Winds of Destruction: The Autobiography of a Rhodesian Combat Pilot

No 4 Squadron

MY POSTING TO 4 SQUADRON was a huge disappointment because I had hoped one day to be given the helicopter squadron. There was another reason for my disappointment—No 4 Squadron was considered to be ‘a penal squadron’. The reason for this unfortunate reputation was obvious. The squadron operated the least inviting aircraft—Trojans and Provosts. Upon completion of OCU training, the best PTC pilots went to jet and transport squadrons and the balance were posted to 4 Squadron. For any young pilot coming off jets, the step down to piston aircraft was bad enough but, mistakenly, it appeared to them that their flying capabilities were in question because 4 Squadron’s flight commanders were senior instructors.

When I reported to Air Staff for briefing, DG Ops, Group Captain Dicky Bradshaw, congratulated me before passing me on to D Ops, Wing Commander Sandy Mutch, for a detailed briefing. I could not see the point in being congratulated for what I perceived to be a low-grade posting until Sandy’s briefing helped me see my situation in a better light.

Officers returning from Staff College had always been posted to Air HQ, but an increasing security threat required that 4 Squadron’s pilots become highly proficient in visual reconnaissance work. No serious preparation had been made to meet this need because there was nobody able to instruct pilots in the art. Since I was the only man in the force who had shown any interest in visual recce, and had a few successes to prove it, the Air Staff concluded that there was no alternative but to give me the squadron. Sandy Mutch also gave me the sop that I had been a particularly successful ‘A’ Flight commander on 7 Squadron and 4 Squadron was deeply in need of good leadership.

This was somewhat flattering, but I had serious doubts about being the right man for the job. There were two reasons for this. Firstly, my entire bush-fighting experience was on helicopters, which seemed to me to be so much more worthwhile and exciting than the fixed-wing activities I had observed in the field. Secondly, Flight Lieutenant Gordon Wright was the current ‘A’ Flight commander on 4 Squadron.

Gordon and I had been students together on No 10 SSU. Unlike me he was a natural sportsman who always struck me as possessing a stubborn and difficult nature. But then Gordon had reservations about working under me because, not knowing how often I had broken the rules, he mistakenly believed that I was a man who worked ‘strictly by the book’. He was man enough to let me know his concerns, making it easier for me to express how I viewed my new job and how I was counting on his support. Happily our fears were misplaced because, from the start, we clicked.

During my first days with 4 Squadron I felt distinctly uncomfortable. Having been away from Thornhill for a long while, I had lost touch with junior officers and technicians and knew only a handful of my men. To me there seemed tobe a depressed atmosphere, one totally lacking in spirit. This surprised me because, notwithstanding the ‘penal squadron’ tag, Squadron Leader Peter Cooke followed by Squadron Leader Peter McLurg had both led what I understood to be a cheerful unit. However, so far as I can remember the next in the line was Flight Lieutenant Peter Knobel, as acting OC, who lost allof 4 Squadron’s experienced pilots on various postings. Flight Lieutenant Gordon Wright, again in an acting OC position, followed Peter. Together with Rob Tasker and Bruce Collocott, Gordon had found himself in a particularly difficult position with a bunch of puppy pilots with no experience whatsoever.

The building in which the squadron was housed was set way back from the flight lines. This was unacceptable to me because the squadron building that had been vacated when the Canberras moved to Salisbury had been taken over by Station Equipment Section. My first priority was to have the situation reversed and within four weeks we were on the flight line in our freshly painted building. This in itself lifted spirits.

During my first month with 4 Squadron I was in need of a haircut and visited Mac the barber in Gwelo. Mac only knew one cut, which left me almost bald. Reaction to this was “Oh boy, we are in for a tough time with this boss!” It was certainly not the image I sought and I wondered how I might weld the personnel into a spirited group of men determined to make 4 Squadron great. Beryl gave me the lead on how to do this.

I instructed all squadron members, including wives and children, to gather for an open-air spit braai at a quiet spot at White Waters just twenty kilometres from Thornhill. When Beryl and I arrived there at around 10:00, we found a team of four technicians basting a whole impala carcass on a spit over deep coals. These guys had been working since first light and were already pretty plastered, pouring as much beer over the roasting carcass as down their throats.

About eighty people gathered under lovely trees with colourful chairs, umbrellas, shade tents and tables laden to bursting with food all beautifully set out. Children clambered over the domed granite hill against which we were gathered and everyone got to know everyone else. Beryl insisted on being called by her first name and not Mrs Petter-Bowyer, which endeared her to everyone. I acquired the name ‘Boss PB’ which I much preferred to being called ‘sir’. Thereafter the prefix ‘Boss’ was applied to a number of officers who were popular with junior pilots and technicians.

The roasted impala, superbly tasteful and tender, was wholly consumed but the rest of the food spread proved to be more than ravenous youngsters could manage. Beer and wine flowed freely and everyone enjoyed the best open-air party I can remember. When the squadron’s personnel reported for duty at 06:30 on Monday, I knew I was leading a totally changed team of men. There was sparkle in their faces, spring in their step and the mischievous spirit that continued beyond my three years with 4 Squadron had been unearthed.

My good friend Flight Lieutenant Rob Tasker with whom I had served as an instructor on 2 Squadron, was ‘B’ Flight Commander. He ran me through Provost re-familiarisation flights. Having lost the stomach for fuel vapour, spinning and aerobatics I felt really ill after the first two flights.

Gordon Wright conducted my conversion to the Trojan. This was an aircraft that was easy to handle in flight but one that tested one’s abilities when it came to engine handling and limit flying. The engine was too low-powered for the Trojan’s bulky airframe and thick high-lift wings, which severely limited payload. Increasing and reducing power was not a simple matter of opening and closing throttle control. With every change of power or engine rpm the fuel mixture had to be adjusted to prevent power loss. This meant that any change in engine setting necessitated rapid movements between throttle, pitch and mixture control, which took some time to master. I found no joy in flying the Trojan, preferring to fly a Provost at every opportunity. Gordon, however, enjoyed instructing on the Trojan because, of all our aircraft, it was the most challenging one to handle proficiently.

My first solo in a Trojan ended with a forced landing on the Gliding Club strip at Moffat Airfield because of partial engine failure with insufficient power to reach Thornhill safely. At first I thought the problem was engine mismanagement on my part, but it turned out to be a fuel feed problem.

The Trojan was a very noisy machine because its propeller tip speed was supersonic in the higher rpm range. Take-off performance at Rhodesia’s high altitudes was marginal and in flight the aircraft was slow. Because of these characteristics the Trojan attracted unkind clichés such as—having constant power with variable noise—noise generated by five pistons clapping for the one doing all the work—reliance on the curvature of the earth to get airborne—the only aircraft that received bird strikes from the rear.

The latter saying came to mind one day during operations when I was conducting visual reconnaissance. I was making a gentle turn to port when a Bateleur eagle overtook me on the inside of the turn just a couple of metres off the wing tip. Through the open window I shouted. “Bloody show off! I hope your eyes are watering.”

Because of the Trojan’s power limitations and the need to operate in and out of short runways, Gordon placed great emphasis on preparing pilots for short-field operations. We flew long low-level flights, hopping from one airfield to another, sometimes stopping over for a break in Bulawayo where three or more Trojans crews met for lunch in Gordon’s favourite Chinese restaurant. This was considered a real treat and emphasised just how much I missed flying versatile helicopters with frequent luncheon stops at farms and hotels or simple picnic breaks in beautiful surroundings.

Whereas we usually made a low-level inspection-run of every remote runway before each roller landing, Gordon told me not to worry about this procedure when we were approaching the airstrip at Guyu. On very short finals we both realised that the grass was far too long for a safe landing but, because it took so long to power up, the aircraft came to ground as full power was achieved. Fortunately we had not lost too much speed, but drag on wheels and airframe threatened to overcome the thrust of the propeller that was slicing through thick grass. We were fortunate to lift off with absolutely no runway remaining. Whereas Gordon was very annoyed with himself, the experience was important to me. When added to all of Gordon’s work it fully prepared me for many strange and often frightening flights to come.

Learning recce

AS SOON AS I WAS proficient on the Trojan, all my attention turned to learning visual reconnaissance in a fixed-wing aircraft. I had little idea of how to go about this but persuaded myself that, since man is a creature of habit, his routine movements must give a picture of his activities. I felt that if I fully understood the pathways of ordinary tribesmen who had no need to obscure their movements or presence, it should be possible to detect those made by men in hiding. I already knew something about aerial tracking and how to find terrorist and civilian camps in Mozambique, but all of that had been done at low level.

Flying at 1,500 feet above ground, because it was considered to be high enough for safety from enemy ground fire, I spent hour after hour studying every pathway and disturbed area over hundreds of square miles of tribal territory. I watched people moving along pathways, found where women bathed and laundered clothing along rivers and even watched people move into cover near their homes to attend to their toilet needs. Slowly I picked up similarities that helped me understand what I was seeing and how to use the sun to illuminate very faint pathways. Herds of cattle in the tribal areas were usually too large for the ground that supported them, resulting in hundreds of cattle paths which ran in parallel lines. Though clearly visible, they were not as well defined as human paths and had many distinctive shallow-angled linking lines—something like railway yards.

Of specific interest to me were small short paths close to huts that followed erratic courses into tree cover. At the end of each pathway there were barely discernible patches of bare ground that I had already established were toilet points. But it was noticeable that one group of paths had four bare patches at their ends whereas others had only three. I guessed that the former were women’s toilet paths and the latter were those made by adult men. At most villages there were also patches of haphazard trail lines that crossed over each other in a jumble. I concluded that these were the loo paths of children.

When I thought I had a fair understanding and was reading ground well enough, I made a specific study of one small group of huts that were close to a road and not too far from Thornhill. I attempted to determine the exact numbers of men and women living there and identify the purpose of every pathway leading from these huts. Having decided that there were three adult men and five women, I motored to the village to check this and other aspects of my assessment.

When I reached the place, I drove off the road and stopped just short of the village. In a loud voice I called “Kokoko” which is the polite way of calling for attention to be invited in. Kokoko represents the sound of knocking on a door. The old man who emerged from one of the huts turned out to be the local sabuku (keeper of Government record books). As is customary, we talked about the weather, cattle and crops before coming to the purpose of my visit. I asked the old man if he had seen an aircraft circling above his kraal earlier in the day. He said he had. When I told him I was flying that aircraft he told me I was not telling him the truth because he could see that I was much too big to fit into that tiny ndege. Fortunately there was a vehicle parked at another kraal about two kilometres away. I told him that though the vehicle looked small it was farther away than I had been above him. Since he knew he could fit into that vehicle he was able to accept that the aircraft must have been big enough for me.

He asked what I had been doing flying over his kraal, so I told him and said I had come to seek his help to confirm my assessment of his family’s routines. The pathways the family used to go to the river, the location of the women’s bathing place and that used by the men were correct. We walked along the paths to confirm all of this. Communication lines to drinking water, to maize fields, to the local store and the community school were all spot on. I was pleased and asked if we could turn to the toilet areas used by his family. Immediately he said this was not for men to discuss; his wife would have to help me with such delicate matters.

The mbuya (grandmother) came to us full of smiles. Her husband told her all about how this white man could fit into the small ndege they had seen flying above. He pointed to the parked car way off to prove his statement. He told of our walk along the paths, telling his wife how I had said what each path was used for even before we followed it. Exclamations emitted from the old lady with every statement her husband made. He then told her that she must help me with a matter I would explain before hurrying off to the safety of his hut.

The mbuya was amazed by what I wanted to know and even more so when I pointed to specific areas saying I judged these to be toilet area for five women, four men and a number of children. She wasted no time and led me down the path used by one of her daughters. At the end of its short run, I saw fresh evidence of a recent visit at one patch, one was clean and two showed that previous wastes were all but cleared by busy ants. With the old lady’s help, I learned why there were four positions.

Bowel movements for the average black person occurred at least twice a day because of their high-bulk maize diet. Two squat points used today would be cleaned by ants within twenty-four hours so only four points were needed. I asked her about the matter of urinating. She said this always occurred at the same time as the bowel movements. In-between needs were met on the previous day’s patches to “help the ants finish their cleaning-up act”. Having said this, the mbuya gave a very graphic demonstration of how women, standing with legs set wide apart, pulled their pants to one side then let their fluid flow. Screeching with laughter, she said how much easier this was for men.

I was taken down three more toilet paths used by two other daughters and a daughter-in-law. However, there was absolutely no question of going down the path she used. So I had been right; five women. The men’s lines, three of them, were checked out. Sure enough there were only three cleared patches for which the old lady had a simple explanation. Because the men were often away from the village during the day, three points sufficed and all in-between urinating occurred along the path, not at the squat points. The children’s toilet area was just as it had appeared from the air—a shambles requiring close attention to every step one made.

Now I had a fair idea of the basics but needed to know more about patterns that developed when humans occupied ground temporarily. Army bush camps, farm workers felling trees for tobacco barn boilers and grass cutters reaping thatching grass were some of the activities that helped build a picture of fresh human disturbances in open grassed and bush areas. Remembering how pigs had confused me during Op Cauldron there was need to find a way of distinguishing between game and human pathways. Wild pigs move about in an erratic manner often doubling back and crossing over their own tracks. Sharp kinks in their path lines were easily recognised and they seldom used a pathway twice.

Fresh elephant feeding paths and human transit lines through grassed areas gave me some difficulty until I passed the shadow of the aircraft along them. In doing this I noticed that human paths, and those made by wild pigs, left a continuous chevron pattern pointing in the direction of movement. Elephants on the other hand created a series of half-moon patches with undisturbed grass in between these patches. The explanation was simple. Humans hardly lift their feet when walking and draw grass blades forward, then bruise and flatten the stems under foot. In green grass a single human leaves a faint but detectable trail. When others follow in single file, the visible intensity magnifies rapidly until it stabilises when six or more men have passed along the same line.

On similar ground, elephants tended to move about individually in random patterns. They only follow each other in single file when the matriarch cow leads the herd from one area to another, in which case jumbos prefer their established pathways.

Rhino were seldom seen in numbers exceeding three. Their trails through green grass were indistinguishable from elephants but I could not see them presenting any difficulty to recce pilots. I found that the only barely discernible difference between established elephant pathways and those of humans was that those of elephants, over flat ground, exhibited smoother and longer curves than those made by humans. The width of elephant paths is greater than that of humans but this is impossible to judge from height.

On hillsides, human paths followed the most direct route, often ascending steeply, whereas elephants and all other game follow shallow inclines with sharp turn-abouts like hairpin bends on a mountain roadway. In flattish country it was obvious that humans used elephant routes wherever these coincided with their direction of travel. In fact it was for this reason that ZAPU and SAANC had used elephant paths before they were detected at the start of Op Cauldron.

These issues added together made it clear that, in remote areas populated by elephants, detection of terrorists would only be possible from the air wherever they set up bases. In such cases I expected that radiating toilet paths would be a give-away and since a base had to be close to water the areas to be recced should be relatively small, particularly in the dry season.

Buffalo herds created patterns identical to domestic cattle and most antelope used buffalo or elephant paths when commuting to water. Otherwise they left no visible trail whatsoever. Apart from elephants, rhino and to a lesser extent hippopotamus, I concluded that game paths should not mislead pilots searching for terrorists.

After two months I was ready to start teaching pilots and technicians but I realised that such training as I could give would have little impact unless it involved working over terrorist affected areas. It was obvious to me that what I had been doing would be far too boring for most men and their enthusiasm would soon wane. So, at the beginning of May, I approached Air HQ for permission to conduct recce training inside the Tete Province of Mozambique. This was eventually cleared with the Portuguese authorities with the proviso that all flights remained south of the Zambezi River and west of the Dague River.

This was a much smaller area than I had hoped for but it encompassed one sector that I believed ZANLA was likely to use in the future. For the time being I felt it would be a good training ground because FRELIMO was known to be operating in the block.

Aloe Festival

BEFORE CLEARANCE WAS GIVEN TO train in Mozambique, the squadron paid its annual visit to Umtali on 4 May 1972. The town in which I had schooled had adopted No 4 Squadron and always invited the unit to visit for the weekend of its annual Aloe Festival. Our direct involvement was limited to cocktails with the mayor and city councillors, providing a formation flypast over a colourful parade of floats along Main Street and to crowning the Aloe Queen at the Aloe Ball; the highlight of the festival. Otherwise we were guests of the Town Council who treated us like royalty. 4 Squadron spirits were high and a particularly naughty element had developed amongst the technicians. At the centre were Sergeants Henry Jarvie, John Britton and Phil Tubbs whose every move needed to be closely monitored.

Wives and girlfriends accompanied most officers but the technicians elected to go stag. The unmarried technicians pooled money for a ‘Grimmy prize’ to be awarded to the one who dated the ‘grottiest-looking grimmy’ for the Aloe Ball. This idea of ‘grimmies’ was one adopted from RLI troopers. At the end of a party, the man who had brought along the grottiest (least attractive) grimmy (grotty female) received the Grimmy prize. John Britton decided he could win this prize if he dated Henry Jarvie in drag.

Dressed in a badly fitting three-quarter-length floral dress, lipstick almost to his nostrils and wearing way too much eye shadow and rouge, Henry completed his attire with thick brown stockings and heavy boots. He certainly was the ugliest-looking partner whose actions and antics had everyone in fits. But he and John Britton were discounted from the Grimmy contest because Henry was judged to be grottier than grotty.

As the fanfare heralded the Aloe Queen’s entry into the huge ballroom, slim Henry and big John moved ahead of her approach-line to the throne. Henry pirouetted neatly revealing hairy legs above knee-length stockings; his right index finger in John’s raised left hand. John moved in smooth steps with feet splayed in exaggerated ballet fashion, straight-backed, right arm bent with hand on hip. They continued down the length of the aisle before Henry leapt into the air with arms spread and head back to land horizontally in John’s outstretched arms.

Most people found this impromptu ballet display unbelievable and very amusing, but not so the organisers who were badly put out as it had drawn attention away from the Aloe Queen’s grand entrance. Soon enough the Aloe Queen was seated on her throne and, by the time I had crowned her, all was forgiven and everyone enjoyed a grand evening.

ZANU and ZAPU activities

THE WARS BEING FOUGHT IN the Portuguese territories, like Rhodesia and South Africa, were to prevent liberation movements, inspired and supported by communists, from taking control by force. We all knew that the Soviets planned to form a bridge of states across Africa from which to drive for their ultimate prize, South Africa. Should they succeed the Soviets, and possibly the recently involved Chinese, would have access to the vast mineral wealth of southern Africa and control of the strategically important sea route around the Cape of Good Hope.

As in other African countries, the emergence of Rhodesian liberation movements was made possible by white politicians’ actions and laws that placed many constraints on the black people. Contrary to the glowing history lessons given to my generation of Rhodesia’s pioneers, our black folk were presented the contrary view that their territory had been taken by political intrigue and force of arms before laws were introduced to ensure their subservience. Whereas the N’debele and Shona people attempted to reverse this situation during the Matabeleland and Shona rebellions of 1896 and 1897 they failed in the face of superior weaponry and white rule was established.

Nevertheless the country developed rapidly to the mutual benefit of all Rhodesia’s citizens. An impressive infrastructure was already in place when the African National Council (ANC) was established in 1934 with the intention of gaining black political inclusion in government. This should have worked to everyone’s advantage, judging by later constitutions drawn up by Rhodesians. These all made unimpeded progress to majority rule a clear objective. However the new worldforce, communism, had been created following the Bolshevik Revolution. This new order, the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, considered white governments in Africa to be a major stumbling block to its stated intention of gaining total domination of the entire world.

The communists turned full attention to acquiring control of the mineral and oil reserves of Africa and the Middle East that, combined with those of the USSR, was key to gaining the economic subservience of Europe, the Americas and the Far East. This was approached on two fronts. One worked southward from the USSR and the second was to develop a ‘bridge across Central Africa’ from which to launch southward to the Cape of Good Hope. The objectives of the second front were to be achieved by a ‘divide and rule’ philosophy which was to undermine the white governments created by Portugal, Britain and Belgium and promote black nationalist forces to oust them.

The Soviets were fully aware of black inexperience in managing any country they may acquire but counted on this inexperience to bring about situations in which they would move in later and take control without a shot being fired. By using a combination of approaches that enhanced African desire for power, the Soviets exaggerated existing grievances that blacks had against whites and cleverly engineered many new ones. Whether existing or created, the Soviets knew they could get the black folk to take up arms and fight ‘wars of liberation’ intended for the ultimate benefit of the USSR.

Thirty years after the formation of the ANC by Aaron Jacha, and following the formation, amalgamation and fragmentation of a number of black parties, the first act of communist-inspired terrorism occurred when the ‘Crocodile Gang’ of the Zimbabwe African National Union (ZANU) murdered Petrus Oberholzer.

White Rhodesians in general held the black folk in high regard, hoping in time to elevate their status, lifestyle and opportunities as the infrastructure expanded and the economy strengthened. But to achieve this meant retaining government in responsible hands. We realised how important it was to deny black power-seekers opportunity to destroy our beautiful country in the manner we could see occurring in newly independent African states to our north. History has proven that we were fully justified in attempting to do this. But instead of lessening burdensome laws on the black folk, more were added, making it increasingly easier for nationalist parties to associate with communist ideals and the communist states themselves. This suited communist planning perfectly. Yet for most Rhodesians talk of communist objectives was not taken seriously. Before we came to properly understand the reality of the threat, we had tended to think our government a bit paranoid in ‘seeing communists under every bush’. When reality eventually caught up with the likes of myself, we were not to know that Russian communism would eventually flounder but we knew for certain that any black nationalist government would destroy the economy and infrastructure of the country.

Nowhere in Africa was more done to elevate the black people within the limits of Rhodesia’s financial resources. At the time there were twenty blacks to every white, placing too great a burden on the drivers of the economy, the whites, who nevertheless wanted to provide good schooling and services to everyone. The great majority of black people were subsistence farmers living as they had for centuries. In less than eighty years their numbers had blossomed from around 400,000 to over six million due to white medicines and the curtailment of tribal wars. The population explosion was way larger than the rate at which schools could be provided and this angered many young blacks who neither accepted nor understood the realities of the situation. Attempts to elevate the economy to improve schooling and create new jobs for black people involved bringing in more skilled white immigrants to the country. But sanctions and mandatory military service for all white male adults had reduced immigration to a trickle by 1972.

ZAPU and ZANU both claimed to have the majority following of black Rhodesians yet both organisations resorted to destroying the very infrastructures intended for the good of the people they claimed to lead. Schools were burned down and cattle dips were either destroyed or the tribesmen were instructed not to observe Rhodesian Government efforts designed to protect their primary measure of wealth, cattle, from deadly tickborne diseases. Contouring of agricultural land to prevent soil erosion also received negative attention.

Bored and unemployed youths were excited into destructive activities that turned youths against their parents and parents against their children. This resulted in the banning of ZAPU and ZANU with many leaders being imprisoned or escaping into political exile. Despite their early efforts ZAPU and ZANU exiles, having turned to arms, became deeply frustrated when they realised both urban and rural folks preferred the benevolence of their white government to fighting for a vote that could not be eaten, sold or screwed.

Inside the country the majority of black people were content, showing no desire to leave home for military training in foreign lands before returning to fight a war they neither wanted nor understood. Consequently ZANU and ZAPUresorted to press-ganging Rhodesian youths who had gone to Zambia for higher education. Many black expatriates returned to Rhodesia, allowing our intelligence services to draw up detailed lists of those outside the country. Special Branch also took opportunity to send trained agents to Zambia, posing as students, to be press-ganged into ZAPU and ZANU ranks.

Josiah Tongogara of ZANU was a prime mover in bringing about the changes that led him to become overall commander of the military arm of ZANU (this was ZANLA—Zimbabwe African National Liberation Army). He headed the fourth ZANU intake at Itubi Training Camp in Tanzania where he showed his determination to improve training and redirect ZANU’s military efforts towards something more worthwhile than had been achieved by party politicians. He realised from the outset that prospects for joint action with ZAPU were dim. ZANU was essentially a Shona organisation and was trained by Chinese communists, whereas ZAPU were N’debele-led and Russian-trained.

Joshua Nkomo was the leader of ZAPU and was generally, but mistakenly, hailed by the leaders of Africa to be father of the Zimbabwean (Rhodesian) nation. In consequence, President of Zambia, Doctor Kenneth Kaunda, being related to Nkomo by marriage, favoured ZAPU and paid little attention to its rival ZANU. Initially FRELIMO also favoured ZAPU to keep in Kaunda’s good books in a quest for unrestricted use of Zambia as a rear base. This is why FRELIMO repeatedly offered ZAPU free passage through Tete to reach the Rhodesian population, believing implicitly that Joshua Nkomo was the true leader of all Rhodesia’s black people. But ZAPU kept stalling on this offer.

ZANU’s Tongogara faced enormous problems that any lesser leader would not have overcome. He knew that only through improved performance in Rhodesia could ZANU gain the support of African leaders and receive financial assistance from the OAU’s liberation funds. However, having led his organisation into improved preparedness for military operations, he faced difficulties in transiting men and materials through hostile Zambia. This was overcome with FRELIMO’s secret and somewhat reluctant connivance to allow ZANU men and equipment, dressed and assigned in FRELIMO’s name, to transit Zambia.

Even as late as 1970 ZANU was still committed to the ‘no win’ routes across the Zambezi River where Rhodesian forces blocked all hopes of turning in an improved performance. Tongogara realised that ZANU’s salvation lay with FRELIMO for unimpeded access via the Tete Province, which FRELIMO now controlled, to the black population that straddled theRhodesia/Mozambican border.

A meeting between FRELIMO and ZANU eventually took place in mid-1970 when FRELIMO agreed to assist ZANU. This was because FRELIMO had finally realised that ZAPU was not going to accept the long-standing offer of assistance. Despite Nkomo’s claims, FRELIMO had made contact with the Shona people inside Rhodesia and learned that ZAPU had absolutely no support outside of N’debele territory. Also established was that ZANU enjoyed much wider support in Rhodesia. Yet of greater importance to FRELIMO was ZANU’s obvious and urgent desire to prosecute a war of liberation in the manner FRELIMO supported, understood and practised—the Chinese communist way. Nevertheless cooperation started on a small scale.

Tongogara sent four of his senior men to report to FRELIMO’s Jose Moyane, Commander of the Tete Front. They were integrated into FRELIMO’s ranks for the purpose of gaining first-hand knowledge of FRELIMO’s war against the Portuguese, their control of local tribesmen, their handling of recruits, caching of arms and so on. The lessons learned were passed back to Tongogara who sent increasing numbers of his men to learn from FRELIMO.

A few men within ZANU’s ranks had received Russian training before crossing over from ZAPU to ZANU. This caused differences in opinions between the advocates of Russian and Maoist philosophies. In a nutshell the Russians believed in direct confrontation for a quick result whereas the Chinese approach accepted that a long period was needed to adequately prepare the ground for widespread insurrection and protracted armed action. Whereas the Russians relied on arms, the Chinese relied on people.

FRELIMO settled the matter by insisting that only the Maoist approach would work. ZANU were given directions on how they had to prepare their firm support base amongst the people for recruits, security, intelligence and the subsistence needed to support large numbers of fighters on a continuous basis over a protracted period.

In the meanwhile many ZANU men were being prepared for combat at Mgagao in Tanzania. This new training base had replaced Itubi in 1971. It was in this year too that our doubts about Portuguese forces’ ability to contain FRELIMO were confirmed when Rhodesian forces came into contact with FRELIMO forces along our border during an operation codenamed ‘Lobster’. By early 1972 ZANU was ready to make its first reconnaissance probes into Rhodesia, FRELIMO having secured the ground right up to the border and having also concluded preliminary arrangements with some tribal chiefs inside Rhodesia.

Special Branch detective Section Officer Peter Stanton, who I would come to know quite well, had warned of ZANLA’s imminent arrival in the northeastern sector of Rhodesia. First indications from sources inside Zambia showed that ZANLA would be probing on a wide front. Then civilians coming over our border seeking refuge from FRELIMO domination told Peter that ZANLA reconnaissance units were based near the border east of Mukumbura. In late March they named one location as Matimbe base. This was confirmed when the SAS (Special Air Service) mounted an operation that resulted in a number of kills. All the bodies were dressed in FRELIMO uniforms but documents confirmed most were ZANLA men.

Documents captured at Matimbe base revealed two important things. One was that indoctrination of headmenwithin Rhodesia had already succeeded in obtaining willing recruits to swell ZANLA’s numbers, thus eliminating any further need to press-gang for recruits in Zambia. The other confirmed that ZANLA intended to infiltrate on a wide front to spread Rhodesian forces and interrupt the smooth running of the economy by forcing an increase in the call-up of Territorial Army soldiers.

External recce training

4 SQUADRON’S RECCE TRAINING AREA WAS limited to ground west of where the SAS had contacted ZANLA at Matimbe Base. I had a fair idea of what we would be looking for in Mozambique but felt apprehensive about teaching my men whilst learning the ropes myself. Although I was only expected to teach pilots recce, I decided that the technicians should participate to involve them directly and to see how they took to the task. To make things manageable, separate periods of ten days were allocated to each of two halves of the squadron.

Following introductory flights to study tribal patterns near Gwelo, I took the first half of the squadron to Kariba to compare animal paths with those of humans. We then moved to Gutsa Airfield sited on the west bank of the Musengezi River at the base of the Zambezi escarpment and forty-six kilometres south of the Mozambican border.

Air Force Volunteer Reservists under Flight Lieutenant Geoff Fenn, who had his faithful old servant ‘Sixpence’ in tow, had already prepared Gutsa base for us. In addition to the tented accommodation, Geoff had set up an operations tent with radio and telecommunication facilities. The camp lay under tall mopani trees between the runway and an established Army base. At the time D Coy RAR under command of Major Bruce Hulley was there.

It was the start of winter so the weather was pleasant and relatively cool. This was important because, in the very hot conditions of the valley during summer, it would not have been possible for the Trojan aircraft to take off with full fuel and four men. As it was we had to turn right when airborne to avoid the high banks on the eastern side of the Musengezi River and climb along the course of the river until high enough to turn for Mozambique.

On our first night at Gutsa I noticed abnormal drum-beating activity both close and far off downriver. I asked Bruce Hulley what this was all about. He said that in all his previous stints at Gutsa no such drum-beating occurred other than during customary beer-drinking parties every Saturday night. Yet during this spell there had been many drums beating every single night. The abnormal activity worried him and he had made this known to Army HQ.

One night the drums stopped their perpetual throbbing because, at the request of the local tribal chief, Bruce had undertaken to shoot a troublesome crocodile. The beast had lived in a large pool on the Musengezi River for as long as the chief could remember and it had been responsible for killing a number of people. Recently the dreaded reptile had dragged a young girl screaming into the river. She was never seen again.

I accompanied Bruce and two of his men to the large boomerang-shaped pool in which the crocodile lived. We were all armed with FN rifles and Bruce had a powerful headlamp plus four hand-grenades. The intense beam of light tracked back and forth over the water and along the reeds of the far bank searching for crocodile eyes that reflect light like bright stars. There was no sign of the brute so Bruce lobbed two widely separated grenades into the water. As the grenades went in, I slipped on the steep slope of the high bank overlooking the pool and very nearly went over the sheer drop into the water just as the dull thuds from the grenades mushroomed in the water. My slide was checked in time to see the huge crocodile’s eyes light up in the beam of torchlight midway between the turbulent patches of water. We all fired together hitting the croc several times. When spray from the hail of bullets settled there was no sign of the brute, which was never seen again. Next night the drums were beating again.

4 Squadron needed to make detailed reconnaissance of almost 3,000-square nautical miles of territory. This was divided into five overlapping sectors and each crew was allocated to a sector that was changed every day to allow everyone to work every inch of the entire area twice. I flew with all crews in turn and from the sixth day roamed the entire area in my own aircraft checking on previous day reports and picking up on any information that had been missed.

Within the first four days the Ops Room map had every path, village and field plotted. The fields were marked accurately to show size and shape for future comparison. Villages were marked in two colours. One colour showed occupied villages with the number of huts in active use whilst the other colour recorded the position and size of abandoned villages.

Once the primary and obvious information had been acquired, we commenced a search for hidden habitations. This resulted in the location of a handful of hidden camps complete with bashas, which were judged to be for civilians in hiding. They were difficult to see from our operating height, which I had set at 2,000 feet above ground. All crews had been briefed that, under no circumstance, were they to descend below this height. In the event that a crew located something that needed a second opinion, they were either to call me over or ask another crew operating close by to do so.

During the morning of the seventh day, with three days still remaining before the second half of the squadron was due to arrive, John Blythe-Wood and David Rowe disobeyed my instruction. These two young officers and their two technicians located a place in a line of thick riverine bush where faint human paths (they proved to be toilet paths) suggested that there was a camp hidden under the trees. Rather than bother me, they decided to make a low pass to get a close look under the tree canopies.

I was about forty-five nautical miles away when John Blythe-Wood called to say that he was returning to base. His transmission was distorted and unusually weak but I gathered a fire had been put out, the turbo-charger had failed, level flight was being maintained and he would reach base safely. I was not concerned because John’s voice, though faint, was calm. Some time passed before I heard him call finals at Gutsa; so I put the matter out of my mind and continued my work.

It was only when I returned to base that I learned that these youngsters had been shot up as they made their fast run past the hidden camp. They had all spotted the bashas under the trees before seeing men firing at them from close range. One tracer round entered the aircraft and set fire to clothing and equipment, filling the cabin with smoke before the technicians extinguished the flames. The turbo-charger had been put out of action and only excess speed had allowed John to gain sufficient height to stagger home on limited power. Two tyres were burst though they did not know this until they touched down on landing.

Other holes in the aircraft proved that at least one machine-gunner understood how to aim-off on a moving target. Dave Rowe had a hot expended round fall into his lap but otherwise all four crewmembers escaped injury by inches. Air HQ overreacted to the incident by ordering termination of our training with instruction for me to report to Air HQ immediately.

At Air HQ I stood up for the pilots and told my seniors that I could see no advantage whatsoever in subjecting two young officers to a court martial for disobeying my instructions. I felt that they had displayed the same curiosity as any one of the Air Staff members might have done in the same circumstances. A court martial would serve no greater purpose than the harsh lesson of the incident itself and it would certainly be bad for morale throughout the squadrons. The Air Staff agreed but nine long weeks passed before approval was given to proceed with training because there had also been some questioning of my decision to include the squadron’s technicians in recce training. So again I had to go over the importance of upholding morale and a need to explore their recce potential

When I returned to Gutsa with the second half of the squadron, drums still pounding away every night and on my very first recce flight I was astounded by the changes that had occurred during our short absence. For the first five days I flew with each crew as before. All information was plotted onto plastic sheeting laid over our original map to highlight what had changed, and where. Of particular interest to me was the emergence of four routes that started miles apart on the Zambezi River and converged in stages to a common point a few hundred yards north of the border on the west bank of the Musengezi River. Parts of these routes had been plotted during the first recce training period but the clarity and continuity of the pathways showed unmistakably that they were now carrying heavier traffic. My crews were picking up more small camps with bashas this time round, mostly tribesmen in hiding, because the dry winter conditions had substantially reduced bush cover.

Having flown with every crew, my interest turned southwards into Rhodesia where I was able to follow the single route out of Mozambique southward along the Musengezi River. The route alternated from one side of the river to the other and passed Gutsa Airfield on the opposite side of the river before climbing steeply up the escarpment to where St Albert’s Mission lay a short distance behind the lip of the high ground. I was totally convinced that ZANLA terrorists were active right there.

Bruce Hulley was still at Gutsa though his company was about to be replaced. We had long discussions on my findings and Bruce said his RAR troops had noticed increased traffic on the pathway along the river but it all seemed to be from barefooted tribesmen. Nevertheless Bruce said that his troops knew something was amiss because the locals were not behaving in the co-operative and friendly manner of the past.

Since his area of responsibilities lay on the valley floor, Bruce would not release troops to go up to St Albert’s Mission to check out that area. He said, however, that his own observations had been passed to Army HQ and that Special Branch, who had also found things greatly changed, had made this known to their own HQ.

On completion of our training I went to Air HQ to make a presentation of 4 Squadron’s findings. Although all the information signalled daily was plotted on the Ops Room map, it failed to convey what I was able to give verbally with emphasis and expansion on details. In particular I stressed the fact that terrorists were active in the St Albert’s Mission area of the Kandeya Tribal Trust Land (TTL) posing an immediate and serious threat to the Centenary farmers bordering on that area.

AVM Archie Wilson took the matter up at a meeting of the OCC and suggested that the Army Commander should get troops into the suspect area to check it out. However, because neither the Army Commander nor the Head of CIO knew of any reports from their own men, the matter was held over for the Prime Minister’s forthcoming National Defence Council Meeting.

At this meeting the results of 4 Squadron’s reconnaissance findings were presented, with stress given to my belief that terrorists had been active in the St Albert’s Mission for some time. The Army, Police and CIO agreed that the area should be checked without delay. But the Prime Minister wanted to know why the Department of Internal Affairs (INTAF), which was responsible for all matters in the TTLs, had not reported this matter. In answer, he received assurances fromSecretary of INTAF, Don Yardley, that no such activity could possibly occur without INTAF’s knowledge and a guarantee was given that not one single terrorist was anywhere near the Centenary farming area.

I was again summoned to Air HQ where I was told what had transpired and was given a serious telling-off for, “reading into the ground situations that simply do not exist” and for, “causing unnecessary alarm and despondency.” But then on 21 December ZANLA’s future commander, Solomon Mujuru (also Mutizwa and pseudo-named Rex Nhongo), led an attack on Altena Farm from his base camp close to St Albert’s Mission. When it was known that he and his ZANLA followers had been there indoctrinating the locals since May, no word was said about 4 Squadron having given ample warning of their presence five months earlier. By that time there was nothing to be gained in saying, “We told you so!” But it was bloody maddening!

I was in Air HQ a couple of weeks after the Altena Farm attack and was leaving the building when Air Commodore John Moss saw me and invited me into his office. Throughout my service time I had limited contact with him. Of medium build, good-looking and very popular with everyone, this silver-haired officer was well known for his even temper and softly spoken manner. All Air Force officers knew that John Moss was a raconteur of note, possessing that amazing ability to tell stories and jokes for many hours without pause. It was not that he enjoyed his own voice but simply that he could hold the attention of willing listeners and entertain without apparent effort.

John Moss obviously knew I had given accurate warning of ZANU’s routes and location and that all had been ignored. He did not exactly apologise but asked that I commend my squadron for a good performance and assure the men of better support in the future.

Preparing for bush ops

BACK AT THORNHILL I SET about improving 4 Squadron’s operational techniques and equipment. One idea I had, though unrelated to counter-insurgency warfare, was to assist Police identify ringleaders during mob riots. Rioting in Gwelo’s townships had continued throughout the day after the death of Guy Munton-Jackson and his technician when their helicopter broke up at night in bad weather when positioning to support the Gwelo Police. 4 Squadron pilots told me how they had been able to see the ringleaders quite clearly from the air, but these fomenters of trouble were always farthest from Police forces, stirring up trouble from behind the rioters. Once rioting ceased the police were unable to identify the ringleaders.

I decided to produce a tank to carry liquid dye that could be dumped on riot leaders to make their identity known long after rioting ceased. I sought help from Thornhill’s medical staff and selected Brilliant green because it was reputed to be harmless and very difficult to wash off skin and clothing. So far as I remember, Brilliant green was a water-soluble dye used to track bloodflow through the human body.

Once the tank I designed was working satisfactorily, I looked for opportunity to test the system on a live target to confirm delivery technique and the longevity of the dye. The Brilliant green crystals, being water soluble, turned the water in the tank to a dark blue-green colour with no mixing problems. So I placed the mixed liquid in a forty-four-gallon drum suitably elevated to fill the tank quickly when it was secured to the floor next to the rear door of a Trojan.

I was returning from a routine flight when I noticed a gang of prisoners working on a taxiway close to the threshold of grass runway 13. Gwelo Prison Services provided Thornhill with a limited labour service and had a small prison at Thornhill for the minor-offence prisoners who were about to become my target. The dump tank was fitted to a Trojan, chop chop, and charged with the liquid dye. I then got airborne on the pretext of needing low-level circuit practice. Once airborne I manoeuvred to pass over the prisoners in what would appear to the Air Traffic Controllers to be a low tight turn onto the runway. As the men came almost abreast of me on the outside of the turn the dye was dumped. Control Tower immediatelycalled to say a shower of green liquid had been seen to fall from my aircraft. I acknowledged this by saying the fluid had been dumped deliberately and that I was returning to the squadron.

