outcrop, then looped southward around a moderately high rocky feature. In this bend lay surface water with the dark-green trees lining the banks. Alan agreed with me that the terrorists were under those big shady trees and said he was certain he had seen bundles of something or other under the northernmost trees.

Back at base it was agreed that Dumpy Pearce should continue his follow-up and that fresh troops would be lifted into the suspected terrorist base early next morning. I do not remember the reason for this, but I only carried Alan, his MAG and a full fuel tank when I flew ahead of the three helicopters carrying Jerry Strong and his troops. I passed over the suspect point where both Alan and I saw what we believed were shell-scrapes at the edge of the tree line. We did not change direction until the other helicopters had passed over the site to drop troops behind a small ridge just 100 metres away. The helicopters lifted immediately to return for more troops as Jerry led his men directly to the suspect site. As he entered the trees, he called, “Terrs left about one minute ago—in a hurry. There is abandoned equipment—no time to collect—moving east on tracks.”

Poor Dumpy Pearce who had followed these terrorists so far was not at all happy that Jerry was right on the tail of the terrorists his callsign had been mentally prepared to contact in less than two hours. Major Southey refused to let Dumpy’s force join Jerry’s fresh troops, even though helicopters could have moved them forward in less than five minutes. Nevertheless this turned out to be a good decision.

Being under-strength, Jerry was moving cautiously in rough country. Soon enough the rest of his troops arrived and, though able to move faster for a while, patches of heavy bush in rough terrain well suited to ambush slowed Jerry down. His trackers reported following less than twenty men, which was way below the number Dumpy Pearce had given. In the meanwhile Dumpy had reached the terrorist base by the water where he found that a big force of about forty men had broken south. The only other tracks were those that Jerry was following.

Before Jerry’s troops reached one particular spot, I asked for 37mm Sneb rockets to be fired into a patch of bush on the lip of a ravine through which Jerry and his men would be passing. To assist Flying Officer Chris Weinmann, who was flying a Provost, identify the correct position, I asked him to follow my helicopter’s shadow until I called, “Now” to pinpoint his position of strike. So far as I know, this was the first time that one pilot guided another by using his aircraft’s shadow; but it worked perfectly and Chris placed the strike exactly where I wanted it. When Jerry reached the point a few minutes later, he reported that the tracks went through the point of strike but the terrorists had passed there some time earlier.

By late afternoon Jerry’s callsign had slowed to the extent that they were over one hour behind the terrorists when tracks crossed the north-south road leading to Kanyemba. Because the terrorists were heading directly for Mozambique, diplomatic clearances were needed to enter that country in ‘hot pursuit’. When it was too dark to track the troops settled for the night at the borderline. The road crossing had allowed trackers to get an accurate count of the number of men they were pursuing. This confirmed that, with only fifteen sets of prints, Dumpy was following the greater portion of the original group.

During the night authority was given to cross into Mozambique. At first light Jerry’s men received water and Mozambican maps before continuing the follow-up into flat, dry mopani country where the temperature would rise to thirty-eight degrees by midday. No aircraft came near Jerry until he said he was close to contact. As I approached his area, a radio transmission from Jerry was so heavily overlaid by the sound of automatic gunfire that I could not hear what he was saying. That he was in contact was obvious.

Jerry had heard voices ahead and opened out his callsign for a sweep through moderately open bush towards the voices. The terrorists saw the troops emerging from the bush line on the other side of a dry riverbed and opened fire, wounding one RLI trooper. Jerry called on the terrorists to surrender, whereupon they responded with vile language and anti-white slogans before resuming fire that kept Jerry’s troops pinned down for a short while.

The terrorist position was under trees on slightly higher ground on the other side of the dry riverbed. The RLI threw phosphorus grenades into the river line to give smoke cover to Jerry’s left echelon as it rushed over the riverbed and positioned itself on the terrorists’ right flank. With pressure on them from front and side, the terrorists’ action abated and Jerry crossed the river under covering fire to sweep through the camp where he found seven dead terrorists and one wounded. This meant there were still seven others close by.

Alan Aird and I searched forward and saw two terrorists lying against the bank of a small gully with their weapons pointing towards the advancing troops. Alan opened fire, forcing them to run in a crouch along the gully in the direction of Jerry’s flanking callsign. One fell then rose as Alan’s fire struck the second man who went head over heels. He rose again just where the gully seemed to end next to a clump of trees. Here both injured men disappeared from view. A gully line beyond helped us understand that a tunnel existed were the roots of the trees bound surface soil to form a natural bridge. The two terrorists were obviously in hiding under this bridge.

Then from above we witnessed a very strange action when two soldiers, one wearing a bright green item of headgear, moved to where we had lost sight of the terrorists. These two men were bending over the bridge and gesticulating wildly before both dropped on their stomachs moments before a grenade detonated in the gully next to them. They rose and did what they had done before, again dropping facedown as another explosion occurred. The act was repeated but, this time, the two wounded terrorists emerged and were taken prisoner.

Later we were to learn that Lance Corporal Lahee was the wearer of the green headgear, a tea cosy, which was the lucky charm he had used during Op Griffin to attract enemy fire. During the action in which he had been pinned down with Jerry Strong, he had lifted the tea cosy on a stick into terrorist view to confirm their continued presence and position. In so doing the cosy collected a number of holes. I knew the man had to be a bit crazy to be wearing such a bright article because it made finding him from the air so much easier than any other RLI soldier.

Lahee had watched the dust from our helicopter’s gunfire, which drew him to the terrorists under the earth bridge. Here he shouted to them to surrender. They refused, so he threw a grenade into the tunnel. The terrorists were just around a bend in the tunnel that protected them from the two detonating grenades that they had thrown back out into the gully. Lahee told them the next grenade would detonate as it reached them and this is what had brought them out of hiding at the very moment another terrorist was seen and killed by other troops.

A little past the point where the gully entered the dry river, I spotted a terrorist as he ran under a tangle of roots overhanging the bank of the main river. Alan had not seen this, and the terrorist was no longer visible to me. With Alan holding the MAG steady, I manoeuvred the helicopter and told him when to pull the trigger. With a touch of rudder I brought strikes to the correct spot for Alan to identify. We then made three passes down the river putting in accurate strikes on the spot before running out of ammunition.

The terrorist had not fallen into view so Flying Officer Tudor Thomas and his gunner, Senior Technician Butch Phillips, put in a pass into the same spot were troops immediately found the bullet-riddled body of a terrorist lodged in tangled roots that had been exposed by erosion. This brought the tally to twelve with three remaining.

I landed to relieve Jerry’s men of the three captured terrorists and flew off to hand them over to the Special Branch at Kanyemba. I can still picture the combination of arrogance and fear etched on their faces when they looked at Alan and his MAG machine-gun, but they dared not move because Alan had them covered with his FN rifle. Two of the terrorists had long deep furrow-like wounds to arms and legs that typified those received from steeply inclined helicopter gunfire. Though these looked pretty frightful at the time, medical attention at Kanyemba and later in Salisbury prison resulted in their full recovery.

An RLI callsign of five men under Fanie Coetzee had been put down ahead of Jerry’s callsign to cross-grain along the Angwa River. With contact having been made, Tac HQ asked me to get Fanie’s callsign over to Jerry to assist in the follow-up on the three missing individuals who had become separated from each other.

With the burly Alan Aird and 400 pounds of fuel I knew a lift of six men and equipment would be difficult. I had not seen Fanie before and groaned inwardly when I realised just how big and heavy he was as he lumbered across the soft river sand with his men. Lift-off necessitated the use of emergency power, but I was able to reduce this within the gearbox time limit once in forward flight. On return to the contact area my landing in a small hole between high trees with such a heavy load was difficult enough, but seeing a terrorist go to ground directly ahead of the aircraft made my hair stand on end because it was too late to abort the landing.

I shouted to Fanie, “Terrorist directly ahead,” just before touch-down then I lifted smartly as the troops cleared. Fanie’s attention was drawn to firing over to his left so he did not get to clearing the area I had indicated to him. Two days later an uninjured terrorist, captured by Mozambican villagers, was brought to Tac HQ. He recognised me immediately and told his interrogators that I was the pilot he aimed to kill if he thought we had seen him hiding in an antbear hole. The reason he recognised me was because, instead of wearing a helmet and mask, I wore earphones with a throat microphone. Thank goodness he did not fire. It would have spelled disaster for eight men and a helicopter.

The two remaining terrorists were killed in separate actions and the focus of Op Excess swung over to the larger terrorist group. Their tracks had not been found by either of two cross-graining callsigns patrolling the main dirt road on the line of Dumpy’s follow-up. The reason for this became clear when Dumpy reached the road. The terrorists had applied effective anti-tracking procedures over long stretches, moving singly in a widespread line-abreast formation. When they reached the road they grouped and laid clothing, like stepping-stones across a river, which all the men followed, leaving no boot prints on the roadway.

Unexpectedly, locals well to the south in the Dande Tribal Trust Land reported the terrorists’ presence. Following this, a series of contacts occurred but each firefight had ended before helicopters arrived. During the first and largest of these, Fanie Coetzee’s leading scout and part of his callsign came under heavy fire from a high ridge towards which the trackers were moving. Fanie manoeuvred elements around the flank and from their rear gave the terrorists a serious walloping.

Shooting had just ended when I arrived and the troops were sweeping through the contact site. I landed and switched off close to big Fanie who nonchalantly handed me an RPD machine-gun, barrel forward. I took hold of it but dropped it immediately when the hot barrel burned the palm and fingers of my right hand. The weapon fell to the ground still smoking where some of my skin was stuck to it. For over a week flying, eating and every other activity involving the use of the right hand, was absolute agony.

As with most operations there occur amusing incidents that remain clear in ones memory. The first of my Op Excess memories involved a toilet. A concrete plinth set over a deep hole had once been the road-camp latrine. It was on the high bank of the Angwa River and now, with a ‘thunder box’ in place, served as the officers’ loo. A hessian screen surrounded three sides of the toilet with the open end overlooking pools in the river below. In the heat of the valley this facility started to smell and its stench invaded the operations room tent and the officers dining table set under trees. I was present at the lunch table for the first time when Major Rob Southey asked Sergeant-Major ‘Bangstick’ Turle to attend to the problem.

The sergeant-major ordered two RLI troopies to get rid of the smell, fully expecting the youngsters to do the usual thing of pouring lime into the pit. But he had not spelled this out to them. Obviously the soldiers did not know the standard procedure because they set out to deal with their task in their own way. One poured a gallon of petrol down the hole and turned to his mate asking for matches. His mate did not have any and ran off to find some. By the time he returned, the heat had turned the petrol into concentrated vapour so, as a match was struck, the vapour ignited instantly setting off a powerful explosion that sent everyone in camp diving for cover believing the base was under attack.

Only when a shower of indescribable, stinking muck rained down, did someone shout, “Some silly bugger has blown the shithouse down!” The force of the explosion threw both young troopies down the bank, one having lost most of his hair to flame. They both recovered, but the concrete plinth and the thunderbox were totally destroyed.

The second incident involved Tudor Thomas who was still airborne one evening and became disoriented in the haze and blackness of the night. I got airborne immediately to orbit over our base with my landing light on to assist him. It took a long while before Tudor picked up my landing light because he was miles away. On the ground some troopies knew a helicopter was having difficulty in locating the base and, seeing me orbiting above, one asked another, “Why doesn’t that stupid Blue Job just look down? There is plenty of light in this camp.”

Concern for Tete Province

ZANU HAD FAILED AGAIN BY losing all but two of its men in Operation Excess. However the operation showed us that ZANU had at last come to realise that they must find the shortest route to the African population if they were to avoid being mauled again and again by Rhodesian forces. The Mozambican pedicle of Tete Province provided them the only viable option to achieving this and FRELIMO (the Front for the Liberation of Mozambique) had already established its secondfront in this region. Rhodesian fears were that FRELIMO would eventually gain control of those areas where tribal clans overlapped the international borders of Mozambique and Rhodesia. To be in a position to take advantage of this, ZANU had to be accepted by FRELIMO who also depended on Zambia as its rear base for second front operations.

Rhodesians were most concerned about the Portuguese ability to contain FRELIMO in Tete. Should they fail, which we guessed they would, we would lose our two greatest military advantages. These were having the Zambezi River as abarrier along which to detect crossings and the wide stretches of difficult terrain between the river and the inhabited areas.

Portugal was already facing major financial and morale problems in her wars against communist-backed liberation movements operating in all three of her African territories. These were Portuguese Guinea, Angola and Mozambique where most men under arms were conscripts from metropolitan Portugal. They showed little interest in fighting for territories that neither interested nor concerned them, which gave us the distinct impression that their whole approach to service in Africa was to take as little risk as possible and get home in one piece. One could hardly blame them! Nevertheless we hoped that the Portuguese would play a leading role in preventing Russia from achieving her goal of establishing a communist bridge across central Africa from which to drive south. Angola constituted the most important target in Russia’s plans but Rhodesians saw the Tete Province as the immediate threat.

Unlike the Portuguese, Rhodesian forces, though small in numbers, were fighting on home soil and would not shy away from taking risks. To protect her interests, South Africa was providing much-needed manpower along the strategically important Zambezi River, intent on beating Russian supported terrorism in depth. An extension of this strategic defence line was in the offing because, unbeknown to us at squadron level, plans were in their final stages for Rhodesians to participate with Portuguese forces in Tete.

This happened to be a quiet time when operations within Rhodesia had returned to routine border-control operations and 7 Squadron had been awarded the Jacklin Trophy. For my part I completed helicopter conversions for Randy du Rand and Barry Roberts and was involved in a Police ATOPS (anti-terrorist operations) exercise codenamed Mannix. Norman Walsh and I flew two of the three helicopters assigned to this large exercise conducted close to Umtali.

Casevac of gored ranger

EXERCISE MANNIX INVOLVED TWO GROUPS of police—the ‘Rats’ and the ‘Terriers’. The Rats were small teams acting the part of terror gangs. Terriers, the good guys, were policemen whose job it was to eliminate the Rats. We were amazed that war games conducted in the mountainous eastern districts were almost as exciting as the real thing, but with no danger to ourselves.

Within the pine forests and thick bush of the area I was having the usual problem of picking up men wearing camouflage. Remembering how easy it had been to find Lance-Corporal Lahee during Op Excess and the way we kept track of our radio tracker dogs, I asked for small red day-glo patches to be affixed to the top of Terrier caps. This worked very wellfor the helicopter and Police Reserve Air Wing crews and thereafter red and orange day-glo patches were used from time to time during offensive operations.

One evening my father visited me at Grand Reef, the airfield we used for Exercise Mannix. We were having a few drinks together at the end of the day when I was called to the Ops Room. Air HQ required me to fly to Buffalo Bend immediately to casevac a wounded game ranger to Chiredzi Hospital; an elephant had gored him.

Having had three beers, I approached Norman Walsh who had also been drinking. We agreed it would be much safer to fly together, one piloting whilst the other navigated. Big Alan Aird was our technician. Norman piloted the 370-kilometre leg to the distinctive loop on the Nuanetsi River, named Buffalo Bend in Gona re Zhou (Place of the Elephants) Reserve. Thanks to half-moon and clear-sky conditions I was able to direct Norman along the precise track. From a long way out we could see the huge bonfire at our landing place. When we landed the injured man’s girlfriend and three game-rangers, all with loaded rifles, were watching out for the angry cow elephant that had gored the ranger. She was lurking about close by and trumpeted once just to make life interesting. I was most disappointed that my pilot training coursemate Ron Thompson, then the Senior Warden at Gona re Zhou, was not present because he was away from his base at the time.

I cannot recall the injured ranger’s name but can still picture him lying on his back exactly where he had been downed. In the late afternoon he had been out on foot with his little dog and another ranger. They were watching elephants browsing when the dog became excited and started barking. This made one cow angry. She charged, knocked over the ranger and quick as a flash drove one long tusk through his pelvis then kneeled on his body to extract it. The other ranger managed to drive the cow off by firing a shot over her head. Once the cow was clear, he fired three shots in quick succession—the recognised SOS signal to anyone in earshot.

The injured ranger gave us instructions on how to manoeuvre him ever so slowly onto the helicopter stretcher because he was in too much pain to be handled in any other manner. When, however, we got him into the helicopter his six foot, seven inch-length was greater than the helicopter’s width. There was no option but to subject him to excruciating pain by bending his legs to close the rear doors. We had just enough fuel to get to Chiredzi and the moon was about to disappear below the western horizon, so I elected to navigate again whilst Norman Walsh piloted the helicopter. We landed at Chiredzi Police Station with five minutes of fuel to spare. Having seen our casualty safely into a waiting ambulance we refuelled for the dark leg back to Grand Reef. Since they could be of no assistance to me on the return flight, Norman and Alan accepted cold beers whilst I drank strong black coffee.

The flight to Grand Reef in pitch-blackness had to be made entirely on instruments using heading and time alone because there were no visible features to assist navigation along the route. I climbed high and was quite settled. Beside me I could see that Norman had fallen asleep as had Alan Aird who was sprawled out in his rearward-facing seat. We were about halfway home when, without warning, Norman grabbed the cyclic control and pulled it back sharply. I shouted andNorman let go, instantly realising he had responded to a bad dream. Although normal flight was regained immediately, I was unsettled by the incident and remained tense for the rest of the route, expecting Norman to react to another dream. Fortunately this did not happen.

When eventually I picked up the lights of Umtali and then Grand Reef it was almost 03:00. I was really tired and could not bring myself to do a simple straightforward descent onto the lights of the base. It took me an age to let down in a series of orbits over the unlit runway despite the fact that I knew we were well clear of the high mountains to the north of the airfield. Even in real emergency situations I had never suffered such uncertainty as on this particular descent. Norman Walsh was awake and, even though he must have been fully aware of my predicament, he did not say a word; such was the nature of my boss.

Having had less than two hours’ sleep, I was awakened early for a deployment of Police Terriers at sunrise. Just as I was about to place them down in a vlei my technician John Ness shouted, “Lines, lines,” but it was too late. The rotor blades severed the thin telephone wires whose posts, both left and right, where hidden by clumps of trees. Many farms were without telephone communications for the day and I received one hell of a ribbing from the Police Reservists in the Odzi Sports Club that evening.

Tripper operations

ON 7 DECEMBER 1968 WE learned that four helicopters would be deploying into Mozambique the following day. Great secrecy surrounded the Portuguese-Rhodesian inter-service co-operative deployment. This and other Tete operations to come were codenamed Operation Natal whereas, for internal purposes, our Air Force used the codename Tripper. The first of these was an experiment in inter-force co-operation and lasted for only ten days. Our task was to assist Portuguese to combat FRELIMO so as to render it incapable of providing ZANU or ZAPU safe passage to Rhodesia through Tete.

Not knowing what to expect we set of early next morning for a Portuguese Brigade HQ at a hamlet called Bene. Only Wing Commander Ken Edwards, the Air HQ representative and detachment commander, had received a briefing; such wasthe importance given to secrecy.

Tete had become the most important front for FRELIMO because their operations in far-of northeast Mozambique, though tying down most of the Portuguese military effort, had not attained the depth of penetration they sought. So, under guidance from their Chinese communist advisors, FRELIMO moved to strike at Mozambique’s soft underbelly via Tete Province.

Malawi would have been a much better country from which to launch this offensive but Doctor Kamuzu Banda had no wish to involve his country in any conflict with the Portuguese Government, upon which he was heavily dependent. This meant that FRELIMO had to use the longer route through Zambia, which already hosted a number of liberation movements operating against Angola, Rhodesia and South Africa.

FRELIMO’s Tete offensive might have started earlier had a proper accommodation been struck with Zambia. When eventually this was achieved, FRELIMO progressed to its first goal, the Zambezi River, easily and rapidly. It was all too clear that the Mozambican authorities did not view Tete in the same light as Rhodesians did. For the Portuguese there was little commercial value in that vast chunk of undeveloped territory other than at Cabora Bassa. Here in the deep gorge through which the Zambezi River flowed was the vital hydroelectric scheme that had already reached an advanced stage in its construction. Its purpose was to provide Mozambique’s electrical power needs and earn much-needed foreign currency through the sale of excess power to South Africa.

Pathetically low force levels were deployed in a manner that confirmed the Portuguese were only really interested in keeping FRELIMO away from the tortuous terrain surrounding their Cabora Bassa project. In this deep gorge construction work on the dam wall and its associated electrical generating rooms was well advanced. Beyond this site and the main road leading to it, the Portuguese placed heavy reliance on aldeamentos. Guarded by local militiamen, these were enclosed and defended village forts housing tribesmen dragged in from miles around. The military objective was to deny FRELIMO access to the tribesmen and food in the manner Britain employed so successfully during the Malayan Campaign.

The civilian people who had been living a simple lifestyle for centuries were perplexed by the situation in which they found themselves. On the one hand the Portuguese said that the aldeamentos were there for their own protection. Protection from what they did not know because they had not yet learned to fear the politically motivated ‘comrades’ of FRELIMO. On the other hand FRELIMO told the tribesmen that they had come to “liberate the people” from the oppressive Portuguese who they must no longer obey. But the simple tribesmen could not understand ‘liberation’, never mind what they were being liberated from. The need to stay close to the spirits of their ancestors was their only wish.

The inevitable happened. As in most wars, these innocent people became involved in a tug-of-war between the Portuguese, insisting that they must be contained under armed surveillance, and FRELIMO insisting that they must be spread out in the countryside to be freely available to provide them with food, shelter and plenty of women for their comforts. Portuguese forces attacked those in the countryside. FRELIMO attacked the aldeamentos.

In these circumstances tribal unity was destroyed and families disintegrated. Those forced into the aldeamentos dared not venture out without armed protection, meagre as it was. Those who had chosen to remain in the areas of their ancestral spirits made every effort to avoid detection by either side but, inevitably, most were roped into FRELIMO’s net.

We flew low-level directly from Salisbury to the Brigade HQ at Bene, northeast of Cabora Bassa. The dam wall had not yet interrupted the Zambezi River’s flow so the river course still remained as it had been for centuries. Having watched Kariba being built in the late 1950s, we were somewhat disappointed by the small dimensions of Cabora Bassa’s concrete wall spanning the deep but narrow gorge. The dam wall had reached about half its final height and the surrounds were badly scarred by heavy earth and concrete workings. A fenced minefield ran around the perimeter.

Beyond the dam site, ridges and ravines gave way to gentle rolling countryside that was covered in a mix of forested areas and grassy vleis. Everything was so beautiful after good rains and there was so little evidence of human habitation that it was hard to imagine a war was in progress in the untamed region. Set in this paradise we found the base at Bene looking neat and clean yet giving no hint of the dreadful pong that we were going to encounter as we landed on the only open area within the defence lines of the base.

The stench emanated from a communal toilet facility right next to the landing zone. It was so overpowering that we had to take a few deep breaths to help us acclimatise before getting on with the job of refuelling. The latrine arrangement was one single trench line of about forty-five metres in length over which a continuous wooden seat was set with at least thirty holes for users who were afforded no privacy. Many places were rendered unusable by mislaid faeces from those preferring to squat with their filthy boots astride holes rather than sit in the manner intended by the toilets’ designer. I felt like returning to Salisbury right away.

Happily the smell did not affect the area of the messes, Ops Room and accommodation huts where waterborne toilets, though not great, worked after a fashion. The problem was that they were not hygienic. Our reluctance to use these toilets was handled in an unusual way. We ran daily ‘toilet flights’ to the top of a high domed-rock hill close to the base. Setting the helicopter down on the crest, we moved out in different directions to attend to our private needs. Our exposure against the skyline made a perfect target to any FRELIMO mortar team that might be so close to the Portuguese base, but the risk was considered worthwhile.

The whole purpose of our detachment was to establish if the Rhodesian Air Force and the Portuguese Army forces could operate effectively against FRELIMO to the mutual benefit of both countries. The first thing we needed was a briefing on current Tete operations.

The base commander, a short, fat, bright-eyed and rather arrogant brigadier, conducted the briefing. This was translated into good English by one of his junior staff officers. We could see from the outset that military intelligence on FRELIMO’s dispositions and modus operandi was very scant and that Portuguese successes had been minimal. The capture of a single terrorist weapon following a major assault on a FRELIMO base just before our arrival was considered a ‘successful operation’. The brigadier’s boastful unveiling of a ‘score board’ astounded us because, in Rhodesian terms, it revealed pathetic returns if the costly military efforts we were hearing about were to be believed. As the briefing progressed we came to understand part of the reason for Portuguese failures.

There was no aggressive patrolling to search out FRELIMO groups and base camps. Most of the imprecise information upon which the military appeared to rely came from the aldeamento militiamen who seldom ventured beyond the fenced perimeter of their protected villages. Upon such dubious information military plans would be drawn up with detailed orders for vehicle convoys, the formations each unit would adopt when attacking and the exact timings for commencement and termination of each operation. A glance through operational orders for past events showed that conventional war methods were being employed against an elusive non-conventional enemy that was heavily schooled in the need to avoid armed confrontation in all circumstances, even when undertaking planned hit-and-run raids.

Because the brigadier sensed unspoken disapproval of his own operations, he invited the Rhodesians to illustrate to him and his staff something of the style of Rhodesian operations that he had heard were very successful. Following an impromptu briefing by Norman Walsh, who emphasised our use of aggressive ground patrols, we were briefed on a forthcoming operation we were to support.

My most vivid memory of that Portuguese operation was the length of time and effort needed to dig vehicles out of the mud along one of many poor tracks they used to get around the countryside.

In retrospect I realise that we must have appeared pretty arrogant, being so used to Rhodesian Army methods and having experienced nothing but high levels of success against our own enemies. Our contempt for the aldeamento system also sticks in my mind.

We could not accept that this system was right for Africa, possibly because our own black folk living in open villages were still providing us with intelligence on the presence of terrorists. At that time we could not visualise that, within seven years, our own situation would change so radically that we too would employ a similar system, albeit on a smaller scale.

We returned to Mozambique four times during 1969 and were always received with open arms and treated to the outstanding hospitality for which the Portuguese people in general are so well known. On my second detachment to Bene, the Portuguese were as pleasant as ever but the toilet problems had not changed one iota.

This detachment differed from the first in that we had with us three experienced RLI officers. The brigadier gave us another lengthy briefing following which he asked for a Rhodesian update briefing for the benefit of senior staff officers visiting his Brigade HQ. Norman Walsh and Captain Ron Reid-Daly made an impromptu presentation, again laying emphasis on the need for offensive patrols to seek out and destroy FRELIMO. This briefing was well received and resulted in an agreement that Portuguese soldiers would be placed under command of RLI officers to see how offensive patrolling might work in Tete Province.