I got into my car and drove over to the prison gang. Every prisoner was covered in green on one side of his body and all had copper-gold hair. Unfortunately the two uniformed prison guards, whom I had thought safe, were also green from cap to boots. I cheered them all up with two large bottles of Coke and set off to visit the Prison Superintendent in Gwelo to let him know what had happened. I told him exactly what I was trying to achieve and offered to pay for the cleaning or replacement of uniforms. He said there was no need for that because he was delighted that in future it would be possible to mark riot leaders. He agreed to let me know how long it took to remove dye from the uniforms of both guards and prisoners. I told the Superintendent that I was more interested in the length of time the dye remained visible on skin and hair. Ten days later I received the answers. Seven launderings for uniforms, three days to restore hair colour and four hours for skin. I was pleased with the results but no riotous situation ever developed to put the system to the use for which it was intended.

Next I produced a simple, cheap projectile to simulate the clumsy flight of Frantans and teargas so that we could make low-cost simulated attacks outside approved weapons ranges. This was a 100mm Kaylite foam tube filled with sand and white powder with flat discs taped on each end. The armourers called them BUBS, which simply stood for Break-up bombs.

It was already clear that there was going to be a need for 4 Squadron to undertake accurate marking of targets for jet-strikes. 37mm Sneb rockets provided the best option to cater for adequate standoff range, accuracy and reasonable cost. However, we needed to introduce highly visible smoke into these small rockets to clearly show their points of impact. To achieve this, the armourers produced aluminium extension-tubes filled with white phosphorus. These were screw-threaded to fit between the rocket motors and their high-explosive heads. It was pleasing to find that the accuracy of these extended rockets was better than standard ones and that the increased weight only required a small sight adjustment to cater for increased gravity drop.

Delivery of 37mm Sneb rockets from Provosts was well tried but an attack profile had to be developed for the Trojan. John Blythe-Wood and I flew together to develop a profile that would allow a steep delivery from 2,000 feet without over-stressing the airframe during recovery from the dive. I discounted medium dive angles because it would mean having to pass too low over hostile targets.

It took only one flight to find a suitable profile. Keeping the target visible just to the left of the flight line, we ran up until the target was almost at right angles to the aircraft. At this point the nose was pitched up to around forty degrees, followed by a full aileron port roll through 180 degrees, assisted with plenty of rudder. This allowed the nose to pitch down into a sixty-degree dive commencing at low speed. Minor corrections brought the collemateur sight onto the target and immediately a pair of Sneb rockets was fired. Quite unlike the powerful whooosh of 60-pound rockets, Snebs went away with a sharp crack. Accuracy was excellent and recovery from the dive was gentle. Having tested this method of marking targets a few times, John taught the profile to all the squadron’s pilots.

To give very close armed-support to the Army in bush-warfare conditions, we needed to develop slick, uncomplicated procedures that soldiers under stress could use to bring a pilot’s attention to the precise position of any target he was required to strike.

FAC (Forward Air Controller) training for Army officers learning how to direct heavy jet-strikes in conditions of conventional warfare had done wonders in bringing the Air Force and Army close together. We now had the opportunity to build on this by introducing different techniques required in bush warfare. For this GAC (Ground to Air Control) was introduced.

For GAC we needed to have a thorough understanding of each other’s situations and difficulties. When flight trials started, Army officers flew in the strike aircraft (Provosts and Trojans) to experience and appreciate air perspectives and pilots joined Army on the ground for the same purpose. At Kutanga Range aircraft could land after each GAC run. This facilitated quick debriefing, re-planning and switching of personnel. Procedures and techniques were modified and improved until GAC procedures were considered ready for operations.

On the ground the commander of an Army callsign would have a good idea of an enemy force’s disposition and where one or more air strikes needed to be placed. Generally he would also know the air weapon best suited considering the enemy’s situation and how close his troops would be to the strike. Guns and Frantans could be used as close as thirty metres but bombs and rockets needed more than 100 metres separation to cater for potential errors and shrapnel effect. A pilot had to know with certainty the disposition of the entire callsign calling for support—we called this the FLOT (Front Line Own Troops). He also needed to know the nature of support required to be certain of selecting the correct weapon switches, the direction of attack, enemy distance from FLOT, and the precise position he had to strike. FLOT was seldom a straight line so only the extremities of troops nearest the enemy were marked. This could be done in a number of ways. The simplest of these was an unfolded map placed upside down on the ground but this usually delayed the air strike because a pilot might not see the small white markers in heavy bush conditions until he was directly above the callsign.

The preferred method of marking was by smoke grenades, yellow and white were best, which could be used as soon as the callsign could clearly see or hear the approaching aircraft. Too often in operations, heavy ground fire made this difficult so an initial indication of a callsign’s position might need a single highly visible white phosphorus grenade. It was then up to the pilot to call for FLOT markers when he was close enough for his attack.

FLOT markers provided a pilot the reference line for his attack direction. As soon as he had FLOT he would position to attack along that line. At ‘perch’ (start of attack dive) the pilot would call “Mark target”, whereupon the ground commander fired a red flare which he attempted to place in the centre of the intended strike point.

By the time the flare reached ground the attacking aircraft was usually established in its attack-dive. The callsign commander would then give quick corrections. He would either call “On target”, if the flare had landed where he intended or give corrections ADD or DROP, LEFT or RIGHT with appropriate distances. Typically this might be, “To my marker, Drop 20—left 10”. Add and Drop, Left and Right corrections all related to the aircraft attack-line. This meant that the GAC soldier on the ground had to adopt the pilot’s perspective to bring about the corrections he wanted.

We perfected procedures and ran many successful courses for all RLI, RAR and Territorial Army platoon commanders and senior NCOs. Inter-service and personal relationships that developed between the bush squadrons (ourselves and helicopters) and the Army’s fighting soldiers proved to be of immense importance in operations.

When our GAC procedures were eventually used in hot operations, marking FLOT became impossible during high-stress running firefights, but pilots were able to adapt by attacking at ninety degrees to a single marker flare and responding to the usual corrections.

4 Squadron was doing well, morale was high and training had become interesting. We flew many first-light and last-light GAC strikes and also made first-run attacks on targets marked by airborne FAC using 37mm Sneb rockets. Realising it may be necessary to call in a number of aircraft from different locations to link up for combined first-light strikes, we ran exercises in which three or four aircraft met before dawn at a prearranged position well away from target.

Meeting in the dark required height separation initially and cautious manoeuvring to come into formation on the navigation lights of the assigned strike leader. There was something magical about those early morning flights when the progressive brightening of the sky revealed the black shapes of Provosts, or Trojans, flying together in loose formation.

First light for callsigns on the ground occurred as much as twenty minutes before pilots’ visual contact with ground was good enough to safely make diving attacks. Only by flying with us did Army officers appreciate our problem. In consequence, any ground force needing close air support at dawn always had to endure an agonisingly long wait beyond ‘soldiers’ first light for ‘pilots’ first light.

To reduce training costs, live strikes were made using one machine-gun or just a pair of 37mm Sneb rockets. The low-cost Kaylite sand-and-powder BUBS were always used in place of Frantans.

Jungle Lane

THERE WAS NEED FOR ALL squadron personnel to be reasonably well prepared for self-defence if downed amongst the enemy and to be able to assist in the defence of airfields. Every pilot and technician underwent weapons training on rifle ranges and all had to be proficient with both rifle and pistol.

Whereas the Army always received maximum Air Force assistance in preparing for FAC, GAC and helicopter-trooping, the same could not be said of the Army when we sought professional assistance to prepare aircrew in ground-fighting techniques. Fortunately we had one or two ex-Army men ourselves, so 4 Squadron was given the necessary training by Warrant Officer Barney Barnes. One Army exercise he put us through was known as the ‘Jungle Lane’.

Jungle Lane was designed to develop snap reaction and accurate shooting whilst under high physical and mental stress. Preparation for this involved setting up a number of hidden pop-up ‘hostile’ targets along a difficult twisting bush course known only to the man who prepared it and conducted the training runs.

Barney Barnes took one pilot or technician at a time with FN rifle and three magazines of live ammunition to run the course. He followed close behind bellowing instructions on which way to move or firing his FN to signify when to dive for cover. Man-sized targets, standing, crouching or lying, popped up when Barney pulled on hidden strings. The man running Jungle Lane had to fire two shots from the hip immediately a target appeared but without losing forward momentum. Targets could appear as far back as forty-five degrees, which meant having to cast around for them but still avoiding obstructions along the way.

I hated Jungle Lane with a passion. Barney Barnes, on the other hand, revelled in my breathless agony. Being a smoker did little to help me run in deep sand along a dry river-course with Barney’s live rounds sending spurts of sand and rock splinters flying left and right about me. The steepest banks were the points he selected to change from riverine to bush and vice versa whilst he trotted gently along level high ground.

Having passed the first five targets and diving for cover I felt my legs would carry me no further. My mouth tasted of blood and my lungs were close to bursting. Twice I received a verbal blast for not counting how many rounds I had fired when I was about to move on without changing magazines. When fifteen or so targets had gone by Barney declared the run completed. We then backtracked the course to count hits on the targets. It took me the entire route back to recover my breath but I was always pleased to have seen every target and equalled the results of the best of my men. Nevertheless, those Jungle Lane runs made me decide that, if I was downed, I would go into cover and let the bloody enemy do the running.

Jungle Lane and all other ground-combat training had me wondering what attracted men to a career in infantry. I knew they had to be barmy to enjoy filth, sweat, breathlessness, leopard-crawling and diving for cover at full running speed with heavy kit and weapon impeding a gentle touch-down. I never came to any conclusion on the issue but found it interesting that soldiers wondered what madness made a pilot operate in full view of the enemy with no place to hide.

‘October Revolution’

THE PRESIDENT OF THE OFFICERS’ Mess Committee at Thornhill, Squadron Leader Ralph Parry, was the station’s Senior Technical Officer. It was unusual to have a non-flying PMC, but there he was sitting at the centre position of the top table for a dining-in night in October.

Bad habits imported from RAF Aden dining-in nights broke loose on this particular occasion when Rich Brand set off a very loud cracker that filled the room with strong-smelling smoke. The PMC rose to his feet and called for order, whereupon another cracker went off. Infuriated by this, Ralph Parry returned to his feet and in an uncertain manner threatened to expel the culprit if the incident was repeated. Following a much bigger bang with more dense smoke, the perplexed PMC rose to his feet yet again and ordered the culprit to leave the room. Since he did not know who the culprit was, he became even more perplexed when twelve of us rose as one and departed from the dining-room.

When we were outside laughing our heads off at the way our gentle PMC had handled misbehaviour, Tol Janeke invited everyone to his home to continue the evening there. Where all the beer came from remains a mystery but I remember Tol attiring everyone with his wife’s prized lampshades as headdress over mess kit. A very merry party ensued.

Some of the wives, including Tol’s wife June, pitched up from a gathering they had been to and went behind the neighbour’s hedge to watch their rowdy men partying in the house. The position they chose to lie in the shadows was not a good one. Cyril White, coming out of the light into darkness, failed to see the girls on the other side of the section of hedge into which he relieved his bladder. Mildly splattered, the girls backed off but managed to suppress their mirth until Cyril let loose a very loud fart.

Many parties were held in many places, most to be forgotten. But this night, nicknamed the ‘October Revolution’, was an impromptu affair that remains clear in my memory.

Operation Sable

IN SPITE OF ALL THE assurances given by the Department of Internal Affairs (which we nicknamed Infernal Affairs) it was obvious that they had no clue of what was actually happening in the remote places of northeast Rhodesia. The intimate contact that existed back in the days of horse and bicycle patrols, when every tribal kraal, big and small, was visited regularly, had been progressively lost with the advent of motor vehicles. The same might be said of the Police but for their ‘ground coverage’ men and agents who continued to make Peter Stanton and his colleagues our best source of ‘people intelligence’.

From information gleaned after the SAS attack on Matimbe base, it was clear that ZANLA had reached the Rhodesian population earlier than expected. This brought about increased military activity in the northeast, including RLI and RAR deployments along the border inside Rhodesia with SAS working inside Mozambique.

4 Squadron positioned a Trojan and four Provosts to support RLI and SAS sited at a small remote airfield called Nyamasoto and were joined there by four of 7 Squadron’s helicopters. The RLI and RAR were cross-graining along the border to try and pick up terrorist transit points whilst the SAS conducted over-border reconnaissance. A Joint Operations Centre, JOC Sable, was established at Nyamasoto Airfield for SAS and RLI ops whilst RAR operated out of Mtoko.

The Nyamasoto airstrip was little more than an opening in the bush with no buildings or amenities besides tents and flysheets. Lieutenant Colonel Peter Rich, ex British SAS and previous OC of ‘C’ Squadron (Rhodesian) SAS, was then CO of the RLI and based with his soldiers at Nyamasoto.

Immediately 4 Squadron arrived, I suggested that I should go over border to build up an intelligence picture of the ground. Initial reaction from Peter Rich was negative. He felt that I would upset ZANLA and make the Army’s task more difficult. However this officer with a fast penetrating wit eventually gave in to my nagging and agreed to “give this newfangled air recce a try”. Within an hour on my first flight, I picked up a temporary base in a small break in a line of low hills, fairly close to a main path. Initially I was concerned this might be a path network created by wild pigs either side of heavily treed and broken rock cover. However, a strong link to the main pathway did not fit with anything but men, so I called for troops to be brought in by helicopters. Peter Rich sounded distinctly sceptical but he agreed to respond.

Although I was quite certain that this was a base without structures, I had no way of knowing if it was occupied. Nevertheless I did not wish to give any terrorist the impression of being too interested in the spot so continued to orbit getting progressively farther away. When four helicopters checked in with me, I cut across country to pick them up to ensure we arrived at the base at the same time. Immediately we got there the helicopters landed all their troops in long grass south of the base. I watched the troops shake out into an echelon formation then move directly towards the gap in the hill line.

I was greatly relieved when contact was made with terrorists who had gone to ground inside the base area. From Nyamasoto, Peter Rich called, “Bloody marvellous, I owe you a beer.” Had he taken my information more seriously, the advice to split the troop deployment either side of the gap would have disallowed escape of most of the terrorists who broke northward. Final results were fair with seven killed, two escaped wounded and three captured out of a group of twenty-four ZANLA. This was one of a number of groups that had come from Zambia through Tete carrying supplies, now hidden in Rhodesia. We had caught these terrorists on their way back to Zambia in what was no more than a regular resting spot on water along their route to and from Rhodesia. Personal equipment that had been abandoned by terrorists was booby-trapped with phosphorus grenades, accounting for another terrorist two weeks after this action.

Back at Nyamasoto, Peter Rich apologised for not having taken me seriously because he did not believe it was possible to locate terrorists from the air. I told him there was no need for any apology because my squadron was still on a pretty steep learning curve.

I do not know if it was our three captures or an SB agent within ZANLA that led Peter Stanton to ZANLA’s bush ‘post box’; a lone hollow tree inside Rhodesia in which instructions were lodged for ZANLA’s group commanders. Not only was Peter able to record the latest instructions found in the ‘post box’, these led him to a huge arms cache, which included landmines, on the side of a prominent hill not far from the post box. Here Peter unearthed weapons in such numbers that he was astounded so much communist equipment could have come into the country unreported by the locals and undetectedby police ‘ground coverage’. Obviously, indoctrination of the local people was already well advanced!

My plan to continue putting together all available visual recce information along the border was temporarily interrupted by a call to assist the SAS. Callsign 21 reported being pinned down inside Mozambique by enemy fire coming from a high ridge overlooking their flat exposed position. There was no way the callsign could advance or retreat from where individuals lay in the best cover available. I raced to the Provost and flew directly to the given map reference. This particular Provost was different from the others in that it had a trial-fit of four .303 Browning machine-guns, two in each wing, instead of the standard pair. The four guns had received limited testing so this call gave opportunity to see how they would fare on their first live target. It happened also to be my first-ever live attack in a light fixed-wing aircraft.

The target description was so well structured that I knew where to lay down fire whilst still some distance out. I told callsign 21 that I would commence firing at long range and asked him to give me corrections on fall of shot that he should pick up easily from dust and tracer rounds. As soon as I started firing I received his call, “On target”. So I laced the appropriate section of the ridge-line, then stood off to await developments.

The terrorists, who were almost certainly FRELIMO and obviously shaken by the noise of 1,000 rounds cracking around them, ceased firing at callsign 21 to flee from the area—though I saw nothing of them. A sweep up and over the ridge succeeded in locating the terrorist firing positions but apart from expended communist 7.62mm cartridges and many .303 bullet holes in the trees nothing was found. The SAS continued on their intelligence gathering patrol and I returned to Nyamasoto.

Visual reconnaissance across the border was made difficult by the paths of many refugees, some into small hidden camps and others into Rhodesia. Quite why they were running from FRELIMO was difficult to understand initially. Then, following up on an SAS report, I picked up the trail of a very large herd of cattle that had obviously been stolen from the Mozambican tribesmen. They had been driven away to the north by FRELIMO but I broke off my search having tracked the herd for more than forty kilometres from our border.

I also noticed that most Mozambican villages had been abandoned and that no crops had been planted. All this confirmed that FRELIMO had been in control of Tete, all the way up to our border, for some considerable time. It also meant that we would have to fight both FRELIMO and ZANLA to prevent terrorism from taking root in Rhodesia.

Although every consideration and effort was given to preventing civilians becoming involved in any armed conflict, it was inevitable that unexpected incidents did occur. One such occasion gave rise to a situation that was described to me by one of the helicopter pilots. Although I was not involved in any way, I think it is a story well worth repeating in the style of its telling.

Nicholas and the old man

RLI PURSUED A MIXED GROUP of FRELIMO and ZANLA in a running action from the Rhodesian border deep into Mozambique. Most Mozambican civilians dispersed and ran from the fighting in the general direction of Rhodesia. Then during this day, one RLI callsign of four soldiers came upon a very old, partially blind man standing by himself under a largetree. He was in a state of fear and confusion. The soldiers did what they could to calm the old fellow with drink and food but it took time to understand that his distress centred on the loss of his personal donkey. It transpired that the donkey’s name was Nicholas and that he was no ordinary donkey; he was blue-grey in colour. The old man relied on Nicholas to carry him about and he had been trained to answer to his name. Nicholas was also trained to make mounting easy for the old man.

The soldiers called for helicopter assistance but were told that all the helicopters were too busy—one would come over when there was opportunity. The hours moved on and, though the white soldiers with their new-found charge tried to be patient, they called many times to make sure the Air Force had not forgotten its promise. When eventually a helicopter could be spared, the pilot was surprised to be asked to search for a blue-grey donkey.

Helicopters are extremely expensive to run and, in operations involving the movement of troops, fuel endurance is limited. Nevertheless the RLI soldiers’ story touched the pilot’s heart so he started a search. He managed to find a handful of donkeys, which he herded together before driving them towards the far-off tree under which the old man waited with his RLI friends. When the donkeys were close enough, the pilot broke away for Rhodesia to refuel.

The RLI soldiers were tickled pink when one donkey responded to the old man’s frail call, “Nicholas, Nicholas”. Sure enough the donkey that came to them was blue-grey, not like those other common brownie-grey jobs. He trotted straight to the old man whose eyes streamed with happy tears. But this was not the end of the story for the Air Force. The RLI troopies were not going to leave the old man and Nicholas behind because all of his kinsfolk had disappeared; so they called for helicopter uplift of themselves, the old man and Nicholas.

When a helicopter pilot said he could take the old man but that there was no possibility of getting Nicholas inside the helicopter, the RLI soldiers already had the answer to that problem. They had ripped apart their webbing and had fashioned a harness to lift Nicholas back to Rhodesia by way of the cargo sling, which was fitted to every helicopter.

By this time the helicopter pilots, who had just about completed the uplift of RLI troops back to Rhodesia, were getting a bit fed up with the persistence of the troopies. Being closest to the border, they were assigned for the last lift but their persistence and 7 Squadron’s flexible attitude soon had the callsign and old man airborne with one braying donkey hanging under the helicopter.

The flight had to be made at slow speed so as not to spin the donkey or drown him in the airflow. At the RLI’s bush base, Nicholas came into contact with the ground gently, the pilot pressed his cargo release button and Nicholas waited patiently for his harness to be removed. Within five minutes he was nibbling fresh green grass. The old man had his own tent, complete with the most comfortable bed he had ever known. He was given a hot shower and fresh clothing to replace his rags.

The old man and Nicholas were tended day and night by the troopies who had found him. When these soldiers went on patrol they handed their wards into the care of other soldiers. For two weeks Nicholas and the old man were comfortable and both gained weight. Then, out of the blue, there was the sharp crack of a rifle shot in the camp. The small contingent of soldiers and helicopter crews in base rushed to investigate and were horrified to find Nicholas lying dead from a bullet through his brain. A vehicle was racing away westward and the INTAF man, who came to shoot Nicholas for being ‘illegally imported into the country without veterinary inspection and compulsory quarantine’, was lucky to get away with his life. Had the RLI soldiers who gave chase in a lumbering Army truck caught up with this guy, there can be no doubt that theywould have killed him, so great was their anger.

The helicopter pilot who told me this sad story was the one who intercepted the INTAF man, possibly a District Officer acting on instructions from the District Commissioner, and flew him to safety. This he did to protect RLI soldiers from committing murder, certainly not out of pity for the detestable INTAF man. An attempt to console the old man and find a replacement blue-grey donkey failed when, just a few days later, he died broken-hearted. Internal Affairs’ reputation, already poor amongst operational soldiers and airmen, worsened.

For me, this story highlighted the very best and worst of the human spirit but it also raises another issue that you, the reader, can judge for yourself. I recorded what you have just read in about 1985. Now in 2001, following publication of Beryl Salt’s book—A Pride of Eagles—I read Ian Harvey’s account of an airlift of hundreds of civilians from Macombe in Mozambique to higher ground near the Musengezi Mission in Rhodesia. This move of people was at the request of the Portuguese to save them from the rising waters of the Cabora Bassa dam. This is part of what Ian told Beryl Salt:

I prefer the first story and like the name Nicholas better than Reggie, but I am left wondering if Ian Harvey’s account is the correct one or if there were two old men with special donkeys. Seems unlikely!

Beit Bridge rail link

THE SERIOUS DEVELOPMENTS IN THE northeast confirmed our worst fears that the Portuguese would not contain FRELIMO. It also brought into question just how long our roads, railways and oil pipelines linking us to the port at Beira would remain secure. Similar concerns were developing for the future security of Rhodesia’s other rail lines to the coast. These ran to Lourenço Marques, the capital of Mozambique, and to South Africa via Botswana. Botswana showed no sign of outright hostility to Rhodesia, but it was clear that Seretse Khama’s black government could be forced by African governments to turn the screws on us.

Ian Smith knew that only a direct rail link with South Africa via Beit Bridge would overcome future political crises; to which end planning for a new line from Rutenga to the Limpopo, to link into the South African rail system at Messina, was stepped up. This 147-kilometre line was eventually built in just three months instead of twelve months as originally planned.

Commencement of Operation Hurricane

BY DECEMBER 1972, REX NHONGO’S ZANLA group had been in the St Albert’s Mission area for over seven months, politicising the locals, taking out recruits for training and building up war supplies. His group was based exactly where 4 Squadron had reported its presence in late July. Undisturbed, Rex Nhongo (his chimurenga pseudonym) and his men had lived in relative luxury, sometimes in caves, enjoying all the free food, beer and women, provided for ‘the boys in the bush’ by willing locals.

By now Rex was ready for offensive operations that he planned to launch between Christmas and New Year when he guessed many servicemen would be on leave. ZANLA groups to his east were supposed to open their offensive at the sametime. But news from the eastern groups was bad, so Rex decided to strike immediately with a view to drawing Rhodesian forces away from stressed comrades.

On the night of 21 December he attacked the farmstead at Altena Farm, which was to the west of his base area. Though this attack occurred earlier than intended, it fitted with Rex’s fundamental plans. A list of farmers who were unpopular with their labourers had been drawn up as primary targets. Popular farmers were also identified so that they might be left alone, at least for the time being.

His plan was to attack Marc de Borchgrave’s Altena Farm then stand off to see how the security forces would react. There was no special planning for the attack itself. During the approach to the homestead, the telephone line was cut and a landmine was laid in the roadway. A close-in recce of the house was made before Nhongo and his men stood back and emptied two magazines apiece from their AK-47 assault rifles through windows and doors. The group then ran off into the night, whereupon Rex found himself separated and alone.

In the de Borchgrave home the children were sobbing with fear and Marc was perplexed by his family’s isolation with no telephone or any other means to alert police and neighbours. His one little girl of seven was hurt but fortunately not too seriously. Fearing there might be another attack or that an ambush had been laid for his vehicle, Marc waited with his family for some time before setting off across country on foot to get help. The possibility of a landmine in the roadway had not crossed his mind.

Seeing military activity developing around him at first light Rex Nhongo, having first hidden his outer set of clothing, weapon and other paraphernalia, commandeered a bicycle from a youth. He was stopped by police and questioned. He claimed he had neither seen any armed men nor heard any firing. Presenting his situpa (identification document) that gave his name as Solomon Mutuswa, he was allowed to go on his way.

Many, many terrorists were to escape capture in this manner. From the earliest days of Op Hurricane, which was established the morning after Altena Farm was attacked, terrorists wore more than one set of clothing for two basic reasons. Firstly, an armed guerrilla is better off without telltale rucksacks to carry changes of clothing and, secondly, identity of dress could be switched by exchanging inner with outer clothing or simply removing and hiding the outer clothing. Pseudonyms were discarded for real names and authentic situpas were presented.

The de Borchgrave family moved in with friends whilst Altena Farm was thoroughly checked over. They were unlucky enough still to be at Whistlefield Farm when another of Rex Nhongo’s groups attacked it two nights later. Rex told me eight years later that this attack had also been made to study security-force reactions.

On this occasion, Marc de Borchgrave and another of his daughters were injured, but again not too seriously. Unfortunately, however, Corporal N. Moore of the RLI died when the Army vehicle in which he was travelling to Whistlefield Farm detonated a landmine on the approach road to the farmstead. This occurred in spite of the fact that, during the follow-up at Altena Farm, the landmine planted by Rex Nhongo had been found and lifted.

At this time the SAS had been withdrawn from operations over the border in Mozambique to assist JOC Hurricane, which based itself at the Centenary Airfield. Rex Nhongo’s plans to draw forces from the east had worked, just as he hoped.

SAS trackers accompanying the RLI on the Whistlefield call-out were lucky because they had climbed off the truck to commence a search for tracks just before the vehicle hit the landmine. These same trackers, now angered by the mine incident, picked up the trail of the terrorist group and started after them. They tracked all day until darkness fell. Unknown to them, they slept very close to where the terrorists had stopped to rest. They only found this out when they came upon ZANLA’s campfire soon after tracking recommenced at dawn.

Major Brian Robinson, who had recently taken command of the SAS, was at Centenary. He decided to deploy another SAS callsign by helicopter as a cut-off force ahead of the tracker group. The position he chose was spot-on and resulted in the death of three terrorists and the capture of two others in the first military contact of Op Hurricane. The RLI were especially pleased by this success against the group that had laid the mine that killed one of their men and injured others.

Countering landmines

EVEN BEFORE THE COMMENCEMENT OF Op Hurricane, landmines had become a serious menace, playing havoc with vehicles and causing serious injuries and loss of life. On 27 April 1971 Lance Corporal Moorcroft and Trooper Meyer were killed in a single mining incident. Two months prior to Op Hurricane, Sergeant Hill died in another landmine detonation.

Efforts to counter the threat were redoubled and many satisfactory though crude solutions were found. First efforts revolved around correct sandbagging of floors and filling tyres with measured quantities of water. Within eighteen months hideous-looking vehicles started making their appearance and, insofar as military vehicles were concerned, landmines ceased to be the dangerous weapon of early times. Rhodesia and South Africa worked together to become world leaders in countermine warfare. This was achieved with specially designed mine—defecting modules affixed to standard truck and Land Rover chassis.

Loss of life and injuries to military and paramilitary personnel was almost completely eliminated and most vehicles that struck landmines could be returned to service at relatively low cost. When death or injury did occur, it was usually through failure of passengers to observe correct seating and securing procedures. Hapless civilians were not so fortunate; hundreds were killed or severely maimed when unprotected buses and cars detonated mines that had been laid without concern for civilian traffic.

There was always a worry that airfields would be mined because there was no way of protecting aircraft from catastrophe if one detonated a mine. Why the terrorists did not capitalise on this one cannot say, yet I only recall two landmines laid for aircraft. One was planted in the aircraft parking area of a remote airfield but was detected and lifted. The other occurred on 19 February 1979 when Byrne Gardener, an Internal Affairs pilot, died when his aircraft activated a land mine on the Mrewa Airfield.

Because landmines planted by well-trained individuals are impossible to detect visually, many electronic devices were developed as substitutes to the slow and laborious ground prodding method. One electronic system was borne by a vehicle known as the ‘Pookie’ (nickname for a Night ape). Its purpose was to act as lead vehicle to detect mines ahead of vehicles travelling in convoys.

The Pookie was a light vehicle based on the Volkswagen Beetle chassis, riding on four very wide, low-pressure tyres. It was fitted with a single-seat mine-proof module for the driver who monitored signals coming to him from a wide mine-sensing unit mounted crosswise to the module base. This vehicle, which looked as if it had come from outer space, could pass over a mine without detonating it. But because the detector response rate was slow, and the need to stop quickly to prevent following vehicles reaching a detected mine, Pookies could only travel at about 40 kph (25 mph). These vehicles came into Rhodesia’s bush war in small numbers and only served to give convoy protection along the highest-risk routes. In consequence, most convoys continued as before.

One such convoy was travelling along a typical TTL dirt road with gunners standing in their vehicle cabs manning machine-guns mounted on a ring affixed to a hole in the cab roof. From their elevated position they had a good vantage point from which to search for threats on roadway and surrounding bush. They passed a couple of young children who, as the lead vehicle went past, stuck their fingers in their ears and distorted their faces in obvious expectation of a big bang. The lead gunner slammed the top of the cab with his hand to signal the driver to brake hard. It only took a minute of prodding to find the landmine lying just two metres from the front right wheel. The kids had disappeared, probably disappointed, but they had given the best mine warning any soldier could hope for.

Centenary days

WHEN JOC HURRICANE WAS ESTABLISHED, I sent Rob Tasker with three pilots, four technicians, two Provosts and two Trojans to join four helicopters at Centenary Airfield. This airfield, initially with grass runway, became FAF 3 under command of Squadron Leader Peter Cooke who did such a fine job that he remained there for many months.

When operations in the northeast spread eastwards from Centenary, JOC Hurricane, the senior controlling body, moved to Bindura and the regional Sub-JOCs adopted the name of the place at which they were based. This gave rise to Sub-JOCs Centenary, Mount Darwin and Mtoko. The associated Air Force bases were FAFs 3, 4 and 5 respectively.

Back at Thornhill I had lost Gordon Wright on posting to Hunters. Rob Tasker became ‘A’ flight Commander and Bruce Collocott ‘B’ Flight Commander. Since Rob and I were the only instructors on 4 Squadron and Rob had done little time on ops, I decided that I should remain at base to complete Greg Todd’s conversion and handle general squadron matters. In particular, I needed to run Bruce Collocott through his new management responsibilities.

For a while activities in the northeast were limited to follow-up operations on increasing numbers of farm attacks, sightings and reports, but physical contacts with elusive terrorists were limited. Having secured the support of the locals, ZANLA groups were operating so much more effectively than in previous times and for very little effort they were able to tie down hundreds of security force men. 7 Squadron’s helicopters were busy all the time whilst 4 Squadron provided some top cover, made a few airstrikes and conducted casualty evacuation to rear base hospitals.

Territorial Army and Police protection teams were allocated to farmsteads whilst private companies made a financial killing setting up an inter-farm and Police radio-communication network (Agri-Alert) and erecting security barriers with flood-lights around farmsteads. The farm workers’ compounds were not protected in the same way because it was realised that to do so would bring terrorist retribution on workers’ families living in the TTLs.

Because of the demand for trackers and follow-up forces, the SAS continued to be used as infantry, which was a terrible waste of their potential. Brian Robinson pressed for his squadron to return to the role for which it was intended and trained. This was to operate in depth inside Mozambique to counter ZANLA’s freedom of movement through Tete Province. He did not have long to wait, though the SAS return to Tete came in an unexpected way.

On 8 January 1973, three white surveyors and two black assistants were ambushed in their vehicle near the Mavuradona Pass on the road to Mukumbura. Robert Bland and Dennis Sanderson were killed. They were the first whites to die at the hands of terrorists since the Viljoens were murdered at Nevada Farm in May 1966. Gerald Hawksworth and two black assistants were abducted and marched off towards Mozambique.

Under pressure from the Rhodesian Government, Portuguese approval was given for the SAS to move back into Tete, ostensibly to free Hawksworth and his two black companions. Their operations were initially limited to areas south of the Zambezi River but, having got a foot in the door, the SAS were to continue operating in Mozambique for many months to come. They failed to find the abductees who had already crossed the Zambezi because the SAS were belatedly cleared for the search.

ZANLA’s direct entries from Zambia into Rhodesia had ceased long before Op Hurricane started, so it came as a shock when Ian Smith closed the border with Zambia on 9 January. He blamed Zambia for allowing ZANLA and ZIPRA free access across the Zambezi to attack white farmers and to abduct civilians. South Africa and Mozambique had received no warning of this unilateral action that threatened their lucrative trade with Zambia. Despite the ideological differences that existed between South Africa and Zambia, Prime Minister Vorster and President Kaunda favoured dialogue with free trade in southern Africa and a situation of détente developed between their two countries. South Africa was incensed by the situation, which if allowed to continue, would mean the loss of over 300 million rands in valued annual exports.

Ian Smith had been under pressure from South Africa for some days when he received assurance from a Zambian envoy that no terrorists would be allowed to cross the Zambian/ Rhodesian border. This gave him the excuse needed to reverse an obvious political error and the border was declared open on 3 February. Kaunda however refused to reopen it. The economic effects of this emotional decision on South Africa, Mozambique and Rhodesia were enormous; for Zambia they were disastrous. By throwing his toys out of his cot, Kaunda denied his country access to four major seaports in South Africa and Mozambique. He was therefore limited to Dar es Salaam and Luanda, the latter involving enormous distance via unreliable Zaire and war-torn Angola. Neither of these routes was efficient and the implications of Zambia’s self-imposed vulnerability introduced new factors into Rhodesian counter-terrorist thinking.

A week after Kaunda decided to keep the border closed, I was tasked to make a study of the Zambezi River from Kanyemba to Kariba, concentrating mainly on the Zambian bank. This three-day recce task was a welcome break from instruction but, apart from updating maps, nothing suspicious was located. By this time, most callsigns along the river were South African Police units who exhibited the same habits I had seen five years earlier when I was still flying helicopters. They swam naked in the Zambezi River and continued to ignore the crocodiles around them.

Deaths of Smart and Smithdorff

HAVING COMPLETED THE BORDER recce I reported to Air HQ. Whilst I was there on 21 February, Flight Lieutenant John Smart and his technician, Tinker Smithdorff, were reported overdue on a flight from Rushinga to a location to the northwest. Why Wing Commander Sandy Mutch was required to oversee a search for the missing helicopter I cannot say, but I was tasked to fly him to Rushinga and remain there to assist him.

I hardly knew John Smart who had recently joined us from the RAF. On the other hand, Tinker was well known to me. Brother to Mark Smithdorff, Tinker was quiet by nature and very popular with all who knew him. He was also an excellent technician and a good rugby player.

Whilst Sandy gathered in aircraft and tasked them for what was expected to be an easy search, I was finding out what had been happening in that area. From the Special Branch and Police I learned that a group of terrorists had been reported moving northward along the Ruya River two days previously. I asked if John Smart knew about this group, to which I received an affirmative reply; so I went to Sandy Mutch and suggested he should include the Ruya River in his search plan. He would have nothing to do with this because the Ruya did not fit in with his now finalised search plan.

I explained to Sandy that I felt certain that John had done what I would have done in his situation. I would have diverted from the direct track to run up the Ruya at low level in the hopes of catching the terrorist group in the open. There had been no urgency for John to reach his destination so a deviation of some forty kilometres would not have concerned him. Sandy still took no notice and two whole days of intensive but fruitless searching passed.

The wreckage of John’s helicopter was then located by accident. Hugh Chisnall of the Police Reserve Air Wing was on a routine flight along the border when he noticed strong sun reflections flashing off items in heavy bush in the Ruya riverbed. He knew an air search was being conducted for a missing helicopter and guessed that the flashes he had seen might have been from wreckage of that machine. His report was investigated by one of the search helicopters whose pilot immediately confirmed the reflections had been from the scattered wreckage of John’s helicopter.

Troops were flown in to secure the area before an Air Force team arrived to conduct a detailed investigation. The findings were that the helicopter had struck a tall, dead tree that John had obviously not seen (a known hazard when low-flying). Whether the impact incapacitated John or the helicopter was not clear, but some 100 metres had been traversed before the helicopter reached high bush and broke up in a long crash path. John and Tinker had been killed instantly and there was no evidence to suggest any enemy involvement.

Offensive recces

ALTHOUGH I HAD BEEN IN and out of Centenary to change over crews and receive updates on what was happening in the Op Hurricane area, I did not deploy to Centenary until March. Back at base Rob Tasker was busy with Trojan conversions and operational orientation for a new crop of youngsters fresh off PTC. These were Peter Simmonds, Chris Dickinson, Ken Newman, Cocky Benecke, Mark Aitchison and Willie Wilson.

There were limited calls on 4 Squadron in this period, so I decided to get back into Tete to see what was happening in the same area 4 Squadron had used for recce training eight months earlier. Mike Litson flew with me and we were both astounded by the changes.

SAS teams had been operating in this same region since January and had scored small successes against ZANLA. However, the area was simply too large for the limited number of foot-bound SAS callsigns to fully reconnoitre, monitor and ambush an expanding network of routes to Rhodesia.

Although in three days I could provide the basic intelligence the SAS would take more than a month of hard work to glean, Brian Robinson was dead against my continued presence over any area in which his men were operating. Since I held the SAS in high regard, I honoured Brian’s wishes, but I have to say that I never did agree with his thinking.

We knew ZANLA was making inroads into the populated areas. When a question arose as to how far their influence extended, I offered a simple way of finding out. I got most of my squadron crews and aircraft, from Thornhill and elsewhere, to meet at New Sarum. After my briefing we flew ten aircraft low-level along parallel lines set five miles apart heading due north from a start line that ran eastwards from Salisbury. We flew due north to another line running due east from Centenary to where the Mazoe River exited Rhodesia. Along this line, all aircraft headed east for fifty miles and repeated the parallel pattern heading south.

Each aircraft had a crew of two whose task it was to study the local peoples’ reaction to the presence of their aircraft. My observation over years had been that all the black folk, men, women and children, living normal lives instinctively waved at low-flying aircraft, even when they were caught stark naked. However, whenever there had been any political tension, such as occurred during the banning of ZAPU in the 1960s, nobody would look up at an aircraft, let alone wave at it.

The crews were asked to plot the point at which peoples’ responses to the aircraft changed from open friendliness to indifference. In this way we found that the terrorists were active in northern Chiweshe TTL south of Centenary, throughout that part of the Kandeya TTL lying north of the Ruya River, the northern half of Chimanda TTL and the whole of Masoso TTL. The Ngarwe and Mkota TTLs in the east appeared to be free of ZANLA influence.

In the manner we had come to expect, Internal Affairs paid no attention to our information but Special Branch men like Peter Stanton and Winston Hart took it seriously. These two men had already learned what pilots could pick up from the air using God-given Mk1 eyeballs.

Blonde-haired, softly spoken Winston Hart, like Peter Stanton, was a top-rate intelligence officer. Both of these men became key figures in future SAS and Air Force planning. As early as 1970 they were already well known but were seldom seen because they were forever on the move, and always in a hurry. Winston was particularly lucky to have been blessed with the lives of a proverbial cat but unlucky in another sense to be involved in two landmine explosions in the space of a few days at the beginning of Op Hurricane. In these incidents he was fortunate to get away with temporary deafness and severe bruising because proper mine-proofed vehicles did not exist then.

Non-offensive casualties

AN UNFORTUNATE FACT OF LIFE is that lives are lost or seriously affected by accidents. In the normal run of things they seldom draw public attention because accidents are simply regarded as risks of living. This changes the moment they involve men in uniform. In Rhodesia routine accidents continued but new situations introduced new hazards. The greatest of these came from killing devices such as rifles and explosives as well as increased vehicular movement of men.

So far as I remember, we lost more uniformed men to accidental gunshot wounds than to offensive actions. These incidents were recorded as ‘accidental discharges’, abbreviated to ‘AD’ in the daily Sitreps (Situation Reports) sent to OCC from the JOCs. Reports of deaths and injuries by ADs became so commonplace in Sitreps that the horror of these was usually lost to those who read them. But one thing was clear, ADs hardly ever occurred amongst highly trained and disciplined units. Road accidents also made too high a claim on our uniformed men and one such incident involved my cousin, Brian Ade.

Brian was the son of my Uncle Eric Smith who had died in Italy when his Spitfire struck high-tension cables. Eric’s wife, Eileen, remarried some years later and changed the surname of Eric’s son Brian and daughter June to that of her husband, Cliff Ade. Nevertheless, Brian and June Ade were still my first cousins and were special to me.

Brian was in charge of a number of TF (Territorial Force) soldiers being transported to Mukumbura on the Mozambican border in one of a convoy of Bedford trucks. The road to Mukumbura descended from the highveld into the Zambezi Valley floor via a steep, winding pass down the Mavuradona mountain range. During its descent, the vehicle on which Brian was travelling suffered total brake failure. Brian immediately realised that the steep gradient and sharp corners spelt disaster, so he ordered everyone to jump off the moving vehicle. Whereas most did so, a few men froze. Brian manhandled some over the side of the truck and was so engaged when the vehicle rolled on a sharp corner. Brian was flipped out and flew through the air in a near-vertical descent onto rocks. Unfortunately he landed on a wedge shaped rock that broke his back, confining him for life to a wheelchair.

Not content to be just another paraplegic number, Brian coached hockey and learned to drive a car with tailor-made accelerator and brake hand-controls. He often used to go off into the bush to photograph wildlife. Using his photographs, Brian eked out a living as a painter of wildlife. On one occasion he had left the road and was taking photographs of a baobab tree when he found himself surrounded by armed terrorists. Not wishing to let the CTs know he was incapable of normal movement, Brian quietly countered threats by launching into a lecture on the finer points of the giant baobab. Quite why they enjoyed Brian’s talk I do not know, but they moved on and let him be.

The Peter Simmonds incident

ALTHOUGH THERE HAD BEEN MANY occasions in which enemy fire had been directed at aircraft, there had been no serious damage or injuries. On 4 July 1973 this changed for Air Lieutenant Peter Simmonds. He was piloting a Provost on a sortie giving support to an RAR tracker-combat team inside Mozambique. Along for the ride was his technician Mike Guy.

Army Lieutenant Mike Wilson had followed a group of terrorists across the border into Mozambique but the depth of his penetration was such that he had moved beyond the coverage given by his maps. Although there was need to know Mike’s location, his major back at base in Mukumbura had been reluctant to use air, as this would arouse the terrorists to the follow-up operation. After four days however, Peter Simmonds was asked to find the RAR callsign and drop a supply of maps and radio batteries to him. Neither Mike Wilson nor Pete Simmonds were to know that the callsign was within 100 metres of the terrorists as Peter descended for a slow low pass over the ground force. As he and Mike Guy threw out the stores, there were two loud bangs that Pete thought had come from his engine. He immediately applied full power and was relieved that the engine responded normally.

It was only as Pete gained height and closed the canopy that Mike Guy pointed to Peter’s legs. Considering a bullet had shattered his left femur and gouged a hole in his right leg, it is surprising that Peter had not felt the strike and that there was no pain whatsoever. Realising he was bleeding heavily and might lose consciousness, Pete asked Mike Guy to handle the aircraft whilst he stuck his fingers into the holes in his left leg to stem the blood flow for the twenty-minute flight to Mukumbura.

Unlike most aircraft, the Provost’s rudders pedals had leather toe straps that, together with hand-operated wheel brakes, were a godsend to Peter in this predicament. His left leg was quite useless to him but his right leg could still push to apply right rudder and pull on the toe strap to apply left rudder. Having thought things through before landing, Peter was able to put the aircraft down safely before executing a deliberate ground loop with full braking when the aircraft had slowed to a safe speed.

The agony he was to endure over the next six months first came to him as he was extracted from the Provost cockpit. The pain that comes with a shattered femur and a useless dangling leg moving in uncontrolled directions is impossible to describe and one never to be forgotten by Pete Simmonds. It was a pitch-black night with no horizon but Peter Woolcock flew Pete Simmons to Centenary in an Alouette. Alf Wild then took him on to New Sarum in a Trojan and the Station Sick Quarters ambulance completed this ‘impossibly painful’ casevac to Andrew Fleming Hospital.

Flight Sergeant Benji

THE GRASS STRIP AT CENTENARY had become very worn and dusty from high-volume traffic when it was decided to lay down a tarmac runway, so all personnel and aircraft moved to an airstrip on Eureka Farm, just a short distance away. The tented camp at Eureka suffered terribly from dust stirred up by every helicopter and fixed-wing movement. Whenever the wind blew from the flight lines to the camp, it brought dust that penetrated bedding, clothing, radios and kitchen; not that this dampened the spirits of the men.

An over-supply of camp toilet seats, nicknamed ‘thunder boxes’, provided an answer to the shortage of seats for a pub the technician constructed from scrounged materials. Elevated to barstool height, they gave the option of hollow or solid seating at the bar counter of ‘The Thunderbox Inn’.

One of the Eureka Farm dogs, a scruffy terrier named Benji, took to the Air Force in a big way. Benji was returned to his owner many times but he simply ran back to the camp. He was always in evidence lying on anything that was elevated, such as the sandbag walls around the camp. When the Centenary Airfield tarmac runway was completed and the Air Force returned to comfortable accommodation, Benji followed. The farmer felt there was no point in returning Benji to the farm every day and was happy to pass the scruffy little mutt into Air Force care.

Benji stayed with Air Force for years. In October 1973 he was inducted into the force with the rank of corporal. Later he was posted to FAF 4 at Mount Darwin. Having risen to the rank of flight sergeant Benji disgraced himself by peeing on the Camp Commandant’s cap and was demoted back to sergeant. When he regained his rank for outstanding service and devotion to duty, Benji was posted to FAF 7 (Buffalo Range) in mid-1978 where he continued service to the end of the war. When FAF 7 closed at the cessation of hostilities, Benji was taken by car to New Sarum but, probably sensing the changing times, he died before reaching his new home.

Another Aloe Festival

AT THE END OF JUNE 1973, No 4 Squadron was given clearance to withdraw most aircraft and crews from operations to participate in Umtali’s annual Aloe Festival. It was wonderful to have the majority of our squadron together for the first time in eighteen months and to sense the spirit and esprit de corps that existed throughout the ranks. The technicians were an incredible bunch of men whose wide-ranging characters and talents too often manifested themselves in impish acts.

The officers and wives stayed at the Wise Owl Motel whilst the technicians all booked into the Flamboyant Hotel. This was not a case of rank separation but was the consequence of insufficient accommodation for everyone at either location.

At a civic function on the first night, I presented the mayor with a 4 Squadron plaque that, between deployments, I had personally crafted for the Umtali City Council.

Just after sunrise on the day of the flypast and Aloe Ball, I received a visitation from the Police who reported that a whole bunch of my technicians had been seen running down Main Street totally naked save for Air Force caps, black socks and shoes. Few people were around at the time and none of the surprised onlookers had lodged a complaint. The Police had gone directly to the hotel only to find every tech ‘fast asleep’. Of course everyone who was questioned knew nothing about a mass streak and since no complaints had been received, no charges were laid; but the Police felt I should know of the incident to avoid trouble in the future.

Having been warned to behave themselves at the Aloe Ball, all squadron members were on their best behaviour. I crowned the Aloe Queen, everyone enjoyed a great meal and good music had brought most people onto the dance floor when Henry Jarvie started an impromptu act that stopped everyone in their tracks. I knew Henry would be the instigator of something unusual because of his naughty nature, but I had no need to worry about him being crude or destructive.

The band was playing ‘Hey Girl’ when Henry climbed onto the stage with a pint of beer in his hand. He placed the beer on a stool at one end of the stage and, moving his lanky body to the rhythm of the music, proceeded across stage sliding off his jacket, which he then twirled above his head on one finger. At stage end he placed the jacket neatly on the floor and, mincing to the music, returned slowly to his beer. He took a great swig, turned about and repeating the first act, this time removing his wristwatch, again twirling it over his head before placing it on the jacket. The band clicked with Henry from the outset and just kept repeating the very catchy theme of ‘Hey Girl’. All eyes remained on Henry as he made pass after pass, never once using the same style of dance and always removing one item of clothing. It took two passes just to remove cuff links. Ripples of laughter passed through the crowd who loved Henry’s facial expressions and lanky body movement, everyone wondering just how far he would go. I knew he would not push the limits.

Following the removal of his shirt with Superman poses to show off scrawny muscles, Henry was left with slacks and socks. The removal of the second sock gave Henry opportunity to demonstrate his sleight of hand by giving the distinct impression of filling the sock with beer and straining it into his mouth as he crossed the stage to lift his clothing and disappear as women yelled, “Encore! Encore! You haven’t finished yet!”

The next day, Sunday, the squadron was invited to join the mayor and senior town counsellors for tea at Leopard Rock Hotel in the Vumba mountains. Beryl and I, together with other officers and wives, were having tea with the mayor and mayoress on the hotel lawn when Henry Jarvie appeared at the top of the hotel stairway high above us. He was resplendent in full chef’s regalia, high cap and all.

On the open palm of his left hand he held a silver salver with a serving towel perfectly draped over his forearm. Down the steps he came, stiff as a board, looking straight ahead with a fixed expression. He came directly to our table and placed the salver in front of me, bowed and turned towards hotel guests seated under umbrellas. As he moved away we spotted the full beer glass held behind his back.

The silver tray contained a note and a sandwich. The note read, “Boss PB is in need of nourishment”. The sandwich consisted of two tomato toppings between very dry crusts of butter-less bread.

Facial expressions of hotel guests to whom Henry moved showed he was up to no good. Initially they thought he was the hotel’s senior chef. At one table Henry warned that there would be a slight delay in serving lunch because all meat stocks had “gone off slightly due to refrigeration failure but a good soaking in vinegar will solve this problem”. To others he told of stale bread rolls that only needed a good soaking and re-baking to make them good and fresh. One group learned that the speciality of the day, crayfish, was giving the entire kitchen staff a major headache following their escape from the refrigerator. They had run off into flowerbeds and the fishpond but all would be rounded up soon, and lunch should be served on time.

I intercepted Henry on his return to the stairway. I thanked him for the sandwich and instructed him to eat it on my behalf. Not saying a word, he took the silver tray, bowed and climbed the stairs, beer still behind back. When he reached the balcony he placed the tray and his beer on the serving towel spread neatly on the balcony wall.

With much ceremony he broke the sandwich in two and summoned John Britton to assist him. Looking straight-faced at the distant Himalaya mountain range, he commenced eating. Next to him John Britton attempted to follow Henry’s act but, as with others who tried to emulate our squadron clown, John failed; he was just too big and clumsy next to his slim nimble friend.

As he ate, Henry’s cheeks started to fill like a monkey’s pouches. When he had the entire sandwich in his mouth with cheeks fully extended, he commenced a violent choking and sneezing act. Each time he sneezed, with right forefinger held horizontally under his nose, a small stream of bread pieces flew vertically downwards from his mouth giving the distinct impression of muck flying from his nose, which he then wiped on his sleeve in long exaggerated strokes. Few comedians could bring an audience to such fits of laughter as Henry Jarvie. The hotel guests, now realising he was no hotel chef, enjoyed the act even more than we did.

Opportunity was taken to fly the squadron from Umtali to Centenary to link up with crews who had missed out on the Aloe Festival. The purpose of gathering the whole squadron was to have a squadron photograph taken, as this might not be possible for ages to come.

Early FAC to jets

MY FIRST CALL FOR STRIKES by Hunters occurred inside Rhodesia, though much work had been done before I gained sufficient confidence to do this. Air recce inside Rhodesia was much more difficult than in Mozambique. Within the country the locals had no reason to hide from ZANLA and any stresses that existed within the population could not be detected from height; all path systems appeared quite normal.

Because terrorists were known to move position continuously and reside at night in different kraals in ones and twos, their presence within the TTLs was impossible to detect. It was only within the boundaries of white-owned farms that terrorists based up in the bush, but never for more than two nights at a time.

For years the African nationalists had complained that white farmers had the best land and the African folk had been allocated those regions with poor soil. From the air one could see that there was no truth in this allegation. The Centenary farmlands bordering the Kandeya TTL typified most boundaries between organised commercial farmland and the subsistence farming areas inhabited by tribesmen.

Except for patches of bush on hills and rocky ground, Kandeya was substantially overgrazed and all maize fields were so over-utilised that the TTL exhibited a near desert-like appearance. Across the cattle fence that separated the TTL from adjoining white-owned farms, lush bush and grass cover contrasted as chalk with cheese, even though soil types were identical. Crop rotation and the use of fertilisers made white farmlands look rich and neat. This was why fresh pathways inside these areas stood out strongly. Although I was finding temporary bases in the farming areas, which were all confirmed by co-operative ground forces, I was gaining nothing more than an idea of what a temporary base looked like. I visited a couple of these places with ground forces to see for myself.

It perplexed me to learn from Special Branch who had interrogated captured terrorists that bases I judged to be for twenty terrorists were in fact for only ten. I could not reconcile this until Special Branch established that there had also been ten women in residence to provide female comforts to ‘their boys in the bush’. The lesson was clear—divide estimates by two.

I approached JOC Hurricane with the problem of not being able find terrorists in the TTL and requested that wide-ranging surprise visits be made on villages at all times of the night. The purpose of this was to see if we could force the terrorists away from the villages and make them base up in the bush. I guessed that, if they did this, each terrorist group would tend to site itself in a position with easy access to more than one village so that the daily feeding load could be spread whilst also giving them all-round early warning of any security force activities. I also guessed that female feeding parties would create telltale paths leading from villages to bases that, together with the inevitable paths within the bases, should make detection an easy matter. This ploy worked almost immediately. I picked up a well-defined campsite in the Kandeya TTL south east of St Albert’s Mission with fresh squiggly paths running to it from four different villages.

Established paths change direction frequently but exhibit a smoother flow than fresh paths that route around the smallest of obstructions. With the passage of time and season, the sharp kinks that characterise fresh paths progressively smooth out because man, being a creature of habit, will shortcut any sharp bend once he knows the route.

Having located this camp, which I estimated to be for thirty people, meaning fifteen active terrorists, I considered how it might be tackled with a handful of troops flown in by the only two helicopters available at the time. Looking back on the lessons learned on Op Sable it was obvious that most, if not all, terrorists would escape. A large ground force closing in on the camp might have worked but it meant gathering troops from far and wide with no certainty that the terrorists would be in residence when the force closed in. I opted instead for an airstrike that would shock the locals who were providing succour and, hopefully, account for a few terrorists.

My style of reconnaissance involved continuous elliptical orbits that moved along a general line. Orbiting was essential because paths that could not be seen when viewing down sun stood out clearly when looking up-sun. At the end of one line of orbits, I would shift position by one orbit width and commence orbiting along a parallel line in the reverse direction. This was repeated until a whole block of territory, usually over 800 square kilometres, had been covered in a five-hour sortie. The sun angle played an important role in visual reconnaissance and 10:00 to 15:00 was the ideal time-block.

I was running the first line when I located the camp. The orbits were continued along the search line so as not to give anyone any indication of my having seen the base. I called Peter Cooke in the Ops Room at FAF 3 and we discussed the matter before jointly agreeing to set up a jet-strike for 16:00 when, we guessed, the terrorists would be in base awaiting their meal.

By the time I landed, Peter had submitted an Air Request for a strike by Hunters and this had been accepted by Air HQ. The Air Task sent to No 1 Squadron was copied to FAF 3 to allow us opportunity to ensure that the Hunter pilots had received the correct details.

Using a Provost, I marked the target with smoke rockets at precisely 4 o’clock and pulled up into a steep climbing turn to watch the lead Hunter’s 30mm cannon strike running right through the centre of the target. Three following Hunters, responding to my directions, patterned their 68mm Marta rocket strikes perfectly. As the Hunters cleared, I moved back over the target and saw many civilians running helter-skelter from the nearest village.

Helicopters dropped off troops who found the fresh base well laced by cannon and rocket shrapnel. Unfortunately there had been no terrorists in residence at the time. Later we established that the terrorists had been with civilians at a beer-drink in the very village from which I had seen so many people running. I had been mistaken in thinking these were all innocent civvies, thereby losing the chance of diverting the helicopters and troops onto a good opportunity target.

This, my first attempt at directing jets by airborne FAC, had worked better for the jet pilots than any one of many GAC strikes made over-border in support of SAS operations. The secret to success in first-run strikes under FAC control lay in four basic factors. These were, good timing, minimal radio chatter, excellent visual markers at target centre and control by a pilot who knew the precise location and extremities of the target and had witnessed the placement of each aircraft’s strike.

Air Staff was not put off by the absence of terrorists; rather it commented that this strike had proven that airborne FAC could provide consistent precision and allow jets to strike closer to troops and civilians than had previously been considered possible.

The face of terrorism

HAVING ESTABLISHED THEMSELVES WITH THE locals, ZANLA realised they had, at last, entered into a decisive phase which they named the ‘New Chimurenga’ war. The first Chimurenga had been the Mashona Rebellion of 1896. During that rebellion, the BSA Company executed the leading zvikiro (spirit medium), Nehanda, whose spirit lived on in successive living female persons. The current incumbent, who relayed messages from the all-important spirit of the first Chimurenga war, was Mbuya Nehanda. She advocated war as the only way of wresting power from the white government.

Mbuya (grandmother) Nehanda was a frail old woman but her guidance was considered of paramount importance to ZANU and its military wing ZANLA. To ensure her safety and to allow her total freedom to communicate with the original Nehanda, she was carried by stretcher all the way through Tete to a camp known as Chifombo on the Zambian border. From this place she gave ZANLA commanders the encouragement they needed when proceeding southbound for Rhodesia. The old zvikiro also blessed all arms of war that were paraded past her private hut.

By mid-1973 terrorism was spreading southward at an alarming rate and the names of three particular ZANLA regional leaders were on everyone’s lips. They were James Bond, Mao and Rex Nhongo. We were particularly keen to eliminate James Bond and Mao who were responsible for horrifying acts of brutality designed to put fear in the hearts of black people. They were eventually killed in 1974, whereas Rex Nhongo left Rhodesia and survived to become ZANLA’s commander at the end of the war.

Gone were the days when tracker-combat groups could relentlessly follow and destroy terrorist groups before they reached the black population. Gone too were the days when locals reported the presence of terrorists. At first some tribesmen did not understand the terrorists’ determination to fight for ‘freedom’ and ‘the vote’. So far as they were concerned, it seemed an awful waste of time and life to fight for something they could not eat, drink, smoke or poke. But when promised that they would inherit European farms, equipment and cattle, ZANLA’s objectives made a great deal more sense. Political indoctrination was not the whole reason for tribesmen failing to report the presence of terrorists; it was more to do with having become more afraid of ZANLA than the forces of government; and with good reason.

For anyone suspected of being a ‘sell-out’ (informer) to the SF, terrorist retribution was swift and cruel. Too often this gave rise to misinformation by opportunists who, having a grudge against another and knowing terrorists never bothered to check out any accusation, deliberately and wrongfully reported them as ‘sell-outs’. However, even wrongful killing of this nature fitted well enough with ZANLA’s campaign of terror.

Atrocities committed against the people, their livestock and possessions were widely reported in the media with graphic photographs of destruction, murder and maiming. Whereas the international community chose to ignore these horrors, the mindless slaughter of innocents angered urban blacks and the entire white community.

I saw the poor woman whose husband was killed in her presence before the gang leader cut off his ears, nose and fingers. The wife was then forced to cook and devour the grizzly items. No pity was shown when she retched and vomited; she was beaten until she retained even that which she had thrown up.

Another woman was flown in for medical attention. Her entire top lip had been cut away from back molars via her nose with electrician’s side-cutters.

The naked body of a young woman was found staked to the ground, arms and legs outstretched on ropes that were pegged into the ground. A blood-covered maize cob remained imbedded in her vagina as well as a thick burning pole that had been driven into her rectum to cause her an indescribably painful death in a very lonely place.

In many cases the use of burning poles driven into women’s vaginas and men’s rectums was done in the presence of villagers who witnessed such horrifying murder that they dared not report the atrocities for fear of becoming victims themselves. Whole herds of cattle were slaughtered with automatic gunfire or were hamstrung, necessitating their destruction by government agencies.

The term ‘terrorist’ was entirely justified for cowardly leaders of ZANLA gangs who wantonly brutalised hundreds of hapless civilians; yet the international community called them ‘guerrillas’. These bullies, though intent on murdering white farmers, lacked the courage to achieve the levels sought by their ZANU politicos. Night attacks on white farmers mounted but the casualties and damage caused was so much lower than might have occurred if undertaken by men of courage. ZANLA could intimidate their black brethren but not the white folk. There were many instances of a farmer and his wife fighting off the most determined of terrorist forces, usually in excess of fifteen men, because the terrorists could not match their sheer guts and determination. Yet a mere handful of terrorists could have hundreds of tribesmen cowering from the simplest of verbal threats.

In the course of moving around their farms and out on the country roads, farmers and their families needed to be prepared and armed to face the ever-present threat of landmines and ambush. Incredibly, very few farmers abandoned their farms because of these dangers. The vast majority stubbornly refused to be intimidated, as ZANLA had been assured they would. Most children attended boarding schools and were brought home to the farms for their holidays. Every effort was made to keep farming life as normal as possible and many incredible stories can be told of the community that bore the brunt of the war against whites.

One Centenary farmer received a hand-written note from the leader of a particular terrorist gang asking him not to allow his daughters to ride their horses on an adjacent farm where their safety could not be guaranteed. So long as they rode on their own farm they would be safe. It seems the farmer in question was popular with his workers whereas the farmer on the adjacent farm was not.

Amongst Christians there were stories of divine intervention. One of these emanated from a captured terrorist who explained why his especially large group abandoned their planned attack of a farmstead. He said the attack was aborted when, upon arrival at the farmstead, many armed men dressed in illuminated white clothes and riding white horses surrounded the place; yet not one horseman had been present that night.

ZANLA recruitment

TERRORIST NUMBERS INSIDE THE COUNTRY during 1973 were insufficient to spread the SF as thinly as ZANLA had hoped. ZANLA losses, particularly to its leadership, were having a greater detrimental effect than we realised. Recruits sent to Tanzania for training would only be available in late 1974, but ZANLA could not wait that long. The short-term solution was to train recruits internally.

Diverting for a moment—our verbal, written and radio terminology changed in this period to identify individuals. These were:

CT—Communist Terrorist

EFA—European Female Adult

LTT—Locally Trained Terrorist

AFJ—African Female Juvenile

AMA—African Male Adult

EFJ—European Female Juvenile

EMA—European Male Adult

AMJ—African Male Juvenile

EMJ—European Male Juvenile

AFA—African Female Adult

Willing and unwilling recruits, mainly young males, were inducted for immediate training inside the country. Given old SKS and PPSH weapons, these young men and teenagers were taught rudimentary skills preparatory to armed combat. In most cases no more than two rounds were expended in training to conserve ammunition and limit the risk of exposure by the sound of gunfire. Inevitably these LTTs gained their shooting experience in combat, providing they survived the first contact with our troops; many did not!

The real value of LTTs to the regular elements of ZANLA was their local knowledge and their ability to move amongst the people. They could also expose themselves openly amongst the RSF when unarmed to gather intelligence and provide early-warning services. But the LTTs themselves gave ZANLA leaders many headaches since most became nasty little thugs who committed murder and rape, causing a great deal of tribal chaos. Many other youths, impressed by LTT thuggery, fashioned replicas of CT weapons from wood to terrorise adults, thereby creating a general breakdown in family unity and discipline.

Along with the training of LTTs, ZANLA commenced forced recruitment of youths, male and female, for external training. This came to the country’s open attention on America’s Independence Day when, during the early evening of 4 July 1973, seventeen heavily armed CTs stormed into the usually peaceful St Albert’s Mission, causing fear and panic as they rounded up over 270 people. They stated that they were taking the secondary-level children, together with a number of adult teachers and mission staff, for military training outside the country.

Harassing and hurrying their frightened abductees, the CTs used force to accelerate the collection of food, clothing and blankets for the long walk through Mozambique to Zambia. From there they were to be transported to the Tanzanian training camps. Father Clemence Freymer bravely insisted he must go along to be with the children. He was the only white member of the group that set off that dark night for the steep descent down the escarpment. The missionaries, fearing landmines and ambush, set off on foot to raise the alarm at the nearest white farm. This could not be done by telephone because the lines had been cut and the mission had opted not to be on the Agri-Alert radio network.

At Centenary I was awakened at 02:00. It was normal practice to have two Provosts on immediate standby loaded with eight 4-inch para-illuminating flares to respond to CT attacks on farmsteads, so two of us scrambled to light up the route along which the CTs were taking the abductees.

My intimate knowledge of the route from St Albert’s Mission to the base of the escarpment near Gutsa paid off. On the basis of the time that had elapsed, approximately seven hours, it seemed that a slow-moving party should be close to the valley floor. Though the night was black, there was sufficient starlight for the people on the ground to grope their way down the steep pathway.

Commencing a run from the mission, my first 600,000-candlepower illuminating flare was released on heading and time. Below my aircraft the flare, descending slowly on its parachute, created a pool of white light that reflected strongly off the haze. This made visual contact with ground impossible. After about five minutes’ flare burnout, which was preceded by bits of burning pyrotechnic compound falling free from the flare, signalling the second aircraft to drop his first flare. By standing off to one side and flying lower than the flare, I could see ground sufficiently to see the escarpment base and positively identify a well-defined ridge down which I knew the pathway ran. For forty continuous minutes we kept this area illuminated.

Later we learned that the flares had been directly above the CTs and their abductees. Initial reaction had caused sufficient panic and confusion for a number of children and one teacher to make good their escape and return to the mission. However, aided by the flares, the CTs regained control of those remaining and, knowing SF follow-up would come at first light, they split into two groups. In retrospect we realised that we should have ceased illuminating ground after ten minutes, in which case more abductees might have escaped under cover of darkness.

Upon reaching the valley floor, ten CTs took the adults off in one direction and seven CTs took the children along their normal infiltration route running alongside the Musengezi River. An RLI follow-up resulted in contact with the latter group. However, the troops were faced with a dilemma when the CTs used the abductees as human shields and opened fire from behind them. To mask a bit of fancy soldiering aimed at wresting advantage from the CTs via their left flank, half of the troops returned heavy fire deliberately aiming high above the terrified youngsters.

The children realised what was happening when the flanking troops opened fire and most managed to escape by running straight for the RLI troops. One mortally wounded CT was screaming loudly which added to the general confusion of gunfire and movement that persisted until the six CTs had made good their escape, but without any abductees. Had the RLI not been forced to avoid hitting any child, those six CTs would not have survived.

At this point the troops and Father Clemence Freymer gathered the children together and calmed them preparatory to their helicopter flight back to the mission. But valuable time had been lost before RLI learned of the second group with the adults.

All day I searched well ahead of a slow-moving tracker group but apart from seeing fragments of an ill-defined trail in the dry conditions, I could not spot a soul. This was frustrating and, at the time, I had no way of knowing that I had been instrumental in helping another thirty-three abductees escape. Those that returned to the mission said my aircraft had been directly above them on a number of occasions during the day. Whenever the aircraft came close, everyone was ordered to take cover and remain dead still. The lucky ones had remained in cover when the CTs ordered resumption of the march. The escapees told of terrible beatings for those who were discovered in their hiding places. Thanks to relentless pressure on the CT abductors, three of their numbers were killed and all of their abductees were eventually saved. In spite of failing on this particular occasion, ZANLA continued recruiting by force.

Pseudo-terrorist beginnings

AS EARLY AS THE LATE 1960s the Army Commander, Major-General Keith Coster, had given his support to ideas generated by Assistant Commissioner ‘Oppie’ Oppenheim of the BSAP. This was to develop pseudo-terrorist teams (not to be confused with SB plants into terrorist organisations). Selected Army, Police and SB personnel involved themselves in extensive trials but the exercise was shelved following incorrect assumptions and because their anti-terrorist plans did not suit the times. By 1973, however, changes in CT modus operandi suited pseudo-terrorist operations perfectly.

The only good to have come out of the early pseudo-terrorist trials was the development of the Tracker-Combat team concept. The first commander of the Territorial Army’s Tracker-Combat School was Lieutenant Alan Savory, a politician, noted ecologist and master in bushcraft. Later his school was expanded to train regular Army personnel including the SAS and RAR, hence their availability as early as Op Nickel. African game-trackers were still being used extensively by the RLI during Op Cauldron.

Arising from his experiences in Malaya, Colonel John Hickman favoured pseudo-terrorist operations but his ideas differed from existing plans to draw all pseudo operators from SF personnel. John believed in ‘turning’ captured terrorists and inducting them into service under direction of regular personnel trained in pseudo ops. At that time, however, it was considered that all captured terrorists should be hanged, or at least receive life sentences. Any thought of integrating them with the regular Army was rejected out of hand. So John Hickman had to wait until he became the Brigadier Commanding JOC Hurricane before he could implement his own theory; and this turned out to be very successful.

John had the reputation of possessing the finest military brain in the Rhodesian Army and his flexibility and tactical thinking adapted quickly to every change in enemy strategy and tactics. I had witnessed his flexible approach during Op Excess when he persuaded Major Rob Southey to let me try my hand at moving Dumpy Pearce forward on an old trail.

Realising the time was right to put his pseudo ops theories into practice, the brigadier set up a secret ‘safe house’ from which his first small pseudo team prepared to emulate ZANLA gangs. The intention was to pose as ZANLA to gain the necessary intelligence that would facilitate destruction of whole ZANLA groups by regular forces. First to be co-opted were two SAS master trackers who also spoke Shona fluently. They were Sergeants André Rabie and ‘Stretch’ Franklin. From the RLI the brigadier brought in Sergeant Peter Clementshaw and from RAR he selected three African soldiers. To this group was added a captured ZANLA terrorist who had been ‘turned’.

By nature the African people of Rhodesia were gentle folk until subjected to the lies, false promises and other propaganda output of power-seeking individuals, who themselves had been duped by communists. The term ‘turned’ simply meant that an individual terrorist had been returned back to his original state and would willingly serve the Rhodesian cause.

Prior to deploying as pseudo CTs, the group was briefed in detail by Peter Stanton on the all-important ‘does and don’ts’ in their contacts with the African population. ZANLA, acting on the advice of their Chinese instructors, had adopted procedures by which the locals could recognise authentic ZANLA personnel or spot aliens purporting to be ZANLA ‘comrades’. In early times ZANLA told the people what their men would eat and what would be left uneaten to prove their authenticity. Peter Stanton made sure he was always up to date with the latest feeding details by making this his first priority when interrogating captured terrorists. Other SB interrogators did likewise, though they were unaware of the reasons Peter kept pressing for such apparently mundane information.

Right from the start the locals were easily misled by the white pseudo operators who came to them in the black of night with blackened faces and arms. But it was worrying to be welcomed with open arms with not a word of their presence ever passing to the authorities.

Sadly, André Rabie was accidentally killed when the RLI, responding to André’s call to action, misidentified him as a terrorist. On close inspection of the body the RLI were greatly distressed when they realised that they had killed a white man and even more so when they recognised André. Somehow André had passed an incorrect grid reference that led to the tragedy. Nevertheless sufficient success and experience had been gained to satisfy Brigadier Hickman that there was need to expand pseudo operations.

By October 1973 ground intelligence had virtually dried up; most available information was of an historic nature and of little use for military planning. The need to extend pseudo operations to generate up-to-the-minute information on the actual location of terrorist groups had been left rather too late and this brought the Army Commander directly into the picture. Major-General Peter Walls recalled Major Ron Reid-Daly from his leave pending retirement from the Army. The General invited Ron to remain in service to form and command a new regiment that would prepare for and conduct pseudo operations. The unit was to be named ‘Selous Scouts’.

The nature of the new regiment’s task was camouflaged by making it appear to be a specialised tracking establishment. For ages very few people knew of the Selous Scouts’ real purpose. This was to develop and control many teams of pseudo-terrorist operators whose job it was to infiltrate ZANLA and ZIPRA with a view to eliminating terrorist groups and breaking up their organised structures. Ron Reid-Daly succeeded in creating his regiment in spite of untold obstacles that were placed in his way. His problems were almost entirely due to the fact that the Army HQ officers from whom he sought co-operation were totally in the dark on Ron’s ‘real’ task.

When eventually he moved his ever-growing Selous Scouts’ operational forces to their newly built battalion headquarters at Inkomo, Ron named it ‘André Rabie Barracks’ in memory of a fine soldier who had been the first of many pseudo operators to die in action.

Night-strike trials

ARMY HQ, RESPONDING TO CALLS from officers in the field, asked the Air Force to look into the possibilities of providing ground forces fire support at night by helicopters and Provosts. Air HQ expressed reservations but tasked me to conduct night trials for GAC strikes with guns and rockets. Using Provost 3605, the only aircraft fitted with four .303 machine-guns, I flew the trial, accompanied by Major Mike Shute of the School of Infantry.

Bright ground flares were used by an Army GAC callsign to mark FLOT. A level pass was made to see if the ground was visible. It seemed fine so I decided to try a live attack with a very early pullout. At the commencement of the dive from 1,500 feet I could see the ground around the flares, but as soon as I opened fire, tracer rounds streaming from both wings towards ground burned so brightly that only the ground flares remained visible. I pulled out at what I judged to be more than 500 feet above ground. However, the Kutanga Range Safety Officer gave me a low warning saying that I had cleared the ground by no more than a few feet.

On the second attack I was certain that I had pulled out much earlier than the first time only to be told that I had been so low that my navigation lights had disappeared from view in a shallow depression beyond the FLOT flares. I thought the RSO was having me on until the Army officer conducting the GAC confirmed how close we had come to death. There was no question of continuing this dangerous trial so I headed for base, much to Mike Shute’s relief. My report to Air HQ advised against any night attack involving a dive profile as this would certainly result in disaster. Nevertheless, Army pushed for further trials, this time using Canberras in level flight.

Army field officers suggested that two or more machine-guns firing tracer rounds from different directions at the centre of a target should give a bomb-aimer a perfect aiming point. Again there was scepticism but the concept had to be tried. I was involved again, this time to assess the visible effects of marking with tracer before committing a Canberra to the test. Flying at height I watched two guns firing with a convergence angle of little more than fifteen degrees. The crossover point was clear-cut and would be easy for the Canberra bomb-aimer to see. However, a Canberra’s bombing run is very long when measured against the time machine-guns could provide continuous fire. There was a need, therefore, for many very short bursts to be fired simultaneously to ensure Canberra line-up, and a long burst for final aiming. So we put this to the test.

Repeatedly the Canberra ran in, but the gunners on the ground could not synchronise their firing during run-up, and both ran out of ammunition at the critical moment on each of a number of runs. It was obvious that, since this system could not be made to work in clinical conditions at Kutanga Range, there was no point in expecting better results in the field. In time to come an altogether better solution was found, as will be revealed later.

Pre-selection of Air Force commanders

FLIGHT LIEUTENANT MICK MCLAREN HAD been my first flying instructor in 1957 and I had served under him in 1969- 1970 when he was Chairman of the Joint Planning Staff in the rank of group captain. His meteoric rise brought him to be the Commander of the Rhodesian Air Force in 1973 in the rank air marshal.

There were no doubts in the minds of most officers that Mick was the right man for the job because he had proved himself in every way. However, the discontent of one or two superseded senior officers reached political ears. For reasons I do not know, the politicians decreed that no such accelerated promotion should occur in the future and that Air HQ must pre-select officers to be groomed for the top Air Force post.

Frank Mussell was the obvious man to succeed Mick McLaren when he retired in 1977. For the term commencing 1981, Keith Corrans and Tol Janeke were earmarked as running mates and were immediately promoted to wing commander. This politically induced situation proved to be a bad move because it had forced Air HQ to pre-judge individual standings eight years ahead of time, and this had the effect of limiting the prospects of many officers who might have aspired to positions that now seemed blocked. Keith and Tol were both fine men but we could not understand how either one of them could have been selected ahead of Norman Walsh. Anyway, this early selection failed because Keith and Tol both took early retirement and Norman became Commander in 1981 in circumstances that couldn’t have been foreseen in 1973.

Night ops diffculties

MY EXPERIENCE ON HELICOPTERS HAD highlighted the dangers of flying on dark nights. This was largely due to the helicopter’s inherent instability, but following Guy Munton-Jackson’s death, helicopter pilots were forbidden to fly unless there was a clearly defined horizon. For slow fixed-wing pilots who continued to operate at night in all conditions, save for low cloud and storms at destination airfields, dark nights presented very real difficulties.

Most readers will have flown many hours in airliners and may wonder what is so difficult about flying at night. Many scheduled departures and arrivals occur at night in marginal weather conditions, so where are the problems? Well, it is all a matter of instrumentation, flying aids, navigational aids and a second pilot to monitor and assist his captain at every stage of flight. These are all routinely available in all airliners that operate in and out of fully equipped airports having qualified air-traffic and radar controllers.

Although we were equipped with standard flight instrumentation, it was necessary to physically control an aircraft every second it was airborne. There were no such luxuries as autopilot, a second pilot, aids to pinpoint one’s position or to guide one in for a safe landing. The airfields into which we operated had no let-down aids of any description. Very often, when cloud cover necessitated flying above minimum safe altitude to clear all high ground, our best assistance came from men on the ground saying something like, “We can hear you to our northeast.”

Once guided to approximately overhead it was a matter of entering into a gentle descending turn hoping to break cloud close to the airfield before reaching minimum safety height. Over flat sections of the Zambezi Valley this was not too bad, but in mountainous terrain immense tensions built up in one’s mind and body before breaking out below cloud and seeing one’s destination.

With no aids to assist navigation and let-down in remote areas I, like most pilots, often wondered how I could have let myself in for such a hazardous occupation. On these occasions I longed for the safety of jet flying which always brought one back to a major airfield with all aids, including radar. But, being stuck with the problem, one had to work at remaining calm and reminding oneself that Air Force training had been geared to cater for these frightening situations.

Even when the destination airfield, other than Air Force FAFs, had been located, danger existed because pilots were forced to rely on soldiers, policemen and civilians to mark the runway. I will say more about this subject later.

Flying Provosts was always less trying that flying Trojans in identical situations. The Provost felt sturdy, it had ample power to cater for the unexpected and responded well to throttle and flight controls. Wearing a parachute also gave some comfort if everything went pear-shaped. On the other hand, the Trojan could be a real bitch, particularly when laden and there was no alternative but to stay with the beast, no matter what happened.

Trojan characteristics

THANKS TO SUPERB TECHNICIANS AND the excellent training given to its pilots, the Trojan did a marvellous job despite its limitations. All the same, this aircraft’s unusual characteristics often took one by surprise by day as well as night.

I was returning from one recce sortie in Mozambique low on fuel when I encountered a solid line of cumulonimbus running the length of the escarpment. There was no way around the storm line, which was putting on a spectacular display of near-continuous lightning strikes. My destination was Centenary and it was already too dark to go into Mukumbura or Musengezi, so I selected a section between two huge cumulonimbus columns that appeared to offer the safest passage through the storm line.