After spending some time in the field, Ron Reid-Daly told us that there was nothing much wrong with the average Portuguese soldier’s fighting spirit but he lacked fire discipline, creating unnecessary noise and expenditure of ammunition. To be led from the front by Rhodesian officers was good experience for the troops at Bene. Notwithstanding language difficulties they enjoyed a new sense of confidence that made them braver soldiers through having a commander visible up front giving the silent hand signals they understood. We learned that Portuguese officers born and bred in Mozambique were greatly favoured by the troops because they also led from the front. But because they were so few in number, most troops were led by metropolitan officers who commanded from any positions but right up front. This is borne out to some extent by the very high casualty levels amongst Rhodesian Army and Mozambican-born officers when compared, pro rata, to their Europe-born equivalents.

At every opportunity and with Norman Walsh’s blessings, I pursued my interest in trying to rustle up FRELIMO targets through visual reconnaissance, which I conducted at low level. I would later discover that this was very dangerous and not an efficient way of searching large tracts of ground. Nevertheless the effort proved worthwhile and assisted in generating targets for joint actions. But so poor was the quality and so vague the physical details of river-lines and surface gradients of the maps issued to us that we concluded they must have been drawn by Vasco da Gama himself. This made low-level map-reading particularly difficult.

Operating independently out of radio range of any forces was really dangerous for my technician and me. We got ourselves into hot situations on some occasions when FRELIMO, rather than going to ground as they had been taught, chose to stand upright to fire at us. Fortunately their anti-aircraft fire was still poor though we suffered moments of terror when numerous men fired their automatic weapons at very close range as we twisted right and left passing over them at treetop level. Many hundreds of rounds were fired so we were lucky to sustain only two non-critical hits through the tail boom.

In consequence of these recce flights, we provided more intelligence to the Brigade HQ in a week than had been received in a year; or so it seemed. Two young Portuguese Air Force pilots who operated single-engined Dorniers fromthe small airstrip at Bene were interested in establishing what I was finding that they themselves had been unable to find. A comparison of maps immediately revealed that they had reported almost every location I had plotted. It was hardly surprising that they were deeply distressed by this because the very same Army officers who were happily responding to my reports had been fobbing them off, month in and month out. Nowhere on the Ops Room wall map or intelligence logs was any of the Portuguese Air Force information recorded. This was not only absolutely disgraceful from our point of view; it exposed one of the greatest flaws in Portuguese operations.

Rhodesians believed that inter-force co-operation was fundamental and of paramount importance. From time to time there were hiccups, but one force never totally ignored intelligence given by another. Because of this we found it difficult to understand how inter-force jealously or rivalry, call it what you may, within the Portuguese forces could be allowed to limit their operational effectiveness against FRELIMO. Through this spirit of non-co-operation we recognised that the threat posed to Rhodesia by FRELIMO was far more serious than we had first imagined.

As with two other RLI officers, Captain Ron Reid-Daly continued to lead a small force of Portuguese troops. Ron was a pretty tough customer with considerable experience, including combat service with the SAS in Malaya. Yet he continued to believe in the ordinary Portuguese fighting soldier and was only too happy to take on FRELIMO with these men, providing he used his own FN rifle and not the Portuguese issue 7.62mm Armalite rifle.

I located a base area early one morning from barely discernible smoke rising out of heavy riverine bush west of Bene. Ron was flown in with fifteen soldiers to check it out. Before he commenced a sweep through the area I warned Ron that this might be a civilian camp. Soon after the sweep commenced a Portuguese soldier opened fire on movement he had seen. Immediately all the Portuguese soldiers let fly causing Ron great difficulty in getting them to cease firing. He too had seen human movement just before the firing started but immediately realised these were from terrified women running for their lives. Fortunately the troops had been shooting blind and casualties were limited to a mother and her baby.

Back at base I saw that the baby had been shot through the flesh of one buttock and his mother had been grazed in her flank by the same round. Kindly medical attention was given to mother and child before they were taken to an aldeamento along with all the other women brought in from the bush camp. Like so many of their kind, they had been in hiding from both FRELIMO and the Portuguese forces. Hearing this, I felt really guilty for being responsible for bringing them into Portuguese custody.

Whilst the two casualties were still being attended, a Portuguese major asked who had initiated the fire. One soldier pointed to Ron Reid-Daly intimating that he had been the first to fire. Ron’s fiery temper showed deep red in his taut face as he literally threw his rifle into the hands of the surprised major saying, “Judge this for yourself.” The embarrassed major sniffed at Ron’s FN rifle and realised that it had not been fired at all. Then, followed a severe blasting for indiscipline by all the soldiers, the unfortunate soldier who had pointed to Ron was taken off for twenty-one days’ detention.

I was not involved with other deployments to Tete that year as I had new pilots to instruct. But during one of these a very unpleasant incident occurred when, following a particular action, helicopters were recovering troops and taking civilians back to the Army base. Flying Officer Hugh Slatter landed when only five soldiers and two young African women remained. The five Portuguese soldiers made a dash for the helicopter and boarded. Hugh shook his head and hand-signalled that the two women must be lifted out first; another helicopter would return to collect the soldiers.

A Portuguese sergeant returned negative gestures then, before Hugh or his technician realised what was happening, stepped out of the helicopter shot both women dead where they stood and casually returned to his seat. Hugh’s horror and rage was such that he was simultaneously crying, screaming and drawing his pistol to shoot the sergeant. Seeing the danger, Hugh’s technician intervened and persuaded him to let the matter be handled at base. Hugh reluctantly agreed but, upon landing, he tendered his ‘immediate resignation’ to Air HQ by signal. There was a general revolt by the Rhodesians aircrews causing considerable embarrassment to the Brigade HQ staff. The Portuguese sergeant was arrested and charged with murder whilst communications went back and forth between the Mozambican and Rhodesian authorities. Though the Rhodesians were persuaded to stay on in Tete, Hugh refused point-blank to do so, preferring to face court martial rather than operate with the “murdering Portuguese forces”. He was flown back to Salisbury where considerable effort was needed to persuade him to withdraw his resignation.

Our experiences in Mozambique concerned us deeply because everyone realised that military failure in that country would have serious consequences for Rhodesia’s security. We also felt deeply for the Mozambican people, black and white, who knew their country’s future was being mishandled by their metropolitan government 10,000 kilometres away.

Judging by the results that were jointly achieved during our detachments to Tete, a continuous presence of Rhodesian forces operating with Portuguese forces would have made all the difference in curbing FRELIMO and denying ZANU and ZAPU use of the Tete Province. In fact, if we had been granted continuous access along the Zambezi River’s southern bank within Tete province this would have met our strategic needs. It would have allowed us to extend our border-control operations eastwards to capitalise on the successes we had achieved along this same river at home. Unfortunately, politics disallowed this critical advantage and history records the consequences.

Tripper operations continued on and off and Peter Briscoe had this to say to author Beryl Salt about one attachment to Portuguese forces at Chicoa in late1970:

Animal incidents

FOR THE MOST PART RHODESIAN troops were pretty bored with border-control routines though the abundance of wild life often helped break the monotony. The Zambezi Valley teamed with wild game in the early 1960s before they became disrupted by terrorist and security force activities, which forced some to move to quieter regions; many elephants crossed the Zambezi River for the tranquillity of Zambia.

On a number of occasions we saw soldiers swimming in deep water close to sandy beaches along the Zambezi River. From our helicopter my technicians and I could see the semicircle of large crocodiles lying submerged in close proximity to the naked men. Every radioed warning was ignored because experience had shown the troops that, if a group of people remained close together, crocodiles kept their distance. If however anyone separated from the group, or was alone, crocodiles would attack. A number of men were lost to crocodiles in this way, including some members of SAP operating in the Victoria Falls area.

Situations of confrontation between soldiers and big game occasionally induced friction between National Parks and the military, particularly when charging animals were gunned down. There were also situations in which the Army shot for the pot and to produce biltong (dried meat) in quantities exceeding Parks’ approval. But the presence of game had its lighter side.

A high-ranking aged policeman flew into Mana Pools during a joint-force inspection tour of border-control units. He was a keen photographer and left the helicopter immediately on arrival to take photographs of a large lone bull elephant he had spotted from the air just before landing. This was ‘Twinkle Toes’ who was well known to the locals, but not to this policeman.

Some months earlier Twinkle Toes had been darted by National Parks rangers to record his vital statistics and to mark him with a large white painted number for ease of tracing his movements. Before the recovery drug was administered, the rangers had a bit of fun painting the big jumbo’s toes in a variety of bright colours; hence his nickname.

When the visiting team was ready to fly on to their next port of call they could not find the aged policeman. A quick search around found Twinkle Toes circling the base of a large, straight-trunked tree. He had taken exception to the clicking of the camera and had charged the policeman who was now perched out of reach amongst the high branches. The jumbo was chased off but no amount of persuasion could get the policeman to slide down the huge, straight and smooth tree trunk. Use of the helicopter’s hoist was discounted because of the density of the tree’s foliage. How he managed to climb the tree the aged policeman could not explain; how he eventually came down I do not remember.

At Mana Pools there was a treetop lodge whose owner spent the six coolest months of the year running a game-viewing business and the rest of the year at his home in England. I landed at the treetop lodge to conduct one of multiple location tests on an SSB radio unit that had been specially developed for deployment by helicopter. It so happened that this coincided with the impending departure of the owner of the lodge who was packing up for his return to Britain. Since he had so much curry in his fridge he asked my technician and me to take lunch with him on the high balcony that overlooked the Zambezi River.

Having set up the SSB aerials and tested the set with satisfactory calls to Air HQ, we left the equipment in situ and went off for a leisurely lunch because we had two whole hours to waste before the next radio test. We had finished eating and were chatting when I asked my tech to check on the aircraft, which was out of sight to us. Immediately hesaw the helicopter he called saying, “Just take a look at this!” Surrounding the helicopter was a herd of about fifty jumbos, huge to tiny, all sniffing and feeling the helicopter and laid-out equipment with their trunks. There was nothing we coulddo because forcing the big fellows to move away might have caused damage. Seeing one large trunk wrapped around the flimsy plastic hydraulic fluid reservoirs of the main rotor blade dampers worried me. When the elephants moved off we went down to inspect for damage. None was found though there were snot marks covering everything and our slimy helmets and masks stank strongly of jumbo.

Mick Grier had just landed troops in the Zambezi Valley when, out of the corner of his eye, he detected movement. The next moment a large angry black rhino bull burst out of the bush charging directly at the helicopter. Mick, who had a good sense of humour, told me how, “With one graceful fluid flowing movement, I applied full collective and watched the beast pass inches under the aircraft.” Luckily the rhino did not notice the two soldiers he had barely missed and, with horns and tail held high, followed Mick who drew him away to a safe distance from the men on the ground.

An ambush was hastily laid by an RLI callsign on the extended line of terrorist tracks that were being followed by another RLI callsign. After a long uncomfortable night the ambushers were looking forward to daylight when they all became aware of noiseless movements bang in the middle of their ‘killing ground’. They waited tensely for their officer to spring the ambush. The officer was fully aware of the movement but was waiting for it to reach a point directly in front of him when the movement ceased and everything went still.

A very light breeze was blowing from the ambush position towards the killing ground. Had this not been so, the troops would have been aware of the unmistakable, pungent smell of the pride of lions that lay facing them. Only when there was sufficient light did the soldiers find themselves staring straight into the eyes of a line of big cats that faced them with curiosity wrinkled on their big faces. After what seemed a very long time the officer fired a single shot into the air. The lions moved as one with deep-throated growls of protest as they turned and disappeared with mighty leaps into the safety of their habitat.

The Army base at Kariba was set on the edge of Kariba Heights giving it a superb west-facing view of Lake Kariba whose closest shore lay 1,400 feet below at the base of the mountain. I was talking with Army friends on the verandah of the Officers’ Mess and enjoying the beauty of a sunset when I received a mighty blow between my legs that laid me flat on the ground and writhing in agony. I had no sooner been downed than a wet grunting snout pushed at my ear and neck. This wasyoung ‘Oink’ the warthog who had introduced himself with that mighty upward thrust into my crutch. Only Archie Wilson’s handshake compared with the agony of this encounter.

Oink had been found abandoned by Border Control troops who took him into their care and brought him to Kariba Heights as a baby. Oink wandered around the camp like a dog and was very spoilt. His in-built habit of thrusting upward with his snout was well known to the inhabitants who knew better than to stand with legs apart when he was around. Many unwary visitors received the same welcome as myself, which amused the Army no end. When, however, Oink’s tusks started to grow he became too dangerous to have around and was handed into the care of a Karoi farmer.

Oink being given a drink of beer by Air Force Radio Technician, Ray Hooper.

The Kariba Heights base had a variety of animals over time, two of which were confirmed alcoholics. A dog and a baboon visited the pubs every evening and wandered around begging for beer. The young soldiers poured portions of their drinks into bowls from which these two animals drank. It did not take too much to make either the dog or the baboon drunk yet they continued to be plied with beer until they disappeared into the night to sleep it off. Badly hungover next morning, these animals behaved differently but their plight was all too obvious. The dog slept in the darkest places indoors whilst the baboon spent much of the morning hunched up in the shade of a tree with his hands over his eyes emitting occasional grunts. By midday they were fine and in the evening they returned to the pub.