With lights set to maximum brightness and having transferred attention to instruments, the cloud was entered with stopwatch running at an indicated height of 6,500 feet above sea level. Instantly smooth, straight and level flight changed as unseen forces within the storm cloud took hold of the Trojan and lifted it as if it was feather-light. Inside the aircraft the sensations, sounds and instrument indications were terrifying.

With all my strength I worked to keep wings level, paying scant attention to the varying pitch attitude as the airspeed indicator fluctuated rapidly between stalling speed and somewhere beyond VNE. The Vertical Speed Indicator was against its upper stop and the whole airframe shuddered and shook so violently that I thought it might break up. One minute and ten seconds after entering cloud, which felt like an eternity, the aircraft was spewed out of the storm into clear, calm air at 11,500 feet above sea level. Stretched out ahead was a fairyland of security lights burning brightly from Centenary’s farmsteads.

5,000 feet gained in such a short time was one thing; unstoppable descents towards the ground with full power applied was quite another. There were times when it seemed such descents must end in disaster. On one particular occasion I was flying along a narrow valley in the Shamva area with the high ground right and left a little below the level of flight. The aircraft started to descend rapidly under the influence of a strong crosswind flow so I applied full power and was in a normal climbing attitude, but the aircraft continued descending into the valley.

I was not concerned about going all the way to ground because it was obvious that wind flow must level off before this occurred. My concern was for the ridge at the end of the blind valley that was too narrow to allow turn-about. The aircraft levelled out at about fifty feet as expected and remained there until lifted upwards so fast that it had risen above the high ground well before valley’s end.

The Trojan’s response to local windflow and thermal activity could have it descending like a streamlined brick or climbing like a homesick angel. For me the Trojan’s sensitivity to air currents was especially annoying when I first started visual recce. It took some time to get used to trimming the aircraft and allowing it to float up and down without fighting to hold a fixed height. Somehow the downs seemed to equal the ups as the aircraft yow-yowed about the intended recce height.

SAS ops in Tete

UP UNTIL AUGUST 1973, SAS operations in Tete had not achieved what Brian Robinson had hoped for. Patrols succeeded in locating groups of ZANLA moving through the area but infantry reaction to SAS hot intelligence had been agonisingly slow and poor for a variety of reasons. The greatest of these was the pitifully small lift-capacity of only two helicopters operating from the co-located SAS and RAR Tactical HQs on the border at Musengezi Mission. Other helicopters were always tied up elsewhere on internal operations.

Parachute deployment of the infantry by Dakotas was an obvious solution but at the time there were no paratroopers besides the SAS. This was because the Air Force had only sufficient parachutes for the SAS and the Air Force Parachute Training School was short of PJIs (Parachute Jump Instructors). So, although planning and provisioning was underway to make all regular soldiers paratroopers, we were stuck with what was available.

When the SAS located CT groups, the two Alouettes had to make a number of round trips to position sufficient troops ahead of the assessed line of CT movement. This in itself involved a lot of time. But a greater limitation came from the noise of helicopters that carried for miles in the flat Zambezi Valley. CTs, having travelled through the silence of bush for many days, could hear helicopters flying as much as thirty kilometres away, which accounted for major deviations in their headings that invariably bypassed the awaiting troops.

The SAS had been entirely successful in their classical role of finding the enemy for the infantry. However, repeated failures by the RAR to capitalise on the good work of his men made Brian Robinson reconsider the SAS role. He concluded that SAS callsigns must continue in their classical role but take on the ZANLA groups themselves.

In essence, Brian advocated a ‘seek-and-find then shoot-and-scoot’ style of operation. To be effective in mobile reconnaissance as well as in static surveillance necessitated the use of small patrols. This meant that, when they came upon large groups that had previously been passed on to the RAR, they would not be able to engage the enemy in typical infantry fashion. Relying entirely on surprise, they would have to act rapidly to inflict maximum casualties and get the hell away as fast as possible. Such hit-and-run operations would obviously be dangerous and immediate air support had to be discounted. Nevertheless, Brian pushed for this new approach because he had supreme confidence in his men. They had all been painstakingly selected from the best volunteers and were trained to the highest degree possible. But he also realised that, if there was to be any hope of turning the ZANLA tide, it was essential that the SAS should operate in depth north of the Zambezi River with regular infantry covering the ground south of the river. For this he had to have at least two helicopters and two Provosts permanently available on immediate readiness at his Tac HQ.

For this new role, there were three essential changes to be made. Firstly, an SAS Tactical HQ would have to base permanently inside Mozambique next to a runway that could support Provosts and laden Dakotas. Secondly, patrols would have to operate in groups of only four men (known as a stick); a limitation imposed by the lift capacity of an Alouette III carrying a machine-gun and gunner. Finally, SAS sticks would have to operate six weeks in the field with only ten days’ leave between deployments.

In September 1973 Brian got his way and an SAS Tac HQ was established next to a scruffy little airstrip at Macombe. Macombe was a Portuguese aldeamento on the south bank of the Zambezi River lying midway between the north-flowing rivers Angwa and Musengezi. Two Provosts and two Alouettes positioned forward from Musengezi Mission to Macombe on a daytime-only basis, as SAS could not guarantee their safety at night.

From the outset the SAS was entirely successful in this new style of operation but the RAR deployment to Macombe was withheld for months. So any advantages given by the natural Zambezi River obstacle and the disruptive effects of the SAS operations to its north were largely lost. Nevertheless SAS disruption of ZANLA’s supply lines greatly assisted in relieving internal stresses.

I visited Brian at Macombe when he first moved there and passed him all the information I had gained from my recce work north of the Zambezi. Again I suggested to him that I should continue visual recce to continuously update the information and provide him with a daytime radio link to his troops. Brian would not entertain the idea. He continued to insist that, except in emergency, the SAS areas of operation should be free of any air activity. Contrary to Brian Robinson’s thinking, mine was that aircraft on visual reconnaissance should be a permanent feature over the entire Tete region, both within and beyond the SAS areas of operations. I contended that it was essential to provide the SAS with fresh intelligence upon which to plan, thereby saving lengthy ground recces to find the best sites to monitor, ambush or attack.

Over months to come I would build up information on civilian locations, routes and terrorist camps covering large areas beyond those in which the SAS were active. When SAS operations switched to areas I had covered, as much as six weeks previously, Brian reported that my information, though correct, was out of date. Not surprisingly the men on the ground ignored much of the air recce intelligence that had been so painstakingly put together. But one thing they helped clarify was that I had been accurate in my assessment of terrorist bases, as opposed to civilian camps. What had helped me distinguish between these sites, which looked much the same from height, were female toilet paths leading out of civilian locations.

I was so frustrated by Brian Robinson’s attitude that I opted for air-controlled strikes on fresh terrorist bases. The Air Force never expected the successes that could be achieved by a pure SAS ground attack or those involving air strikes in conjunction with the SAS. Nevertheless, we knew that FAC strikes would demoralise and disrupt FRELIMO and ZANLA in areas unattended by SAS. In too many respects our Air Force had been forced to act independently in like manner to the Portuguese, which we had criticised so strongly—but there were advantages to be gained. I continued recces north of the Zambezi, always keeping well clear of the SAS and taking time before calling for jet-strikes. Once these got under way we developed procedures that required close understanding and co-operation. It took a few calls before FAC-controlled airstrikes became a well-honed routine.

As mentioned earlier, jet-strikes in direct support of earlier SAS operations had been very hit-and-miss affairs that improved little over time. For the men on the ground, particularly in flat terrain, there were considerable difficulties in judging the exact point of a jet-strike because bush and rough ground usually intervened between the GAC location and target. This meant that corrections had to be assessed from the sound of exploding weapons or from dust rising above the bush some seconds after each strike. FAC did not suffer these difficulties.

The cost of live strikes on terrorist bases was naturally much greater than on routine weapons training, but routine training was conducted on a range that every pilot and navigator knew intimately. Unlike calls to live targets, routine training required no hurried navigation planning or the split-second timing involved in co-ordinating fast jets with a slow-flying FAC aircraft.

Perfect timing for maximum surprise followed by slick and accurate placement of weapons were all essential ingredients considering the speed at which terrorists could run clear of their bases. The value gained by jet crews scrambling to meet FAC in remote areas for strikes on never-before-seen targets was immense, and it prepared us well for the future.

With every target’s grid reference I also gave an IP (Initial Point) and the exact time of my marker strike. The jets planned to fly directly to the IP—a clearly identifiable feature out of sight and hearing range of the target itself. Formation leaders worked out the heading and precise flight time from the IP to target so as to strike no more than three seconds behind my target markers. I too would have an IP point from which to move in orbits towards the target.

Canberras could not strike anything like as quickly as the fighter-bombers because the bomb-aimer required time to pass heading corrections to his pilot which necessitated quite a large stand-off distance at the moment of mark, so they were never used alone for FAC work against fleeting targets. In addition to the long run in, the flight time of bombs exceeded 10 seconds and shrapnel settling time limited following Canberras to long intervals between individual strikes. Consequently Hunters or Vampires usually preceded Canberras. Strikes initiated by Canberras with fighter-bombers following became commonplace in later years when the bombers made their attacks in formation. However, most early FAC work was with Hunters only—usually four of them.

When the lead pilot checked in about five minutes before reaching the IP, we would synchronise watches and confirm individual running times from IPs to target. I would be told what weapons were being carried and the sequence in which they were to be delivered. This gave opportunity to suggest how the weapons should be distributed on the line of attack, relative to my target markers.

Formation leaders normally planned to arrive at IP with as much as three minutes to spare. This was useful as it allowed me to make a slow approach onto my own IP in a series of orbits that the enemy on the ground recognised as my normal flight pattern. Even when out of sight, the sound of a piston aircraft indicates whether it is flying on a straight line or orbiting. In orbit the sound varies from highest frequency when approaching to lowest frequency when departing. For reasons of surprise, I needed to ensure that this continued right up to the moment that I turned in to fire my markers.

For Hunters covering ground at the rate of seven nautical miles per minute, or Vampires and Canberras at five nm per minute, changes in wind velocity seldom affected their timing by more than parts of a second. However, the same conditions could make an enormous difference to the slow Trojan, which is why my own IP was always relatively close to target.

Because it was important to mark bang on time I planned my final orbit line to be farthest from the jet attack line. In this way I was able to make adjustments in response to the strike leader’s calls. If I was running late I could turn in early, and if running early, turn in late. There were other important reasons to be on the side opposite to the jet attack direction.

The Trojan noise covered that of the approaching jets and its presence drew terrorist attention away from the direction of their approach. In earlier times I was seldom aware of enemy fire though I knew it was happening because of the odd hole in my aircraft; but any ground fire directed at me provided additional noise cover and a perfect distraction.

The camouflage paint on all of our aircraft was incredibly effective. This made it very difficult, even impossible, for high-flying jets to spot the FAC aircraft before reaching target. A variety of visual aids were tried. These included flashing strobe lights but only one worked reasonably well. This was a huge white ‘T’ painted on the top surface of the Trojan’s fuselage and wings. To make the ‘T’ clearly visible to the leading jet was another reason for marking towards the jets.

The Squadron Commander of Hunters in the period 1973-4 was Rob Gaunt. Flying FAC for him was quite an experience. Unlike other leaders, Rob favoured a procedure that worked well for him. He descended from the IP to run in at low level about one minute out from target. In this way he always picked up my aircraft flying at 2,000 feet before he pulled up to his ‘perch’ point, keeping me visual all the way.

As I pulled up to roll over into the dive, Rob had his nose pointing towards the target, finger on trigger. Just by watching my dive, Rob placed his gunsight pipper at the point he expected to see the marker rockets. On three occasions I recall seeing Rob’s 30mm cannon shells exploding bang on target just before my phosphorus rockets reached ground. The white markers looked puny in the centre of the large area covered by his 30mm cannon shell flashes that rippled through target at forty rounds per second. This was very spectacular but I always tensed my buttocks expecting Rob to collide with me. There was really no danger at all; his Hunter always flashed through well below me.

There was seldom need to call corrections to succeeding pilots, usually three of them, who placed their strikes to cover the target area without overlaps. When all was over, the jets returned to base and I continued recce, seldom to know what results had been achieved. Occasionally I saw individuals running during my marker attack, then nothing until the last Hunter had run through target. There were always bashas burning furiously with much black smoke and dust drifting on the wind before any human movement was observed. On occasions secondary explosions removed any doubts I might have experienced when no persons were seen.

I continued to deeply regret not being able to work in the SAS areas of operations. Had this been allowed, no airstrike would have been made without SAS verification of ZANLA or FRELIMO presence. Following an airstrike the SAS would have been able to capitalise on enemy confusion and the Air Force would have known what results had been achieved. Many months were to pass before SAS moved in immediately after every air action. In the meanwhile, the SAS created havoc on the ground using no more than twenty-four men in six sticks of four men each. It took FRELIMO some time to realise what was happening and then they themselves started employing large forces to search for the elusive SAS; a kind of terrorist war in reverse!

A pathfinder group making a free-fall parachute descent at last light from a Dakota flying high-level over unpopulated territory usually preceded deployment of the main SAS force. The four-man pathfinder group would then search for a suitable site to receive twenty men who would be flown in the following night.

At their selected DZ (drop zone) the pathfinders provided pilots with the QFE (altimeter setting for zero height at the DZ) and guided the Dakota captain by VHF radio directly towards the DZ. Flying at 500 to 800 feet above ground, the pilot was told when to switch on ‘red light’ (standby) and when to switch on ‘green light’ (go); whereupon twenty men would launch themselves into the black. The reason for such low-level drops was to minimise the possibility of paratroopers drifting beyond the DZ. With the advent of anti-collision aids for aircraft known as strobe lights, their highly visible flashes provided perfect beacons for pilots to home on. To screen a strobe light’s potent flashes, SAS set them up in such a way as to make them visible only to the para-Dakota.

By daybreak all parachutes and stores had been cached and, following a final briefing, all six sticks split up into four-man patrols and dispersed to their allocated areas. During the following six weeks the sticks operated independently, except when a target required them to rendezvous to strike in strength. Otherwise regrouping occurred at fortnightly intervals to receive night deliveries of rations and munitions from a Dakota that would, again, be controlled from the ground.

Back at Macombe, the Provosts and Alouettes remained on immediate standby. Calls for support always involved a long wait for the SAS men working a long way from Macombe. Brian Robinson often accompanied Provost pilots, not only to talk to his men directly but because he was crazy about flying. Helicopters were often called for casualty evacuation or ‘hot extraction’. Provosts usually accompanied these helicopters and were also called upon to provide close fire support to any callsign being harassed by large FRELIMO forces. Considering the vastness of the territory and the minimal effects of Provost machine-gun and 37mm Sneb rocket strikes, there was little more that one or a pair of Provost pilots could do other than provide distraction and interfering fire to give the SAS a chance to break contact.

Hot extraction by helicopters necessitated great courage by the helicopter crews who almost always came under enemy fire before, during and after snatching breathless soldiers away to safety. With little or no time to find suitable LZs, and under stress from enemy attention, many helicopters suffered minor damage to rotor blades as they sliced their way into extra-tight landing spots before struggling upward with the extra weight of troops.

Hoisting gear was seldom fitted to helicopters on operations because of the weight penalty they imposed. In any case the cable took ages to reach ground and was slow in lifting one or two men at a time; an absolute no-no for hot extraction! So an alternative device was employed. Where landing was not possible, a fixed length tethered cable with a crude bar arrangement at its end was thrown over the side to lift a maximum of four soldiers out of hot spots. Once well clear of the enemy, the soldiers were put down where the helicopter could either land to bring them inside or leave them to continue their work. But use of the hot extraction cable was a last resort. When a helicopter is hovering close to the ground, it is flying ‘in ground effect’ which means that the cushion of air caused by backpressure from the ground assists in producing lift. In this condition the power required to remain airborne is a great deal less at any given weight than when the helicopter is hovering high ‘out of ground effect’ at the same weight.

When the hot extraction device was used to lift only two soldiers, power demand was usually close to maximum. With four soldiers clinging to the hot bar the power demand was always above gearbox maximum allowance, causing rapid overheating of the main rotor gearbox. Because of this, a pilot lifting more than two soldiers needed to get into forward flight as quickly as possible to bring down the load on gears. In so doing, soldiers were sometimes dragged through bushes and trees during lift-off from the ground. Landing them was easier because the pilot could choose his ground away from enemy attention.

Seldom were SAS sticks returned to base. They were simply moved away from the immediate danger area and re-deposited to continue their offensive work. The admiration aircrew had for these amazing SAS men was beyond expression and, despite the dangers involved, every effort was made to ensure their safety. The SAS had reciprocal opinion of the Blues

At the end of six weeks the sticks moved to their original cache point for helicopter uplift of parachutes and men. Extra helicopters were usually made available from internal operations for these pre-planned extractions. For the men on the ground there was no sound in the world so pleasing as that of helicopters flying in to take them home. For the helicopter crews this particular task was a bittersweet one.

Just consider picking up men who had been operating in the bush for six weeks in conditions alternating between blinding heat and ice-cold rain, yet wearing the same sweaty grime-caked and torn clothes day in and day out. With blackened and bearded faces to hide their whiteness, they had had no chance to bath or wash their clothing. On the other hand the helicopter crews, fresh and clean from daily showers, comfortable beds and good food, could never be fully prepared for the appalling stench that invaded their helicopters. But SAS smiles, exaggerated by the whiteness of teeth and eyeballs, made their job very special.

On arrival at Macombe the weary men were treated to long-awaited baths or showers, shaves and the joy of fresh clothing. Only when clean and comfortable did they turn to ice-cold beer and a good fresh meal. Following a full debriefing the men were flown back to Rhodesia for their short ten-day R&R (rest and retraining—also known as rest and recuperation) break. Whilst this was happening, other SAS callsigns were deploying for their long stint in hostile territory.

On Christmas day 1973, I cut short a visual recce flight to go into Macombe to collect the Army Commander, General Peter Walls. He had parachuted in during daylight hours to be with the deployed SAS callsigns who had congregated to celebrate Christmas miles from any FRELIMO area. Descending with him were parachutes delivering hampers of hot turkey, ham and all the trimmings.

After two hours with the men, the general was taken by helicopter to Macombe where I picked him up for a flight to Centenary for further visits with his troops. Along the way I took the opportunity of showing General Walls a major base that had been established by ZANLA inside Rhodesia. ZANLA called it ‘Central base’.

First internal recce success

GROUND FORCES CAME UPON CENTRAL base during a follow-up on CT tracks. This base was on the Zambezi Valley floor many miles from the nearest village. When I saw it I was horrified that I had been working in Mozambique in the belief that I could not be too useful in Rhodesia. But Central base, though quite different to any base in Mozambique, was so blatantly obvious that I decided to get back to internal recce.

Having covered the remote regions on the Zambezi Valley floor without finding anything like another Central base, I returned to the difficult terrain in the populated areas on the high ground. After two days of fruitless work, I found a small base near Mount Darwin and judged it to be occupied. The base itself was in a line of thick bush running north to south along a ridge. A river ran east to west past the north end of the base and open ground lay on both the east and west sides. I gained the impression that CTs would only break south through the best bush cover available.

I landed at FAF 4 where arrangements were made to borrow two helicopters from FAF 3 to add to the two helicopters based there and the RLI put together twenty troops. When all were assembled, I briefed everyone before getting airborne to mark the target with a salvo of thirty-six rockets. When I pulled out of my attack, the helicopters swept around the target dropping their RLI sticks as planned. From there on, four groups of troops, who I could see clearly, moved forward ever so slowly, fearing to bump into each other. I attempted to direct them but the officer on the ground was reluctant to accept advice and directions from above. Only when they were close up against the base did the CTs open fire.

As soon as the CTs started running I saw them clearly and could not understand why I had not seen them before. However, every time an individual stopped moving he was lost to my view, even though I knew precisely where he had stopped. The action was short, resulting in six CTs dead and one captured wounded. Nine got away through the cover in the south, just as I had expected. It was a frustrating experience to see those CTs slipping away when I was unable to strike and had no 4 Squadron aircraft or helicopter airborne to kill or block them.

Up until this action helicopters had seldom gathered to place meaningful numbers of troops around CT groups. I cannot say for certain that this marked the beginning of what was to become Fire Force, but I do know that it influenced the Army to have an officer airborne for similar set-piece actions that followed.

Having experienced this minor success inside the country, it was time to teach internal recce to my pilots. This was a difficult task considering I myself was still struggling to develop the art of finding CTs in TTLs. Mike Litson was the first pilot to fly with me because he had shown keen interest in the role. Together we had a few more successes. Unfortunately I did not get any further with other squadron pilots for a while because Police General HQ brought pressure to bear on Air HQ to teach visual recce to the Police Reserve Air Wing.

Training PRAW

WING COMMANDER OZZIE PENTON HAD become deeply involved in managing the Air Force Volunteer Reserve squadrons and, through this, had been roped in by PGHQ to act as an air liaison officer for their PRAW. It was he who had been persuaded by PGHQ to have PRAW trained in visual recce as a matter of urgency, so Ozzie sought my cooperation.

The Police Air Wing pilots and observers were very keen to become as active as possible against CTs; a welcome break from dull communication flights as glorified taxi drivers. Of greater importance was the fact that most PRAW were farmers who longed to settle scores with those CT groups that had been attacking farms in their areas.

Unlike most of the young pilots on my squadron, these reservists were very attentive, never seeming to be bored during detailed lectures and long training flights. But, despite their keenness, it soon became clear to me that few would master the art of scanning large tracts of ground and become proficient at separating normal from abnormal signs in the vast networks of paths created by men and beasts.

Bill Ludgater and his observer, Wally Barton, spent enormous effort and time making long reconnaissance flights in Bill’s Cessna 180. Unfortunately, their efforts amounted to very little. The problem was that Bill had far too many places checked out by ground forces that soon lost interest in chasing ‘lemons’. (‘Lemon’ was a term used to indicate the non-presence of CTs; a sour experience.)

Hamie Dax and his observer Sarel Haasbroek were at the other end of the scale. Right from the beginning it was obvious to me that they would do well. The aircraft they operated was far from ideal because its low forward-set wing design made it a very poor reconnaissance aircraft. In time, and in spite of this limitation, these two were so successful that they gained an excellent reputation with Air Force and RLI following a number of good contacts they initiated within the Centenary and Mount Darwin regions.

In the meanwhile the number of armed contacts with ZANLA groups was rising. In one of these, Air Lieutenant Dave Rowe had a lucky escape thanks to cool thinking between himself and his technician, Sergeant Carl de Beer. Dave’s right arm and right leg were instantly incapacitated by enemy fire during an approach to land troops. Transferring his left hand to the cyclic control column Dave was able to hold direction but he needed Carl to manage the collective control lever. Once full control was established with the aircraft level at cruising speed, Carl turned up the friction knob to hold the collective lever in position so that he could safely leave it and attend to Dave’s wounds. Having repositioned the troops that were still on board. Carl worked from an awkward angle behind Dave’s seat to stem the flow of blood. On arrival at base Dave and Carl co-ordinated their control movements for a roll-on landing that, to the relief of the troops, was a safe one.

Strela missiles

RUSSIAN ANTI-AIRCRAFT MISSILES (NATO codename Grail but better known as Strela) were known to be in FRELIMO’s possession so, late in 1973, I made a request to Air HQ to take steps to protect our aircraft from these ‘heat seeking’ weapons. It was only a matter of time before one of my squadron’s aircraft would be shot down and I was acutely aware that I was the most likely candidate because I was exposed to FRELIMO forces for many hours on end, flying at heights perfectly suited to Strela.

Apart from myself, I worried about my Provost pilots acting in support of the SAS in FRELIMO-dominated territory, particularly when they conducted strikes on the enemy. The helicopters, though vulnerable at height, always flew just above the trees to give them best protection against all types of enemy fire except when hovering, landing or lifting off.

Months passed but no action was forthcoming from Air HQ or the technical boffins at CSIR (Council for Scientific and Industrial Research) in South Africa. During a visit to Air HQ I raised the matter again and was told that counter-missile work could not be undertaken, as this had not been catered for in the Air Force budget. Instead I was instructed to include Strela protection in 4 Squadron’s 1975 bids. Being really upset by this standard response, I expressed the view that we would have to lose aircraft and crews to Strela before any action was taken. Unhappily I was proven right.

Crop-spraying in Tete

IN JANUARY 1974 I NOTICED that maize crops, which had not been grown in Tete south of the Zambezi for the past two years, were flourishing. This meant ZANLA would be able to feed off the local people who were obviously returning to areas from which they had fled in 1972. Most of these people, then living in small hidden camps, appeared to have come out of the Portuguese aldeamento at Macombe. However, the benefit that would derive to ZANLA from the availability of maize meal was unacceptable and a decision was made to destroy the crops and force the civilians to return to the aldeamento.

A Cordon Sanitaire was still being constructed along the northeastern borderline where thousands of anti-personnel mines were laid between two electrified fences. Between and either side of these fences, a chemical defoliant had been sprayed to destroy vegetation. The defoliant had worked well on bush but its effectiveness against crops was not known. Nevertheless it was decided to use the same stuff because ample stocks were immediately available.

Only one civilian crop-sprayer pilot was prepared to take on the job in hostile Tete. I cannot recall the name of the well-built pilot I briefed at Mount Hampden Airport. He calculated the amount of fluid he required and this was positioned at the RAR Tac HQ at Musengezi Mission. I provided top cover and guided the pilot from field to field. Once he saw each field, or complex of fields, he did his own planning and meticulously covered the awkwardly shaped crops whilst I looked on from above.

On return to Musengezi after his fourth flight to recharge his tanks, he experienced difficulty in keeping his twin-Comanche on the runway. A bullet strike to the aircraft had punctured a main wheel tyre but little other damage had occurred. As soon as a replacement wheel from Salisbury was fitted the pilot got airborne again and we completed the job on 19 January 1974. Fortunately the rain held off long enough for the spray to be absorbed by the maize plants and in five days browning of the crops confirmed that the spray had worked.

Chris Weinmann joins 4 Squadron

BECAUSE I SPENT MOST OF my time in the operational areas, I placed great reliance on Rob Tasker and Bruce Collocott to manage the squadron at Thornhill. However, we started experiencing some discipline difficulties amongst a handful of young pilots because Rob and Bruce, though excellent officers, were too gentle in nature to handle them. Another problem I had was that 4 Squadron had no qualified PAI to ensure pilot proficiency in weapons delivery at a time when we most needed this. Until this time we had been reliant on John Blythe-Wood and myself, both unqualified substitutes.

Air HQ approval was given to my request for Chris Weinmann to replace Bruce Collocott. Flight Lieutenant Chris Weinmann seemed to be the ideal man for our needs because he was a qualified PAI who struck me as being a no-nonsense disciplinarian. Rob Tasker, being the only instructor beside myself, remained essential.

Chris had flown Trojans when they first arrived in Rhodesia but was then flying Hunters In November 1973 he was posted to 4 Squadron and Bruce went to 3 (Transport) Squadron. Whereas Bruce was openly delighted with his posting Chris secretly hated having to leave the glory of Hunters to step down to slow piston-driven machines. Typically, he put his personal desires aside and settled to his new responsibilities with the determination I had expected from him. As soon as Rob re-familiarised him on Trojans and Provosts, Chris got stuck into improving weapons proficiency amongst all pilots, myself included. Thanks to him, disciplinary difficulties that had existed at junior pilot level ceased.

Night casevacs

4 SQUADRON PILOTS WERE FACED WITH major problems operating Trojans into remote airstrips at night in response to calls for casevac or urgent re-supply. This was because no facilities existed to clearly demarcate runway boundaries for take-off and landing.

On grass runways at main and established Forward Airfields, gooseneck flares were placed on the 100-metre markers along one side of the runway. Two flares at start and end of the runway, on the side opposite to the flare line, defined where runway centre-line lay. This assisted pilots to clearly identify the runway and to judge their landing approach angle and hold-off height for touch down.

A gooseneck flare was something like a squat domestic watering can with carrying handle. A thick wick in the spout was exposed for about four inches outside the spout with the other end lying in raw paraffin inside the can. The wick fitted tightly in the spout to ensure that flame at the lighted end did not transfer to paraffin in the can.

In remote areas there were no cumbersome gooseneck flares, so a crude system of marking the airstrip was used. Invariably there were Army or Police vehicles at the strips into which 4 Squadron aircraft were called, so we used these as runway markers. Two vehicles were placed on the runway centre line, one at each end of the runway. With head and taillights on, the vehicles faced the direction the ground forces wished a pilot to land. On his approach for landing, a pilot saw the rear lights of both vehicles and the headlights of the first vehicle, when bright enough, helped him judge the round out for landing.

Though this method was successfully employed it required great skill in judgement and I considered it too dangerous to continue. What was needed was something along the lines of the gooseneck flares to mark an entire runway; so I produced small one-time disposable mini-flares for all ground forces to carry as standard equipment.

I acquired empty half-pint paint tins with metal bungs and screw caps. Each tin was filled with paraffin and a round wick was inserted into the paraffin through a hole in the metal bung. The screw cap trapped the outside of the wick and sealed in the paraffin until removed for use. Night-landing trials with these mini-flares were successful and eliminated any need for vehicles that were, themselves, hazardous obstructions on any runway.

Boxes containing twelve filled, sealed and ready-to-use mini-flares and a box of sealed matches were issued to Army and Police with simple instructions on how to lay them out on a 1,000-metre runway. For the most part their introduction into the field made night landings at remote airfields simpler and safer. However, there were two incidents that raised serious questions about some ground forces’ understanding of air operations and their ability to interpret the simplest of instructions. The first was when I was called out late one night to casevac an SAP man from Sipolilo to Salisbury. We were told that the man had suffered a heart attack and was in such a bad state that he had to be taken to Salisbury urgently.

When I arrived over Sipolilo, the runway flare line was so short it appeared as if I was flying at 30,000 feet, when in fact I was only 1,500 feet above ground. The callsign on the ground had great difficulty speaking understandable English and I could not understand his fast-spoken Afrikaans. Eventually I was able to understand that all the flares had been incorrectly laid between two 100-metre markers instead of one flare on each of the ten 100-metre markers along one side of the runway. After a while the flares were relayed correctly and I made a normal landing. But when I taxiied to waiting vehicles, I was greeted with the sight of the ‘heart attack’ victim walking briskly and unaided to the aircraft.

The second incident ended in tragedy near the end of my tour with 4 Squadron. During the night of 17 December 1974, Brian Murdoch was called to uplift two Army casualties from Mushumbi Pools airstrip in the Zambezi Valley. The callsign concerned were either unaware of the mini-flares they were carrying as standard equipment or were too lazy to find them. Whatever the case, they used vehicles to mark the runway.

Brian landed on the wet muddy strip, then turned around and taxiied back to the vehicle over which he had passed on landing. The vehicle that had been at the far end of the runway had, for some reason, been right next to the Trojan during the loading of the casevac. When Brian was ready to take off, this vehicle repositioned but, through ignorance, the driver did not go all the way to the end of the runway. He stopped some 300 metres short of the runway’s end next to a large puddle of water “to make sure the pilot missed it.”

In the wet conditions that prevailed, a Trojan needed the full length of Mushumbi Pools runway but Brian had no way of knowing the ignorant driver had shortened this. It can only be guessed that Brian was forced to heave the aircraft into the air too early by yanking down full flap; but he did not achieve sufficient height to prevent his nose wheel from striking the vehicle. The low-powered engine was hard-pressed to propel the bulky Trojan at the best of times, but full flap and impact with the vehicle placed Brian, flying on instruments, in a no-win situation. The aircraft was observed to change course to the right before crashing into a riverbed where Brian, Corporal Parker and Lance-Corporal Povey died instantly. Had the callsign used the mini-flares, which we later established they had, this wasteful tragedy would not have occurred.

Improving tactics

TEN MONTHS PRIOR TO HIS DEATH, I had instructed Brian Murdoch along with Chris Weinmann on internal and external recce. From this time on I progressively worked through all the squadron pilots, which was both necessary and frustrating. It became clear that only one in fifteen pilots had any hope of succeeding in visual recce work because it required stamina and patience for lengthy flights and, above all, an earnest desire to locate CTs. Too many pilots were quite happy to sit back at base waiting in comfort for calls to action. Such calls came in response to CT actions from RSF men in observation posts on hilltops, from recce pilots and more and more from Selous Scouts pseudo operators, though at the time these were being attributed to normal ops because few people knew of Selous Scouts’ secret penetration into terrorist networks. However, this changed when deployments of pseudo groups was made by helicopters because this brought helicopter crews into direct contact with the pseudo terrorists and exposed their ops areas. To retain the highest degree of secrecy possible, Selous Scouts ‘forts’ were built at Air Force FAFs. From the high security walls of forts, the pseudos were driven in closed vehicles to the end of a runway or a suitable secure area close by for helicopter uplift to their operational area drop-off points.

It was during recce training with Chris and Brian that we located a ‘live CT camp’, which led to a successful follow-up operation. This was on 15 February when the three of us split up to strike with three fixed-wing aircraft ahead of helicopters bringing in RLI ground troops.

Every air action involving expenditure of weapons necessitated the submission to Air HQ of an Air Strike Report. ASRs tended to be very matter-of-fact in style so they failed to convey any sense of excitement and fear, nor tell of the hard sweat and toil of troops on the ground.

The ASR raised for this specific operation is used to illustrate the composition and handwritten contents of ASRs. Excluded from this and all other ASRs in this book are the accompanying technical details and weapon expenditure schedules. The exact words recorded in manuscript by officers in the field and up the chain of command in Air HQ, are reproduced without regard to grammatical errors.

Although this was a very small action compared to those to come, important issues were raised in the Air Strike Report. Firstly Harold Griffiths, supported by Peter Cooke, had added weight to calls by others and myself for a force that Griff refers to as ‘Prompt Force’. This, together with the Air HQ decision to put more aircraft in the field, led to the establishment of Fire Force shortly thereafter when the Army made RLI Commandos permanently available to an increasing number of deployed helicopters.

The delayed attacks that Harold Griffiths and Peter Cooke referred to were bases in Mozambique found by Mike Litson. Unfortunately this pilot was lost to 4 Squadron on posting to helicopters just when he was becoming a useful recce pilot. Brian Murdoch was not really cut out for the job, leaving Chris Weinmann and myself as the only functioning recce pilots who could seldom be spared for ops at the same time; so the greater use of recce expounded by everybody was fine in theory but impossible to implement. Hamie Dax was the only other recce pilot we could rely on but, being a busy farmer, his services were somewhat curtailed.

Selous Scouts

AT ABOUT THIS TIME I met Major Ron Reid-Daly at JOC Hurricane HQ in Bindura. He was on his way to visit his top secret Selous Scouts ‘safe house’ base and invited me to accompany him. I knew very little about Ron’s operation, still believing he was running a specialist tracker school.

We drove along a dirt road running along a rising valley south of Bindura. As we bumped along the old mine road Ron told me his work was very much an undercover operation which would rely heavily on Air Force support; hence his preparedness to expose me to what was going on at the temporary base we were visiting. The road led us to a previously abandoned mine house on a ridge way off the beaten track. Two marquee tents provided soldiers’ accommodation and an array of radio aerials rose from the ops room inside the old house.

Ron parked his car under the shade of a huge tree at the rear of the house where he was met by the scruffiest, most heavily bearded men I had ever seen off cinema screen. They seemed so out of place in the presence of their immaculately dressed CO. One of the men came over to me and greeted me in a manner that suggested he knew me well. Ron was amused by my puzzled look and helped me out by saying, “You remember Basil Moss don’t you?” Basil had lived only seven houses away from mine in the Married Quarters at Thornhill but I had not seen him for many months. It needed a closer look before I recognised the face behind the beard.

Flight Lieutenant Basil Moss, a fluent Shona linguist, had become bored with commanding the Thornhill’s General Service Unit. The GSU, mostly black servicemen commanded by white officers, provided airfield security services at Thornhill and New Sarum. Basil, a strong fit man of about forty years, needed something more challenging when there was so much action out in the countryside, but he could find no way of getting to the ‘sharp end’. Then an advertisement for Shona linguists led him to Special Branch HQ and thence to the pseudo operators, André Rabie and Stretch Franklin. The unfortunate loss of André had occurred about three months earlier.

Ron walked around the temporary Selous Scouts base with Stretch Franklin, Basil Moss and me in tow. Black men lay about in the marquee tents dressed in scruffy garb with flthy-looking hair. They each listened to portable radios that were all tuned to different channels and blasted out at maximum volume. Waving his hand across these men, Ron asked me if I could differentiate between the RAR soldiers and ‘turned terrorists’. I could not for they all looked the same. Nevertheless, I was astounded having never heard the term ‘turned terrorist’ before.

From the very beginning the Selous Scouts recognised the importance of having ‘turned ters’ within their pseudo groups. In so doing it was easier to gain the confidence of tribesmen who had known particular CTs before their capture. However, to gain maximum advantage, the period between capturing a genuine CT and having him in the field as a Selous Scout had to be very short—a week was considered too long. The Scouts found ‘turning’ CTs very easy. There was no need to bash heads or use threatening tactics. By nature black Rhodesians were gentle people until subjected to political misdirection as occurred with ZANLA cadre. By comparing the teachings of political commissars with reality and having being made aware that their lives were being risked for greedy politicians rather than for the people, captured CT opinions changed. Being cared for by the Scouts, rather than being shot out of hand as had been taught, made the transition from enemy to friend quick and easy.

The atmosphere, one of excitement, was very infectious. So closely had the successes of early pseudos operations been kept secret that it was wonderful to be taken into confidence and brought up to speed on what had happened and what was being planned. There was no doubt in my mind that Selous Scouts would soon be pre-empting action rather than us continuing to respond to terrorist activities or having to rely on visual recce and OP sightings. Tribesmen were the keys to CT successes, so they had also to become the key to countering them.

Expanded pseudo operations had come at a critical time considering the rate at which ZANLA’s influence was spreading south and eastwards with ever-increasing numbers of CTs and LTTs. We were gaining in our successes but not sufficiently to contain, let alone reduce, ZANLA numbers.

The American military contended that in Viet Nam it was essential to have ten fighting soldiers to counter every insurgent in the field. For us this was a joke. We felt that a ratio of five to one would be adequate but this would soon be impossible considering Rhodesia’s financial and manpower constraints. At the height of our bush war a two-to-one ratio existed within the country whereas, outside of Rhodesia, we were always greatly outnumbered and 30:1 odds against us was not unusual.

The Army’s attempts to increase force levels by forming a second RAR battalion was disallowed by right-wing politicians who refused to accept black soldiers in numbers exceeding those of white regular and territorial soldiers combined. Any idea of using armed militiamen to protect tribesmen was also discounted for the same reason. So we were stuck with existing regular force levels and placed heavy reliance on the Territorial Army for effective levels in the field. Inevitably this placed formidable burdens on commerce and industry. However, manpower alone could not provide the successes we needed in a spreading bush war against an elusive enemy fighting for personal gains carelessly promised them by uncaring, greedy politicians; but these were promises in which they truly believed. Intelligence had to be the key to getting to grips with ZANLA. Reliance on historical facts gleaned from captured CTs had to be replaced by up-to-the-minute intelligence that could only be acquired by Selous Scouts pseudo operators. That intelligence was not long in coming.

By April 1974 Selous Scouts were coming to grips with ZANLA groups but too many of their successes were wasted because so many follow-up operations were mishandled; usually the consequence of inappropriate force levels to contain CT groups that bomb-shelled outwards to escape through large gaps between thinly spread troops.

It was only in June that helicopters became regularly grouped in sufficient numbers with the RLI Commandos who soon learned how to conduct the ‘vertical envelopment’ (surrounding) operations that capitalised on Selous Scout calls. As already mentioned, the combined reaction force became known as a Fire Force. This subject is covered later.

Cordon Sanitaire

DURING 1973 A VERY EXPENSIVE undertaking codenamed ‘Operation Overload’ was put into effect in the Chiweshe Tribal Trust Land. This was to place over 60,000 tribesmen in Protected Villages. The PVs system equated to the Portuguese aldeamentos that we had considered such a joke in earlier times. However thinking had changed, because Chiweshe TTL was perfectly situated as a base area from which to launch attacks against white farmers. This was because the TTL happened to be long, narrow and totally surrounded by the European farming areas of Centenary, Mt Darwin, Bindura, Glendale and Umvukwes. Tribesmen were placed in the fortified villages where they were protected and fed with the intention of denying terrorists access to food and people comforts. At the same time, an even more expensive undertaking was ongoing along the northeastern border.

In an endeavour to stem incursions across the border, a cordon sanitaire was built. It comprised a narrow minefield bounded by a double fence-line. Starting at Mukumbura, this arrangement extended eastwards along the borderline for about 400 kilometres. The cordon sanitaire concept, copied from Israel, was not only enormously expensive it was a complete ‘waste of rations’. The non-operational people who had promoted it as an effective defensive barrier were deeply criticised, and with good reason.

Every soldier knew that no military obstacle is worth a damn unless its entire length can be covered by effective fire. Some 3,000 men in 1,500 towers would have been needed to meet the need but, because this was impossible, electronic warning devices were used to compensate for the lack of manpower. But these warning systems were seldom successful because wild animals and the elements triggered too many alarm signals. When genuine CT-induced alarms were received, mostly at night, they invariably came from positions that were too far for forces to reach before the CTs had moved away into the safety of the bush.

CTs soon found a way through the Cordon Sanitaire. They simple dug a trench under the first fence then crawled along a line taken by a lead man who probed and lifted anti-personnel mines as he moved cautiously forward. A second trench under the next fence got everyone safely through the barrier. No electronic warnings occurred when this was done so a whole group of CTs could easily transit the Cordon Sanitaire before first light and be far away by the time a daylight patrol detected the breach. Many groups crossed the Cordon Sanitaire in this way both coming in and going out. No trench was used twice for fear of Rhodesian booby traps. Some crossings failed and one of these sticks in my mind.

A CT had his leg blown off just below the knee by an anti-personnel mine during an attempted crossing from Mozambique into Rhodesia. His companions, ignoring his pleas for help, high-tailed back into Mozambique leaving the stricken man to his fate. The fellow lay in the minefield all night and was only found by a routine patrol at about 10 o’clock next morning. A helicopter was called for, but it was impossible in the meanwhile for the Territorial soldiers to enter the minefield to administer first aid.

In spite of enormous blood loss, severe shock and a long cold lonely night, the CT was still conscious and able to communicate with the soldiers whilst awaiting rescue. There was then considerable danger for the Air Force technician who was lowered to the injured man by hoist, but he was placed in the small crater made by the mine that had blown the CT’s leg away. Without moving his feet the technician secured the CT, then both were lifted into the safety of the helicopter cabin and flown straight to the Selous Scouts ‘fort’ at Mtoko.

In the small hospital within the fort, the attending doctor put the CT on blood and saline drips then attended to the stump of his shattered leg. He expressed amazement that the CT had survived so long but had no doubt he would regain strength quickly. I was at Mtoko at the time and was taken into the fort to see this CT during his first evening in hospital. He was propped up in bed with blood and saline lines to both arms. His colour was a pasty grey, his face was drawn and his eyes half-closed.

I saw him again the following evening and could not believe this was the same man. Although still on drips he was sitting up in bed shirtless because the weather was hot. The man’s shiny black skin enhanced his muscular upper body. The grey was gone and his face was full of smiles. Few, if any, white men could have survived such an ordeal, let alone recovered so rapidly.

The CT had already been ‘turned’ in this short time but, because of ZANLA’s propaganda, he had some doubts for his safety in Selous Scouts hands. So he offered to take the Scouts to the base in Mozambique from which he and his group had come. When asked how he would do this he said he was fit enough to hop all the way.

Odds and sods

IN SOME AVIATION MAGAZINE I read of someone using a fixed-wing aircraft to rescue a man from the ground whilst airborne. I was intrigued by the technique described and attempted to do it myself. The idea was to let out a long length of rope from the rear cabin (about 500 feet of rope), with a suitable dead weight at its end, then turn steeply towards the rope’s end in the manner of a dog chasing its own tail. By holding the turn, the majority of the rope was supposed to descend with its end section hanging vertically downwards. With correct handling of turn and height it was reported that the weighted end of the rope could be positioned over any selected spot. This allowed a man on the ground to take hold of a slip harness, fit it under his shoulders, remove the weight and await uplift.

Once the man was secure in the harness, the pilot simply had to increase power, still in the turn, to lift him clear of the ground before rolling out into straight and level flight. Thereafter the man at the end of the rope could be placed back on the ground in another location in similar manner to his uplift. Alternatively, he could be hauled up into the aircraft.

My trial might have succeeded had the Trojan been able to sustain a very tight turn but this proved impossible because of that aircraft’s power limitation, so the experiment was dropped.

In one of the Hunters hangars at Thornhill a tractor used for towing aircraft to and from the flight lines refused to start one very cold morning. One of the technicians decided he had the solution. He placed a ‘little bit’ of Avpin in the carburettor to get the engine running. When subjected to pressure, Avpin combusted spontaneously giving off the high volumes of gas that powered the Hunter’s Avpin starter-motor turbines. But Avpin was certainly not suited to containment because its gas generating potential was awesome. It took just one turn of the tractor’s starter motor for the ‘little bit’ of Avpin to blow the tractor engine’s head clean off the engine block and through the high roof of the hangar.

In the self-same hangar another hole was made in the roof, but in this incident the circumstances where far from amusing. Armourer Mike Ongers was standing on the Hunter ejector seat he was servicing when the ejector cartridge fired. The seat itself went through the roof but Mike impacted the roof and was thrown back through overhead lights before dropping onto the concrete floor of the hangar. His injuries committed him to a wheelchair for life.

On 4 Squadron the technicians were getting very upset with my Squadron Warrant Officer, Spike Owens. They complained that their WO was nicking their costly tools thereby forcing them to take special precaution whenever Spike was around.

Spike Owens had come to Rhodesia from the RAF many years before and was well known for his huge collection of vehicle parts and home appliances which he claimed he had bought at bargain prices with the intention of re-selling them for profit. His collection included every tool imaginable. Where he got all these things from I cannot say but Spike was always able to produce spare parts and items that were hard to find.

I was very fond of Spike. He was always bright and helpful and I was especially thankful for his resourcefulness when it came to keeping our aircraft flying. Any suggestion that he might have ‘inadvertently’ picked up so and so’s tools was met with vehement denial. I could not pin him down but remained pretty sceptical. Nevertheless the unfortunate nickname given him by Henry Jarvie stuck. ‘WOBOTOC’ stood for Warrant Officer Bill Owens Thieving Old C.…

FAC errors and successes

CHRIS WEINMANN COMMENCED VISUAL RECCE in Mozambique on his own on 16 February 1974. Two days later he called for jet action on a large camp he had found just north of the River Daque fairly close to the Rhodesian border. This base had definitely not existed ten days earlier when Chris, Brian and I had been together on recce training. He chose to fly to Salisbury to brief Canberra and Hunter crews for a strike that for some reason or other did not involve FAC marking. Bill Buckle provided photographs taken for mapping purposes during the dry conditions of winter and, on these, Chris marked the extremities of the area to be struck from the target picture he had in his mind. The target of approximately 700 metres in length and 600 metres wide appeared to be a combined FRELIMO and ZANLA base.

An attack plan was formulated in which four Canberras, flown by Squadron Leader Randy Du Rand, Ian Donaldson, Mike Delport and Prop Geldenhuys would employ ‘lead-bomb technique’ to deliver two loads of nine 500-pound bombs and two loads of ninety-six 28-pound fragmentation bombs. The Canberras would be followed by four Hunters, flown by Don Northcroft, Ginger Baldwin, Rick Culpan and Jim Stagman firing 30mm cannon on the periphery of the target with re-strikes to fill in any obvious gaps that appeared within the Canberra bomb patterns.

Lead-bomb technique involved the lead bomber passing to his No 2 an aiming correction if his first bomb was not spot-on its intended strike point. I strongly opposed this method of bombing live terrorist camps because the delay between each stick of bombs gave terrorists way too much time to run clear of target. Lead-bomb technique was only suited to fixed targets such as ammunition dumps, fuel storage farms and buildings.

Nevertheless the bombs on this attack exploded on their planned positions despite the cloud base being lower than expected. This had forced navigators Doug Pasea, Bernie Vaughan, Bill Stevens and Bill Airey to make last-minute setting corrections to bombsights late in the attack run. The Hunters patterned as planned.

According to Randy du Rand’s Air Strike Report, he struck at 1259:50B with last Hunter clearing at 1303B. This meant it had taken three minutes and ten seconds to place down all weapons, which was at least two and a half minutes too long. If Hunters had led this attack, the four Canberras could have been much closer to each other and the re-strike by Hunters could have finalised the attack in less than forty-five seconds.

To add to this unsatisfactory situation, Chris realised too late that the target was displaced 200 metres north-eastward of the position he had marked on the photographs. This meant that only two-thirds of the strike was inside the actual base. The reason for Chris’s error lay in the considerable difference between the dark-green bush lines, as they appeared to him in the month of February, and the leafless trees and bush line as it appeared on photographs taken in winter. FAC marking would have eliminated the error and Chris was wiser for his mistakes.

Three days later I also made a mistake by agreeing to fly with Hugh Slatter in a Vampire T11 to mark a target for Hunters and Canberras. Aerial photos of a camp I reported had been taken from a Canberra flying at 40,000 feet the day before but it was agreed that the target lay in such flat, featureless ground that the jets would have no chance of locating it on an unmarked first-run attack. Air HQ was always keen to try new approaches in operations and had decided that I should lead the attack in a jet instead of my puddle-jumping Trojan. Having not flown in a jet aircraft for over ten years, the speed at which ground was being covered and the height at which we flew compressed the terrain I knew so well from 2,000 feet into unfamiliar perspective.

In the long dive to the target, Hugh adjusted his aiming according to my instructions and pressed the firing button for a salvo of four 60-pound squash-head rockets, but they failed to fire! Only then did I realise we had aimed at the far end of the terrorist base and not at its centre, so I transmitted an immediate correction “Drop 500”. Fortunately Rob Gaunt, having assessed where the failed rockets would have landed, picked up the correction and fired. Hugh was pulling up steeply and turning out right to allow me to look over my shoulder to see Rob’s strike to pass further correction to Rich Culpan, Chris Dixon and Ginger Baldwin.

I had completely forgotten how to handle 6G, which locked my head awkwardly forcing me to roll my eyes hard up and right to spot the strike just before experiencing ‘grey out’. Fortunately the lead 30mm cannon strike was just where it needed to be but I could not lift my hand to the radio transmitter button on the throttle to say this. Hugh had to relay my G-stressed and awkwardly spoken words, “On target”.

Following this experience, thought was given to converting recce pilots onto Hunters so that future strikes need not involve FAC and would ensure that recce pilots could switch between ‘puddle-jumpers’ and jets without the problems I had just encountered. For Chris Weinmann this would have been a simple matter because he had recently come from Hunters. I was really keen to fly these lovely aircraft but, very reluctantly, came to the conclusion that the advantages to be gained were outweighed by the cost of training and the time it would take to position at Thornhill or New Sarum for each airstrike.

The Air Staff had been under directive from Air Marshal Mick McLaren to try every tactic possible to improve airstrike versatility and accuracy. To this end, and unknown to me, photographic reconnaissance (PR) had been flown on Mozambican targets that Chris and I had reported but not committed to airstrike.

Repeated PR had been conducted to watch for obvious changes on those targets best suited to first-run jet-strikes. Then Flight Lieutenant Bill Buckle and his Photo Reconnaissance Interpreter (PRI) team at New Sarum selected a target set in heavy bush on the east bank of a dry river where a distinctive bend with visible water made identification certain. I was called to New Sarum to look at the photographs. The PRIs were happy when I agreed the camp was much larger than when I found it two months earlier. Bill briefed the jet crews at 9 o’clock on the morning of 23 February, just two days after the attack I had led with Hugh Slatter. It went in at 1228B and worked out exactly as planned.

During March I led two successful ops against terrorists inside Rhodesia. Externally I picked up a small base near Mukumbura in which fifteen head of cattle were penned at its centre. Being so close to the border, it was decided to attack this base with Hunters at first light the following day and follow up immediately with RLI heli-borne troops. The plan was for helicopters and myself to fly from Centenary to Mukumbura where the troops would be waiting for first light lift-of.

At Centenary I was doing my pre-flight inspection with the aid of a torch when I found a yellow bone-dome hanging from the pitot-head under the port wing of my Trojan. It belonged to Flight Sergeant Ray Cox who was one of the technicians on the flight line at the time. I called him over and asked him to remove his bone-dome, then continued with my inspection.

The helicopters were lifting off as I taxiied out to the runway. Late in my take-off run I found I had to apply a great deal of right rudder to counter a strong yawing force to the left. By this time it was too late to abort take-off. Once airborne I saw the helicopter lights winking away ahead of me and continued my climb, still with heavy pressure on the right rudder to maintain balanced flight. I told the lead helicopter pilot I was experiencing some difficulty but said I would establish the cause when we reached Mukumbura.

We crossed over the escarpment as the first rays of dawn lit up the horizon on our right side. By this time my left foot was over my right foot to help maintain pressure on the right rudder pedal. I turned to look at the rotating beacons of the helicopters flying below and to my left when, with horror, I saw somebody hanging upside-down on my left wing wearing a bone-dome with its visor closed. It took a moment or two to realise there was no actual body involved; it was Ray Cox’s yellow helmet hanging on the pitot head by its chinstrap.

Foolishly I told the lead helicopter pilot the cause of my flight control problem. I could have saved myself the ribbing that came my way had I simply kept quiet and pulled ahead to land and remove the bone-dome at Mukumbura before the helicopter boys arrived.

When I marked for the Hunters, I was happy to see that the cattle-pen was empty. Helicopters were on the ground within thirty-five seconds of the lead strike and the troops were already moving in during re-strike. Unfortunately the CTs must have heard the helicopters before the noise cover of the Trojan became effective because fresh tracks of running terrorists were located going south-east towards another base I had located but discounted.

Cattle tracks heading north were aerial-tracked for no more than three kilometres were I found fifty-five head of cattle. These were rounded up by the troops and driven back into Rhodesia because, having been stolen from those few unfortunate Mozambican locals who still lived in the area, they constituted an immediate source of CT food.

Fear of landing in enemy territory

FROM THE SAS TAC HQ at Macombe, 4 Squadron pilots continued to be scrambled to assist troops deep inside hostile territory. This Air Strike Report by Chris Dickinson on 8 March 1974 gives an idea of the sort of work the youngsters were doing.

There was always concern for single-engined aircraft operating alone deep inside Mozambique, as in this case. Antiaircraft action or engine failure might force a pilot down; a situation that was fraught with peril. If a pilot survived the landing, whether hurt or unhurt, his chances of survival were very low unless he was close enough for anyone to pick up his radio distress call. However much of the time was spent beyond ‘friendly forces’ radio range.

Personally I was petrified by the work I did over Mozambique and worried that others might notice this. As I write, a quarter of a century later, it is easy for me to admit to this failing. At the time however, I was annoyed by my inability to overcome the tight knot in my stomach and having to relying on four stiff whiskies after dinner to help me get some sleep. If I was on internal work, I always enjoyed a good breakfast that set me up for the day’s work; but before recces over Mozambique I could not face a meal knowing that I would be operating for over five hours beyond radio range of any Rhodesian.

Everyone knew that if I ran into trouble this would not be known until too late and that a search and rescue attempt would defer to the following day. So, to assist searchers, I carried a small emergency radio beacon which, when switched on, transmitted a continuous low-powered coded distress signal. This device also had a voice and receiving facility that was limited to a very short duration before its battery was drained.

I think it was Captain Mick Graham of SAS who flew one Mozambican sortie with me. He enjoyed the experience because it allowed him to see for himself what he had read in my recce report signals. But the main purpose of his flight was to assess the feasibility of an SAS soldier accompanying me on future missions to keep me out of trouble if I went down. My hopes were dashed when Mick said that, having seen the ground we had covered, this was simply not on. A single, super-fit, SAS soldier might evade hostile forces on his own, but not if he had to take care of me as well.

An alternative solution was offered. It involved eight recently trained RLI paratroopers loitering at height in a Dakota close to the area over which I was operating. The experiment failed within the first two hours when Squadron Leader Peter Barnett told me all the paratroopers in the back of his aircraft were so airsick that they would be of no help if I needed them. I thanked Peter for trying and told him to take the men back to base. There was no alternative; I had to work alone. In the meanwhile Air HQ was looking into equipping 4 Squadron aircraft with HF/SSB to provide long-range communications with Air HQ and FAF Operations Rooms.

I always briefed the FAF 3 commander (mostly Peter Cooke) on my intended outward and inward routes with details of the area to be covered, but those horrid butterflies in my stomach only slowed down when I was strapped into my seat with the engine running. Flight over Rhodesian soil felt quite normal until I reached the border. At this point the engine always appeared to be running roughly. Once across the Zambezi River the engine seemed to be running so roughly that I feared it might break from its mountings. This phantom situation continued until I reached the area over which I was to operate. As soon as I started searching the ground all fear vanished and I no longer worried about the engine purring away at low-cruising power.

Unlike American and Canadian aircraft designers, those of British, French and Italian aircraft did not cater for pilots’ bladder needs. As early as 1939, Canadian and American designers provided aircrew with what was crudely known as ‘the pee tube’. This consisted of an extendible funnel on the forward edge of a pilot’s seat that connected to a tube leading to a low-pressure point on the underside of the airframe. Considering the restraints of harness, parachute straps and flying overalls, it was awkward to get one’s twin to the funnel, but at least it catered for minor misdirection and there was ample suction to take the urine away. Our Trojans did not have this luxury, so I had learned to manage seven-hour recce flights. But there was one day when things did not work out too well.

In spite of the normal pre-flight precaution of ‘emptying the tank’, on this particularly cold day I was in need of a pee even before I crossed the Zambezi still flying outbound. Two hours later with much ground yet to cover, I could not hold out any longer. There was no bottle or similar receptacle in the aircraft and, though I thought about it, opening the door in flight was fraught with peril. However, next to me on the right hand seat was my bone-dome (pilot’s crash helmet). There was no option but to use it. The weather was particularly turbulent when I undid my seat straps, opened my fly and raised my body against the rudder pedals to get things into position. Head-support webs within the bone-dome compounded the problem of turbulence and fully stretched legs. As soon as I let go, the high-pressure stream struck the nearest web, spraying urine all over my legs and onto the instrument panel. I managed to change direction, but in no time the shallow basin of the bone-dome was close to over-flowing. Forced stemming of the steam was essential but at least my discomfort had been reduced. The next problem was how to get rid of urine in the bone-dome. To allow it to spill inside the cockpit was simply not on because urine is highly corrosive to aircraft surfaces.

My window was always open during recce, so I decided to hold the bone-dome firmly and spill the urine into the outside airflow. As I did this, my arm was almost ripped off as the slipstream sucked the bone-dome through the window. The disturbed airflow blew back most of the bone-dome’s contents into my face, wetting half of my torso and the whole instrument panel. I managed to hold on to the bone-dome but the rest of that long flight was miserably cold and uncomfortable.

Chifombo Base

GOING AHEAD IN TIME, I was operating deeper than before and close to the Zambian/Tete border averaging about 3,000 feet above ground. Cloud build-up was making coverage difficult and I could only read ground where the sun was shining. I had just started picking up the signs of considerable human activity in the heavily treed region and was plotting this on my map when a loud crack on my right side made me look up at the starboard wing. I was astounded to see hundreds of green and red tracer rounds flying upward at differing angles but all appearing to emanate from the aircraft itself. I had seen tracer many times before but never so densely as the 12.7mm, 14.5mm and, possible, 23mm guns whizzing past. I immediately entered a vertical dive.

Looking down towards the ground I saw what appeared to be a lesser number of tracer rounds coming my way but, when I looked towards the sky again, they were just as thick as before. Another crack sounded behind me by which time I was weaving left and right in a high-speed descent towards a huge terrorist base that spread outwards in every direction I turned. When I levelled off at tree-tops, the Trojan, still taking hits, slowed down horribly and there were hundreds of people firing small arms so close that I knew I was about to die.

Twice I passed across open patches and saw big guns flashing. For what seemed like a really long time I was locked in a terrible slow-motion nightmare as I passed over row upon row of small and large thatched buildings under tall trees, all the time under fire. Unlike all I had read about people facing death, my whole life did not flash before me as I looked at point after point ahead believing I would surely die there. The ground tearing past me registered in my brain as the aircraft took hits in a mixture of sharp cracks and dull thuds.

Suddenly I was clear. It felt as if I had dived into cool water from burning-hot flames. Bullet holes in the airframe and windscreens were generating a strong whistling sound but the motor sounded fine.

I had been looking for the big FRELIMO-cum-ZANLA base known as Chifombo but had not expected such a hot reception when I found it. Still breathless I held a straight course for some time before coming to my senses inside Zambia. It took a little while longer to pull myself together and register that the flight control instruments had all been rendered useless. Having turned southwest, as judged by the sun’s position, it took more time to gather courage to commence a climb for height. Only when established in the climb did I realise that I was bleeding from many places, making my overalls and face cold and sticky, but there was absolutely no pain. The fuel gauge for both left and right tanks worked fine and I could see no fuel leakage, nor could I smell fuel vapour. Every minute or so I flicked from one tank to the other to check for fuel loss and after ten minutes knew I would get back to safety, providing the engine kept going. I set power by ear and knew from engine response that the turbo-charger was working; but there was no way of knowing if engine oil was being lost, so I followed a route as far removed from human habitation as possible. I had considered going into Macombe to get first-aid from the SAS but then decided to press on to Centenary when I realised that, although there was a lot of blood about, the wounds to my face, chest, arms and legs were no more than shallow penetrations from bits of metal and broken glass.

During an earlier recce deep inside Mozambique I had been feeling distinctly lonely and afraid when suddenly I became acutely aware that I was not alone at all. This was an experience I find impossible to put into words because the sudden knowledge of the presence of God is awesome, powerful and exciting all at the same time. Now, having survived passage over Chifombo Base and heading for home, the immediate presence of God overwhelmed me again. The feeling I experienced this time was different but just as impossible to explain by words alone.

It was in this amazing state of comfort that I looked down at the ground as I climbed through about 5,000 feet and realised that I was seeing pathways with the clarity needed for over-border recce. I should have known this before but, being a typical creature of habit, I had stuck to the level I first thought was right. From that day onward I never flew recce in Mozambican territory below 5,000 feet.

At about 8,000 feet radio contact was established with the Army relay station on the high Mavuradona mountain inside Rhodesia. I told the operator that I had sustained damage but expected to make it back to Centenary safely. I could see my left main tyre and knew it was fine but I was prepared for difficulties if the nose or right tyres had been punctured. Fortunately there was no problem on landing and I taxiied into dispersals to find Peter Cooke and a couple of TF soldiers waiting for me with a stretcher. I recall FAF 3 being almost deserted because Mount Darwin and Mtoko had become the operational focal points.

I had set off on this flight from Bindura where I received a briefing from an SB officer who wanted more details on Chifombo. My reason for recovering into Centenary was that I knew there were spare beds there. But I cannot say why Peter Cooke was also there because he had left FAF 3 when operational activity moved east with Centenary passing into the care of a VR Camp Commandant. He may have been helping out as a (retread) helicopter pilot because I do not recall seeing another pilot for the only helicopter parked next to my Trojan. Anyway there were certainly no 4 Squadron personnel or aircraft around.

Initially I declined to lie on the stretcher but the sharp fragments in my legs made walking so painful that I was forced to accept the lift to an Army medical tent. Having the bits and pieces removed without any anaesthetic by a very young TF medic was an unpleasant experience made easier by slugging neat whisky. I was very sore, stiff and covered in bloody dressings when Flamo Flemming, and I think Jungle Forrester, came to me in the medical tent with a request. “Boss PB, please come with us to your Trojan. We want you to explain something to us.” With the foreign bodies removed and being somewhat anaesthetised by whisky I was able to limp along with them.

Using long ‘spear grass’ that grew along the airfield fence line, these two technicians had lined up all the bullet entry and exit holes. There were 123 strikes of which four were from heavy-calibre rounds that had failed to explode (guns too close to target), yet not one had struck the fuel tanks or any other vital part. This in itself was a miracle but Flamo wanted me to explain why I was not dead considering one bullet’s path appeared to have gone through my left flank.

One length of spear grass ran from the port side of rear cabin through the backrest of my seat and into the instrument panel. Not bothering to prove to myself that the bullet line was correct I foolishly choked up and simply pointed heavenward. When I regained composure I was able to tell of my terror over Chifombo and how God’s powerful presence had overwhelmed me.

This incident persuaded me to turn back to Christianity. I had abandoned the Anglicans at age twenty, swearing never to return to a church that laid emphasis on the pomp and ceremony I had experienced as an altar server. Now, some eighteen years later, I decided to find a church that practised biblical Christianity. This led Beryl and me to the Methodists in Waterfalls, simply because Beryl preferred we go to the pastor she had watched on TV. He was Reverend Gary Strong who, in his youth, had been a rough and tough ‘Main Street Cowboy’ biker.

New offensive trials

OUR ASSOCIATION WITH THE SOUTH African Air Force strengthened over time and much of the increased helicopter effort in 1974 had come from the SAAF in the form of machines and aircrews. This was as much for SAAF’s benefit to gain ‘on the job’ experience as it was for Rhodesia. It was for this reason too that Captain Kapp was sent to fly recce with me to assess the value of sending other pilots at a future date. Captain Kapp must have turned in a good report because SAAF sent four young pilots for recce training in 1975.

Whilst I was instructing Captain Kapp, Chris Weinmann and Brian Murdoch continued to find CT camps inside the country and had initiated air and ground operations on them; but not once were terrorists in residence, all camps having been freshly vacated. The CTs had obviously become wise to the fact that the Trojans they saw flying in their area of operations were the same ones that brought trouble to their camps. This forced us to rethink tactics.

I decided to try flying offensive low-level battle formations with four armed Provosts to see if we could catch CT groups in the open. By setting propeller speed to 2200 rpm, the Provost was very quiet and sufficient boost could be employed to ensure adequate flying speed for the undulating terrain in northeast Rhodesia. Flying this configuration, it was possible to come to within less than 500 metres of people on the ground before they heard the aircraft.

Our flights were flown along random routes since we had no way of knowing where terrorists might be. Numerous bases discovered during recce were over-flown too, yet none of these flights produced any result. On one particular sortie I picked up a man on the horizon carrying what appeared to be a weapon over his shoulder. He was so close that it was too late to select guns and the man was not yet aware of my presence, so I manoeuvred to kill him with the left undercarriage. At the last moment he heard me, and as he turned, I realised that his ‘weapon’ was a simple badza (hoe). Only he and his laundry woman knew what a fright he received as I passed inches above him.

Beginning of Black Month

BACK IN MOZAMBIQUE AGAIN, I picked up two new bases and returned to New Sarum to give briefings for two jet-strikes. It was decided to use a Vampire in which Hugh Slatter and I would mark one base at 1100B for the usual four Hunters and two Canberras. After that strike, I was to fly a Trojan from New Sarum directly to the second base for a routine FAC controlled strike at 1500B.

This time Hugh let me handle the Vampire until the attack dive was established and then took control to fire four 60-pound rockets. I had no orientation problems this time and Hugh placed the rockets exactly where they were needed. The rest of the aircraft struck as planned.

Following a short debrief back at New Sarum, I took off in my Trojan and headed for the SAS Tac HQ at Macombe then continued on for thirty kilometres northward to commence the southward orbits that would place me over the target. This base lay twelve kilometres north of the Zambezi River. I had just located a brand-new base in hills to the north of the target we were about to attack when the Hunters checked in. I put this base aside for the moment and continued towards the assigned target.

This particular attack marked the beginning of what became known to Air Force as ‘Black Month’. Flight Lieutenant Don Donaldson constructed this Canberra Air Strike Report:

It will be helpful to clarify a few abbreviations in the sequence Don used them:

OP JUNCTION was the codename for the photographic coverage of Mozambique to upgrade poor-quality Portuguese mapping.

JSPIS—Joint Services Photographic Interpretation Services.

SOP—Standard Operating Procedures.

1AK and 1ZP as written, ONE ALPHA KILO and ONE

ZULU PAPA as spoken, were the callsigns of JOC Hurricane at Bindura and FAF 3 at Centenary.

YELLOW section was the callsign of helicopters based at the SAS Tac HQ, Macombe.

GREEN 2—Canberra flown by Air Sub-Lieutenant Keith Goddard with Air Sub-Lieutenant Bill Airey as navigator.

RED Leader was Rob Gaunt, leading Hunters flown by Don Northcroft, Danny Svoboda and Paddy Bate.

The 1 Squadron’s (unsigned) report, probably by Rob himself, followed by Wing Commander Tol Janeke’s remarks as OC Flying Wing Thornhill, are typically low-key.

My perspective of this airstrike was quite different considering I watched each aircraft as it attacked. Rob Gaunt’s rockets were exploding on target before my marker rockets were down. As usual I tensed up until I saw the Hunter pass under me. Once the fourth Hunter passed through target I looked up to watch Don Donaldson’s bombs appear out of the bomb bay at the very moment I expected to see them. The bombs ran the full 950-metre length of the target before I saw a number of men running in many directions within the base. I looked up for the second Canberra, hoping its bombs would reach target quickly.

Keith Goddard was too far behind and still turning onto his attack line. With my own motion this gave the impression that the Canberra was skidding sideways against the beautiful backdrop of bluish purple hills. When on line, the Canberra made a couple of sharp corrections in response to the bomb-aimer’s instructions. At the very moment I expected to see the bombs falling, there they were but, as they reached about one-fuselage depth below the aircraft, the graceful Canberra disappeared in an orange fireball of enormous dimension. I knew immediately that a bomb had detonated prematurely setting off the full bomb load. Moments later the loud bang and pressure wave came to me through the open window of my Trojan.

Rob Gaunt asked, “What the hell was that?” I told him Green 2 had exploded. Rob then asked if it had been Strela to which I answered, “I saw no trail. I think it was a premature detonation setting off the whole bloody frag load.”

In a fraction of a second the fireball had increased in size and changed to a mixture of deep-red flame billowing out of dense black smoke with a tongue of orange flame spewing out of its centre and curving downwards. This was the flaming forward section of the fuselage that tumbled slowly leaving a trail of white smoke and unburnt fuel along its long path to ground. Both engines passed the fuselage throwing up showers of soil and red dust as they impacted. By then the fireball had given way to dense black tumbling smoke from which sections of wings, tail and other wreckage left many trails of light grey and white smoke as they descended at varying velocities. Like falling leaves the wings and large bits of wreckage wafted down slowly.

By the time the last piece of wreckage reached ground the smoke ball had become brownish grey which reduced in density as the wind took it westwards past numerous columns of smoke rising from the sparsely-treed ground, some 500 metres to the north of the target.

Rob Gaunt had not missed a beat and ran the four Hunters through the target a second time as if nothing had happened. I was only vaguely aware of these strikes low on my left side because my attention was fixed on the awful drama I have described. When the Hunters cleared I switched over to the SAS radio frequency and moved over to the crash site where I noticed Don Donaldson’s Canberra orbiting above me.

The SAS on the ground at Macombe, just fifteen kilometres away, had heard the explosion clearly. Four helicopters were heading for the target, at last to check out air strike effectiveness. However they witnessed the disaster and headed directly for the Canberra’s nose section. In moments confirmation was given that both crewmen were dead and that their bodies were intact. Having heard this, I returned to the airstrike frequency and gave Don Donaldson the bad news.

Flight Lieutenant Al Bruce in the meanwhile was airborne out of Macombe and met me over the crash site preparatory to an attack on the small base I had located just before the jet strike. We made our strikes and were well clear of target when the SAS troops at the Canberra crash site reported hearing a large explosion from the position we had just struck.

I landed at Macombe to collect the bodies of the Canberra crew and flew them back to New Sarum. On arrival there, well after dark, I was feeling very depressed by events and for having to carry the bodies of two fine young men, whose deaths I had witnessed.

In spite of the fact that I was extremely tired and had not had anything to eat or drink all day, members of the Board of Inquiry into the Canberra incident insisted on taking my evidence right away. This was because they planned to fly to the crash site first thing next morning. By the time my statement had been recorded and answers given to many questions, I was too clapped-out to fly back to Centenary and stayed over at New Sarum.

Operation Marble

NEXT MORNING I WAS ABOUT to return to the operational area when called to the secrephone (telephone that scrambles and unscrambles voice conversation). Group Captain Dicky Bradshaw instructed me to return to Thornhill, as I was required to proceed on a top-secret mission next day, 6 April. His signal to Thornhill would fill me in on the details.

In his Flying Wing HQ office at Thornhill Wing Commander Tol Janeke handed me two signals to read whilst he and Rob Gaunt chatted. The first was an Operational Order for Operation Marble. It required a small team of recce pilots to position at the Portuguese Brigade HQ at Estima Air Base close to the hydroelectric construction site of Cabora Bassa.

The task was to locate FRELIMO targets for a Portuguese assault force. Rob Gaunt was to be the Ops Commander of a temporary FAF at Estima Air Base with all necessary equipment and communications. I was to lead a team of four recce pilots to provide targets for offensive operations by Portuguese heli-borne troops and helicopter gunships.

The second signal advised that presidential confirmation had been received for me to receive an award that made me a Member of the Legion of Merit (Operational). The congratulations I received from Tol and others went straight over my head because I was already too preoccupied with my fear of the forthcoming recce flights. These would be over areas in which I knew FRELIMO forces possessed many Strela missiles.

Tol told me to take the day off to be with Beryl and the children who I had not seen for some time. Rob Tasker and Chris Weinmann were both at base and they agreed that there was nothing requiring my immediate attention; so I briefed them to prepare three Trojans for Kevin Peinke, Mark Knight and me to fly to Estima. Kevin and Mark were the only pilots available who had shown any interest in recce, and Mozambican ground was fairly easy to read anyway. Chris Weinmann, using the fourth Trojan, was to operate out of Centenary to cover territory in the southwestern sector of the area I planned to cover.

Chris had a fair idea of the ground he would be covering but I gave him warning to be especially careful of a particular mountainous place from which heavy fire had been directed at me every time I had been there. In particular I made it clear that I would cover those areas in which Strela was known to exist and asked him not to operate above a particular line of latitude, which I marked on his maps.

At home I told Beryl I was only there for one night to change over an aircraft. She was disappointed but asked me several times what was troubling me. I assured her all was well and that I should be home within ten days; but she seemed to know otherwise. It puzzled me that she could see through my attempt to appear happy and relaxed.

On the way to Estima I popped into FAF 3 to brief Peter Cooke on the Portuguese need for recce assistance and what was required of 4 Squadron. Chris would be operating from FAF 3 so we made plans for copy of his signalled recce results to HQ to be relayed to me at Estima. We also decided on the VHF ‘natter’ frequency Chris and I would use for direct communication between each other whilst airborne, because we would be beyond the range of all other stations.

I continued with Kevin Peinke and Mark Knight to Estima where Rob Gaunt was already set up. He introduced the elderly, good-looking and immaculately dressed Brigade Commander who made it clear to all of us that he was a cavalryman, which in his view placed him amongst the ultra-elite.

Following a short planning session with the Army and Air Force officers of the assault force, we were invited to the open-sided thatched bar of the Officers’ Club for refreshments and lunch. It was there that the brigadier offered me a bottle of any drink I chose for every live FRELIMO base my youngsters and I could offer his troops. It seemed to me that he did not believe we were all we had been cracked up to be by his superiors in Lourenço Marques. The brigadier said my choice of the cognac Antiqua was a good one.

After lunch Kevin and Mark helped sort out our maps before accompanying me on a familiarisation flight to get a first feel for the area of Operation Marble. We spent a lot of time over the Cabora Bassa Dam site and westward along the northern bank of the Zambezi River whose shoreline was changing as the water backed up slowly from the new dam wall. Kevin was to operate in the area next to Chris and south of the same line of latitude I had marked on Chris Weinmann’s maps. Mark was to fly with me for a day or two on extended recce training.

On 7 April, we were routing north through the area assigned for Mark when we happened upon a large FRELIMO base. I had no doubts that it was occupied and called for the assault force to meet us at one of the river junctions we had selected for RV purposes. The brigadier could not believe we had found a target so soon after take off on our first mission.

Because of language difficulties the plan was to lead the assault force Pumas and Alouette gunships from the selected RV directly to target. The Trojan task was to provide noise cover to the approaching helicopters and mark the target with thirty-six Sneb rockets. Thereafter control would pass to the two gunships, both armed with 20mm side-firing cannons. When the gunships ran out of ammunition they would pass control to the ground force commander.

Having continued northwestward to get beyond sight and sound range of the FRELIMO base, I followed a long circuitous route to get back south to the RV point where we waited for the airborne force. Mark and I were green with envy when we saw it approaching us. In this single lift the four Pumas were carrying more troops than could be carried by all the helicopters in Rhodesia. As for the two 20mm gunships, we simply did not have any then.

As agreed, the helicopters held a loose formation to my left so that I could watch them all the way. I marked target with a raking salvo of rockets and pulled up to see how the Portuguese handled themselves. Coming around in long line astern for a left-hand orbit around the base, the two gunships went into action immediately because there were FRELIMO people running in all directions. The time was about 10:15.

All four Pumas dropped their troops south of the target but so close together I could not believe it. They then lifted, turned about in the hover and disappeared the way they had come. The gunships were busy but made no attempt to stop FRELIMO breaking northward.

Never before had I seen so many armed terrorists. Down at about 1,500 feet, flying a little higher than the gunships, I could see everyone was armed, some with RPG rocket launchers. I was so sorry that I had expended my rockets because there were tight groups which remained stationary to fire at the two gunships whenever they came close and then moved on. The gunships concentrated on buildings that caught fire immediately. Their crews had either not seen the concentrations of terrorists I could see so clearly or had chosen to ignore them. At the end of their second orbit all ammunition had been expended so they rolled out and disappeared in the direction the Pumas had gone.

I watched at least six large groups of FRELIMO move away in good order. They were paying no attention to my aircraft so far as I could see. Over one kilometre to the south of the FRELIMO groups, the assault troops were still being shaken out into an extended sweep line before commencing a painfully slow advance towards the base. At least fifteen minutes had elapsed from the time they were dropped to the time the troops reached the southern edge of the base. By then every FRELIMO group had melted away into the bush farthest from the troops. I left the area in disgust because this, the target of my dreams, had been totally wasted.

Instead of continuing on with our recce, we flew back to Estima to reload rocket pods and tell Rob Gaunt of the frustrating balls-up Mark and I had witnessed. Then, whilst positioning to continue our recce, we found that the Pumas were already back at the FRELIMO base, uplifting assault troops and captured equipment. It was not yet 12:00. All structures in the camp were burning; so that was that! No follow up on tracks as might be expected. Just packing up and going home!

The clear blue cloudless sky conditions and the presence of Strela made me move up to 6,000 feet above ground. Moving on from the smoke-covered base, we picked up strong trails leading northwestward. The route given by a number of converging and diverging pathways was a cakewalk and we found four more large bases along the line, all of which were in use. Tucked away in the densest cover either side of the tracks were many small camps linked to fields of maize, rapoko and cassava; obviously civilians were giving FRELIMO succour and hiding from the Portuguese.

With no protection against the heat-seeking sensors of Strela missiles, and flying in perfect conditions for these weapons, I watched for them every second. If I spotted one coming up, my plan was to cut power and roll upside down to screen off the hot exhaust stubs. At the time I did not know that the paint over the entire surface of my Trojan could be ‘seen’ by these weapons and that my plan was utterly worthless.

Having worked for some time I had become quite relaxed when, out of the corner of my eye, I picked up a near vertical zigzag line of faint greyish white smoke. It ran through a position we had passed in orbit about thirty seconds earlier. Immediately I thought of Strela and looked up the line of barely discernible smoke to see if there was evidence of an airburst where Strela should self-destruct at around 13,000 feet. I could see nothing and soon lost the smoke trail altogether. When in later times I actually saw Strela missiles in flight, I realised that the trail I had seen here was definitely from a Strela that had been fired at us. The operator almost certainly fired when the aircraft was passing too close to the sun, which attracted the missile’s sensor to itself. This may very well have been the first Strela to be launched against a Rhodesian Air Force aircraft. Unfortunately it was not to be the last.

At half-hourly intervals Chris, Kevin and I exchanged information on how each of us was doing. By the end of our first day we had accumulated nine major bases between the three of us but made no call on the assault force because there was need to debrief on the first operation and make plans to improve tactics.