Fish may not necessarily rate as animals, but I found one fishing incident amusing. It involved an NCO of RLI who was a dedicated and capable fisherman. He invited another RLI colleague who had never fished before to accompany him in a small boat to do some fishing on Lake Kariba. This novice experienced all the frustrations of ‘bird’s nest’ tangles and hooking himself whilst attempting to cast his lure. Then, more by accident than skill, he hooked a small Tiger fish. The experienced fisherman warned him to be careful in boating his fish because of its razor-sharp teeth, but in his excitement the novice lost his top dentures, which flip-flopped down through the clear water until lost from sight in the dark depths. With first success having been achieved, the experienced fisherman let his friend continue as he prepared to fish for vundu. When he landed a medium-sized vundu, he hit on the idea of pulling his friend’s leg. He stuck the vundu a lethal blow to the head and placed his own dentures in the vundu’s large mouth. “Hey look, Charlie, this vundu has your false teeth.” His friend’s eyes lit up as he took the dentures saying, “Gee that’s great.” But then he looked at them again, and said, “No these aren’t mine!” and threw them over his shoulder. Flip-flop, down they went to join his own dentures in the watery depths.

Death of Don Annandale

SOUTH AFRICAN POLICE HELICOPTERS HAD been operating in Rhodesia ever since they first appeared during Operation Nickel. With further SAANC incursions giving rise to Ops Cauldron and Griffin, their numbers were increased to six SAP Alouettes, all of which were flown by South African Air Force pilots. Peter Briscoe had been one of these until, in January 1969, he became the first SAAF pilot to join our Air Force on direct entry. More were to follow his lead in later months. I ran Peter through the entire range of helicopter flying exercises to ensure that he was totally au fait with Rhodesian Air Force methods and standards. Since he was experienced on helicopters, this was an easy and pleasant task.

Along with SAP helicopters there were a few Cessna 185 aircraft (named Kiewiets—an African bird belonging to the Ground plover species) that undertook light communication work. SAAF pilots, some of whom were very junior, also piloted these aircraft. One of these young pilots was a menace because he was way too sure of himself. He delighted in beating up various locations, always coming down too low for his level of experience. Within his own service Lieutenant van Heerden was known as ‘Odd Job’—a nickname that suited him well.

The Makuti Hotel was sited on a hill with a steep drop away from the edge of the swimming pool. I was standing there in the late afternoon having a beer with Lieutenant Fanie Coetzee when we saw a low-flying Cessna coming straight towards us across the low ground. This was Odd Job who left his pull-up to clear the hill so late that his aircraft’s tail wheel touched a small tree, barely four metres from Fannie, as he zoomed past in a steep climb. The matter was immediately reported to the Officer Commanding FAF 2 who had received similar complaints before mine. But the admonitions given him by the SAAF Air Liaison Officer, on this and other occasions, seemed to go straight over his head.

Some time passed when Odd Job, then operating out of Thornhill, was tasked to fly the Station Armament Officer to Kutanga Range. As well as being the S. Arm. O, Flight Lieutenant Don Annandale was responsible for administering Kutanga Range, whose staff he visited regularly. When he had completed his work and was ready to return to Thornhill, Don learned that Odd Job had told the range staff he would be showing them a slow roll before heading for Thornhill.

Don refused to board the Cessna saying he would use road transport to get home. Odd Job assured Don that he had only been pulling the rangers’ legs and that he had no intention of rolling his aircraft. Relieved by this, Don climbed aboard.

Once the aircraft was airborne, Odd Job climbed for height and dived for a fast, low-level run past the master quadrant hut. This was standard practice and Don did not worry about it. But when the aircraft was climbing away from the pass, Odd Job commenced a slow roll. He reached the inverted position all right but then scooped into a steep dive in the second half of the roll. The aircraft was too low and struck the ground in a high-nose attitude with wings level. Odd Job died instantly.

Don was thrown through the windscreen over the propeller and flew through the air surrounded by burning fuel that followed him to where he came to rest. By the time the three black crew of the fire Jeep reached him, Don’s rich red hair and his clothing had been burned away and his skin was hanging in sheets from his blackened, bleeding body. Amazingly Don was on his feet and got into the front seat of the Jeep unassisted. He urged the shaken driver, “Get me to hospital—I’m dying.”

The driver set off for Que Que, which was forty minutes away. He drove as fast as the Jeep would go but fifteen minutes out from Que Que the vehicle failed to negotiate a road bend, left the tarmac paving and went into a broadside before flipping over as the wheels struck soft sand. Once again Don went flying and crashed down in soft sand and rolled to a halt with sand and dust embedded in his suppurating flesh. The three black firemen were unhurt.

A farmer driving from Que Que came upon this awful scene and immediately turned around to take Don to hospital. On his admission it was clear to attending doctors that there was no hope of his survival because Don had third degree burns to over 90% of his badly battered body. He survived a couple of agonising days during which time he bravely briefed his lovely wife Pat on exactly what she must do when he was gone. Don’s grieving family and the Air Force were badly shaken by the loss of this superb officer through the harebrained actions of a stupid pilot.

Recce training and Willie de Beer

GROUP CAPTAIN DICKY BRADSHAW RETURNED from a liaison visit to Portuguese forces operating against communist terrorist factions in Angola. Whilst there he was given a briefing on the visual reconnaissance methods the Portuguese Air Force had developed for slow fixed-wing aircraft operating at 1,500 feet above ground. Dicky was taken on a recce flight to see for himself and was very impressed by all he saw and learned. Upon his return to Salisbury he lectured a number of pilots in the matter of visual reconnaissance. But only in me did he find a pilot who was genuinely interested in all he had to say because I had already experienced some recce successes, albeit conducted at low level in helicopters.

Because of this, Dicky Bradshaw tasked me to join No 4 Squadron on an exercise that Squadron Leader Peter Cooke was conducting in Wankie Game Park. My task was to introduce the fixed-wing pilots to visual recce. Though this was a pleasant enough task it really was a matter of the blind leading the blind because I had not yet acquired any experience in fixed-wing recce. Using my Alouette as a perfect platform from which to observe the ground, I was able to show 4 Squadron’s pilots how to correctly employ sunlight to follow freshly laid trails from the air. But it was impossible to simulate operational conditions such as I had encountered in Tete, so my part in 4 Squadron’s training exercise was really a waste of rations. Nevertheless it was good to spend time with Peter Cooke and his crews who were flying the newly acquired Trojan aircraft. I shall say more about this aircraft shortly.

I also met up with Willie de Beer who I had not seen since the buffalo hunt that ended in the death of the lone terrorist during Operation Nickel. Willie had a young lion that followed him wherever he went. This playful animal took a liking to my helicopter. Leaping in and out at every opportunity, he chewed any loose item he could find. This did no good to my flying helmet or my Air Force cap, which the brute tore to shreds.

The 4 Squadron technicians put the cub onto the flat rear fuselage of a Trojan with a view to taking a few photographs for the Squadron Diary. The little guy immediately ran up the fuselage, along the starboard wing and flopped down at the wing tip. A Lion beer bottle was placed between the cub’s paws for a snap shot. When developed it was submitted to Castle Breweries in a failed attempt to swell squadron funds from an envisaged Lion Beer advertisement.

The ever-playful cub became over-excited one evening and sank its teeth and claws deep into Willie de Beer’s back and shoulder. It was amazing to see how Willie managed to keep still whilst drawing the lion’s attention to a fly switch he flicked around. When the cub let go, Willie removed his shirt to inspect and clean up the wounds. I noticed that the puncture marks were very deep and black in colour.

Not too long after this Willie had two hairy encounters with full-grown lions. The first involved a lioness that wandered into his thatched home in the Wankie National Park and inadvertently cornered his frightened wife in the bedroom. A neighbouring ranger responded to her screams for help but was killed by the panicking lioness before she broke clear just as Willie arrived. He was knocked down and slightly injured by the escaping animal.

The next encounter occurred when Willie had to shoot a large lioness that was killing villagers’ cattle in the Tjolotjo Tribal Trust Lands. His first shot only wounded the lioness, which immediately attacked Willie and sent his gun-bearer running for safety. Willie had the presence of mind to ram his left arm way down the lion’s throat but he was being savagely clawed all over his body while his left arm was being mauled by the cat’s huge teeth. It was impossible for Willie to use his rifle as he frantically called for his gun-bearer to come back and help him. After a while the trembling man arrived. Willie, holding the gun-barrel to the lioness’s head, instructed his shaking gun-bearer to manoeuvre the rifeinto the right position before telling him to pull the trigger. His scars bore testimony to this awful experience, which he was lucky to survive.

Trojans

THE TROJAN AIRCRAFT THAT 4 Squadron operated was nothing like the Trojan aircraft originally ordered. During October 1964, AVM Bentley initiated inquiries through the Ministry of Rhodesian Affairs in Washington in his attempt to find a suitable training aircraft to replace our ageing Provosts. He made it known that such replacement machines should, ideally, have a much better ground-strike capacity than the Provost.

The most suitable machines available at the time were American T28 Trojan trainers. There were a fair number available with 800hp engines and life spans ranging downwards from three years to zero life. It so happened, however, that a number of handpicked T28s were being completely stripped down and rebuilt to create T28D models powered by 1475hp motors. Their mainplanes were also stressed for high loads and incorporated six, instead of the original two, hardpoints on which to carry weapons. At the time, each T28D was available at $125,000 per unit. Though this was more than Air Force intended to spend, eighteen of these aircraft suited AVM Bentley’s needs perfectly. So, in a letter to the RAF Chief of Staff, Air Chief Marshal Sir Charles Elsworthy GCB, CBE, DSO, MVO, DFC, AFC, our Air Force Commander wrote, The US State Department has replied to the effect that there were many difficult considerations affecting the export of commodities of this kindto Africa, and that it would greatly ease these difficulties if the British Government could say they had no objection to the deal. The Royal Rhodesian Air Force need was duly relayed to the British Government which had no objection to the acquisition by Rhodesia of ‘training aircraft’. Nevertheless the US State Department refused to let a deal go through.

Precisely what occurred thereafter is not altogether clear to me other than that Rhotair (Pvt) Ltd, of Salisbury got in on the act by using their strong association with Français D’exportation de Matèriel Aéronautique (OFEMA). The French had no difficulties with American attitudes and offered to upgrade T28s, from either Algeria or Iran, to French Air Force standards closely equating to the American T28D.

The first that I knew of these huge single-engined aircraft having been sent to Rhodesia occurred some time after the Americans had spiked the French deal. A senior officer on Air Staff told me about the T28 deal and why it had gone wrong. He said that when the ship carrying these aircraft and their spares to Cape Town was in sight of Table Mountain, the ship’s master received orders to turn about and return his cargo to France.

At the time it was considered that this disastrous failure to secure ideal machines was the consequence of some loose-mouthed bragger’s words reaching top officials in the US State Department. Because the T28 Trojan aircraft rebuilt under licence in France, the USA had used its power to force France to observe UN sanctions and recover the machines to French soil.

Since nobody at squadron level knew anything about the huge T28 Trojans, there was no disappointment when the small Aeromacchi/Lockheed 260 aircraft arrived in crates for secret assembly at New Sarum.

Yet in this deal the supplier had duped Air HQ. Instead of receiving 450hp aircraft, as ordered, we received 260hp machines whose airframes made it impossible to upgrade them with 450hp motors.

Despite this, the name Trojan was given to these piddling little aircraft because of the paperwork previously completed for the big machines. At squadron level it was thought, erroneously, that the name derived from the ‘Trojan Horse’ type crates used to smuggle the machines into Rhodesia.

It was not until the year 2000 that I learn from historian Richard Wood of documents he had located in UK from our Director of Legal Services Wing Commander Harold Marsh ’s office telling of the impending arrival of the Trojans. By then, however, it was too late for the shipment to be intercepted and impounded by Britain.

What other secrets Harold Marsh passed on to the Brits, or how many others like him were acting against Rhodesian interests I cannot say, but it helps explain why we lost the T28 Trojans and why there were so many more problems of ‘leaked’ secrets yet to come.

Roll cloud incident

AFTER THE 4 SQUADRON RECCE exercise my technician Butch Phillips and I had to return to New Sarum via Thornhill. Heavy storms were forecast for the flight that commenced after lunch. About halfway to Thornhill we encountered large storms that I was able to avoid until we were passing one huge cumulonimbus on our left and noticed the rapid development of a strong roll cloud to our right. Turning back I found the roll cloud was worse in the direction from which we had just come so I turned to resume our course to Thornhill.

It was not possible to break away left or right from the serious condition developing so unbelievably fast around and ahead of us. Very quickly, heavy rain was falling out of the base of the cumulonimbus and sweeping outwards to remove the ground below from view. For a short while we remained in smooth air in a huge tunnel such as surfers enjoy when riding under the curl of a breaking sea wave. But this tunnel was dark and ominous.

The smooth ride suddenly changed when the aircraft entered turbulence and started to rise in super-strong uplift. Collective pitch was dumped reducing power to zero but the ascent continued. As the aircraft was about to enter cloud, the ascent turned to a descent which maximum power failed to check. Full power only helped reduce the descent rate to something in the order of 3,000 feet per minute in turbulence. I knew that this powerful down current would not drive us into the ground but I feared entering the heavy sweeping rain we were approaching. Converting to flight instruments, we entered the blinding noisy torrent and almost immediately were lifted by another invisible force for a powerless climb through the centre of the swirling tunnel. The end of this passageway of cloud and rain came into view just as the climb reversed into another descent that, again, full power could not counter until we broke out into clear smooth air. Having recovered our senses, we landed to inspect the aircraft for stress damage.

None was found.

Bad weather and violent wind conditions did not only concern pilots. I witnessed a strange incident that was caused by a passing whirlwind. Flight Lieutenant Boet Swart, the senior PJI (Parachute Jumping Instructor) in charge of the Air Force Parachute Training School, had just landed on the normal training drop zone next to runway 14. He was drawing in his parachute when a whirlwind inflated it and lifted him into fight.