Back at Estima we found an elated brigadier who ceremoniously handed me a bottle of Antiqua. I was completely disarmed by all the Portuguese officers’ congratulations to 4 Squadron for setting up such a ‘magnificent operation’. They were tickled pink by the tally of sixteen FRELIMO dead and the largest haul of captured FRELIMO equipment in Tete to date. This included four 14.5mm anti-aircraft guns.

The assault commander said my Trojan had been under intense fire from the time the gunships left until I cleared back to base. He expounded on the bravery Mark and I had shown and how this had impressed and endeared us to his troops. We neither let on that we had been unaware of the fire nor that the Trojan had taken no hits.

With spirits so high, the brigadier and his assault force officers were confounded by the criticisms levelled against them by Rob Gaunt and me. We noticed, however, that the six Portuguese Air Force gunship and Puma pilots took kindly to our observations and that they were very keen to respond to suggested tactical improvements.

We had too many targets lined up for the assault force so it was decided to let the main line of bases settle down for a couple of days. Lesser targets were to be used to test and modify tactics during the next three days with only one being attended to each day. These were small enough for groups to be placed in stop positions on three sides to cover CTs escaping from the fourth group as it swept through target.

All three bases turned out to be FRELIMO regional bases supporting small numbers of men, most of which were away from base at the time of the assaults. The results in FRELIMO killed and captured were disappointing to the Rhodesian contingent but the brigadier and all of his staff were delighted, particularly with the quantities of weapons and landmines captured. All structures that had not been ignited by Sneb rockets or gunship fire were set alight by the troops. The brigadier acknowledged that he owed me three bottles of Antiqua.

Thursday 11 April was the day chosen to take on the main line of bases which, on the Ops Room map, were numbered from the first base we struck as (1) and ascending up the communication line to base (5).

Rob Gaunt and I were keen to take the assault force onto Base (5) then put in airstrikes on the other bases (2, 3 and 4) in that sequence. After their move through Base (5), the assault troops were to set up numerous ambushes both north and south. The southern ambushes were for FRELIMO moving up from the bases attacked by aircraft; the northern ambushes were to cater for FRELIMO coming down on normal resupply or to investigate air and ground activities of the previous day.

Unfortunately the Portuguese would not accept the plan or the idea of leaving forces in the field overnight (something to do with fresh bread). Instead, the assault force was to take on base (2) with Rhodesian Air Force jet-strikes on bases (3 and 5). The Portuguese Air Force would strike Base (4) with Fiat jet fighter-bombers; to which end English-speaking PAF officer Major Vizlha would fly with me to communicate with the Fiat pilots of Scorpion Formation.

I led the assault force to Base (2) for a strike at 09:00. This time two Pumas placed troops about 100 metres apart at one end of the base and two Pumas landed troops east and west to cater for lateral breakout. The northern end of the base was to be contained by the gunships. This time marking was by two rockets only to retain plenty for the forthcoming FAC marking runs for jet strikes. I had contemplated bringing in Kevin and Mark to take on opportunity targets with their Sneb rockets before proceeding to their recce areas but dropped the idea to avoid any confusion that might arise through language difficulties, I regretted the decision immediately because FRELIMO, seeming to believe the Pumas had surrounded them with troops, milled about in the opening several seconds presenting many good and concentrated Sneb targets.

Again the two gunships, which were active at the northern end of the camp, did not see the bigger target opportunities in the base centre. I had not seen 20mm cannon fire from helicopters before Op Marble and was impressed with the visual effects of the exploding shells. However, considering the low kill-rate that had been achieved in the four previous bases, I moved above one gunship and watched it fire at dispersed individuals. In spite of the large flashes that were really close to running FRELIMO, the shells seemed to have little effect on them. Some FRELIMO tumbled but got up and ran on, probably slightly wounded and certainly shaken.

Then two running men went down when a couple of shells exploded halfway up the wall of a pole and dagga building they were passing. They dropped immediately and lay dead where they had fallen. Seeing this, Major Vizlha and I agreed that the shells landing on soft ground were exploding below surface causing them to lose shrapnel effect. (When we acquired 20mm cannons for our own helicopters later in the month, the neutralising effect of soft ground became well known. Because of this, many of our gunners became expert at using rocks and trees to gain airbursts for maximum lethal effect.)

At midday I marked Base (3) sited in a mountainous area. It was not the crisp operation I had hoped to show Major Vizlha because of localised low cloud at 1,500 feet agl and a fifteen-second error in my understanding of Rick Culpan’s intended strike time.

Part of the Air Strike Report submitted by 5 Squadron reads:

Rob Gaunt had passed command of 1 Squadron to Rich Brand but for some reason he did not lead this attack. For a short while the timings of lead Hunter strike on FAC mark were not as crisp as I had become used to. In spite of this, all strikes were on target with the exception of one 500-pound bomb that must have hung up temporarily. It exploded directly below our Trojan giving Major Vizlha and me quite a shake up.

Digressing for a moment—The Board of Inquiry into the loss of the Canberra just seven days prior to this attack had concluded that an arming cap vane from one 28-pound bomb had managed to reach deep into the nose casing of a following bomb. In doing so it activated the pistol’s reversible diaphragm causing the detonation that set off the whole bomb load. (A reversible diaphragm was used to achieve an airburst just above ground level when backpressure from the ground caused the pressure-sensitive diaphragm to reverse and fire the cap that detonated the bomb.) The Rhodesian-designed and manufactured 28lb fragmentation bomb system was withdrawn from service leaving 250-pound, 500-pound and 1000-pound bombs as the only weapons available for Canberra strikes, hence the use of 500-pound bombs on this strike.

Major Vizlha was amazed to see each one of our jets passing through target and asked me if the pilots knew there were Strela missiles in the area. I responded by saying we were all acutely aware of this before he told me how fearful he was to be flying with me. He said the Portuguese Air Force dared not operate above 100 feet and below 15,000 feet because of the missile threat between these heights.

We could not stick around to watch for movement in the Base where some buildings were burning furiously because Scorpion formation checked in way too early just as the Hunters and Canberras cleared target. This forced us to move on to Base (4) earlier than planned.

It was pleasing to hear the Portuguese transmissions between Scorpion leader and Major Vizlha. I understood nothing of what was being said until I was told that three Fiats were holding at 30,000 feet over the cloud-free target, each carrying four 250-pound bombs and awaiting my markers. This distressed me because I was still ten minutes away and I knew that FRELIMO would certainly hear and see the jets. Nevertheless, there was nothing I could do but run straight to target, pitch up and roll over into the dive to fire the marker rockets. Major Vizlha gave a running commentary on our progress and reported the mark.

The Fiat pilots were obviously super-sensitive to Strela. They turned into their attack dives about five seconds apart from 30,000 feet and probably released their bombs at around 15,000 feet. We did not see the jets at any stage.

I was beginning to doubt that the markers had been seen because nothing happened for ages. Holding well away from the base, I had completed half an orbit before the first cluster of four 250-pound bombs landed in the base. A long pause followed, then the second cluster struck, again inside the target. In the same way we had heard the first two strikes, the third ‘krrrump’ of bombs sounded much louder but we had not seen them explode. It took another quarter of the turn before we spotted the dust cloud of the strike behind us about 800 metres short of the target.

The combined area covered by the two sets of tightly grouped bombs within the target was substantially smaller than that obtained by a single Hunter using Matra rockets. This strike had been a complete waste of time and we saw no movement whatsoever in or near the base. Major Vizlha agreed that the Fiats had given the game away long before the marker rockets were fired.

Though embarrassed by the strike of his own force, Vizlha was very impressed by the swiftness of the final FAC-controlled strike by Hunters and Canberras against Base (5) and remarked on our radio disciplines, which involved only a few short verbal exchanges.

Base 5’s anti-aircraft guns were sited well outside the perimeter of the target and they put up so much fire at us that I broke away and returned to base. In this case the anti-aircraft gun tracer rounds coming our way had been made highly visible because the whole area of the target was in the shadow of high-level cloud. Major Vizlha’s high-pitch Portuguese outburst did nothing to dampen my own fear.

Next day the assault force was used to check out the effects of the air strikes on the three bases. Considerable quantities of FRELIMO equipment were recovered out of each of the bases though this would have been greater had the force been used straight after the strikes. Anti-aircraft shell casings littered a number of gun positions but all guns had been taken away during the night.

In Base (3), eight FRELIMO bodies were found burnt in or next to thatched structures with evidence of the burial of others. No bodies were found in Base (4). Something in the order of twenty FRELIMO dead were in Base (5) where many fresh field-dressing packets showed that a number of wounded had been taken to safety.

On 13 April the assault force was put in on a base, I think by Kevin Peinke. I continued with my own recce directly to the north of Chris Weinmann’s area with our Director of Operations, Wing Commander Porky MacLaughlin, who was visiting the Air Detachment at Estima. He had insisted on accompanying me on a flight during which we conducted FAC for another combined jet strike before we led Clive Ward flying a Trojan and Chris Dickinson flying a Provost onto a smaller base.

My recall of these strikes is vague, but the Air Strike Reports indicate that the thatching of buildings in the base struck by jets was so green that the troops had difficulty in setting them alight. In spite of this, the base had been deserted before the strike went in, indicating that FRELIMO had become jittery. So it was decided to switch all attention to a new area.

On 14 April I moved east of the areas we had disturbed. At midday Chris Weinmann and I checked in for a routine exchange of information. Chris said he was onto something big in the very area I had warned him to treat with caution. I was doing well myself and told him so. At 12:30 I checked in with Chris again but received no reply.

Every five minutes thereafter I called Chris, but still no reply. I wondered if he had returned to Centenary, or maybe the small Portuguese base at Nova Mague just south of the Zambezi River. Maybe he was trying to arrange for attacks on whatever he had found. But I could not understand why he would have done this without letting me know. By 14:30 I had become very concerned but was unable to talk to Rob Gaunt because Estima was out of radio range and a relayed discussion was not possible as Kevin and Mark had already returned to base.

When I reached Estima at around 15:30, Rob Gaunt sent a signal to Air HQ requesting Ops to establish if Chris had returned to Centenary. The Portuguese were asked to check with Nova Mague but, unfortunately, that small base was only contactable on routine radio schedule at 17:00. In the meanwhile, Rob Gaunt had accepted a challenge from the brigadier and his adjutant to a shooting competition with Rob and me.

On our first shoot from 100 metres Rob and I, using FN rifles, had fired off ten rounds each before the brigadier and his adjutant, using Armalite rifles, had fired their second shots. We beat them hands down. The brigadier was not at all impressed by the ‘reckless rate of fire’ we had displayed and emphasised how one needed to fire, settle, aim and squeeeeze the trigger. We said we should try this at 200 metres. But, again, Rob and I cleared our magazines before our challengers had fired second shots. We were already standing up as the brigadier fired his third shot and Rob whispered to me, “I put my tenth round into the brigadier’s target. Lets see how he reacts to being called a cheat.” We never did find out because, during our walk to inspect targets, we were all summonsed urgently to the Ops Room. Chris Weinmann had not landed at Centenary or any other Rhodesian base and Nova Mague reported that no aircraft had been seen or heard all day.

Search for Chris

I PREPARED IMMEDIATELY TO COMMENCE SEARCHING for Chris who I knew must be in serious trouble. Rob Gaunt advised Air HQ of my intention but received an order that I was not, under any circumstances, to fly until cleared to do so. This clearance was only given one and a half hours after sunset following continuous niggling to let us off the leash. I intended to fly alone but Mark Knight persuaded me that I needed a second pair of eyes to watch my blind side for any distress signal that Chris may use if his emergency beacon was not working.

It was a very black night and the vague line of the Zambezi River was just sufficient to get us to a point south of where Chris had reported “something big”. Although we were flying around 10,000 feet above the ground, it still makes me shudder to recall how, for Chris’s sake, we deliberately flew with our rotating beacons flashing brightly. This provided any Strela operator with the most perfect aiming point for a missile that would easily detect our exhaust heat against the cold black sky. Were we brave or stupid? It is impossible to say because our safety seemed less important than the safety of our colleague on the ground.

Mark and I had agreed that lights had to be used just in case Chris was running, breathless and unable to hear the aircraft. For three hours we ran an expanding square search but heard no emergency signal and saw absolutely nothing save one group of small fires burning inside a Portuguese aldeamento. We felt totally helpless and were overwhelmed by a deep sense of foreboding by the time we returned to Estima after midnight. Rob told us that our three Trojans and crews were required to position at Nova Mague next morning to participate in a search for Chris. He also let me know that he had received a signal revealing that one of my junior technicians, Senior Aircraftsman Rob Durrett, had been flying with Chris.

Rob left all of our ground equipment at Estima, at least for the time being, so that we could continue with Op Marble when this became possible. He returned to Thornhill by Dakota once my three aircraft were airborne for Nova Mague.

At Nova Mague, the Operations Officer (I cannot recall who it was) and a team of Volunteer Reserve men were setting up communications in a tiny building next to the grass airstrip whilst others unloaded tents and supplies from a Dakota. Four helicopters, two Trojans and two Provosts released by FAFs 3 and 4 arrived just behind us. More aircraft arrived later from New Sarum and Thornhill.

Inside the small communications room was a large, beautifully carved wooden casket containing the body of a Portuguese soldier. It had been there for many months awaiting shipment to Portugal. The casket lay elevated on boxes at a height that made it an ideal working platform for 4 and 7 Squadron’s flight authorisation and aircraft F700 technical log books. Each time a pilot or technician came to attend to these he would say something along the lines, “Excuse me Alfredo” and on completion, “Thanks Alfredo”.

Based on what I knew, and supported by Peter Cooke’s knowledge of Chris Weinmann’s intended recce area on the day he went missing, a search involving every squadron had been planned by the Air Staff. The area stretching northwards from the Zambezi River had been broken into defined blocks, each to be searched by its assigned squadron. Operating in pairs, Hunters, Canberras, Vampires, Dakotas, Provosts, Trojans and Alouettes were involved. A commando of the RLI was on hand to protect Nova Mague and to give ground assistance as soon as either the missing aircrew or the Trojan was found.

Since we had an uneven number of Trojans, I paired up with Al Bruce who was flying a SAAF Cessna 185. Three of these aircraft had recently been delivered on long-term loan to 4 Squadron. We had planned for Chris and me to do conversions onto this aircraft because it afforded much better visual freedom for recce than the Trojan. However Op Marble interrupted our plans and Al, having done his conversion, came to lend a hand.

We passed a formation of four helicopters going in the opposite direction along the southern boundary of our search area. Their decision to use four aircraft for maximum security was a wise move made possible by their ability to hold open formation in the rough terrain allocated to 7 Squadron. At 10:00 Red Section, a pair of Hunters flown by Ricky Culpan and Vic Wightman, was flying wide line-abreast at 500 feet past a high feature on their right side when a Strela missile was fired. Part of Vic Wightman’s ASR read:

Had that missile been fired at a slower aircraft the result would have been fatal. So, at 17:00 on the same day I led a strike by four Hunters on a base twelve kilometres to the southeast of were the Strela had been fired. Ricky Culpan and Vic Wightman were striking for the second time on this day led by Rob Gaunt with Don Northcroft flying No 4. The strike was made with a view to dissuading FRELIMO from firing at any searching aircraft.

It was getting dark when I decided it was my duty as OC 4 Squadron to get back to see Ellie Weinmann at Thornhill and Rob Durrett’s parents in Bulawayo. Although I was certain in my mind that both airmen were dead, I used the long night flight to conjure up suitable words of encouragement for the families. Eventually I came to the conclusion that no such words existed and that I would have to play things by ear when the time came. At Thornhill Ellie Weinmann, already receiving encouragement and support from Beryl and other squadron wives, had no doubts that Chris was alive and that he would be found soon. I was relieved by this and went home to bed totally exhausted.

Next morning I left early to meet Rob Durrett’s family. I told them that, although we had not given up hope, things did not look good. They were obviously distressed but were grateful that I had taken the time to pay them a personal visit and had not tried to hide realities. I returned to Thornhill and by midday had completed a hurried conversion onto a SAAF Cessna 185 with Captain van der Linde who, after forty-five minutes in the circuit, declared me safe to fly the aircraft. This aircraft was fitted with an SSB radio for long-range communication, which is the reason I needed it in a hurry for improved communications during the search and for Op Marble when it resumed.

En route back to Nova Mague I received an unusual instruction on the SSB radio from Wing Commander Porky MacLaughlin in Air HQ. He asked me to search the Mucanha River line. This river was on the north side of the Zambezi into which it flowed but was outside and to the west of the search area. Porky explained that the Rhodesian Broadcasting Corporation had reported that a Rhodesian Air Force aircraft was missing in the operational area but no mention had been made of Mozambique. Yet two female clairvoyants had voluntarily and individually phoned Air HQ to say they knew where the aircraft could be found and that both airmen were alive. The aircraft was reported to be right next to the Mucanha River itself and not too far from the Zambezi River.

Porky said it was so uncanny that these ladies, acting independently, had identified Mozambique and that both had pointed to the same river. This information could not be ignored, particularly as both women had previously assisted the Police in finding missing persons whose bodies had been located where the Police were told to search.

The Cessna I was flying had an unpainted silver surface making it an even better target for Strela than the camouflaged Trojan. Because of this I elected to search the river-line at low level and take my chances with smallarms fire. I could find nothing even though every tree, bush, nook and cranny had been inspected up and downriver until it became too dark to continue. I saw people on the ground three times but only once did I see a pair of men firing at my unarmed aircraft.

It was completely dark when I reached Nova Mague for my first solo landing in the tail-dragger Cessna 185. This was not the easiest of aircraft to land because of its narrow, undamped, leaf-spring undercarriage; so I was apprehensive about landing without a flare path. The dull lights within the camp helped me assess the position of the threshold and I used my instruments to assess the runway direction. On short finals I switched on the landing lights just in time to see a large tree directly ahead. I lifted over this and a little further on put the aircraft down so smoothly it surprised me.

Two days of intensive searching had yielded nothing and for the next three days the intensity of the search was maintained with as many as sixteen aircraft actually airborne at once. At no time during daylight were there less than six aircraft searching.

Under pressure from the Portuguese to resume Op Marble, Air HQ instructed me to reposition at Estima on 20 April. I was airborne out of Nova Mague flying my Cessna 185 with Chris Dickinson following in a Trojan. At 09:00 I was climbing at low power to allow Chris to hold formation when I heard Greg Todd calling urgently, “Willy where are you? Willy this is Greg. I cannot see you. Willy are you all right?” These calls were to Willy Wilson who had been flying No 2 to Greg.

I called Greg by his correct callsign and asked him what was going on. “Boss PB, I cannot see Willy. I have lost him.” For Greg Todd to call me Boss PB and refer to himself as Greg was reason enough to know he was already a frightened man. “Where are you now Greg?” I asked. He told me where, then said, “I can see black smoke along the route we were flying”. Moments later he said, “There’s a ball of white smoke rising from there, I’m sure Willy’s rockets have exploded.” The position Greg was reporting was smack in the centre of the area I had warned Chris Weinmann to be especially wary of and where he had said he was onto something big. Immediately I instructed Greg to move south and take cover behind a high feature whilst I moved over to him. As I flew there I requested Nova Mague to recall the helicopters and prepare to move troops. The smoke rising from Willy’s crash site was faint but obvious. I could see where Greg and Willy had passed over the south-to-north spur of a high dogleg ridge-line that turned ninety degrees westward into higher ground. I had come to know this particular feature well during earlier recces. From the south leg the pilots had descended to flatter terrain where the smoke was rising.

In the dogleg bend of the ridge there ran a number of steep ravines that merged into a small river with surface water. FRELIMO had favoured this river for its bases, particularly in the dry season, so I called for jets. Greg and Chris linked up and held south whilst I climbed to 15,000 feet before moving up to the river and ridge-line. Immediately I saw the huge base that Chris Weinmann had obviously found under heavy cover astride the river at the base of the dogleg.

This was the sixth day of the search, which meant that Trojans and Provosts must have traversed this spot at least six times, yet no pilot had spotted the base. Presumably this was because of the density of trees and the fact that they were either climbing or descending the very steep ridge when they passed over it. From my lofty height it was easier to see the telltale sections of pathways and two particular paths leading steeply to worn patches on two small ledges between ravines high above the base; perfect anti-aircraft sites.

A pair of Hunters flown by Don Northcroft and Paddy Bates checked in with me before the helicopters reached the area. Bearing in mind that A4 (Alpha 4) was my callsign and K4 was Chris Dickinson’s, this is what Don Northcroft recorded in his Air Strike Report:

This had been an unusually scruffy strike because Chris marked too far southwest of target. Nevertheless with Chris Dickinson and Greg Todd holding top cover, the helicopters put the troops down at the crash site without incident.

Willy Wilson and his accompanying technician, Flight Sergeant Roger Andrews, were found dead. The troops said Willy had crawled some distance from the aircraft before he was killed when one pod of rockets detonated. They also reported that a Strela missile had exploded smack bang on the engine exhaust. There was no doubt that this had been a Strela strike and that Chris Weinmann’s aircraft would be found somewhere fairly close by.

Any thought of continuing to Estima for Op Marble was dropped. Instead I returned to Nova Mague where a group of men stood silent around the bodies that had just been brought in from the crash site. Each one of those 7 Squadron’s crews present had served on 4 Squadron and they felt just as keenly for these downed men as the men still serving on my squadron. I addressed them but cannot recall what I said, other than that Chris Weinmann and Rob Durrett had obviously suffered the same fate and would be found by the troops within hours. More troops were flown in and the air search was terminated in favour of an RLI ground search. I returned to Thornhill to see Roger Andrew’s widow, Muriel, then continued on to Victoria Falls to see Willy Wilson’s folks.

The next day troops found the engineless Trojan hanging by its tail in a large tree on the south side of the base Chris had discovered. The engine had been blown from its mountings by a Strela missile that had obviously entered next to the exhaust pipe and exploded between firewall and engine. The engine and its propeller were never found. The firewall was no more than a few inches above the ground and both doors lay open against the ground. Shallow graves next to each open door contained the maggot-infested bodies of the airmen.

Six men dead and three aircraft lost in sixteen days ended a very sad period for the Air Force. What made it all so much worse was the unexpected revolutionary change of government in Portugal following a left-wing military coup on 25 April. All in all April 1974 had been a very ‘black month’ for Rhodesia. Op Marble, due to resume on 26 April, seemed to have been a total waste of time and had cost us four dead plus the loss of two valuable Trojans. Its resumption was called off which, on a lighter note, cost me eleven bottles of Antiqua, unclaimed from the brigadier.

For ages I found difficulty in coming to terms with the fact that Chris and Willy had been taken out by Strela and that I, having spent so much more time over Mozambique and having deliberately operated the areas I considered most dangerous, was still alive. There were no simple answers; it was just a matter of getting on with the job in the knowledge that the war was about to intensify and that many dangers still lay ahead.

Chris Weinmann had been a great water-polo player and always wore around his neck a water-polo medallion inscribed with his name. In 1980, whilst serving as the Rhodesian Security Forces Ceasefire Commissioner, I was introduced to a FRELIMO officer at Nyamasoto. Not only was he wearing Chris’s medallion, he wanted to let everyone around know that he was the man who had fired both the Strela missiles that had downed our two Trojans. He said that he had been celebrating his first Strela success and was too drunk to fire at the aircraft he had seen flying overhead that night. How it came to be I cannot say, but he knew I was the pilot of that aircraft. Strangely enough I was not at all put out by his boastfulness. Times had changed too much to make the matter seem important.

Hunter commanders

THE OFFICER WHO BLEW UP a lavatory bowl, Mike Saunders made an excellent squadron commander because of his natural abilities and a very naughty nature. When making his last flight as OC of Hunters, he showed his displeasure at being replaced by Norman Walsh in the manner expected of him. He made a low-level supersonic pass over the airfield that resulted in cracked windows in a number of buildings.

Norman Walsh though outwardly quiet, was probably the naughtiest of all 1 Squadron commanders but he took his job very seriously and became a main player in Air Force affairs, as will be seen later in this book.

Rob Gaunt had been an excellent leader and I remember him best for his incredible anticipation and precision in FAC-led strikes. Rich Brand followed Rob in 1974 and Vic Wightman replaced Rich in mid-1978. As with all our squadron commanders, they were vastly different characters in all respects, but they were all great pilots.

Rob Gaunt spent some time in Air HQ before leaving the force to enter into politics. Mentally gifted, he followed in the footsteps of his father, John Gaunt, who had been an outspoken politician in Federal times and again as a minister in the first Rhodesian Front Government. Rob was still a member of the Rhodesian Front party after Robert Mugabe’s ZANU party came to power, by which time he had put on a great deal of weight. Rob had the unusual knack of criticising black ZANU politicians without really upsetting them. On one occasion, when ZANU was giving ZAPU’s immensely fat Joshua Nkomo a particularly hard time, Rob leapt to his feet and looking directly at Nkomo said, “Honourable Minister, you have no need to concern yourself with what you are hearing because I can assure you and all the honourable members present that you and I carry a lot of weight in this House!”

Rich Brand was the grandson of the famous Sir Quintin Brand who, together with Pierre van Reyneveld, made history in March 1920 by flying the Vickers Vimy bomber ‘Silver Queen’ from Britain to Cape Town. Rich was a quiet man, something of a loner that, in Air Force circles, made him appear to be at odds with most pilots. He spent much of his spare time building and flying radio-controlled model aerobatic aircraft. His talents here and his ability to deliver weapons with great accuracy were well known to all—but nobody ever recognised the huge potential that lay dormant within the man.

He left the Air Force in 1980 and moved to the USA where he was associated with an American tycoon who had an interest in building and flying model aircraft. Amongst other things, this tycoon owned a large hotel and casino in Las Vegas. When one day he asked Rich what he had in mind for his own future, Rich said, “I want to start at the bottom of your Las Vegas enterprise and work my way up until I head it.” Without further ado Rich was given the broom and mop brigade. He progressed rapidly through every position rising through management of the gambling halls, the hotel and finally becoming Managing Director of the entire Circus Circus enterprise. He endeared himself to every member of the enormous staff who he greeted personally by first name. Rich Brand, the quiet person in Rhodesian Air Force days, turned out to be a much-revered multi-millionaire in a niche none of us would have believed possible.

Vic Wightman was an eccentric who would not allow his family to use salt in any food. He had three hates. These were Americans, dogs and insurance agents. His worst fear was to be visited by an American insurance agent with a dog. Vic was an excellent squadron commander and strike pilot whose name comes up often in this book. When Vic left the force he ended up flying a Lear Jet out of Nelspruit in South Africa on cloud-seeding and other weather-related work. He started his day there by walking barefoot from home to work over a forested hill to enjoy the bush and the local wildlife. He remained without shoes when flying his executive jet and sometimes astounded his bosses in Johannesburg by emerging barefoot from his aircraft to attend company meetings. In addition to one already covered, some of Vic’s experiences will be revealed later.

Army claims air kills

4 SQUADRON PROVOSTS WERE BECOMING MORE and more involved with internal strikes whether operating in conjunction with helicopters, being called to assist ground forces or acting against targets located during visual recce by other 4 Squadron pilots.

All 4 Squadron pilots were great operators but one junior pilot was already emerging as a star performer. Almost every action involving Air Sub-Lieutenant ‘Cocky’ Benecke with the callsign Juliet 4 turned to success. This had much to do with his amazing eyesight, as will be seen.

Brian Murdoch (E4), Cocky Benecke (J4) and Kevin Peinke (R4), all flying Provost, were involved in an action inside Rhodesia on 18 April when others of 4 Squadron were still tied up with the air search in Mozambique. Selous Scouts operator Mick Hardy and his pseudo terrorist group had initiated this widespread running action.

Mick had been successful in locating three bases that one particularly large ZANLA group used in random rotation. Mick’s problem was that he could not tell which of the bases was occupied at any given time. His Officer Commanding, Ron Reid-Daly, went to JOC Hurricane at Bindura to arrange for the grouping of all available helicopters and troops to move in behind simultaneous air strikes on all three bases. Unfortunately there was some confusion and the terrorists survived.

Undaunted, Mick picked up the trail and established two alternative bases for which a first-light attack by RAR was planned. Due to scepticism following the abortive attack of the previous day, the local RAR commander approached his task in an uncaring manner, causing Mick Hardy to realise that his target of about thirty CTs would be lost if he did not take the initiative. He did this by dealing directly with the Air Force.

Following the action that accounted for eight CTs killed and four captured the RAR, who came to the party late, proudly claimed all to their own credit. This was an ongoing difficulty for the Air Force; not that it should have mattered who achieved the successes. But apart from niggling the airmen, problems caused by ground forces claiming most Air Force successes, a consequence of inter-company rivalries, could prejudice annual allocation of funds to Air Force by the Government Treasury. Fortunately a more balanced situation developed as time went on but the reader can judge who did what in this particular action. The Air Strike Report is difficult to follow without an accompanying sketch, but it gives a fair idea of the widely spread actions involved. As with most hurriedly written ASRs, little attention was given to grammar.

Gungwa mountain

FOLLOWING A BREAK AT THORNHILL I returned to ops earlier than planned on 4 May. This was in response to a call from JOC Hurricane at Bindura. SB had received reports of a large ZANLA base just across the border in the vicinity of a high feature known as Gungwa mountain, upon whose summit was one of the border beacons. I was asked to pinpoint the base.

Flying a Cessna, I searched outwards from the mountain but failed to find any base. Only one place remotely resembled the type of temporary camp found inside Rhodesia. This lay in dense jesse bush at the base of Gungwa mountain itself. Because it was not possible to remain overhead for a detailed look, I had to fly all over the place before returning for a second and then a third look. I was not convinced that this was a base but I could not reject it either because too many cattle paths ran in parallel lines within and outside the jesse bush. If in fact it was the site of a CT base, I decided it was for no more than ten CTs residing on a temporary basis.

At Bindura I reported that there were no CT camps near Gungwa and that only the large patch of jesse bush offered the remotest possibility for a mere handful of CTs. I thought no more about the matter believing an OP (observation post) callsign would move in to monitor the site. However, a couple of days later I received instructions to fly to New Sarum and report to OC Flying Wing. On arrival, Wing Commander Bill Jelley told me that I was to fly lead Vampire on 6 May for the biggest air strike to date on the Gungwa mountain base. This was to be followed by every available helicopter making a vertical envelopment with RLI troops. I protested and made it quite clear that I felt that Air Force was being drawn into a huge ‘lemon’. My objections were noted, but SB interrogations of captured CTs had satisfied JOC Hurricane that the jesse bush lying at the base of Gungwa mountain fitted with the intelligence. The strike would go ahead as planned. It was then that I came to realise that the whole fiasco was going to be recorded on film. In fact I saw myself on national television giving the air briefing for the very air strike I had tried to prevent.

I flew in the lead Vampire piloted by Justin Varkevisser. We marked with a full load of 20mm cannon and two 50-gallon Frantans and were followed in rapid succession by two Vampires, six Hunters and three Canberras. Four Provosts came from behind the mountain just ahead of about twelve helicopters. The whole operation went like clockwork on a patch of bush that was devoid of any ZANLA presence.

As expected, I was used as the scapegoat for the wastage of air weapons. Because of this I refused, with Air HQ support, to be involved in a similar situation in late 1974.

Countering Strela missiles

AS I HAD PREDICTED, WE needed to lose aircraft to Strela missiles before the Treasury hurriedly provided funds for the research and modifications needed to protect helicopters and piston-driven aircraft. Flight Lieutenant Archie Ramsbottom was appointed the technical officer for the project. I became involved with him immediately on an ad hoc advisory basis and together we paid a visit to CSIR in Pretoria for discussions on Strela missiles and the steps to be taken to render them harmless.

A sensor that could ‘see’ objects radiating infrared energy in the 2-micron wave band controlled Strela flight. Highest intensity emissions were from the relatively small exposed sections of exhaust pipes and hot engine parts. However, the cumulative value of infrared radiating from an entire standard airframe, although apparently cold, presented a good target. Strela would initially home on the entire heat signature of an aircraft and only seek out the hottest spot late in its flight; hence the strikes on the exhausts of the two Trojans.

Exhausted gas plumes did not present any problem but it was quite obvious that hot exhaust stubs and any exposed sections of engines had to be shielded. This needed some clever design and engineering work, which our technicians managed quite easily. Surface paint was the bigger problem. We established that colour was not the main criteria in selecting a paint mix that exhibited low radiation properties in the 2-micron wave band. In fact, and surprisingly, it was easier to achieve this with white paint than in the camouflage colours we intended to retain.

Archie worked long hours with paint manufacturers and the Paint Shop at New Sarum to develop the ideal paint mixes for our camouflage colours. What they eventually produced virtually eliminated radiation of infrared energy in the critical wavelength sector, even when the surface was hot.

The dedication and enthusiasm of Air Force technicians and paint manufacturers made Archie’s job easier and the results were impressive. Provosts and Trojans looked the same as before except for strange-looking fibreglass fairings shaped like half cups that screened exhaust stubs that had been turned to face upwards. Simple screens were also used to disallow Strela from ‘seeing’ hot components through the cooling-gills under the engines.

Dakota exhausts required a different solution. This involved extending the exhaust pipes all the way to the trailing edge of the mainplanes where the pipes turned upwards to exhaust gases vertically. A wide tunnel-like fairing through which air flowed to keep the outer surface of the tunnel cool surrounded each long exhaust line. At the trailing edge of the mainplane, the tunnel fairing rounded upwards to screen the hot upturned outlet of the exhaust pipes.

Counter-Strela modifications for Alouettes and Cessna 185 aircraft were created by SAAF in conjunction with CSIR. The Cessna modifications were much the same as those developed for the Trojan. Alouette helicopters presented bigger problems because the entire engine and exhaust pipe were exposed. As with fixed-wing aircraft, it was necessary to modify the jet pipe to exhaust upwards and the entire engine was shrouded in a bath-like shield. This shield was without a top to allow access for engine servicing in the field. Because of this, the engine and jet pipe could be seen from the ground when a helicopter banked steeply.

All anti-Strela modifications were very successful and many Strela missiles were wasted against our slow aircraft.

Jets, however, could not be protected to the same degree. There was no easy fix to the exposed ends of jet pipes. All that could be done was to paint the airframes with the new paint to minimise total radiation, thereby limiting Strela’s ability to acquire target until a jet aircraft had passed its operator’s position.

When all the Strela protection work was completed, Archie and I paid a visit to Air Rhodesia’s top managers to suggest to them that their Viscount airliners should be protected along the lines of our Dakotas. The reason for our visit arose from tests we had conducted with a Strela missile that had been acquired by Air Force to evaluate our counter-missile work.

The missile’s firing mechanisms were neutralised and a battery pack replaced the regular pyrotechnic generator. As a mobile test bed, this modified missile worked very well. Our tests confirmed that our light aircraft and Dakota modifications were satisfactory, and that the missile could not easily ‘see’ Canberras and Hunters until after they passed abeam. During these tests we noted that, whereas a Viscount produced a stronger signature from its four exhausts than either a Hunter or a Canberra, its entire airframe and large under-wing exhaust pipes made the aircraft highly visible, irrespective of range and direction of travel.

We were told that Air Rhodesia’s engineers and upper management were fully aware of what had been done to protect Dakotas and they agreed that a similar style of engineering could be employed to shroud Viscount exhaust pipes. The matter of repainting the Viscounts presented no special problem. However, despite a very cordial meeting, both Archie and I sensed that there was no real interest because Air Rhodesia’s managers seemed unable to accept that Strela would ever be a threat to civilian airliners.

Army Sub-JOC commanders

ON 4 JUNE 1974, LIEUTENANT-COLONEL Dave Parker, the Army Commander at JOC Darwin, asked me to take him along on a recce flight. He had been impressed with air recce successes and wanted to gain first-hand knowledge of how we searched for CT camps and what ground patterns attracted a pilot’s attention. His open-mindedness and desire to learn from direct experience was very refreshing. Throughout our flight his questions and observations made it plain that he was very switched-on. Having shown Dave a few bases I had found previously we were fortunate to find a new one that appeared to be in use. Surprisingly he saw the base more easily than many of the pilots I had trained and his excitement was infectious.

Three helicopters brought in twelve RLI troops. Dave could see immediately that they were going to be too thin on the ground to have any chance of boxing in the area around a camp site that offered the CTs a number of escape routes in good cover.

I directed the lead helicopter to position 150 metres to one side of the CT base by calling “Camp centre 150 to your right… NOW.” Troops were put down simultaneously on three sides of the camp before the lead helicopter climbed to 1,000 feet to direct the troops towards the camp. The other two put in dummy drops in gaps between the troops in an attempt to make CTs uncertain of which way to break. They then returned to Mount Darwin for more troops.

Contact was made before Dave and I saw two groups of four CTs breaking at high speed through a huge gap between the soldiers. Being unarmed I could do nothing about this, and the orbiting helicopter was already engaging CTs inside the camp. We had to be content with two CTs killed and one captured wounded with no less than eight CTs seen to escape. This experience certainly highlighted for Dave Parker the reason why Air Force had been asking to concentrate helicopters with permanent reaction troops, not simply to reduce the size of gaps, but to improve soldiers’ efficiency under the direction of their own airborne commanders. Greater levels of immediate intelligence flowing from Selous Scouts made the availability of this type of reaction group all the more important.

There had been a few successes when helicopters and troops were brought together with an Army commander directing his troops from a helicopter. For the most part, however, helicopters had been penny-packeted to meet far too many unprofitable calls. This had been at high cost considering the unacceptably low returns for effort expended.

It so happened that two Alouette gunships were used for the first time on this very day, though neither one was available for our small action. Earlier in the day, Flight Lieutenant Rob McGregor and Sergeant Henry Jarvie had flown top cover to trooping helicopters. When the trooper helicopters had left the scene, a well-known wounded CT leader, who was hiding in a hut with other wounded CTs, pinned down the ground forces. This gave Rob and Henry opportunity to employ their 20mm side-firing cannon, which resulted in the death of all the CTs. During the late afternoon Flight Lieutenant John Annan and Sergeant Morris fired their cannon in another action but with no confirmed results.

The arrival of gunships, improving Selous Scouts effectiveness and Dave Parker’s influence in the field made it possible, at last, to introduce the permanent reaction force the Air Force had been advocating for some time. The Air Force had not been alone in seeking this concentration of forces because a number of RLI commando commanders had been pressing for the same thing. To my own knowledge these included RLI Captains Jerry Strong, Pat Armstrong and Dumpy Pearce.

As with the Portuguese assault force at Estima, this involved grouping troops, trooper helicopters, helicopter gunships and armed fixed-wing aircraft. We could not possibly match the lift capacity of the Portuguese but we had the advantage of having very aggressive RLI soldiers and could provide their commanders a seat in a gunship from which to observe and direct them. The continuous presence of a gunship overhead each action also facilitated immediate supporting fire to ground troops or to engage targets moving beyond their reach.

Within a few days this reaction force, soon to be called Fireforce, was put into effect and the results achieved over the following six months were astounding. Dave Parker had much to do with bringing the first permanent combined force into being at Mount Darwin.

Dave was a truly superb individual who was held in high regard by all who knew him. He was blessed with many talents that included flexibility of mind and a desire to actively seek and receive the opinions of others without regard to their rank. He absorbed everything he heard before reaching decisions that were reduced to clear-cut plans and instructions. He also had the rare ability to admit to occasional error, never offering excuses for his own mistakes. It was no wonder that the RLI troops nicknamed Dave Parker ‘The King’.

Five weeks after my flight with Dave Parker I flew with Lieutenant-Colonel Bert Barnard, an RAR officer. Bert was the Army commander at JOC Centenary, the post he had held from the outset of Op Hurricane. Along with most Army and Air Force officers I found Bert Barnard to be the exact opposite of Dave Parker. He was pompous, highly self-opinionated and intolerant of opinions emanating from any rank below his own.

My Flying Logbook shows that he accompanied me on a visual recce sortie that lasted for only one hour and twenty-fve minutes. Bert became bored and asked to return to Centenary on the pretext of matters requiring his urgent attention; a marked contrast to Dave Parker’s flight of over six hours, following which he had expressed disbelief at having been airborne so long.