On the opposite side of the runway, next to the security fence where I was standing on the helicopters concrete pad, OC Flying Wing Ozzie Penton was sitting astride his service motorcycle watching the PJIs do their mandatory monthly parachute descent. He saw Boet land then lift upwards and drift rapidly in his direction. Boet returned to earth but was dragged roughly across the ground as Ozzie desperately tried to kick-start his motorbike to get the heck out of Boet’s way—but Oz was too late! The parachute canopy knocked him half over before Boet crashed into the bike, whereupon a jumble of motorbike, OC Flying and senior PJI went sliding for some distance amidst bellowed curses until the whirlwind let go of the parachute!

Engine failure

HAROLD GRIFFITHS WAS POSTED TO helicopters in February 1969. I had instructed him on BFS in 1963 and flew with him again during his Flying Instructor’s course on 2 Squadron. Of all the pilots I instructed on helicopters, I enjoyed teaching Griff most. In and out of working hours we became close friends and our families got together regularly. At the swimming parties Beryl and I held at our Hatfield home and those in the garden of his own home, Griff was always happiest braaing (barbecuing) and handing around ‘snackers’ to all and sundry whilst he sipped away at an ice-cold beer. I have never met anyone who enjoyed food to the extent Griff did; yet he retained a relatively trim figure throughout his service life.

During his operational conversion phase, we were flying in the farming area north of Salisbury when I surprised Griff by cutting the fuel flow to test his reaction to engine failure. I had done this with everyone on 7 Squadron ever since Roland Coffegnot of Sud Aviation told me it was the only way to confirm that pilots reacted correctly to this potentially deadly situation.

Griff acted as he should and was autorotating towards the landing point of his choice. I was satisfied and prepared to advance the fuel-flow lever to bring the engine back to its governed speed of 33,500 rpm for a powered over-shoot. As I looked down at the rpm indicator I was astonished to see that it was reading way down near zero meaning that the engine had flamed out instead of maintaining idling rpm.

I immediately took control from Griff and transmitted a Mayday call to Salisbury Approach whilst turning for a gentle up-slope landing on a fallow field that was covered by tall dry grass. A strong flare cushioned the aircraft’s high rate of descent before collective pitch was applied for a slow roll-on landing. We had rolled no more than two metres when an unseen contour ridge stoved in the nose-wheel causing damage to its mountings. Our technician, Willie Jevois, only realised that we had made a genuine forced landing when the rotors stopped turning with no noise coming from the engine.

Whilst waiting for the squadron technical team to come in by helicopter, I considered the implications of having tested Griff, and many pilots before him, in a manner contrary to the Air Staff Instructions (ASI) that disallowed engine-of testing of students anywhere but at New Sarum. Although I had been in trouble so many times, particularly during my tour on helicopters, I had always stuck with the truth. But this situation had me in a quandary because, although it was obvious that a technical fault had caused the idling fuel-fow valve to close down the engine, I had knowingly tested Griff in a manner contrary to the ASI that I had signed.

There was another matter too. I had recently been told, on the quiet, that I was about to be promoted to Squadron Leader, a situation I did not want to jeopardise. Wrongly I know, I asked Griff not to say anything about my having cut fuel flow but simply to tell the inevitable Board of Inquiry that the engine had failed in flight.

When my time came to give evidence I said the engine quit in flight—which it had—but I said nothing about having deliberately reduced fuel-flow to idling rpm. Had the right question been asked, I would have been forced to admit my guilt. Fortunately a technical inquiry had already established that a faulty electrical micro switch, which cut off the idling fuel flow, could just as easily have cut fuel flow in powered flight. A minor modification was introduced to prevent this happening in future and the matter was laid to rest.

Joint Planning Staff

I LOOKED FORWARD TO BECOMING A staff officer, which I knew would be quite different to any administrative post on any air base. Until now I had considered everyone working in, or for, Air HQ was flying on ‘cloud 9’.

Following the retirement of Air Vice-Marshal Ted Jacklin, the post of Commander of the Royal Rhodesian Air Force became limited to a four-year term. AVM Jacklin was followed by AVM Raf Bentley smartest dressed officer I ever encountered in any force.

AVM Raf Bentley was followed by AVM Harold Hawkins, an Australian by birth.

AVM Archie Wilson became our fourth commander following the retirement of AVM Harold Hawkins in April 1969.

Just before he became the commander, I received official notification of my promotion and posting to the Joint Planning Staff (JPS). Keith Corrans gained his majority at the same time and our independent interviews with the new Commander took place on the day of my move to JPS.

Keith Corrans and I were very conscious of having been promoted over many senior Flight Lieutenants, most of whom we held in high regard.

In my interview this was the first matter that AVM Wilson raised by telling me my promotion was purely on merit and that I must not be embarrassed or concerned about superseding men who had been my senior. He told me a number of flattering things that had led to this early promotion before telling me he also knew more about the naughty side of me than I would have wanted him to know.

First he told me of Beryl’s nightly visits when he had made me Orderly Officer over Christmas and New Year back in 1957—a story I have already covered. My flights under the Chirundu and Victoria Falls bridges had not passed unnoticed nor the ‘looping’ of the Victoria Falls Bridge in a helicopter. The latter arose from a silly bet with the local Police. All I did was fly under the bridge, rise up, reverse over the top of the bridge then descend to pass back under it, all in a manner that described a complete vertical circle. The AVM knew all about my family’s ride in a helicopter at Kariba in 1967, including the circumstances and names of the NCOs that had brought it about. He knew I had mastered a technique of catching guinea fowl with a helicopter and that other pilots had followed my example. The AVM covered other misdemeanours, including the unauthorised project works, but it was clear to me that his whole purpose was to let me know that he received more information about the goings-on at squadron level than any of us realised.

The Joint Planning Staff, sited in Milton Building close to Air HQ, was under the chairmanship of Group Captain Mick McLaren, who was my first flying instructor. His was a two-year posting that alternated between Army and Air Force. Mick’s promotion to Group Captain had brought him level with his archrival, Group Captain Frank Mussell.

Some years earlier, when Frank Mussell was promoted to Squadron Leader in command of No 6 (Canberra) Squadron, Mick McLaren was still a flight lieutenant. AVM Wilson had changed this and was later responsible for Mick’s meteoric rise to succeed him as the Air Force’s fifth Commander.

As Chairman of JPS, Group Captain Mick McLaren’s responsibility was to provide secretarial and joint planning services to the Operations Co-ordinating Committee (OCC) and to conduct studies and produce papers on matters required by the OCC. His permanent staff consisted of six officers, two each from Army, Air Force and Police plus a typist and an Army Warrant Officer as Secret Registry clerk.

The OCC was made up of the Commanders of the Air Force and Army, the Commissioner of Police and the Head of CIO (Central Intelligence Organisation). Mick produced the minutes for all meetings and received instructions for JPS tasks. His staff operated as three teams of two and met regularly under his chairmanship to receive OCC instructions as well as discuss every paper produced. I worked with Lieutenant-Colonel John Shaw. Wing Commander Harry Coleman worked with a Police superintendent and a Police chief superintendent worked with Major John Cole. Anne Webb, who I nicknamed ‘Machine-gun Annie’ because of the incredible speed at which she typed, was typist for the whole staff. Warrant Officer Shaun Stringer ran the Secret Registry.

Initially, I felt awkward with John Shaw; not that he seemed to be aware of this. He was a graduate of the British Army Staff College, had an excellent command of the English language and indulged in crossword puzzles at every opportunity. I learned that he had been a heavy drinker with a very rude and abusive manner but, having dropped the habit, he had become a much nicer person. Because John Shaw did not talk very much and would not join us for a drink in the small JPS bar after working hours, I did not get to know him too well. However, he was great at delegating all work to me so that he could concentrate on the most difficult of crossword puzzles, which he imported from Britain. I profited from this and learned a great deal from him whenever he went through the drafts I had prepared.

Operations within the country were low key throughout my time at JPS. From a selfish point of view this pleased me because I was not missing out on any excitement and anyway I enjoyed most of what I was doing. One task that proved difficult was briefing Ian Smith. JPS faced onto the Prime Minister’s Offices from which Ian Smith appeared on frequent but irregular visits for personal briefings on current operations. No matter how much the staff discussed the matter, we never once anticipated the difficult questions he asked at the end of his briefing and he seldom seemed convinced by the answers he was given.

The only bad incident I recall in this period was when the rotors of an Alouette beheaded RLI Trooper A.J. Johnston. He was the son of Air Force Flight Sergeant Les Johnston and was doing his National Service, which applied to all Rhodesia’s young white males. This horrible accident resulted in the helicopter’s destruction when it rolled onto its side as the rotors distorted and smashed the airframe. Fortunately, no one else was seriously hurt. The pilot had been unable to place all three wheels on the ground of a narrow riverbed whose bank sloped upwards on his right side. Only the right rear wheel had been placed on a rock whilst the soldiers disembarked. Trooper Johnston went out on the right side but ran up the slope instead of remaining where he was until the helicopter lifted. Great effort had been put into helicopter emplaning and deplaning drills for all Army and Police personnel to guard against such accidents, but not every circumstance could be foreseen.

Unrelated to this incident were some in which small dogs, troubled by the high-pitched noise of helicopters, ran yapping and snapping at the tail rotor that was the source of intense irritation to their ears. At least two that I can remember were chopped to pieces when they leapt up to snap at blades spinning at 2,001 rpm.

Paris Air Show

I HAD ONLY BEEN WITH JPS for about six weeks when summoned to AVM Wilson’s office. He wanted to know if I held a British passport. I did not; so he asked if I would be prepared to apply for one since he knew I qualified on the grounds of parentage. I told him that there was no difficulty from my side. However, being a staunch Rhodesian who had developed an aversion to most matters British, the AVM apologised for asking me to do this but said it was necessary because he needed me to accompany him on a visit to the Paris Air Show. In particular he wanted me to fly the Sud Aviation Puma helicopter to assess its suitability for Rhodesian operations.

Most of my time in Paris was spent with Ken Edwards because we were the only two members of the team of eight who were booked into a middle-class hotel. It suited both of us to be freed from the nightly dinners and high-level meetings with industrialists and French Government officials.

For three days we roamed around the Paris Air Show viewing large numbers of aircraft and visiting all the display stands to gawk at equipment we had only read about. I was alone and admiring a large model of the proposed Anglo-French Alpha fighter when a man of my height came next to me and asked what I thought of the design. I knew immediately that face and voice were familiar but only realised it was Britain’s Prince Philip in the middle of answering his question. A little earlier in the day we had watched the British and French supersonic airliners, Concorde, pass each other in their historic first meeting. Prince Philip had come to the air show in the British machine.

On our second day in Paris, AVM Wilson told me to go to the Yugoslav pavilion to collect every bit of available information on the Galeb jet trainer and its fighter version, the Jastreb. He said, however, that I must not let it be known that I was a Rhodesian. Although our French hosts knew exactly who we were it was upsetting to be regarded as illegal undesirables by all the other nations present. To present myself at the Yugoslav pavilion and pose as someone else was quite beyond me. I had received no training whatsoever in this line nor had I time to think it over. Nevertheless, I was under orders and did what I thought best.

My uncle, Wing Commander Bill Smith, was our Air Liaison Officer in Pretoria, South Africa at the time. I decided to use his name and address as my cover. When I introduced myself to the only man in the Yugoslav pavilion, he asked me for my business card. I apologised saying I had inadvertently left my cards in another jacket in my hotel room. He was hesitating over my request for specifications, prices, delivery, and so on when another man walked in. This was obviously the senior man who reached out to shake my hand as the first man hesitated in introducing me, so I helped out by saying, “Peter Petter-Bowyer,” then, “Damn it, I’m sorry,” and walked out.

Back in the Sud Aviation pavilion I was feeling pretty bad about my blunder when an AVM from the Pakistani Air Force walked over and introduced himself. His skin colour struck me as being too white for a Pakistani but he was such an open person that I used my correct name and let him know that I was a ‘rebel’ from Rhodesia. He was fascinated and, having told me he had no hang-ups about Rhodesia, ordered coffee so that we could have a chat. I told the AVM how difficult it was to try to act at being someone else and how relieved I was by his attitude towards me. This led me to telling him of my failure with the Yugoslavs. In a flash he called over a Pakistani squadron leader and asked me to brief him on my needs.

The AVM and I talked a great deal whilst awaiting the return of the squadron leader. He wanted to know all about Rhodesia and told me how much Ian Smith was admired in his country. When the squadron leader returned he was laden with everything the Yugoslavs could provide and said how excited they had been over ‘Pakistani Air Force interest in their aircraft’. AVM Wilson received the huge pile of documents in a manner that showed he never doubted my ability to acquire them, and I chose to leave it that way—until now!

The purpose of my being in Paris was to fly and assess the Sud Aviation Puma. This was conducted on a freezing cold day with the chief test pilot, Monsieur Moullard. None of us possessed the clothing needed for this unseasonal weather and I for one appeared somewhat overweight with jacket stressed over vests and a thick jersey.

Monsieur Moullard had to curb my handling of the fairly large machine when I attempted to fly it like its baby sister, the Alouette III. Once I became used to the larger cyclic and collective controls I was handling flight in a more circumspect manner and found the Puma was easy to fly and exactly what Rhodesia needed. It was obvious that, being a large machine it could not land in tight LZs, such as those suited to Alouettes, nor could it be put down too close to an enemy position. However, its soldier-carrying capacity equalled that of four Alouettes, which more than compensated for these limitations.

Unfortunately we never did acquire Pumas because, unlike the Alouette that had been produced for civilian use, Puma was specifically designed and designated for military purposes. The UN mandatory sanctions imposed against Rhodesia made the sale of such equipment to Rhodesia impossible—even for the French.

Board of Inquiry

ON 23 JULY 1969 I was summoned to Air HQ where I was instructed to head a Board of Inquiry into an accident that had occurred earlier in the day. This involved an accidental Frantan ignition in dispersals at Thornhill. Senior armourer Ron Dyer and I flew to Thornhill where we met the third member of the B of I, Justin Varkevisser. Varky had made a preliminary investigation into the occurrence and was able to give us background to what actually happened.

Cyril White and Prop Geldenhuys had returned from Kutanga Range with a Frantan hang-up, after all efforts to release the unit in the air had failed. Because the Frantan remained in position during the landing, the aircraft was taxiied into dispersals for a routine manual release. The Station Armaments Officer, Flying Officer Bob Breakwell, was on the flight line to meet the aircraft. With him were armourer Corporals Steve Stead and Ian Fleming. As soon as the Provost parked, but before the engine closed down, the armourers went under the port wing. Having removed the arming wire and ensured that the ground-safety pin was placed in the tail fuse, they prepared to remove the Frantan from the carrier.

Instead of using a stretcher-like carrier to bear the weight of the Frantan before Bob rotated the manual release mechanism, Steve and Ian put their arms under it. This had been done many times before but they obviously did not have a good enough hold because upon release the Frantan tail dropped to the ground. Immediately the fuse fired, thereby bursting the nose casing and spraying burning gel over Bob Breakwell. Because the weapon was static the main body remained intact and retained more than 90% of the napalm gel. Nevertheless some spilled and burnt Steve and Ian as they backed off.

Steve and Ian were extremely lucky to get away with scorched faces and hands. They were also able to shed their smouldering cotton overalls, which had given protection to their bodies. Bob Breakwell was not so fortunate. He ended up with third degree burns to most of his body. Although Bob had copped a heap of burning gel it was from his burning uniform that he received the majority of body damage. Not only did the man-made fibres of his summer-dress uniform melt intohis skin, his nylon socks did the same. But for his cotton vest and underpants, which prevented molten fabric from directlycontacting skin in critical areas, Bob would not have survived. Nevertheless he was in deep trouble.

Cyril and Prop were still in the cockpit when the Frantan ignited but, apart from suffering a severe fright and intense radiation heat, they were able to avoid the flame by exiting along the starboard wing. The Provost was burned beyond repair and stood forlornly over blackened concrete with blobs of molten aluminium outlining its position.

Bits and pieces of the Frantan fuse were handed over to us with the safety pin still in place. But an important component was missing. This was a soft metal dome that retained the 50mm steel ball that played a vital part in firing the fuse, irrespective of the attitude in which a Frantan impacted ground. The component was eventually located in grass a considerable distance from where it had been propelled by the igniter compound. The moment I had this in my hand I saw the deep indentation that clearly showed the Frantan had rolled slightly before striking tail down against the concrete. But this did not explain why the fuse had fired with a safety pin in position.

In my room that night I studied the offending pistol and fuse components comparing them with new ones. Though the details are lost to me now, I recall taking a long time to discover why the fuse had fired. In so doing I established that this could not have occurred had the Frantan not rolled to the precise angle it did. Next morning I demonstrated these findings to Ron and Varky and both were satisfied with what they saw. For the next four days we took evidence and statements from a string of witnesses and experts, including the Rhodesian manufacture of our Frantans.

Ron Dyer and I returned to Salisbury to interview our last witnesses who were Bob, Ian and Steve in hospital. It surprised us to find that all three were in the Lady Chancellor Nursing Home, the place where I was born. For some technical reason, plastic surgeon Mr Owen-Smith preferred to keep his patients in this maternity home.

As a WWII pilot, Mr Owen-Smith had been severely burned in an aircraft incident. His experiences in various hospitals made him determined to become involved with improving management of severely burned people and to undertake the cosmetic repair work that usually followed. I believe that, thanks to his wife’s hard work and financial support, he went through university in between many hospital confinements for progressive facial rebuild. He became world-renowned for his ability in his field and we all knew our Air Force fellows were in the best hands possible.

Ron Dyer and I were shaken when we first saw Bob Breakwell. His head was twice its normal size, completely ball-shaped and black. His eyes moved slightly behind burned slits and he could barely speak. His wife Joan was at his side where she remained all the time Bob was in intensive care. But for Joan and his cotton underwear, Bob would not have made it through the long and painful recovery process that followed.

Nextdoor were Ian and Steve, each with heavily bandaged hands, held high in slings. Their facial burns appeared like severe sunburn that made smiling painful but did not limit their ability to speak. Beside them were copious quantities of Castle beer, which they were required to drink through long pipes. They had orders to drink as much as they could manage.

Being told to drink beer for medical purposes was no problem to either of them but the consequence of doing so was the need to urinate frequently. Neither man could help himself and for some reason both had been refused drain lines, so they had no option but to call on the nursing staff to help them as the need arose. For this help they were prepared to wait, often in agony, for one or other of two coloured nurses to show up. They were too embarrassed to call on the white sisters who stood to attention, remained silent and stared into space whereas the coloured nurses talked and laughed all the time.

When we finally had all our facts assembled, I dictated the board’s findings and recommendations for Ron to record in his notoriously neat, easy-to-read, handwriting. Three thick files, the hand-written original plus two typed copies, containing supporting photographs and diagrams were submitted to Air HQ. About a month later I received a personal letter from Air Commodore John Deall saying the Commander had directed him to convey HQs appreciation to the Chairman and members of the B of I for an investigation thoroughly well done. So far as I know this had not occurred before, nor had such an inquiry been passed to the Prime Minister and cabinet to demonstrate how the Air Force conducted its inquiries.

Alcora

GOOD POLITICAL AND INTER-SERVICE relationships between South Africa, Mozambique and Rhodesia were being strengthened. The intention was to assess resources and develop plans for mutual support in the face of the mounting communist threat to southern Africa. Angola was obviously Russia’s key objective but exploitation of FRELIMO, SAANC, ZAPU, ZANU and other lesser African nationalist parties operating out of safe bases in Zambia and Tanzania were being encouraged through ever-increasing Russian and Chinese assistance by way of arms, advisors and instructors.

Joint military planning between the three countries commenced under the general codename ‘Alcora’. Several committees were established for airfields, mapping, radio communications, vehicle mine-proofing and so on. I was a member of the Alcora Mapping Committee. It was during the setting-up phase of Alcora that we received a large contingent of Portuguese political figures accompanied by senior Army and Air Force officers in what was called Exercise Cauliflower. Included in their itinerary was a large-scale demonstration in the farming area near Salisbury to show our operational techniques.

A wide valley allowed good viewing of a ‘terrorist group’ moving into the area and basing up on a small bush-covered hill in the centre of the valley. This was followed by cross-graining troops that detected ‘the incursion’ before a hunter-tracker group followed-up leading to a vertical envelopment by heli-borne troops.

Under the shade of msasa trees on a brilliant clear day, the colourfully dressed spectators sat in comfortable chairs on high ground overlooking the demonstration area. Behind the visitors, Army caterers were putting finishing touches to a lavish luncheon in a huge marquee complete with a bar that served every conceivable drink. Brightly coloured mobile toilets were dotted around giving a carnival appearance in this park-like setting. The whole spectacle appeared more like a royal garden party than one intended to deal with the serious business of bush-warfare tactics. There was a great deal of noise and smoke in the final stages of the demonstration and the smell of burnt cordite coming to the spectators on a light breeze generated a strong sense of realism.

At the end of their three-day visit, our Portuguese guests said they had enjoyed a wonderful time and had learned a great deal from us. For this they were thankful and invited the Air Force and Army to send delegates to visit their operational area in the northeast of Mozambique. The offer was eagerly accepted.

It was at this time that Mr Clifford Dupont, until now the Officer Administering the Government, became the Rhodesian President. In 1969 the Rhodesian electorate had gone to the polls in a referendum to accept or reject a new constitution and to establish if Rhodesia should adopt republican status. The Republic of Rhodesia and the Presidential Office came into effect of 2 March 1970. This effectively severed our ties with Britain, or so we hoped.

The prefix ‘Royal’ was dropped. Along with national and other forces, the Rhodesian Air Force raised its new flag. Air Force rank badges bore the ‘Lion with tusk’ emblem in place of the crown. Aircraft roundels incorporating the same ‘Lion with tusk’ insignia replaced the three vertical assegai heads that dated back to 1953.

Visit to Cabo del Gado

IN MAY 1970 PETER COOKE and I were selected to visit Portuguese Air Force operational establishments and report on our findings. We flew by Viscount to Beira where we spent a night in the Air Force Officers’ Mess. Next morning we boarded a PAF Nord Atlas and flew to Nampula, capital of Cabo del Gado Province.

Here we booked into a mediocre hotel, which was the finest in town. Food and bar services were fair but the plumbing was something else. Peter’s bathroom and mine were back-to-back drawing off the same supply lines. Peter started pouring his bath before me so no water flowed when I turned on my taps. Once Peter’s bath was full, the taps in my bathroom flowed but the hot water had been exhausted. We were in no hurry, so I decided to order a Manica beer and wait for the water to heat up.

After a while I went to investigate a noise coming from my bathroom. Peter had pulled the plug to empty his bath water which bubbled up into my bath through the drain plug, bringing with it lumps of gooey muck. When his bath and mine reached the same level, both baths emptied very slowly. Eventually I had my bath and the incident amused Peter and me rather than annoying us. But we were both put out by boxes placed next to the toilet bowl into which used toilet paper was to be placed to avoid blocking the drainpipes. This would have been fine had soiled paper from many previous users been removed before we moved in.

The next morning we met Captain Joao Brito who was tasked to fly us around the operational areas in a brand-new Alouette III. We became friends with this good-looking young officer who spoke excellent English and accompanied us throughout our visit. Sadly we learned of his death two years later when he was killed in action in Portuguese Guinea.

Our first place of call had nothing to do with operations. Typically the Portuguese wanted us to enjoy our stay, so we were flown to Lumbo on the coast and driven by staff car down a long causeway linking the mainland to incredible Ilha de Moçambique.

Most of the black women had white mud smeared over their faces to prevent them from becoming ‘too black’ in the hot sun by day and to make their faces smooth and beautiful at night. With its crystal-clear water, coral reefs, palm trees and pure-white beaches this island should have been a big draw for tourists. Because of the war, however, Peter, Joao and I were the only visitors. Here we booked into a quaint, clean hotel before exploring Vasco da Gama’s old fort and other exquisite historic places.

Next day we flew up the unspoiled and breathtakingly beautiful coastline to Porto Amelia. The air base there was set on a long, high promontory with the Indian Ocean on its eastern side and the deep-blue water of Porto Amelia’s natural harbour on the western side. Just beyond the runway’s northern end lay the narrow entrance to the world’s largest natural deep-water harbour. The setting was quite magnificent and stimulating.

We were billeted in tents within the large Army base sited close to the runway and visited the docks and a factory that produced most of Mozambique’s famous castanha de caju (cashew nuts). The clarity of seawater in the harbour was amazing. The entire keel, propeller and anchor chain of a Portuguese naval frigate lying at anchor more than 200 metres from the docks, though compressed by light refraction, were clearly visible.

The Army garrison commander, a Mozambican officer, told us a great deal about FRELIMO’s operations in the Cabo del Gado region and why these differed so much from the situations we knew in Tete. It was because FRELIMO forces in this region were primarily from the warlike Makonde tribe.

The Makonde were of the same Nguni line as the Zulus down in South Africa and our N’debele in Rhodesia. However, during setting up of the international line between Portuguese Mozambique and German Tanganyika in the nineteenthcentury, no account was taken (as in almost every country during the scramble for Africa) of the Makonde people who became divided by a borderline with no fence. The Makonde were not affected until black rulers in Tanzania and white rulers in Mozambique interfered with their freedom of movement and right to tribal unity.

Just like their southern cousins these Nguni held all other tribes in contempt. The Makonde were only concerned in fighting the Portuguese to re-establish freedom of movement within the region they had always controlled. The border had no more meaning to them than in times before armed men of the FRELIMO movement drew Portuguese forces into their ancestral grounds.

Linking up with FRELIMO had not been for the good of Mozambique in general, but it suited the Makonde to receive free military training and arms of war to expel the Portuguese military. Any hope FRELIMO’s hierarchy had for the warlike Makonde to push south beyond their own homelands was wishful thinking. Not only were Makonde interests limited to regaining control of their own ground, they had no wish to have other tribes within FRELIMO using their territory as a transit area. It was largely for these reasons that FRELIMO had been forced to open a second front. Malawi was the preferred country from which to launch this new front but Doctor Hastings Banda’s refusal forced FRELIMO into using Zambia and the Tete Province.

Our flight to Mueda was at high altitude to avoid FRELIMO’s 12.7mm and 14.5mm anti-aircraft guns that made a low-level approach to the high ground on which Mueda stood too dangerous. Very little habitation existed between Porto Amelia and Mueda and the lack of game-trails suggested that all large game had been shot out. Otherwise the countryside was lovely. A widely dispersed Army establishment with the Air Force base and runway lying just to the south surrounded the small trading post of Mueda. Mueda was linked by a gravel road to the coastal port Moçimboa da Praia in the east. From miles out we picked up the line of this road because the bush had been cleared on both sides to a depth of 1,000 metres.