Fireforce might have come into effect much sooner, admittedly without gunships, had Bert Barnard listened to Air Force and RLI opinion. However, none of us had yet realised that we should have pressed for penny-packeting of helicopters to bring him, inevitably, to the opposite view of needing to concentrate forces.

Fireforce and Scouts

ON COMPLETION OF TRIALS AND training for the new 20mm helicopter cannons, helicopters and RLI commandos teamed up to form two assault forces, initially comprising one 20mm gunship and four trooper helicopters, each carrying four soldiers. Mount Darwin and Centenary had one force each.

To distinguish between gunships, Rhodesian troopers and SAAF troopers, abbreviations were introduced. Influenced by a popular British Police TV series then showing in Salisbury and entitled ‘Zed Cars’, the helicopters became:

K-Car (Kay)—gunship (killer)-cum-command post

G-Car (Gee)—trooping and general purpose—Rhodesian

Z-Car (Zed)—trooping and general purpose—SAAF

The first action out of Mount Darwin occurred on 21 June 1974. John Annan, flying the gunship with Sergeant Garry Whittal as his gunner, led four trooper helicopters and a Provost. Two G-Cars were crewed by Squadron Leader Eddie Wilkinson (OC 7 Squadron) with Sergeant Pete McCabe and Flight Lieutenant Ken Law with Flight Sergeant Farrell. Two Z-Cars were crewed by Captain du Plessis with Sergeant Hulatt, and Lieutenant Anderson with Sergeant Veldman. Air Lieutenant Steve Baldwin flew the Provost.

The ASR is typically brief. It reads:

John said, “Return fire was heard on many occasions…” Bearing in mind the high level of noise inside a helicopter and the marked reduction in surrounding noises when wearing padded earphones under a ‘bone-dome’, the sound level of sharp supersonic cracks from rounds passing close to a helicopter was substantially diminished. In fact passing machine-gun rounds sounded something like a swarm of bees striking the windscreen of a fast moving motorcar. So when helicopter crew heard this, they knew rounds were passing either through their craft or very close to it.

Wing Commander Roy Morris was OC FAF 4 at the time. His comments were:

In his ASR a couple of days later, Flight Lieutenant George Wrigley, flying K-Car, with Sergeant Pete McCabe as his gunner, made this observation:

As I had witnessed in Mozambique, the 20mm rounds were bursting below surface where the full effect of shrapnel was lost. Whereas this troubled the Air Force, the Selous Scouts were very pleased because the number of CTs captured wounded helped swell their ‘tame ter’ ranks. The Selous Scouts had learned very early on how easy it was to denude CTs of politically induced hullabaloo and bring them back to being themselves again.

Although most shrapnel was lost into the ground, a limited number of low-grade bits of 20mm shell casing burst steeply upward. Any CT close enough to a below surface burst was usually subjected to minor wounding of legs, buttocks and groin. Occasionally large pieces of casing caused death or serious injury. Gunners soon learned that a direct hit on a CT, effectively an airburst, was disastrous for him and others in his proximity, but this was difficult to achieve with the slow-firing cannon. Good gunners, of which there were many, learned to aim for hard surfaces such as rock and large trees to induce lethal effect and often withheld fire until CTs moved close to such surfaces.

Initially, every fifth 20mm round in the 20mm ammunition belt was a tracer round which proved to be unnecessary for air-to-ground firing. The highly visible flash from each exploding round was more than sufficient for sighting corrections, so tracer rounds were removed.

Tol Janeke had just taken over the post of OC FAF 4 when Selous Scouts initiated an action that ran smoother than any previous Scouts call. On 28 September Air Lieutenant Roger Watt, flying K-Car with Flight Sergeant Norman Farrell, led two G-Cars and three Z-Cars to a CT base whose location had not been precisely identified. Roger’s ASR gives references to his accompanying sketch of the action. Since the sketch is not reproduced here, the references appear as blanks in this otherwise verbatim report:

As OC FAF 4, Tol Janeke had this to say:

The term ‘Fireforce’ (my underlining above) was used for the first time in this ASR and Major Lambert was the first ‘official’ airborne Army Fireforce commander. However, as previously stated, control of ground troops by Army commanders flying in helicopters had been used previously. Tol Janeke referred to a shortage of 20mm ammunition for our gunships. This problem applied to many other critical commodities and the reasons for this will become clear later. What is not made clear was the decision to move back-up troops and fuel forward to Dotito (a small village) by road at the same time that the main force flew out of Mount Darwin. This became fairly standard procedure for many Fireforce operations that followed to reduce reaction time.

In all actions the K-Car orbited to the left because the 20mm cannon, whose long barrel protruded out into the airflow, was mounted on the port side. The gunner needed maximum traverse of his cannon, which was difficult in the confines of the cabin. This would have made an airborne Army commander’s presence intolerable if he had occupied a standard forward-facing seat. To resolve this difficulty, his seat was reversed and secured in the front left-hand corner of the cabin. Although this meant having to face backwards, Army Fire Force commanders had an unrestricted view of the ground that concerned them and most mastered with ease the problem of ‘flying backwards’.

Whereas a pilot’s view was totally unrestricted in a right-hand turn, this was not the case in the offensive left-hand orbit. The presence of the Army officer, the instrument console, the cabin floor and the gunner, particularly when he was firing, restricted a K-Car pilot’s visual freedom. Nevertheless, by having control of the aircraft flight path and bank angle, K-Car pilots managed very well indeed.

Détente

ACROSS THE ZAMBEZI RIVER TO our north, Zambia continued to be openly hostile to Rhodesia. The Portuguese were already passing control of Mozambique to the unprepared leadership of their former enemy who would soon give ZANLA open access to Rhodesia’s entire eastern flank. To the west Botswana was showing increasing signs of willingness to allow ZIPRA access to our entire western flank and, to our south the Government of South Africa seemed to be pressurising Ian Smith by deliberately interfering with the free flow of vital imports. So, all around us the signs were ominous as 1974 drew to its close.

Within Rhodesia the score in CTs killed and captured was mounting rapidly, though there was absolutely no room for complacency and, as already stated, our war supplies were often too low for comfort. It was only a matter of weeks before Mozambique’s ports would be lost to Rhodesia and, being a landlocked country, this left us totally dependent on South African for all our imports and exports. This new situation brought with it very unpleasant changes in South Africa’s political posture, not that the South African Defence Forces or the general public of South African ever wavered in their support to Rhodesia.

Following the collapse of the Portuguese, détente became the tool by which Prime Minister Vorster and a limited number of his party faithful intended to gain favour with Black Africa’s political leaders. Détente was the route by which Vorster hoped to reduce African antagonism toward his party’s apartheid policies. Furthermore, he seemed to have written off the Zambezi River as a natural defence line against communism now that half of its previously useful length was lost. The longstanding relationship between South Africa and Rhodesia, one of unquestioning friendship and co-operation, was changing to one in which Rhodesia had become the vital pawn in Vorster’s détente game.

This situation forces me to run a little ahead in time, because détente would surpass every political danger Rhodesia had ever faced in its fight to retain responsible government. For the likes of me, first signs of serious trouble came in early August 1975 with the sudden withdrawal of the majority of South African Police units. This suggested to us that Vorster was being outmanoeuvred by black governments, yet his obsession with détente continued. If senior military commanders understood what was going on, it was not being passed down the line to operators in the field. The loss of the SAP impacted badly on our own overstretched forces and I guess it must have angered those SA Policemen who served in Rhodesia. Nevertheless there was for us no alternative but to keep our noses to the grindstone.

From the outset men of the South African Police forces that were sent to Rhodesia were totally untrained in bush warfare and this never really improved because South Africa’s move to assist us was heavily motivated by self-interest. Men trained for riot control and other policing duties in South Africa were sent to Rhodesia to gain on-the-job training in counter-insurgency operations. As soon as they became proficient, they were substituted by a new batch of men. Nevertheless, their numbers had been of great assistance and they were sorely missed. The removal of the SAP through acquiescence of politically manipulated Police commanders was one thing, but the South African armed services’ reaction to political pressure seems to have been very different.

Even before the withdrawal of the SAP, SAAF had increased helicopter and crew levels in a scheme known as Operation Polo. The substantial improvement in helicopter numbers was to help offset the loss of over 2,000 South African Police, but again, it suited South Africa to have its aircrews gain ‘on-the-job’ operational experience. No criticism is intended because this was a sensible line to follow and Rhodesians were only too pleased to build on strong bonds that already existed with the SAAF.

Initially an Air Force major headed the Op Polo crews but he made a bit of a mess of things when he forced rank to flying K-Car lead before gaining any Fireforce experience. This caused such a nonsense with the Army that, thereafter, only captains and lieutenants remained to fly Z-Cars until, at a later time, the Op Polo crews on detachment wore Rhodesian Air Force uniforms and ranks.

A SAAF liaison officer was permanently attached to Air HQ. A number of wing commanders (SAAF rank— commandant) and squadron leaders (SAAF rank—major) occupied this post over the years and all of them proved to be excellent men who handled the few problems that arose quickly, quietly and efficiently. All the South Africans enjoyed their participation in operations and found the Rhodesian military living standards, at base and in the field, to be better than those back home. They also enjoyed their attachments to our Air Force for another reason. When in Rhodesia the officers and men received a handsome daily allowance whilst their regular pay accumulated to sizeable sums for collection on return to home bases.

Authentication of pseudo groups

ON 24 AUGUST 1974 I LED an attack on a camp that appeared to be occupied. Although the camp appeared fresh, and was unmistakably CT in pattern and location, it was unusual in that sun reflections blinked off tins and other items of litter. I had not seen this before. The Fireforce troops I called upon reported that the camp had been vacated that morning and that the litter was from Rhodesian ration pack items left lying about by Selous Scouts. Ron Reid-Daly hotly denied that the position had been a Scouts base and made the point that his men were never issued with ratpacks (Rhodesian Army ration packs). Certainly I had not ever seen litter in Selous Scouts pseudo bases, and I saw many of them. From my own observations, litter was associated with Police and TF callsigns operating from high points on ground surveillance work. However, though no one owned up to being responsible for the litter in this camp, much fuss was made of the matter and littering ceased to be a problem.

Although the Selous Scouts were doing extremely well they sometimes ran into difficulties when tribesmen appeared so uncertain of their identity that they became reluctant to co-operate with the pseudo teams. In order to gain the locals’ confidence, which was of paramount importance, Ron occasionally arranged a Fireforce action on the bases his men were using. This was potentially dangerous because, for security reasons, it was necessary to conduct genuine Fireforce actions in which only two officers in the K-Car knew that the men on the ground were Selous Scouts and not CTs.

To ensure that the locals were totally impressed, the pseudo ZANLA group needed to pull out of its camp position only seconds ahead of leading air strikes, and certainly before the arrival overhead of the K-Car. The pseudo ZANLA men, using cover off to one side of their ‘abandoned camp’, would impress the locals by sending up heavy fire, aimed well behind passing aircraft, though tracer rounds were not used by the pseudos and the airborne Army commander deliberately kept his troops well clear of the pseudo CT position. This was a dangerous game and there were some close shaves.

ZIPRA plans upset

SPECIAL BRANCH IN BULAWAYO HAD managed to break into ZIPRA’s network of agents in Matabeleland, thereby discovering the location of many pits that had been prepared to receive large quantities of war matériel from Zambia. ZIPRA was clearly intent on getting internal operations moving to counter all the glory that was going ZANLA’s way. Quite unrelated to this was the discovery through Canberra photographic reconnaissance over Zambia, of a large hole in a remote place north of the Zambezi River between Victoria Falls and the headwaters of Lake Kariba.

In the latter half of 1974 the SAS enjoyed a change from Tete ops by moving into Zambia to investigate ZIPRA’s activities in a large region south of the main road from Livingstone to Lusaka. Amongst other things, their reconnaissance revealed that ZIPRA cadres were involved with intensive manual work at the site of the hole the Air Force had found. The sounds of sawing and hammering led the SAS to the firm conclusion that a major underground arms store was in the making. The Air Force was asked to monitor the site regularly and report on progress. The resultant photographs showed conclusively that the SAS had been correct in their assessment. Now it was a matter of waiting the right moment for ZIPRA to complete the construction of this huge underground bunker and fill it with war matériel. Equally important was to strike before the onset of the rains when ZIPRA was most likely to commence moving equipment forward to the prepared sites in Rhodesia.

In early October over forty SAS men moved in after aerial photographs showed that many vehicles had been to the cache site, which by then was totally covered over. They killed all the sentries in a set-piece dawn action involving assault and stop groups. Having secured the site the cache was inspected. Those who had a chance to enter the massive store were shaken by the quantities and variety of war matériel that far exceeded their wildest expectations, but the volume was so great that only half an inventory count had been completed when carefully laid demolition charges were ready to wreck ZIPRA’s planning.

No thanks to the restraints of détente, it was impossible to consider recovery to Rhodesia of anything from this monstrous find. For the SAS it was painful to destroy so much brand-new equipment, all of which would have been so useful in their own hands.

The big bang that followed set ZIPRA back for something in the order of a year. It was to be the first in a series of seemingly endless setbacks for ZIPRA.

7 Squadron gains at 4 Squadron’s expense

THROUGHOUT 1974 MY SQUADRON HAD been losing experienced pilots and technicians on posting to helicopters. Pilot replacements coming directly off PTC courses placed a continuous load on 4 Squadron both at Thornhill and in the field. In consequence Rob Tasker at base and myself in the field were both tied to instruction throughout the latter half of the year.

Due to the nature of helicopter operations 7 Squadron’s morale had always been good. However with the on-take of operationally experienced pilots and technicians there came an infusion of the naughty spirit that had developed on 4 Squadron. The antics of two of the technicians, Henry Jarvie and Phil Tubbs, though generally conducted in a spirit of good fun, forced OC 7 Squadron to rule against both men ever being attached to the same FAF together. Stories about these two, as well as those of others, would not pass censorship.

One antic Henry Jarvie was often asked to perform was his Sumo wrestler’s act. His scrawny build, exaggerated poses and noisy grunts with underpants stretched upward to the limit was guaranteed to make the most spiritless observer laugh.

Henry’s sense of occasion on 7 Squadron was just as it had been on my squadron. This was demonstrated when he was being instructed in hoisting. Pilots and technicians were taught how to lower or raise men in and out of places where helicopters could not land. Whilst operating the hoist a technician had to give a running commentary to the pilot who could not see the cable position. This was one component of hoist training. Another involved being lowered on the cable and learning how to effect the recovery of injured persons.

Henry had heard that any new pilot or technician undergoing hoist training was likely to be dunked in Prince Edward Dam whilst he was suspended helpless at the end of the hoist cable. Having made certain that Fynn Cunningham would be training him, Henry changed into the man’s uniform jacket, slacks, shirt, tie, socks and shoes. Over these clothes he wore his regular flying overalls and pulled its zipper right up to his chin.

When the time came to make his first descent, he was lowered onto a very high rock near the edge of Prince Edward Dam. From this rock he was lifted upwards and, as expected, flown through the air until over the water. The pilot, Roger Watt, then came to a hover and descended until Henry disappeared under water. Fynn Cunningham, operating the hoist, did not see Henry slip out of his harness below the surface of murky water and got one heck of a fright when the helicopter lifted to reveal an empty harness. Roger Watt also became agitated when Henry failed to reappear. Unbeknown to pilot and technician, Henry was swimming underwater heading for the shore. Suddenly he popped up some distance away at the edge of the dam. Stomping around to ensure that the shoes he was wearing filled with sticky black mud, Henry waved for uplift. When back inside the cabin, Henry put on his flying helmet and grinned broadly at Fynn who wanted to know why Henry was looking so smug. “I am wearing your uniform, that’s why!”

Fynn did not believe Henry and forgot about the matter until he went to his locker at work’s end. His clothing was so wet and his shoes and socks so mud-filled and sodden that he was forced to return home in working overalls and shoes with his wet uniform and service shoes wrapped in muttoncloth.

Ceasefire

ALTHOUGH I WAS IN THE field for most of the time, I could not participate directly in the excitement of increasingly successful operations as 1974 closed. I found it difficult to be content with listening in on Fireforce actions whilst continuing with my losing battle to produce replacement recce pilots. Because of this, news of my posting to Air HQ brought prospects of a much-welcomed break and opportunity to spend time with my family.

My hackles were raised on my first day in Air HQ when an officer one rank senior to me foolishly but officially questioned my handling of men. He accused me of being the only squadron commander ever to have completed three years in command without making or hearing a single charge against any one of his squadron’s personnel. I responded by saying I was proud of the fact that my flight commanders, squadron warrant officer and senior technicians had handled the men in a manner that produced results but avoided having ever to resort to punitive measures. I reminded him of the fact that Chris Weinmann might still be alive had I not asked for him to ensure the maintenance of discipline, whereupon I became somewhat aggressive and asked to be appraised of my squadron’s failure to meet any of its obligations in the field and at base. This officer, who over time had proven to be a lone antagonist toward me, admitted that there had been no failure whatsoever and immediately changed direction by saying he was not criticising me but merely ‘making an observation’. He had never seen flying service in bush operations—enough said!

From my own very selfish point of view, relinquishing command of 4 Squadron occurred at an ideal moment because a ceasefire came into effect on 11 December 1974. Following three years in command with only one three-week break, it felt great to hand over 4 Squadron to Squadron Leader Cyril White and return to our own home in Salisbury.

South Africa’s Prime Minister Vorster and Zambia’s President Kaunda, in another of their détente initiatives, had orchestrated the ceasefire.

The nationalists, Joshua Nkomo of ZAPU and Robert Mugabe of ZANU, had been released from detention to attend talks in Lusaka that helped bring about this farce and our forces were under orders not to interfere with any CT group exiting the country.

The ceasefire could not have come at a worse time for Rhodesia. For the first time terrorist numbers within the country were diminishing rapidly, primarily through Selous Scouts-generated Fireforce successes, and their areas of influence had shrunk in spite of the continued inflow of those CTs who managed to bypass the SAS in Tete. Security Force morale was high whereas almost every CT group had been broken up, forcing union of surviving elements under diminishing direction and reduced qualities in leadership. Externally ZANLA was in disarray. Yet here we were being ordered to let the enemy off the hook! Many ZANLA groups made the best of the opportunity to get back to Mozambique to regroup and rethink strategy whilst taking with them hundreds of youngsters to be trained in Tanzania and Mozambique.

For servicemen who had fought so hard, this situation was scandalous!

There was no honest explanation forthcoming from our leadership to reduce our frustrations from knowing that the ceasefire would surely fail and that ZANLA was being given sorely needed opportunity to reorganise and prepare for operations along the entire length of Mozambique’s border, now entirely in FRELIMO’s control.

Yet here we were under orders to sit back as very unwilling members of a ‘Mushroom Club’ that kept us in the dark and fed us shit! Despite the silence we could see that what was happening was so madly wrong that our government was surely being blackmailed. There was simply no other explanation!

We were not to know, officially that is, that Rhodesia was being used as a pawn by Prime Minister Vorster to appease Kaunda, Nyerere and the rest of Africa to gain favour and divert attention away from South Africa’s apartheid problems. Nor were we supposed to know that subtle pressure was being applied on Ian Smith’s government through the deliberate slowing down or withholding of vital supplies moving up from South Africa. It was known to us, however, that Rhodesia had often been dangerously low on fuel and munitions due to ‘South African Railways bottlenecks’. We had become somewhat accustomed to the ‘free world’ governments knocking us but to think that South Africa might be doing the same seemed incomprehensible! I remember wondering in my anger why we did not make a direct approach to the Kremlin to circumvent so-called friends and make a short-cut deal that would allow us to get on with our normal lives. I know this makes no sense but to still believe so strongly in British standards and be treated in such shoddy manner by the ‘free world’’ including, possibly, South Africa, made my mind tip.

Dakotas dropped thousands of leaflets on the night of 11 December declaring the ceasefire. The leaflets offered amnesty and freedom to terrorists who handed themselves over to any Rhodesian authority. The entire operational area then went quiet for ten days before an offensive CT action occurred on 20 December.

The Mount Darwin Firforce deployed and a Z-Car pilot, Lieutenant Francis, was wounded before he had a chance to land the RLI stick he had on board. In a very calm manner he advised the K-Car pilot, Roger Watt, that he had been shot and was putting down south of the terrorists’ location. Only when he was on the ground, and under CT fire, did he let Roger know that his knee was shattered. His technician, Sergeant Knouwds, lifted him out of the helicopter into cover whilst the RLI stick moved out into all-round defence and directed the K-Car onto the spot where the CT fire was coming from. The K-Car cannon then suppressed CT fire, resulting in the safe recovery of the Z-Car and the capture of one wounded CT.

Then on 23 December a South African Police callsign met with tragedy after its OC received a written invitation to meet one of ZANLA’s senior commanders, Herbert Shungu, to discuss surrender terms. Seeing opportunity to shake Rhodesia and South Africa and wishing to shatter the ceasefire, Shungu selected a hiding place on the south bank of the Mazoe River not far from an SAP camp that was also sited south of the river. His message to the SAP commander stated that he was ready to discuss surrender terms as set out in the leaflets. His selection of SAP was deliberate.

On a bridge spanning a remote section of the Mazoe River, the SAP stopped their Land Rover on the south side when they saw a handful of apparently unarmed ‘friendly terrorists’ waving and approaching them from the northern end of the high-level concrete bridge. Totally off guard, four unarmed South African policemen debussed and strode forward to meet the CTs in the middle of the bridge. They had not taken many paces towards the men they expected to meet in peace when machine-guns opened up from the hidden force behind them.

The four white policemen died but one black soldier survived. He was an N’debele member of RAR who had been allocated to the SAP as an interpreter. He did not trust the Shona and had held back slightly, walking against the railing of the bridge. Though wounded in the initial burst of fire, he managed to dive into the water far below the road deck. A long wait in the crocodile-infested water worried him because of his bleeding, but his instinctive actions had saved his life. The terrorists had hurried away from the murder scene without waiting to ensure that everyone was dead. When the survivor eventually got back to his base, he told the story of what had happened.

The sight of their slaughtered companions and the theft of arms, ammunition and grenades from the empty Land Rover angered the SAP and sent ripples of resentment throughout South Africa. So much for the Vorster’s ceasefire that had been forced on Rhodesia! So much too for the instruction to leave CTs alone! For us the ceasefire was over. Nevertheless everything went quiet again.

Firelighters

WHENEVER I VISITED CSIR in Pretoria, I called in on engineers Dr John de Villiers and Vernon Joynt because they were great men and always had something new and interesting to show me. In 1974 they introduced me to small delayed-action flame generators. Each unit came in the form of a 100mm-square sealed plastic packet containing potassium permanganate powder. To activate the powder, a small quantity of glycol, deliberately dyed red, was injected by hypodermic syringe into the packet. The liquid migrated rapidly through the white powder turning it pink. For about forty seconds nothing changed until the packet swelled rapidly, then burst into flame and burned fiercely for about eight seconds.

I asked Vernon if 1,000 of these packets and an appropriate quantity of dyed glycol could be prepared and sent to me in Salisbury. He agreed and a large cardboard box duly arrived at Air Movements addressed to me. My interest in these little flame generators was to establish if it was possible to burn large tracts of Mozambican grass and bushveld in the hope of destroying minor crops, thatching grass and the overhead cover upon which FRELIMO and the CTs depended.

One night during the 1975 dry season I flew a ten-kilometre radius route around the Mozambican side of Mukumbura to initiate a burn-line that was expected to run inwards to Mukumbura and outwards as far as the fire would go.

The rear door of my Cessna 185 had been removed and two technicians sat facing each other behind me with the box of plastic bags between them. As fast as they could, they injected fluid into the bags and tossed them out into the black. By the time we completed our circular run, all 1,000 packets had made their long drop to ground and had set off the line of fires that clearly marked our passage. Initially it looked as if our objective would be realised, but when I flew over the area the next day, long fingers of burnt grass stretched outward through countryside that was 90% unscathed.

Although this did not work for us in savannah country, it is interesting to note that Canadian fire-fighting helicopters use a similar method to initiate back-burning lines when combating large forest fires. For this, the powder is encased in ping-pong balls that are automatically injected with glycol as they pass rapidly through a very fancy automatic dispenser.

Quiet times

MY AIR STAFF POST AS Ops 1 suited me nicely and it was wonderful to go home every evening and have weekends off. The workload was low with very little associated stress at a time when operations in the field were virtually at a standstill. However, we had no doubt that the war would resume and we used the break to prepare for this.

Ian Smith had been given a Beech Baron twin-engined, propeller-driven executive aircraft, I think by a lady in America who greatly admired our Prime Minister’s stand against communism. The PM passed the aircraft to the Air Force for its own use providing it was always made available to him to fly on regular visits to his farm ‘Gwenora’ near Selukwe.

Having been a fighter pilot himself, Ian Smith always flew his aircraft and favoured Flight Lieutenants Bob d’Hotmann or Ivan Holshausen to fly with him. On two occasions I flew passenger in the back of the aircraft sitting next to the PM’s friendly wife who talked a great deal. Janet never once entered into a non-political discussion and asked many searching questions to test my opinions on Rhodesia’s political affairs. I do not believe she found me wanting.

In addition to Ian Smith’s Baron, the squadron acquired four Islander light-transport aircraft that came into the Air Force inventory in an unexpected way. First one, then another, then two more Islanders arrived unannounced at Salisbury Airport carrying Portuguese families evicted from Mozambique in FRELIMO’s erroneous drive to rid the country of whites. The owners of these aircraft, like all those being evicted from their homes and businesses, had lost all they possessed, so they brought their machines secretly to Rhodesia to sell for money to start new lives.

The Islander was ideal for light communication work and came at a good price. A fair amount of hard work was needed to bring them up to Air Force standards and to regularise equipment and fittings before entry into regular service. Later more Islanders were added to the fleet.

What the Air Force really needed at the time was a replacement aircraft for 4 Squadron’s ageing Provosts and the underpowered Trojans. I was tasked to make an assessment of light civilian aircraft that, if modified for weapons delivery, would meet our needs. We really wanted an aircraft specifically designed for our type of war but, though there were plenty on the international market, none could be sold to Rhodesia because of the UN mandatory sanctions. This gave us no option but to identify a standard ‘civilian’ aircraft that we could buy, preferably from France, for operational upgrade. The French, more interested in commerce than in UN restrictions, had been good to us. In spite of sanctions, France had helped to increase our helicopter fleet from eight Alouettes to more than double that number, even with losses taken into account. How this was done and how we acquired 20mm cannons and other matérial was not for me to know.

The most suitable of the fixed-wing aircraft available inside the country appeared to me to be the American-designed twin, in-line, push-pull Cessna 337 with retractable undercarriage. Of importance was the fact that this aircraft was built under licence in France. The owner of the only available 337 and Wing Commander Bill Smith handled the machine whilst I looked on from the back seat. I was satisfied that the aircraft possessed the power, lift capacity and speed we needed and, like the Cessna 185, it was well suited to recce.

Orders were immediately placed with the Reims factory in France, then manufacturing Cessna 337s under licence from USA. My greatest pleasure in the initial exercise came from an instruction to decide what aids and comforts must be incorporated into these brand-new machines. Having done this, my list was strongly criticised by some Air HQ officers, mainly technical, who could not justify the added expense of aids and comforts we had been doing without for so long. Not one of the critics had any idea of the difficulties, dangers and discomforts our pilots endured in the field, so it was pleasing that the Air Force Commander, Air Marshal Mick McLaren, ruled in favour of operational pilots.

Although most CTs had exited the country, a few groups remained, some leaderless. Many of these were LTTs who had grouped together, fearing to venture into Mozambique because, for them, it was unknown ground. Measuring the activity level from Air Strike Reports, only four occurred in January (the same number as occurred on the day before the ceasefire) and only one produced any result. This was an over-border Fireforce action initiated by a Selous Scouts recce team, which accounted for seven CTs killed. From the beginning of February to 24 July only seventeen ASRs were recorded, most inside Mozambique with minimal returns.

On 14 June 1975 I was appointed OC FAF 5 at Mtoko because the regular OC, John Digby, was going on overseas leave. In the absence of any offensive action, my time was spent improving the campsite and finishing off building the pub John Digby had started. Gordon Wright, who was OC FAF 1 at the time, assisted by finding a good N’debele thatcher. This man did a great job of thatching the pub roof despite his continuous complaints about the ‘poor quality of Shona grass’.

The ‘Chopper Arms’ was a great success for deployed Air Force personnel and became a happy watering hole for Army, Selous Scouts, Police and surrounding farmers. It was officially opened on three separate occasions.

When I had run out of things to do around the camp, I became agitated by the lack of action and spent much of my spare time on air recce. I submitted this report to Air HQ:

Clever intelligence work by the Selous Scouts Intelligence Officer deduced that ZANLA’s remaining leaders would be meeting in the vicinity of a particular contact man’s village during the latter part of June. A force of regular troops cordoned off a large area around this village in northern Kandeya Tribal Trust Land. Unfortunately there were too few soldiers to box in the terrorists who gathered, as predicted. Out of about thirty terrorists only six were killed and one was captured. So far as I recall, this was one of the reasons many survivors chose to leave for Mozambique. Those who remained had their minds changed six weeks later.

Upon his return from leave, John Digby resumed command of FAF 5 and I remained there with him to continue teaching recce to 4 Squadron pilots and PRAW crews. It was a difficult and extremely boring task because there were very few CTs around, particularly after a flurry of successful actions involving Cocky Benecke. This will be covered shortly.

Brown Jobs versus Blue Jobs

AS IN THE YEARS BEFORE and in those to come, the Annual Army versus Air Force rugby match was a great occasion. Being a much larger force, the Army should have beaten the Air Force every time but, for the most part, the Air Force thrashed the Army. The rivalry that built up was good-spirited and the commanders of both forces always sat together to rib each other throughout each match.

In 1975 the big contest was held in Salisbury on the main rugby field in the BSAP sports grounds. With five minutes to go before kick-off, four Hunters flew over in perfect formation. As they did so, automatic gunfire, simulating anti-aircraft action, opened up from behind tall gum trees to the left of the main stands. The noise frightened a number of crows from the trees and, as they flew past the grandstands, the Air Force pointed at them shouting, “Army flypast!—Army flypast!” Next moment an Army wrecker vehicle appeared in the grounds carrying the twisted remains of ‘the destroyed aircraft’. But the outcome of the rugby contest was less of a joke for the Brown Jobs because the Blue Jobs beat them—again!

Doctored radios and ammunition

FOR A NUMBER OF MONTHS Provosts and Trojans had been taking off at sunrise in search of VHF signals from portable radios that had been passed on to some CT groups. Doctored radios, known a ‘road-runners’, came into existence because CTs were known to be listening in to Rhodesian broadcasts and Mozambican stations, particularly during early morning.

Special Branch produced a number of road-runners which, when switched on, emitted a VHF signal on one of our least-used air channels. Trials showed that the low-powered signal could be detected from as far as ten kilometres and, using Becker Homers, it was possible for a pilot to identify the position of each doctored radio with reasonable accuracy. The radios were given to individuals who knew how to get them into CT hands or were prominently displayed on outlying store shelves, madly overpriced, knowing the locals could not afford them and that CTs would steal them.

This system of detecting CTs might have worked from the beginning had each VHF transmitter been programmed to remain on for a few minutes after a radio was switched off. As it happened, pilots homed in on signals that cut off before they reached the radios’ locations. The sound of any aircraft obviously caused CTs to switch off the radios to allow them to listen and watch for the high-flying planes. This weakness was rectified later.

Doctoring of CT ammunition produced positive results. When standard Russian and Chinese equipment was located in CT arms caches, the standard ammunition was substituted with ‘doctored’ ammunition. Cordite propellant in standard rifle rounds burns at a relatively slow rate to drive a bullet down a rifled barrel at progressively increasing speed without risk to the weapon handler. When, however, cordite was substituted with any one of a number of plastic explosives in a ‘doctored’ round, instant over-pressure in the combustion chamber shattered it into a shower of lethal shrapnel that killed the weapon-handler and others near him.

In the case of ‘doctored’ mortar bombs, they exploded immediately on launch, and hand-grenade delay fuses were exchanged for instantaneous ones that made them function immediately the firing handle was released. Though these foul devices produced excellent results the practice of doctoring ammunition ceased when every item of captured equipment was needed for SAS and Selous Scouts operations.

Cocky Benecke

ALONG WITH MANY OTHER 4 SQUADRON pilots, Cocky Benecke had flown recce with me before. Like most, he had shown little interest and became thoroughly bored within an hour. On 11 August I flew with him on further training at the request of his OC, Cyril White.

There had been no complaints when he had flown with me in July but, just before we got airborne on this particular day, Cocky said, “ Sir, I am not cut out for recce. This is a job for old men with patience, like you.” I was not yet forty and took exception to being referred to as an old man by this cocky young pilot. He received a bit of a blasting for the ‘old men’ bit, but much more for using age as the reason for his disinterest in recce.

“Cocky, I know you enjoy action and that you have done well whenever you have been called. So tell me, are you happy to keep on sitting around just waiting for someone else to call you to action? Are you too special to act on your squadron’s motto ‘Seek and Find’ or are you going to get off your arse, find gooks and lead others to action?”

I cannot remember his response, but I do know that he was wide-awake two hours later when I pointed out another of many old CT bases I had been showing him. This one was on the western side of the Nyadiri River valley. “The base is in use, sir”, he said. “There are gooks down there. I can see their kit under the trees.”

My reaction was one of disbelief but, as we continued on along our search line, Cocky insisted he had seen plenty of kit. I knew how often he had seen motionless CTs when no other pilot or gunner could see them, but again I asked, “Cocky, are you absolutely certain there are ters in that base?” “No question about it, sir. I am absolutely certain.”

I called FAF 5 to have the Fireforce brought to readiness and asked for two Provosts to be armed with eight fragmentation bombs each. Cocky was champing at the bit and pressing me to go straight back to base, so I had to make him understand that in these circumstances it was essential to keep orbiting along our recce line so as not to give the CTs any clue that they had been spotted. At a safe distance we headed east for a while before racing south to Mtoko.

Having briefed the Fireforce, Cocky and I got airborne again, each flying an armed Provost. Flying 4,000 feet above the helicopters, we weaved left and right to remain behind them. Five minutes out from target with Cocky following 200 metres behind me, we put our propellers to maximum rpm to maximise noise effect and overtook the helicopters that were flying very low on their northward course in the Nyadiri River valley.

When abeam the target, I rolled the aircraft over and entered into a steep-dive attack to release my bombs into the base. Cocky did likewise and followed me in a wide orbit to watch the Fireforce helicopters deploy their troops. They came into contact very quickly and the entire group of fifteen CTs died in this combined ground and air action.

Cocky’s attitude to recce had been instantly reversed. He wanted to be released right away to work on his own. I would have nothing of this until we had covered a few more aspects of recce he needed to know. These were met the next day before we found another CT base. My immediate assessment of the small base was that it was fresh and occupied by six to eight CTs, even though I had seen no persons or equipment to reinforce the assessment. Again Cocky said he could see kit and at least three men wearing dark-blue clothing inside the base. For many months CTs had favoured blue denim slacks and tops, which made any man wearing dark-blue clothing a suspect.

Fireforce was called and we continued along our orbit line, which was in the direction from which the helicopters would be coming. We picked up the five helicopters flying line astern at treetop level with K-Car leading. This time we tagged along to give a verbal talk onto target. “Yellow, go five degrees left— that looks good—base approximately five kays ahead.” A little later I called, “Base is on the south slope of the ridge ahead of you. Stand by—pull up now—base ninety degrees left, 200 yards—NOW.” From there K-Car took control.

Cocky again said, “Gooks visual in the base. They are lying still in the shadows.” I could not see any myself but relayed Cocky’s information to Yellow 1. The K-Car pilot was busy instructing the other helicopter pilots on where to place down their troops, but his gunner concentrated his attention on the base area. He could see the base clearly enough but could not pick up any sign of kit or men under the trees.

Even though K-Car was at 1,000 feet above the base and we were at 2,000 feet, neither the pilot nor his gunner could spot the individuals Cocky insisted were lying prone in shadows against the bases of trees. It was only when firing started and the CTs moved that the K-Car crew and I saw what Cocky had been reporting all the time. Five of the terrorists were killed and one wounded CT was captured. Later we learned that one CT had managed to escape. Cocky’s recce training was complete, so I arranged for a Cessna to be delivered from Thornhill for him to commence his own recce work out of FAF 4 at Mount Darwin.

The next morning I was airborne again to inspect the surrounds of the many collective villages (CVs) that had sprung up in the operational areas. CVs were very different from protected villages because the PVs, as initially installed in the Chiweshe TTL, were far too costly to build, man and provision on a large scale. Before Selous Scouts became effective, the concept of CVs had been under instigation by JOC Mtoko from early 1974 because of a serious decline in field intelligence and the need to reduce the CT threat to tribesmen in small isolated family kraals. A CV (collective or consolidated village) was simply an amalgamation of many small villages into one large village. A curfew from 18:00 to 07:00 was imposed on the tribesmen who knew they would be shot if seen outside the CV between these times.

At about 11 o’clock I changed frequency to the Mount Darwin Fireforce channel. The force had been inactive for ages but I could hear that it was in action following a call by none other than Cocky Benecke. I listened in for two hours during which time Cocky repeatedly directed the K-Car onto small groups and individuals. His voice never once showed the frustrations he was experiencing flying an unarmed Cessna.

Cocky had flown all his previous engagements in Provosts or Trojans, which allowed him to strike at those targets which he was trying, usually unsuccessfully, to draw to the K-Car’s attention. Although Cocky was cool, the K-Car pilot’s frustration was obvious. “I am looking at the corner of the bloody field but cannot see anyone there.” Cool as a cucumber Cocky said, “Try a short burst thirty metres right of the western edge and ten metres up from the south.” A short burst and the K-Car crew had the CT up and running before dropping him.

Later in the day I heard the Fireforce back in action. On his first day on recce Cocky was responsible for actions that depleted ZANLA’s few remaining CTs within the country by seventeen killed or captured. These actions seem to have been the final straw that forced most surviving CTs in the country to exit to Mozambique. ZANLA, however, had arranged for at least one group to remain in their Nehanda sector in a caretaker role and had sent an execution group to the Chaminuka sector with a list of ‘sell-outs’ to be eliminated.

I found Benecke’s successes astounding and confusing. I had brought forces to contact with many CT groups and had gained a fair reputation for the successes achieved. Ground troops gave me a variety of nicknames, including ‘Hawkeye’ and ‘Grid Square Charlie’. Yet for every success my record showed that I had been responsible for three ‘lemons’. It was difficult to figure out why Cocky’s unusual sight was giving him 100% success and even Hamie Dax was doing better than me by scoring two successes to one failure.

At Station Sick Quarters New Sarum, I asked to have my eyes tested and the results compared with Cocky Benecke’s test results. I was assured that we enjoyed equally good eyesight. I knew that colour-blind people had been used during WWII to detect German camouflaged gun emplacements and tank formations that normal-sighted people could not see. In the eyes of colour-blind individuals, military camouflage has no effect. But Cocky could not have passed his flying medical examinations if he had been colour blind so I could only guess that his colour perception was different from mine, even though he named colours just the same way as the rest of us did. I went to an optician and an oculist to arrange for a variety of tinted and polarised lenses with which to experiment; but none of these helped me see the dark items I had personally placed in the shadow of trees.

Throughout the war Cocky continued to display his uncanny talent. However, it was not only his eyesight that made Cocky a truly exceptional operational pilot. He was aggressive and brave in all that he did, yet never did he become big-headed or arrogant. His happy nature and huge smile endeared him to all.

I questioned every doctor and eye specialist I encountered to try and find out what it was about Cocky’s eyesight that made him one in a million. Doctor Knight eventually gave me the answer in late 1979. He had established that Cocky’s colour perception was slightly defective in the green-brown range. This was why, for Cocky, deep and mottled shadows did not blend out anything that lay in them.

Not all of Cocky’s recce finds were successful in later times and he was responsible for a few Fireforce ‘lemons’ which made the likes of me feel better about the ‘lemons’ we had generated. For the most part, helicopter crews and Army elements of the Fireforce had come to accept that recce pilots would lead at least two ‘lemons’ for every success; but not so with Cocky. His reputation reversed their expectations.