Joao remained at high level until directly over the runway where he made a spiralling autorotative descent to a gate leading into the air base. The high rectangular earthen wall surrounding the air base gave protection against FRELIMO rocket and gun assaults. Other than covered bunkers for personnel, no overhead protection existed for mortar attacks, which occurred frequently. Pits with 81mm mortars at permanent readiness were sited close to the Officers’ Mess.

The entire base contingent was on hand to greet their first Rhodesian visitors and it was clear from the outset that we were going to enjoy typical Portuguese hospitality. Whereas everyone, including cooks and bottle washers, wanted to be photographed with us, only the fourteen pilots on base at the time were permitted to do so.

We were shown to the officers’ quarters. These incorporated two dormitories with heavy-tiered steel beds and simple lockers. Loos, showers and hand basins were in between the dormitories in a central ablution block.

I wanted to wash my hands but the basins were so filthy that I started to scrub one clean. When one of the officers noticed this he summoned an airman to do the job. From then on this basin remained spotless in a line of otherwise filthy ones and, in Portuguese, was marked ‘Visitors Only’.

The toilets were just as I had expected-bloody awful. Apart from the seats and bowls being filthy, the boxes that were provided for used toilet paper were full to overflowing. Peter and I nicknamed them ‘skid boxes’. To avoid using the loos, I attempted to go off into the bush beyond the earthen wall but was disallowed from going through the security gate because, apparently, FRELIMO snipers often operated close by.

Other than the ablutions, the base was clean, the food was fantastic and the Portuguese were as friendly as ever. Having Peter and me around was great for those wanting to practise their English. This was both heavy going and amusing. One officer complained of his sleep being regularly interrupted by a colleague who suffered ‘bad night horses’.

On our second night at Mueda my sleep was interrupted at around midnight by the sound of heavy explosions. Artillery shells then howled low overhead from the Army camp and exploded in an area just beyond the end of the runway as FRELIMO mortar bombs exploded in our base. I leapt out of bed so fast that I cut open my forehead on the steel bar of the bunk above me. I was first in the crude mortar bunker with Peter Cooke right behind me. The Portuguese officers were obviously used to the noise of artillery and incoming mortar bombs because they stopped to light cigarettes in the lighted passageway leading to the dark bunker then moved slowly down the steps into cover and safety.

No serious damage was caused in this short exchange and I was the only casualty on base. However, we had seen the burnt remains of two Harvards, one twin-Dornier, an Alouette III helicopter and a store showing that FRELIMO attacks had been successful in the past. At Mueda it was very obvious that the Portuguese Army’s war was separate from the Portuguese Air Force war. Not one Army officer was seen at the air base during our stay and we only got to visit the Army side because Peter and I requested to be taken there.

We were called to an operational briefing following lunch on our first day. I cannot speak for Peter Cooke, but I was in an alcoholic haze following a welcoming lunch that included too much Manica beer, wine and aguadente. The black-on-white map on the Ops Room wall looked as if it had been produced in the previous century because it was so basic with limited contour information and river-lines appeared only to approximate their true paths. Photographs taken the previous day by a Dornier recce pilot of a camp assigned as target for the following morning were handed out to six pilots. Shadows of trees and the angle at which the photographs had been taken made me realise that all had been taken during one close range low-level orbit.

A red arrow on the map pointed to the target. This was about fifty kilometres northwest of Mueda on the eastern bank of a prominent river. Destruction of the makeshift shelters (bashas) that covered a relatively small area under trees was to be by napalm. We learned that take-off was for “06:00 as usual, weather permitting”. Peter and I were told which pilots we were to accompany to observe the action.

The fact that 06:00 was the standard time for first sorties shook us because all FRELIMO camps must surely be abandoned by then as a matter of routine, particularly following low-level photo-recce sorties. As it happened, low thick radiation fog delayed take-off to around 08.30. Whilst we waited, breakfast was served on a verandah next to our billets. It consisted of a bowl of light-coloured soup in which a fried egg floated. A Portuguese bread roll (pao) and a lump of butter came on a side plate. Ignoring how others tackled this unusual meal, I put the fried egg into my buttered roll, consumed the soup then ate the delicious egg roll.

The rear cockpits of the Harvards in which Peter and I flew were almost totally stripped of their instruments. An inspection of other rear cockpits revealed a similar situation, the instruments having been removed to replace unserviceable ones in front cockpits. The Portuguese pilots nicknamed their Mk52 Harvards ‘F110’ because they climbed, cruised and descended at 110 knots. Immediately my pilot was airborne in the third position he turned steeply to port and, following the lead aircraft, orbited the airfield and Army base until over 2,000 feet above ground. This was to avoid flying near the lip of the high ground where FRELIMO’s anti-aircraft guns were sited. The guns were considered to be too dangerous to be taken out by the Air Force and the Army passed them off as an air problem. Unbelievable!

I had not been in a Harvard before and enjoyed flying with the hood rolled back because it made photography easy. As we were approaching the target there was excited babble between the pilots with much screeching in earphones due to overlaid transmissions. This was so different from the limited crisp procedures of my own force. The aircraft were positioned in long line astern with canopies closed when a steep dive was made well short of the target for low-level deliveries of two napalm bombs per aircraft.

Looking along one side of the cockpit past pilot and aircraft’s nose, I saw the first napalm tanks ignite in trees. About half a kilometre ahead the lead pilot was already in a climbing turn starboard to look over his shoulder to pass correction to the next in line. Both napalm bombs from the second aircraft landed with a splash and sent lines of flaming fuel along the surface of the river on which they landed.

I watched closely as we dropped our tanks and saw bashas in the area where they ignited. It was only possible to get an idea of the camp size when we pitched up in a climbing turn to watch following strikes land in the target area. Out of twelve bombs released only the latter eight were on target. We made one orbit climbing for height and noted that about one third of the bashas were burning, adding white smoke to the columns of black smoke from napalm gel that was still burning in patches along lines of fading red flame. No person or anti-aircraft fire was seen.

Back at base a steep spiral descent over the Army camp placed us on short finals for the runway. The aircraft turned off about two-thirds of the way down the runway’s length directly into camp through the rolled-back security gate, which closed behind the sixth aircraft.

At 10:00 we declined the offer of whisky. At 10:30 the offer was repeated and again declined. At 11:00 we accepted but asked for Manica beer instead. By lunch at 13:00 I was feeling on top of the world and this was heightened by wine for each of three courses, the main one being piri piri prawns. Lunch ended with aguadente. It was only then that Peter and I learned that we were to accompany a recce pilot on a post-strike assessment flight.

We flew in a Dornier piloted by a short stocky officer with a permanent smile on his round merry unshaven face. Peter sat next to him but I had to stand and brace myself using the front seats as anchors because there was no seat in the rear. My legs had to be set wide apart either side of a crude sprung-loaded door through which target markers and other small items were dropped. It ran along the centre of the rear fuselage floor and required very little pressure to open. Should I step on it or fall down, I would immediately fall free of the aircraft. I did not like this one bit but could not see any real problem so long as I retained my braced stance; but I did not know what lay ahead.

Three PV1 Venturas (twin-engined bombers) came into our view as we approached the target. They were flying long line astern at about 6,000 feet and we were at 2,000 feet. We saw them enter into a steep dive and release six 500-pound bombs from around 3,000 feet. All the bombs exploded in an area of large trees, creating visible shock-waves that radiated outwards from the bright orange flash of each explosion. The resultant bangs that reached us in the noisy Dornier were dull; like the thud of footballs bouncing on concrete.

As the third Ventura pulled out of his dive our bonny pilot bunted into a dive that had me hanging on for dear life. He levelled out with high ‘G’ that almost collapsed my legs. The pilot then flew below the overhang of high trees either side of a long curved passage through a forest, firing pairs of 37mm Sneb rockets as he made a casual visual inspection right and left into forest where the bombs had exploded.

My eyes were wide open with fear of striking the overhanging branches or being hit by shrapnel from the 37mm Sneb rockets exploding just ahead of us. I saw nothing else in that first pass. Two more ‘dicing with death’ low passes were made through the same passage terrifying me no less than the first but at least I saw something of what our pilot was interested in. It looked pretty dark under the forest of huge trees that flashed by and many bashas were evident along the entire length of our run. It surprised me that not one was burning and no soul was seen.

We accompanied the Harvards on further attacks but declined offers to ride with the crazy Dornier pilot again. Nevertheless we were interested to know why such a dangerous method of checking out strikes was necessary. The answer was simple; the Army had no interest in assisting the Air Force to establish the effectiveness of its airstrikes. Unbelievable!

The most interesting aspect of our visit to the Army base was the huge vehicle park, half of which was a graveyard for many destroyed vehicles. Serviceable vehicles, mainly Berliot and Unimogs, were adorned with a variety of emblems. One Berliot had affixed to its front grill the longest pair of ox horns I have ever seen. Its driver was a coloured man who spoke good English and was happy to tell us about ‘Hell’s Run’, the route from Mueda to the coast.

It took a whole day for each resupply convoy to reach Moçimboa da Praia. The following day was used to load and the third day to return to Mueda. Receiving double pay to compensate for the danger they faced on every trip were volunteer drivers who made the round trip on a regular basis. Officers were required to remove their rank tabs so as not to draw FRELIMO sniper attention to themselves. The aggressiveness of the Makonde operating against the Portuguese convoys had been enhanced by devious techniques taught them by the Chinese instructors in Tanzania. We were given two examples.

A Portuguese Army boot, filled to overflowing with chicken blood, had been placed in the centre of the road with a trail of blood leading off beyond the verge. The lead vehicle stopped to investigate. The investigating soldier then hurried down the line of vehicles to show the boot to the convoy officer who wore no rank insignia. BANG! The sniper had waited for the officer to be identified then took him out with one shot.

A particularly nasty incident involved a horrible trap the Chinese had dreamed up. The lead vehicle in an unusually large convoy was brought to a halt by a command-detonated mine. Typically the convoy bunched up as all following vehicles came to a halt. All the soldiers and drivers had debussed to take up defensive positions when a ripple of small explosions ran down the edge of the road along the entire length of the convoy. These small charges released millions of angry bees from the plastic bags in which they had been held captive. Not one person escaped multiple bee stings that resulted in the death of a huge proportion of the men due to their distance from medical facilities. We were told that the ‘bee ambush’ was responsible for Mozambique’s greatest number of casualties from a single incident.

Separate written reports submitted by Peter and me on our return to Rhodesia were surprisingly similar to those submitted by six Rhodesian Army officers who also visited Mueda. In particular the information we had gleaned emphasised the seriousness of the threat posed to Rhodesia from FRELIMO’s second front in the Tete Province.

Back in JPS I asked John Shaw one day if I could submit a paper I had written on my personal opinion of what should be done about the Mozambique situation. He read the draft and burst into laughter saying, “This will get the OCC pretty excited.” Nevertheless, he agreed that he and I should present it to Mick McLaren. Mick did not read far before he asked angrily what right had we to say the Portuguese would collapse, and who the hell were we to suggest that Rhodesia and South Africa should take over friendly Mozambique’s territory south of the Zambezi. The paper found its way into the shredder but I retained a copy for many years beyond the time the Portuguese did finally collapse. We were given a not-too-unkind telling-off and asked never again to waste time on work not tasked by OCC. John Shaw took the telling-off with a fixed expression on his face and never let on that I had written the paper.

Medical hitch

I BECAME CONCERNED ABOUT A NASTY-LOOKING black growth on the mid-upper thigh of my right leg. If subjected to sunlight when swimming it would subside and turn red but it became bigger and blacker in no time at all. I was sent by the Air Force doctor to see a specialist who would not even allow me time to go home for pyjamas and toothbrush but committed me to hospital immediately. The specialist surgeon told me the growth appeared to him to be a malignant melanoma that had to be removed without delay. He explained that he would have to remove the entire upper muscle from knee to hip together with the glands in my groin. “Don’t worry, you should learn to walk again within nine months.” I was horrified, believing this spelled an end to my flying career.

When readied for theatre and very drowsy from the pre-op drugs, a very brash individual accompanied by two nurses came to my bedside. He demanded to see my decorations. In my dopey state I said, “I don’t wear decorations on pyjamas,” whereupon Doctor Gregg, a radiologist, pulled back the bed sheet and pointed to my leg. He inspected the growth from every angle and reaching for a marker pen said, “If you do have a problem here I do not want to have to deal with a large wound.” He then drew a line around the spot in the shape of an eye, saying this was the limit of the muscle section that would be removed down to bone level. He departed saying, “Do not be concerned, you will fly again.”

In a small passage outside the operating theatre I had been waiting for ages on a wheeled trolley when a matron passed by and slapped a file on my chest. More time went by so I decided to see what my file said. I was amazed to find that I was Mrs Somebody-or-other and that I was about to have a hysterectomy. I called a passing nurse and, showing her the file, offered to prove I was not a woman.

When I was coming around from the anaesthetic, I felt my leg and groin and was delighted to find a relatively small dressing where Dr Gregg had done his artwork. For the next three days I walked without pain or limp going up and down the passageways visiting people, three of whom I knew. Squadron Leader Rob Gaunt was in for cartilage removal, Reverend Frank Mussell, father of Frank and John, was in for cancer treatment and Flight Lieutenant Paddy Rice was suffering the indignities and pain that accompany a piles operation.

It was only when the dressing was removed that I realised I had a really deep hole in my leg that had been filled with some special gunk. When I got up to walk it hurt like hell and no matter how I tried I could not help limping. Laboratory tests proved the growth to be benign—an enormous relief.

I had not been out of hospital long when Beryl and I attended a ‘Roman Night’ at the New Sarum Officers’ Mess. It was one of those lovely parties that went through the night, ending with a superb pre-dawn breakfast in the dining hall. At the end of this Christine Nicholls, just out of hospital with leg in plaster, Rob Gaunt with leg in plaster and myself heavily bandaged were all lifted onto the table to give the gathering reasons for sporting apparel ‘unbecoming to our Roman dress’. Rob Gaunt had started speaking when fire hoses were turned on us. The whole place was awash with everyone slipping around before the culprits were overpowered and the hoses switched off. With Roman togas and flimsy dresses soaked through, everyone ended up in the swimming pool where we were treated to some unusual diving exhibitions.

Dawn was breaking when we heard the pounding of hooves and saw Phil Schooling galloping through the trees with cloak flying as in a Roman movie. When we all repaired to the bar, Phil brought his horse to the counter. The floor was slippery from wet bodies which caused the horse to slip, panic, fall and vacate its bowels before being led to a safer environment. I ended up at the doctor’s rooms to have the hole in my wound mended because its over-stressed stitches had failed. But, all in all it had been a great party.

Aircraft accidents 1970-1971

MY ROUTINES IN JPS WERE interrupted from time to time to retain currency on helicopters and conducted Final Handling Tests on pilots trained by Hugh Slatter and Harold Griffiths. Norman Walsh handed over No 7 Squadron to Squadron Leader Gordon Nettleton in early 1970 but his command terminated in a freak accident on 1 July 1970.

Gordon had been ‘under the hood’ on instrument flying practice with Flight Lieutenant Mike Hill as his safety pilot. At the end of the flight a radar talk-down onto the grass runway 14 was completed and, so far as could be judged, control must have already passed from Gordon to Mike. At this point observers saw the helicopter pitch up and roll sharply to starboard. The roll and pitch continued in a tight descending path that ended when the aircraft impacted belly down on the main road verge against the airfield security fence. Both these fine men died instantly.

Assisted by French experts from Sud Aviation, the Board of Inquiry realised that mechanical failure of the cyclic controls system would have resulted in a roll to port so only pilot action could have been responsible for the starboard roll. This being so, there could only be one conclusion; Mike was suffering from ‘flicker vertigo’ before he took control.

Flicker vertigo in helicopters is an unusual condition caused by rotor blade shadows that are seldom noticed. Put very simply, flicker vertigo is to do with synchronised frequencies in which the frequency of shadows perceived by the eyes, consciously or subconsciously, divide perfectly into the brain’s functioning frequency to produce a whole number. This upsets normal brain function causing mesmerism and haphazard muscular movements as in an epileptic fit. Such a condition is known on roadways where the shadows of trees interrupts direct sunlight during early morning and late afternoon. Motorists can go off a roadway when impaired by flicker vertigo.

On 28 October 1970, Flying Officer Al Bruce was on a pairs formation exercise when his Hunter started venting fuel. He turned for Bulawayo Airport but his engine flamed-out short of the runway leaving him with no option but to eject. Al suffered bad bruising of the spine but otherwise he was fine. For the Air Force, however, the loss of our first Hunter FB9 was a major blow, reducing the fleet to eleven aircraft.

Keith Corrans and I were at Voortrekkerhoogte (previously Roberts Heights) in Pretoria for most of 1971, undergoing the South African Air Force Staff Course. In the latter stages of this eleven-month course we were shaken by news of the deaths of Flight Lieutenant Alex Roughead and Air Lieutenant Robertson.

On 16 November 1971, a formation stream take-off of Canberras from Salisbury turned out right to climb through cloud. Alex’s aircraft did not appear when the other Canberras broke out above cloud. Following a short air search, wreckage of his aircraft was located and an inspection of it showed that Frame 21, which connects the airframe to the main spar of the mainplanes, had failed, resulting in loss of the starboard wing.

Prior to this terrible accident, hairline cracks in Frame 21 of all B2 Canberras had been a cause for major concern and they were monitored regularly. The RAF was aware of this problem caused by work hardening of the aluminium castings. This had been overcome by improved material and design for later Canberras, but Rhodesia was stuck with the MkB2 model.

Almost daily, Master Technician Brian Goodwin was seen on the flight-line with black material wrapped around his head to protect him from the ultrasonic emissions of his non-destructive, crack-detecting equipment that tested Frame 21 sections. Whenever a crack was located there was need to carefully ‘blend out’ the offending area to stress-relieve affected sections. Why Alex’s aircraft suffered catastrophic failure of the Frame 21, having only just been declared free of cracks, was the subject of much conjecture but it was eventually concluded that Alex must have inadvertently exceeded the airframe’s ‘G’ limit in turbulence.

Canberra pilots and navigators were already recording time spent in every condition of every flight and a ‘fatigue factor’ was being applied to each of these conditions. I do not recall the fatigue-factoring figures but they ranged upward from something like 1.5 for normal cruise at 250 knots in turbulent conditions to 30 for the speed range 330-350 knots. After applying the appropriate factor to the time spent in each flight condition, the ‘factored flight time’ was deducted from the number of airframe hours remaining. This substantially reduced our Canberras’ life spans even though Frame 21 cracks were occurring at progressively reducing frequency, thanks to successful stress-relieving procedures.

Exercise Blackjack

BY NOW THE AIR FORCE Volunteer force had increased considerably with VR Squadrons having been established at Bulawayo, Gwelo, Salisbury and Umtali-more were to follow. All VR personnel had undergone considerable field training in operations management, air movements, security and so on. Air HQ was pleased with progress and the fact that so many regular pilots and airmen had been freed to concentrate on their primary roles. But there was need to test the whole service in a countrywide exercise codenamed ‘Blackjack’.

A long-range navigation exercise went badly wrong for the crew of a Canberra flying in the northwest sector. Due to weather and unreliable NDB aids, the crew became uncertain of their position and were forced to eject when their fuel ran out. A very uncomfortable night was spent on the ground where the widely separated pilot and navigator experienced the terror caused by lions roaring within yards of their locations.

The exercise was a great success in so far as proving the VR. On the flying side it had also been a success save for the loss of the Canberra and the exercise finalé. This finalé included a series of airstrikes on the Army Weapons Range at Inkomo. Almost every weapon-carrying aircraft was involved, all approaching from different directions to conduct independent squadron attacks on targets assigned by grid reference only. Mistakenly, Air HQ invited top brass from Army HQ and Police General Headquarters to witness these strikes. The position selected as an ideal observation platform for the ground party was the wall of a small dam that would obviously be one of the reference points some pilots would need to confirm their targets. It so happened, however, that there were other dams of similar size close by.

The Hunter and Canberra strikes went off fine. 4 Squadron was next in line but had the big brass diving for cover when the formation erred by attacking a point very close by. The strike leader had selected the correct point relative to the dam wall— but this was the wrong dam!

All the spectators were up on their feet laughing nervously and dusting themselves down when they were forced to dive for cover again as Vampires unleashed rockets close by. Never again would Air HQ dream of exposing other services to exercises intended to test the force. There were many red faces that day but, when the crunch came, Air HQ would have every reason to be proud of all squadrons’ performances.

Staff College

IN LATE JANUARY 1971 KEITH Corrans and I were sent to South Africa to attend the South African Air Force Staff College (SAAFCOL) course. Prior to Rhodesia’s Unilateral Declaration of Independence, our officers, accompanied bywives and children, underwent Staff College training at RAF Bracknell in Britain. RAF staff courses were designed to run for twelve months with compulsory time-off every weekend for family affairs and rest.

Although the subject matter of the South African course was taken directly from the RAF, a different approach had been adopted. The American technique of pressurising officers was applied by compressing the British course into ten and a half months. This meant having to work seven days a week with only two free days during the entire course; consequently heart attacks amongst older officers undergoing SAAFCOL were not uncommon. Because the South African course was less than twelve months, Rhodesian wives and families were not permitted to accompany husbands, so Sue Corrans, Beryl and the children had to stay home.

For me it was a gruelling experience, particularly as I had been given only three months’ notice to learn Afrikaans having only learned French at school. Keith had studied Afrikaans at Churchill High School so he was better prepared than me. Although we had been led to believe that half of all lectures and presentations would be in Afrikaans and half in English, it turned out to be 73% in Afrikaans. This placed me at a distinct disadvantage, particularly when advanced Afrikaans was being spoken so quickly that I could not even pick up the trend of what was being said. Fortunately, Keith and I were allowed to write appreciations and papers in English.

Because we worked all day every day and late into the night, Keith and I decided to take in a movie every Saturday to get a short break from never-ending studies and tasks. Only once did I go out for a night on the town and this turned out to be a costly error. A notoriously naughty SAAF pilot and an equally mischievous SA Army major invited me to accompany them for dinner at a posh restaurant. At this dinner I drank too much and was introduced to the art of eating carnations and other flowers that decorated our table. Following a good meal and having had more whisky than I was used to, I helped these crazy fellows swallow every one of about twenty goldfish swimming in one of the restaurant’s beautiful fish tanks. Not caring that our shirtsleeves were soaking wet right up to our armpits, we scooped out the highly prized Chinese Fantails whenever nobody was looking. These we swallowed head first and washed them down with a slug of whisky.

The sensation of a panicking fish swimming down one’s gullet before thrashing around for a short while in the stomach is not one I would have chosen. On that night, however, I had no difficulty in meeting the unspoken challenge. Next morning things caught up with us when the restaurant owner pitched up at the college demanding replacement of his prized fish.

The Afrikaans language was a major problem for me even though I could usually follow the gist of lectures. But there were occasions when I became lost the moment professors and other high-speaking lecturers got past the greeting ‘Goeie môre here’. Following such lectures I was surprised to find that my South African colleagues had experienced great difficulties in understanding new words and phrases of the still-expanding Afrikaans language. It was during one such presentation when I noticed that Major Blackie Swart dealt with his boredom in a very strange way.

Blackie was a very tall, slim, balding man who sat in front and to one side of me. With his right hand he took hold of his right eyelashes and, pulling gently, stretched the eyelid forward. When his eyelid sprang back, Blackie brought his fingers to his lips and made small sweeping motions. If he felt a lash tickle his lip he placed it on a matchbox lying next to his pipe on the broad wooden arm of his chair. This he repeated until no more loose lashes came away, whereupon he changed hands to subject his left eye to the same treatment. Next he turned attention to hairs in both ear-holes and the pile of hairs on his matchbox became visible to me. Then came the hairs in his nostrils. These were subjected to fiercer treatment as hand and head jerked in opposite directions. Wiping of eyes to remove consequential tears followed every successful extraction.

When our lecture programme showed that one particular professor was returning, I asked my colleagues if they had noticed what Blackie did when he was bored. None had but all eyes were on him as he went through his strange ritual. None of us dared look at another whilst the lecture was in progress for fear of breaking into uncontrolled laughter.

Sue Corrans and Beryl flew to South Africa to be with us for our end-of-course party. All men were dressed in full mess kit and wives wore long evening dresses. Beryl, dressed in a lovely sari, drew disparaging stares from the older women but my SAAF coursemates and their young wives thought she looked wonderful. Before the party ended Major Paul Nesser had somehow persuaded Beryl to bid the senior officers’ wives ‘good night’ in Afrikaans. His strange sense of humour was typical for his breed and I had suffered from this on a few occasions. But I was not aware of what had gone on until I noticed the horrified expressions on the faces of the ladies as they passed Beryl. I shot across and asked her what she was saying.

“Leave me alone. I am saying ‘good night’ in Afrikaans.”

“Yes Beryl, but what is it that you are actually saying?”

“I am saying ‘harn kark’, which is Afrikaans for ‘good night’.”

“Damn it Beryl, not only are you pronouncing the words incorrectly, the words ‘gaan kak’ mean ‘go shit yourself’.”

It was an enormous relief to get back to Rhodesia and have time to spend with my family.

Debbie and Paul were equally pleased to be home on their six-week Christmas break from boarding school.

Following the successful completion of my staff course, I had naturally expected to be posted into a staff position in Air HQ. So it was something of a surprise to learn that I was to take command of No 4 Squadron at Thornhill.

Deaths of Munton-Jackson and Garden

I WAS STILL ON LEAVE WHEN, on 17 January 1972, Air Lieutenant Guy Munton-Jackson and Flight Sergeant Peter Garden were killed in a very unfortunate and totally unnecessary helicopter accident. From the time Alouettes first arrived in Rhodesia, warnings given by Sud Aviation never to fly these aircraft at night had been ignored. None of our high-ranking officers had flown helicopters themselves and they did not seriously accept that momentary loss of control could lead to airframe failure in flight. For ten years our helicopters had been flown at night with only minor accidents occurring during landings, so the Sud Aviation warnings had continued to be ignored until these men lost their lives.

Two helicopters were tasked to fly from New Sarum to Thornhill to be available from first light to assist police against mobs that had started rioting in the Gwelo townships late that afternoon. It was known that the rioting would resume early next morning.

Storms and heavy cloud in the vicinity of Gwelo forced both helicopters to enter cloud in turbulent conditions. On instruments and with no way around the storm clouds, both pilots asked for a radar-controlled approach into Thornhill. The first helicopter arrived safely; the second disappeared off the radar screen. Guy Munton-Jackson had almost certainly got into difficulties and over-controlled on cyclic causing the main rotor blades to pitch back severely enough to sever the tail boom.

The Board of Inquiry into this accident was conducted by experienced helicopter pilots who recommended that, henceforth, helicopters should only be flown at night in clear weather conditions with a distinctly visible horizon. Air HQ accepted the recommendation and issued the appropriate Air Staff Instruction.