Earlier criticisms against me for involving Fireforce in ‘lemons’ reached me indirectly. Possibly due to my seniority, minor niggling had occurred behind my back. It is an unfortunate fact that operational pilots take for granted another pilot’s successes and only remember his errors. So ribbing of young recce pilots by helicopter pilots of the Fireforces may have caused them to miss out on good targets for fear of generating ‘lemons’. What interested me was that no helicopter pilot who had flown recce himself was a critic. It was only those who had come from the jet squadrons and considered their leisure time too precious to waste. Cocky was ribbed for his failures but his record was such that he simply brushed off any criticism with a cutting retort. Nevertheless, I was very sensitive to remarks made by a small prima donna element that did no more than was absolutely necessary at base and in the field. To commit these remarks to paper, even in jest, sent my blood pressure soaring as it did other Air Staff officers. Flight Lieutenant Danny Svoboda’s ASR of 30 March 1977 is a case in point. In spite of the successful contact that resulted from Cocky Benecke’s recce information, Danny initiated his report with these words:

The Director of Operations at Air HQ, Group Captain Norman Walsh, expressed his displeasure over Danny’s report in strong terms, particularly as Fireforce pilots seldom criticised the higher proportion of ‘lemons’ generated by Selous Scouts and other callsigns.

Last air actions of 1975

THE CT CARETAKER GROUP AND the assassination group were contacted on 9 and 10 September. The first was when an Army callsign on patrol in a remote area below the escarpment made contact with the Nehanda caretaker group. The Mount Darwin Fireforce led by John Blythe-Wood deployed with three Z-Cars and Cocky Benecke flying a Provost. Working ahead of trackers, Cocky picked up the CTs and the action that followed resulted in the total elimination of this group, with seven CTs dead and five captured wounded.

The Mtoko Fireforce had moved to a temporary base at Mutawatawa on the edge of high ground. For what reason I was visiting Harold Griffiths and his men at Mutawatawa I cannot recall, but the sheer beauty of the surrounding hills and the long valley down which the Zvirungudzi River flowed to the Nyadiri River remains firmly embedded in my memory. I knew the area well from recce, but its beauty could only be appreciated when flying low-level in a helicopter or being on the ground in the tented base.

Griff had recently taken command of 7 Squadron and it was from this base that his Fireforce was scrambled at sunrise on 10 September along with a second Fireforce operating from another temporary bush base, Pfungwe. They were responding to a police patrol that had bumped into the CTs assassin group in their temporary base on the slopes of a heavily wooded hill known as Chipinda.

SAAF Major van Rooyen and all other SAAF members of Op Polo had reverted to Rhodesian Air Force ranks and wore Rhodesian uniforms. So now as Squadron Leader van Rooyen he commanded the Pfungwe Fireforce leading two Z-Cars flown by Flight Lieutenant Kruger and Air Sub-Lieutenant Milbank plus two G-Cars flown by Flight Lieutenant Bill Sykes and Air Lieutenant Jo Syslo.

Air Lieutenant Syslo was new to our Air Force, having come in on ‘direct entry’ from the USAAF. He had served in Vietnam, flying as a helicopter pilot in a casualty evacuation unit. This dark-haired man of small build had more ribbons on his chest than the most highly decorated Rhodesian serviceman. He claimed that more ribbons were still to be added to those he wore at a time when most of our pilots wore one measly General Service ribbon. This was a source of much amusement and, for some, outright annoyance.

Griff met up with the Pfungwe Fireforce that carried Major Hammond, the airborne ground-force commander. Having deployed the troops, Griff put down with his force at a small Police base known as Alpha Base and awaited developments. When the Pfungwe K-Car ran out of fuel, Griff filled in for him until he himself needed to refuel, and passed Major Hammond back to the other K-Car.

In this way the ground forces enjoyed almost unbroken attention from their airborne commander. The results of this contact were disappointing. One killed, two captured wounded and five known to have escaped, wounded. But this was the last time ZANLA CTs were seen or contacted in 1975. Thereafter minor contacts occurred with LTTs only.

Loss of top army officers

ARMY CHIEF OF STAFF MAJOR-General John Shaw and Officer Commanding RLI Colonel Dave Parker with Army Captains David Lamb and Ian Robertson visited a number of military bases that had recently been established in the eastern districts in preparation for the imminent return of ZANLA. On completion of inspections in Umtali their next port of call was Melsetter.

On 23 December, Op Polo pilot Air Lieutenant Johannes van Rensburg flying a Z-Car lifted off from Umtali for a straightforward flight to Melsetter. His technician was Sergeant Pieter van Rensburg. In keeping with practice, even in quiet times, the helicopter flew at low level as a precaution against Strela and smallarms fire. The route over the high ground of the Vumba mountains was followed by a steep descent into the low ground of the Burma Valley. The helicopter was following a descending river-line with high ridges left and right, when it flew into a rusty old hawser cable that ran across the flight path. The helicopter broke up and crashed, killing everyone but the pilot whose injuries resulted in the amputation of one leg.

The long-forgotten cable was anchored on the high right-hand ridge and descended to a disused track on the opposite side of the river. Its purpose had been to pass logs from the high inaccessible forest down to a track used by tractor-drawn trailers. The cable was not displayed on any map and no 7 Squadron pilot had ever seen or reported its presence. The young SAAF pilot could not be blamed in any way for this accident as he would not have seen the rusted cable that blended perfectly with the background until it was too late to take avoiding action.

News of this horrific accident shook the entire country because it robbed Rhodesia of its next Army Commander and its finest field commander. I am one of many who believe that, had John Shaw and Dave Parker lived, the Rhodesian war would have followed a better course.

Lull before the storm

FOLLOWING FAILURE OF THE ZAMBIAN-SOUTH African détente-induced ceasefire there could be no doubt that ZANLA would be returning in greater strength. The general feeling was that they were still in disarray but détente had given them the golden opportunity to prepare for a big push. This would commence when the rainy season provided plenty of surface water for the long trek through Mozambique with maximum bush cover inside Rhodesia. It was the best time to strike externally but, because of Vorster’s détente and his threat of cutting supplies from South Africa, this had been ruled out.

With Mozambique under complete FRELIMO control, it was obvious that Rhodesia’s entire eastern flank would be exposed for ZANLA, though we believed that in the initial stages this would be limited to the border section north of the eastern border mountain ranges. This is why most troops were deployed along the border north of the Inyanga mountain range where daily cross-graining patrols watched for ZANLA’s return to areas already known to them.

The squadrons used the break in operations to catch up on training new pilots and brush up flying standards. The PJIs of Air Force Parachute Training School began training RLI paratroopers after which they would commence training RAR.

In spite of their heavy schedules, the PJIs managed to give interested pilots a short course for a parachute descent into water. Until now, Air HQ had followed the RAF lead in not allowing pilots to participate in any parachuting activities. The thought was that a pilot who enjoyed parachuting might abandon his aircraft at the first sign of trouble, rather than attempt to bring it home. In Rhodesia it was obvious that pilots were so dedicated to the safety of their machines that it was perfectly safe to let them enjoy one parachute descent. Many pilots, including me, leapt at the opportunity.

To limit the risk of unnecessary injuries, our drop was into Lake McIlwaine, west of Salisbury. Following a compressed training course and dressed in flying overalls and tennis shoes, twenty of us piled into a Dakota for a nice long 3,000-foot descent.

I expected that we would all experience fear before the drop but this only seemed to affect Wing Commander Sandy Mutch who sat scowling at the floor until it was time for him to ‘stand in the door’ as first to exit. I was next in line.

All of our preparatory instruction made the leap into space fantastic but I was mildly surprised when pitched into a horizontal posture as the parachute deployed with noticeable creaking of the harness at shoulder level; then everything became dead-quiet. As instructed, I looked up to check the canopy and noticed that it appeared much smaller that I had expected. All was well, so it was just a matter of pulling the seat strap under my buttocks to get into a sitting position and then, with left hand holding the right-hand lift web above my head, I undid the harness buckle and pulled the securing straps away from my front. Having done this, the right hand crossed over to hold the left lift strap above my head, and I was set to enjoy the ride down, with Sandy Mutch ahead and below me.

Lake McIlwaine’s water was pea-green with algae due to abnormally high levels of nutrients that had come downriver from Salisbury. On the green surface were two powerboats waiting to collect us. From one of these there came the clear voice of Flight Lieutenant Boet Swart, OC Parachute Training School, who was bellowing at Sandy Mutch to undo his harness. Sandy stubbornly refused to comply.

One seemed to be suspended in a static position for ages until, suddenly, perspectives changed rapidly as the water rushed up. Seeing this, it was just a matter of straightening one’s legs to slip off the seat strap and remain hanging on the lift webs. As my feet touched water I let go of the lift webs. The water was surprisingly warm with zero visibility as I swam under the canopy and came to the surface to find outstretched hands reaching from the recovery boat. Once on board I saw that my parachute had already been recovered.

As the other recovery boat passed us to collect following parachutists, Boet Swart’s angry words carried across the water. He was blasting Sandy Mutch for not having observed safety regulation by remaining in the harness that was still firmly strapped to him when he was pulled into the boat. I found this an amusing end to a superb experience.

Although a member of Air Staff, I had been deployed from June right through to the end of September to teach many pilots visual recce; there being no one else to do the job. When eventually I returned to Salisbury, hoping to commence work on a few projects I had lined up, I learned that four South African pilots were on their way to Rhodesia for recce training.

Jan Mienie, Francois du Toit, Eugene Coetzer and Don Jordaan were by far the most willing pilots I had flown with. This made teaching them, even in the most trying dry conditions with no terrorists around, a much easier task than expected.

These four men could not get over the living conditions at FAF 5, Mtoko. They considered this to be a place of luxury and found the food equal to the best of home cooking. They were right I suppose, because we tended to take for granted the efforts of Squadron Leader Murray Hofmeyr and other members of Air HQ staff. They went to great lengths to provide the best possible accommodation and comforts, including swimming pools, from the meagre funds allocated for each forward air base.

Regular caterers from the various messes at New Sarum and Thornhill did two-week stints in the field where they did wonders with the regular run of fresh rations for their kitchens. The squadron technicians always praised the quantity and quality of food served by preceding caterers to ensure that the current staff would compete for higher accolades.

Jan, Francois, Eugene and Don flew with me in pairs for three sorties each before launching off on their own to cover ground allocated to them. Every fourth day one of them flew with me so that I could check out the places they had marked on their maps. By Christmas they had covered the entire operational area from Mount Darwin eastward to the border and had pinpointed every old CT base and feeding-point previously recorded in the dry season.

The rains had set in and the bush was thickening when I took the opportunity to take my four South African charges to Salisbury for a grand Christmas luncheon with my extended family. The next day we returned to Mtoko believing that ZANLA’s return was imminent.

At about this time Shell & BP installed underground fuel tanks for Avtur and Avgas at FAF 5. Amazingly the engineer responsible for the work was a very good-looking woman, Di Edmunds. In the evening she was beautifully dressed and trimmed, every bit a lady. By day she was something else. In overalls and wielding a heavy pipe wrench with the ease of a tough rigger, she drove her team of four black men relentlessly to keep up with the high rate at which she worked. In doing this, she employed the foulest language I have ever heard. This not only amazed the men at FAF 5; it caused them to keep well clear of her in daylight hours.

Détente and SB

FOUR MONTHS EARLIER, ON 25 AUGUST 1975, a much-publicised South African and Zambian détente-generated meeting between the Rhodesian Government, ZAPU and ZANU took place in a South African Railways carriage on the Victoria Falls Bridge midway between Rhodesia and Zambia. The meeting was another détente failure despite the assurances given Ian Smith by Prime Minister Vorster and President Kaunda that ZAPU and ZANU were ready and willing to meet formally with the Rhodesian Government leaders. To facilitate this meeting, leading men of ZAPU and ZANU had been released, on parole, from Rhodesian prisons; another huge political error forced on Rhodesia by Vorster.

The object of the meeting had been to give the parties opportunity to express, publicly and without preconditions, their genuine desire to negotiate for an acceptable settlement. This was to be followed by the disengagement of forces and talks between the parties on Rhodesian soil.

As expected from past bitter experience, preconditions were raised in the very first statement that was made on behalf of ZANU and ZAPU by Bishop Abel Muzorewa. At the luncheon recess, ZANU and ZAPU delegates cleaned out the vast liquor holdings of the South African Railways bar before making a drunken departure back to Zambia. They were totally incapable of returning for the afternoon session. Later a message from Zambia indicated that neither ZAPU nor ZANU had any intention of honouring their agreements with Kaunda and Vorster. So that was the end of Vorster’s ‘guaranteed’ détente initiative.

At the time it was clear that ZAPU had one undisputed leader, Joshua Nkomo, who continued to be wrongly viewed by Kaunda as the leader of all Rhodesia’s African people. Within ZANU there was turmoil with three people claiming to be its leader. They were Bishop Abel Muzorewa, the Reverend Ndabaningi Sithole and Robert Mugabe. Not only was there confusion in political ranks; there existed huge rifts in the ZANLA ranks between members of the Karanga, Manyika and Chizezuru factions. Such is the nature of African politics.

A Special Branch agent in Zambia had used a custom-made bomb to assassinate ZANLA’s operations chief, Herbert Chitepo, to engineer more confusion. Chitepo’s VW Beetle activated the bomb’s electrical firing mechanism when he reversed out of the driveway of his rented home in Lusaka. The assassination had been rigged in a manner that fingered members of ZANLA’s DARE (military high command) and led to the arrest and imprisonment of Josiah Tongogara and other senior military personnel; leaving ZANLA headless.

It was all very well to be content with a high attrition rate amongst ZANLA’s numbers inside the country, but as I have said, most Rhodesian officers realised that the best place to fight the enemy was beyond one’s borders. With reducing numbers of ZANLA personnel inside Rhodesia and troubles in ZANLA’s command structures, it was the perfect time to strike hard and in depth to stem the inward flow of replacements. However, as has been stated already, South Africa made overt action impossible.

Frustrating political constraints on the military desire to take the war into hostile Mozambique and Zambia continued to be, so far as we could see, the consequence of Vorster’s obsession with his détente initiatives. Ian Smith’s book The Great Betrayal released over twenty years later confirms these suspicions.

However, because of the nature of its operations Special Branch had never been constrained in the same way as the military, and SB was determined to make the best of this unique situation. They had no intention of sitting back and waiting for increased troubles with intensified bloodshed when détente initiatives for the December 1974 ceasefire were seen to be against Rhodesia’s interests. The SB knew that this and future détente initiatives would fail; so they aimed to capitalise on ZANLA’s confused situation by intensifying it. Inside Mozambique, no great distance from Mukumbura, SB and Army intelligence officers managed to set up meetings with Thomas Nhari. He was a ZANLA field commander and member of the DARE. Meetings with Nhari and his lieutenants occurred on three or four occasions between September and November 1974. This was a period when ZANLA was already pretty punch-drunk from our mounting successes inside the country and from the SAS’s continued attacks along their ‘safe routes’ in Mozambique.

Thomas Nhari, like Rex Nhongo, had been a Russian-trained member of ZAPU before defecting to ZANU in 1971. For the SB and Army officers, posing as white left-wing agitators, it was easy to persuade Nhari that ZANLA was failing inside Rhodesia because they were following Chinese philosophies and using light weapons when what they really needed were heavy weapons, as advocated by the Russians.

The enormous casualties suffered by ZANLA seemed to give credibility to the lie and Nhari and his followers were fired by these thoughts. They accepted as truth many accusations that pointed to the fact that all ZANLA’s weaknesses lay squarely with ZANU politicians and senior DARE members. These people lived lives of luxury in Lusaka, never caring a damn for the lives of armed ZANLA comrades who suffered immense dangers and hardships in blind support of selfish ‘fat cats’. Nhari was persuaded that he could secure power to himself and his followers and then come to an accommodation with the Rhodesian Government.

The SB selection of Nhari was no mistake. He happened to be a highly respected leader who treated his men well and protected them from the bully elements amongst ZANLA’s field commanders. Once convinced he should take action against his seniors in Lusaka, it took little time for him to gather together a suitable force for a task he liked to believe was entirely of his own making. The SB did not expect Nhari to succeed; in fact they hoped he would fail.

Nhari’s rebel force first secured ZANLA’s main base in Mozambique. This was at FRELIMO’s HQ base, Chifombo. Any resistance to his leadership was handled by burying his detractors alive. Nhari then set out for Lusaka to overpower the ZANU hierarchy and ZANLA’s ruling committee, the DARE. Fighting broke out in the streets of Kamwala in Lusaka as the Nhari rebel force tried to gain control. Tongogara’s wife and a number of ZANU and DARE officials were kidnapped. As had been hoped, Nhari botched the job and, together with many of his followers, died for his efforts; but not before bringing about serious repercussions within the high command and drawing down on ZANU the displeasure of the Lusaka Government.

The ‘Nhari Rebellion’, as it became known, caused serious disruption in ZANLA ranks and it took the remaining elements of the DARE some time to regain control and neutralise all of Nhari’s followers. The SB was well pleased with Nhari’s achievements and even misled Lusaka with trumped-up intelligence reports to capitalise on the rebellion and further undermine Zambian relationships with ZANU.

CTs prepare to resume war

THE PRESIDENTS OF THE FRONTLINE States had been misled by ZAPU and ZANU into believing there could be no accommodation with the Rhodesian Government, so they pressurised ZAPU and ZANU into establishing a unified political front. Presidents Kaunda and Nyerere also insisted that ZIPRA and ZANLA must go back to war as one unified force.

A few ZANLA commanders, and particularly Josiah Tongogara who was still in prison, saw the sense of unification. They had seen that, following Angola’s independence, the split interests of four guerrilla forces was already developing into a civil war that was certain to last for years; and they did not want to see this happen in ‘free Zimbabwe’. ZAPU and its military wing ZIPRA were still intact and enjoyed total support from the Zambian Government. For ZANU things were not so rosy, particularly with Tongogara and his DARE still ensconced in a Zambian prison. Sithole had been rejected as the political figurehead in favour of Mugabe, but for the time being Mugabe was out of reach.

Robert Gabriel Mugabe was fifty-one years of age when he and Edgar Tekere broke parole in March 1975. Then, acting on instructions from the ZANU Central Committee in Lusaka, Chief Tangwena smuggled them across the border into Mozambique. Mugabe was one of the few academics in ZANU and for some years had been recognised as a revolutionary activist whose thoughts and ideals were deeply rooted in Marxist teaching.

Mugabe’s task in Mozambique was to regroup ZANLA’s forces, receive large numbers of school children pouring into Mozambique for training and resume the war with all haste. Though he and Tekere commenced work immediately, they were limited by FRELIMO who, not realising these men were high-ranking officials acting under mandate from ZANU’s executive, took them away from the ZANLA camps and confined them to the coastal town of Quelimane. Whilst there, Mugabe was appointed President of ZANU by the DARE members still in prison in Zambia and this was confirmed by ZANU forces in Mgagao in Tanzania. But it was not until early 1976 that Mugabe’s appointment to the leadership of ZANU became known to FRELIMO, after which he was free to exercise his authority in Mozambique. By that time the war had already resumed under the leadership of Rex Nhongo.

Mugabe’s leadership of ZANU, and therefore of ZANLA, would not have occurred but for his release from detention to satisfy the Vorster-Kaunda détente initiatives. Even so, he might never have gained ascendancy had tribal rivalries and personal ambitions not plagued the nationalist cause with continuous unrest. In 1975, for instance, there existed a number of organisations. These were the ANC, ZAPU, ZANU and FROLIZI. The ANC was supposed to be the umbrella organisation under which the three independent opposition formations were expected to unify. But, as with any unification attempts in Africa, the ANC failed to overcome never-ending jostling for personal power.

ZAPU, for its part, attempted to capitalise on its politically stronger position to gain the upper hand by insisting that the unified force sought by the Frontline presidents must fall under ZAPU’s control. Mozambique’s Samora Machel saw through this and concluded that military leaders must control fighting men. He ruled in favour of ZANLA and, on 12 November 1975 in Maputo (previously Lourenço Marques), forced ZIPRA into signing an agreement for the formation of a new Zimbabwe Liberation Army (ZIPA) under overall control of ZANLA’s Rex Nhongo.

ZIPA was supposed to launch its offensive before Christmas Day 1975. Three sectors of Rhodesia’s long eastern border were to be penetrated simultaneously by ZIPA with the aim of spreading Rhodesian forces as thinly as possible. The northernmost push was to be through ZANLA’s Takawira sector towards the old battlegrounds of the Chaminuka and Nehanda sectors. The central push was to be along the mountainous border region centred on Umtali, and the third through the flat lands of Mozambique’s Gaza Province in the south.

ZAPU reneged on its agreement by sending only 100 men to the ZIPA force instead of the thousands promised. When eventually they entered into Rhodesia, the ZAPU elements promptly deserted their ‘ZANLA brothers’, dumped their weapons and uniforms, and made their way to Matabeleland and thence through to Botswana back to Zambia. So much for the unified force! ZIPA never got off the ground. The SAS had severely blunted ZIPRA’s plans but ZANLA was refreshed and, although its political organisation was in a shambles, many armed men were ready to move into the country.

At about this time I read an article in the American Time magazine reporting an incident in one of the American cities. This had absolutely nothing to do with Rhodesia but it struck me how much the reported incident illustrated the situation that was about to befall us.

The report told of a woman who was refuelling her own motorcar. Having placed the fuel nozzle into her vehicle’s filler neck, she set it to run and went to check the engine’s oil level. Whilst she was doing this, the nozzle dislodged from the filler neck and fell to the floor still spewing fuel. Somehow the fuel ignited, making it impossible to get to the nozzle or the pump-stand. The car caught alight and burning fuel poured into a shallow water drain along the main road. Many people, including the owner of the petrol station, panicked and rushed in with fire extinguishers from adjacent stores but theirs was a no-win situation. The fire continued to worsen until a sensible old man arrived on the scene. He immediately asked for directions to the station’s electrical control box. He went quietly to the box and switched off the electrical mains switch. This stopped the flow of fuel and the fire burned itself out quickly.

The analogy of this story with Rhodesia is that the continuously flowing fuel represented the terrorists. The panicking people fighting the burning fuel represented the Rhodesian Government and our security forces. The sensible old man represented senior military officers who sought to turn off the switch by striking every external structure involved in supporting the flow of trained CTs. But access to the switch was barred by South Africa.

Return of ZANLA

IN EARLY JANUARY 1976, THE northern penetrations commenced. Plans for simultaneous crossings on the other two fronts were stymied for a short while by logistical shortcomings and because FRELIMO was experiencing difficulties with dissident elements within its own forces close to the Rhodesian border. These dissidents may well have been those responsible for firing at every Rhodesian vehicle or aircraft moving near the border over previous months.

ZANLA’s first entry occurred just north of the Mudzi River and was detected by a routine border patrol just after dawn. I was at Mtoko with my four South African recce students when news of the resumption of war reached us at the breakfast table.

The elevation of the sun is vitally important for visual recce work. Because of this, most recce flights were conducted between 10 o’clock and 3 o’clock. However, aerial tracking could be done for at least two hours either side of these times. Since I was committed to a recce task inside Mozambique, not too far from the entry point, I tasked Francois du Toit to precede me and try his hand at aerial-tracking the CTs who were reported to have split into three groups of about fifteen men each.

When I got airborne, Francois had already been flying ahead of trackers for about an hour. I listened in on the operations frequency but only heard general natter between the ground callsigns and supporting helicopters. I had been working inside Mozambique for some time when I heard Francois ‘sunmistakable Afrikaans-accented voice calling for troops to be lifted forward to a patch of thick bush where he had lost one trail he had followed for some distance from the border. He did not sound too confident but his request was met without question. The action that followed accounted for some CTs killed and the capture of large quantities of equipment abandoned as survivors scattered. With his ability in aerial tracking now proven, Francois went after the trails of the other two groups and brought troops into contact with both of them.

Sitting at height over rough terrain in Mozambique, I was following the action in Rhodesia with interest and a sense of pride in the young South African I had trained. I had become so engrossed in what I was listening to that I did not immediately understand the meaning of dense white smoke that suddenly blossomed on the ground 5,000 feet below me.

The smoke densified slightly and appeared to be drifting quite rapidly when I noticed a shadow line racing down-sun from the smoke. I clicked to the fact that this was the trail of a missile coming my way. It would not have helped one bit but I instinctively closed the throttle and switched off both magnetos and watched the smoke line streaking upwards. I did not see the Strela missile itself but watched its swirling white plume pass about 200 metres behind the aircraft. Thanks to the anti-Strela modifications to the Cessna, the missile had failed to ‘see’ the aircraft. The operator must have tracked the aircraft until he received a false ‘lock-on signal’ from the sun. Nevertheless I was happy to signal Air HQ with the good news that we had outright proof of the effectiveness of our anti-Strela modifications.

Shortly thereafter the four South African pilots returned to their home bases. However, Jan Mienie and Francois du Toit had enjoyed their time with the Rhodesian Air Force so much that both of them resigned from the SAAF and joined us later in the year.

Lynx ferry

IT WAS AT THIS TIME that final preparations were being made to take delivery of the new twin-engined (push-pull) Cessna 337 aircraft from Reims in France.

If the story about a Trojan T28D shipment being turned around within sight of Cape Town is correct, it is hardly surprising that the option to sea-freight the Cessnas had been discarded. But it is more likely that an existing problem influenced Air HQ to opt to fly the machines directly from France to Rhodesia. A batch of SAIA-Marchetti SF 260C training aircraft, which were to replace the Provost as a basic trainer, had been shipped from Europe months earlier but all trace of them had been lost. Although the first batch of seventeen (to become known as Genets) eventually pitched up, there was great concern for their safety when the Cessna 337 aircraft were ready for collection.

To ferry the Cessnas such a long distance was a dangerous undertaking at a time when a Rhodesian might be arrested on sight in many countries, and more so in the black African countries through which the aircraft would have to transit. To reduce the risks, considerable trouble was taken to disguise the ownership and destination of the aircraft. French-speaking Malagasy was chosen as the ultimate destination for two separate flights; the first down the western side of Africa and the second down the east.

The Government of Malagasy knew nothing of this plan nor did they know about the fictitious Malagasy Fisheries Surveillance Company whose fancy crest was emblazoned on variously coloured and brightly painted Cessnas. The false company’s name was Sociedad Estudios y Pescas Maritimas, registered in Spain. All documentation, flight planning and correspondence was in French and, where appropriate, gave the impression that the original paperwork had been sent ahead to the Malagasy-based company. Considering Rhodesia’s considerable successes in sanctions-busting, it would not surprise me to learn that there were agents of the bogus company actually sitting in Tananarive to handle mail and queries.

Two ferry flights following widely separated routes was considered essential, as more than ten aircraft flying one route could draw attention; eighteen aircraft would certainly look too much like squadron strength to any knowledgeable observer. Separate timings of the two flights was another issue. To minimise risk, it was necessary to keep the number of stops along each route to the barest minimum. This necessitated the use of specially designed long-range fuel tanks that occupied the entire volume of cabin space behind the pilots’ seats. Direct injection into the engines of oil for the long flights was also necessary. However, the fuel tanks were so expensive that only ten were made to cater for both ferry flights. After the first ferry, tanks were to be flown to France as quickly as possible by a Rhodesian-owned sanctions-busting airline to get the second ferry completed before hostile intelligence services picked up on what was happening.

Considerable care was taken in the selection of nine Rhodesian Air Force pilots. Seven would be used on the first ferry, but only two on the second ferry. This was to avoid having recent entries in their false passports evidencing passage down the west coast of Africa, which might raise unwanted questions along the east coast route.

The plan was for each participating Rhodesian pilot to be accompanied by a French pilot. The Frenchmen had to do all the talking at the various refuelling stops as ‘proof that the ferry was a purely French affair’. The explanation for the presence of English-speaking pilots with southern African accents was to be that they were commercial pilots who had been hired to ensure safe passage through tropical weather conditions with which the French pilots were unfamiliar. I was one of the pilots selected to go to France for a quick conversion onto the Cessna 337 before the first ferry commenced. But then at short notice I was withdrawn because a SAAF delegation that was about to visit us specifically requested my presence in Salisbury. In consequence I did not attend the pilots’ briefing by the Commander and DG Ops who made it clear that, if things went wrong, the Rhodesian Government could not guarantee the safety of individuals.

The pilots who went to France for the first ferry were Wing Commander Rob Gaunt (in charge), Eddie Wilkinson, John Barnes, Dave Thorne, Vic Wightman and John Bennie. Wing Commander Keith Corrans and Mike Gedye were there too, preparing for their participation as the only two Rhodesian pilots on the second ferry.

My disappointment at this turn in events switched to outright annoyance when the South African visit was delayed to a time beyond the period of the ferry. However, probably in compensation, I was instructed to accompany Wing Commander Len Pink on a mission to Ruacana in South West Africa. The purpose of this mission was to monitor the first ferry during the times the aircraft were airborne all the way from Reims in France to Ruacana.

The ferry refuelling stops were Palma (Balearic Islands), Agadir (Morocco), Dakar (Senegal), Cotonou (Benin), Port Gentil (an island just off the coast of Gabon) and Ruacana. At the Ruacana airfield we were accommodated in tents with a resident South African Army company. The Rhodesian team assisted Chuck Dent to erect an HF radio aerial that he had personally designed for this mission. To Len Pink and me the aerial looked like a large, flimsy, horizontally inclined turntable washing line that wobbled in the breeze high above the radio tent. We said nothing but both of us wondered if the aerial would work at all, never mind receive and transmit signals between far-off France and Ruacana.

Having prepared everything for the first leg of the ferry, which was on the night of 14/15 January 1976, we made a curiosity flight to the coast that particular afternoon. This was not a requirement but it would familiarise us with the ground over which the ferry flight would route when it turned eastwards from the Atlantic to head for Ruacana. Bob d’Hotmann, who had flown us to Ruacana in a Dakota, flew us over territory that was completely unknown to any of us.

The terrain around Ruacana was familiar savannah country with large expanses of treed areas and narrow open grasslands running along the river-lines. As we progressed westward this gave way to very broken dry rocky terrain and a range known as the Zebra mountains. Any artist painting this incredible spectacle might not be believed because the sharply defined black and white stripes that cover the mountains looked so much like zebra markings that it was hard for any of us to accept that they were natural.

Beyond this, scrub-covered slopes met the brilliant white sands of the coastal desert in a defined line with no transition from one to the other. High, sharp-peaked dunes running in lines roughly parallel with the coast curved their way beyond sight. Next, the deep-blue Atlantic added yet another dimension to changes of scenery that had us spellbound.

As if this was not enough, ahead of us was spread an enormous fleet of Russian fishing vessels with three large ‘factory ships’ festooned with eavesdropping radio aerials and receiver dishes. We counted over sixty vessels spread either side of the extended borderline between SWA and Angola. Our excited report-back to the South Africans was met with a very casual “Thanks buddy, we know all about the Ruskies. Maritime surveillance has been watching them for over two weeks. Their interest seems to be with the fighting in Angola.”

Our doubts about the effectiveness of Chuck Dent’s aerial increased when we had heard nothing from the aircraft following an Air HQ signal that let us know two flights of four aircraft were airborne and heading for Palma. Rhodesians, each with a French co-pilot, flew six aircraft. Two experienced French airline pilots flew two aircraft but only one of these had a second pilot. This was due to my having been withdrawn too late to find a suitable replacement.

At around 10 o’clock on the night of 14th Chuck’s optimism had already turned to serious doubt when Squadron Leader Eddie Wilkinson’s voice came through faint but clear. He said, “I have been receiving you strength five all the way. Landing in ten minutes. Second flight thirty minutes behind. Will call airborne 09:00 Zulu. Cheers for now. Out.”

The first and final legs of this ferry were conducted at night for security reasons. Brightly coloured aircraft in formations might attract attention over France, but over Rhodesia they would undoubtedly cause unwanted excitement. The four intermediate legs were flown in daylight.

The legs from Palma to Agadir, Dakar and Cotonou were uneventful and we had communication with the aircraft all the way. However, out at sea on the leg to Port Gentil both formations encountered frontal weather conditions with visibility so poor that visual contact between the aircraft was often lost. It was in these conditions that Dave Thorne experienced falling rpm on his rear engine and was forced to close it down.

In a twin-engined aircraft it takes both fans turning to keep pilots cool over land, never mind flying way out over the ocean in heavy storms. So, with only one fan thrusting above a vast expanse of storm-tossed ocean, Dave and his French copilot were in a real sweat. There were still three hours to reach destination at normal cruise speed but, with his reduced speed on one engine, Dave had to make a decision on whether to hold heading or divert to a closer destination. In the event Dave elected to turn left for Libreville and take his chances if he was forced to land there; providing he reached the coast in the first place.

Dave, my coursemate back in 1957, had left the Air Force in the mid-60s to join the Australian airline Qantas. He had enjoyed flying in the comfort of Boeing 707 airliners but, for family reasons, had returned to Rhodesia and the Air Force. Flogging across the Atlantic on one engine in bad weather must have made him long for those safer times flying four-engined airliners. As it happened, Dave and his wide-eyed Frenchman made it to the coast at Libreville then turned south staying over the sea within gliding distance of the steamy coastline until they reached Port Gentil safely. The reason for the engine problem was detected and easily rectified. The next morning the aircraft took to the air heading south for Ruacana.

The arrival of the Cessnas left me with a lasting impression of how ugly the aircraft appeared in flight and how noisy the machines sounded as they streamed past before landing. On the ground they looked much neater as they taxiied quietly to line up in a single row. Three colour schemes had been used and all were very bright and cheerful. The elaborate crests of the fictitious fisheries surveillance company were eye-catching— intentionally so!

The crews were clearly delighted to be on friendly ground following four whole days of long flights with periods of tension between. Cameras were uncovered and a babble of French and English voices dominated as crews instructed each other on how they were required to pose. Whilst this was going on, storm clouds were towering in a continuous line to the east with much lightning and grumbling thunder.

Keith Corrans, held back for the second ferry, arrived at Ruacana to take the place of the one missing French pilot and following a happy evening, the crews were able to lie in next morning. However, one French airline pilot who was to fly the only aircraft with a French crew decided he needed to get back to France in a hurry and insisted on being taken to the nearest international airport. According to other French pilots, this fellow had become afraid of African weather conditions following the Cotonou-to-Port Gentil flight. When on arrival he saw the line of storm clouds building near Ruacana and learned of ITCZ conditions prevailing over Rhodesia, he was very jittery and became determined to get off the last leg.

Air HQ instructed a very annoyed Bob d’Hotmann to fly the Frenchman the long distance to Windhoek and I was instructed to take that Frenchman’s place. Immediately I signalled Air HQ to make certain that DG Ops knew that I had not flown a Cessna 337 before and that my instrument and night ratings had expired 18 months ago. In his reply DG Ops said he was aware of these issues but was relying on my experience and the French co-pilot’s assistance to get the aircraft safely home.

Our brief was to enter Rhodesian air space after dark, but all eight participating French pilots were very eager to see the Victoria Falls. By staggering take-off it was decided that only two aircraft would be seen at any one time over the Falls and that nobody on the ground would know whether they were Zambian or Rhodesian sight-seeing flights.

We were happy to comply in any event because with bad weather forecast over western SWA and much of Rhodesia, and with difficult featureless terrain to navigate along the Caprivi Strip, it would be good to have a precise start-point before nightfall. During the flight we were not permitted to contact any Air Traffic Control centre other than Salisbury. Thornhill was available for diversion, but only in dire emergency. The specified natter frequency allocated for the ferry was to be the only one we could use until Salisbury’s control boundary was reached.

I invited my French pilot, Monsieur José, to take the left-hand (captain’s) seat. He declined, saying I was the one who knew how to handle the weather he could see building up across our path. He said he knew how to manage the fuel and oil transfer systems and this was best handled from the right-hand seat. M José’s English was only marginally better than my all-but-forgotten schoolboy French, so we relied on single words and hand signals. Pointing his finger at switches and instruments M José guided me through pre-start checks and engines start-up. His double thumbs-up signified all was well. We taxiied out sixth in the line of eight aircraft and lined up on the runway to watch number five labouring into flight and heading for the cloudbanks we ourselves would soon encounter.

The aircraft was loaded beyond design maximum weight so acceleration was slow and there was not much runway left when she lifted off with an uncomfortably high-nose attitude; but she soon accelerated to climbing speed. Response to rudder and elevator control movements was familiar but I found that the control yoke, which was narrower than any I had used before, made aileron handling heavy.

Transfer to instruments was made before entering cloud with instrument lighting set to maximum. Turbulence was mild in the climb to 11,500 feet where we levelled off. For some time I could not understand why we had not accelerated to the cruising speed I was expecting and it took a while before I realised that I had not raised the wing flaps after take-of. M José had not spotted this at all. With flaps up the speed stepped up nicely.

Not long after settling in the cruise, the rear-engine rpm started to hunt and I could not settle it down. M José’s response to my query was the typically continental one of screwing the face and raising both hands and shoulders. John Barnes, flying eighth in line, told me to do something or other, I cannot remember what, and the problem cleared. From then on both engines purred in perfect synchronisation for the rest of the fight.

Halfway to Victoria Falls we cleared the cloud that, though dense and dark in patches, had been relatively smooth and had given me no difficulty. I searched all around but could not see any of the other aircraft. From there on it was a matter of working out our exact location from the limited information printed on the 1:1,000,000-scale maps. M José shook his head when I confidently pointed to our position on the map. To him everything on the ground looked flat with all vleis (wetlands along river-lines) running almost parallel to our course.

Fifty kilometres before reaching the Victoria Falls we could already pick out the vertical pillar of spray from the falls illuminated by the setting sun. Once over the Falls, M José was amazed by the sight of this great wonder and took many photographs as we made one wide orbit. I have no idea how well the photographs turned out because the sun had just set below the horizon.

Even before we reached the Falls I heard the seventh and eighth aircraft broadcast that they were leaving Victoria Falls on course for Salisbury. Only then did I realise that both of them had passed me in the cloud, because of my flap selection error.

The Rhodesian weather forecast received before take-off warned of the ITCZ storm-line we could see running eastwards from Wankie. I had no desire to fly the direct route to Salisbury in such rough weather. Instead I chose to fly to Sinoia in clear skies, and then turn southwards for the shortest possible run through bad weather to Salisbury.

M José and I flew just south of the Zambezi Gorge to the headwaters of Kariba Lake, which was barely visible before it became totally dark. Flying conditions were smooth with absolutely nothing to see below us. M José pointed to the sky and my schoolboy French recognised sufficient words to understand that he had never seen so many stars in his life. The conditions were perfect and I had to agree that the brilliance and multiplicity of the stars was awesome.

Whilst we were enjoying our smooth ride and admiring God’s heavenly firmament, we listened to transmissions between the other pilots who were having a very rough ride down the ITCZ storm-line that we could see continuously illuminated by rippling lightning flashes way off to our right. Why the other pilots had not taken our ‘soft option’ route I cannot say, but I know that flying Trojans had taught me a thing or two about avoiding bad weather whenever possible.

All the other aircraft had landed by the time we eventually entered the bad weather about ten minutes’ flying time from Salisbury. We passed over the city in cloud and rain that was illuminated all around us as we descended towards the airport. Salisbury Airport controllers had no idea of the aircraft types arriving that night because one of our Air Force ATC officers, I think it was John Digby, sat with them to assist with what he had said was ‘the recovery of 4 Squadron aircraft returning from an operation in the Wankie area’. Approach Control expressed some concern because no one had heard from my aircraft until the last of the others had landed.

My French companion had been completely lost without the ILS-VOR assistance he relied on wherever he flew in Europe. On the other hand, I had never used such aids before. Under his guidance I learned how to interpret the instrumentation that brought us in for a bad weather landing which was so smooth it surprised me. After such a good let-down and smooth landing, M José made it clear that he was sure I had lied to him about never having used ILS-VOR or flown a Cessna 337 to before.

When we taxiied into dispersals at Air Movements Section, there was not a single Cessna 337 to be seen. M José and I climbed out of our machine into soaking rain and ran for the Air Movements Section. As I entered the building I looked back and saw our aircraft being towed away to a top-security hangar where the other aircraft already stood dripping water onto the concrete floor.

Inside Air Movements Section, Air Marshal McLaren and his senior staff officers were celebrating with the other crews. Eight Cessna 337s were home. Ten to go!

For the second ferry, Chuck Dent’s special HF aerial was erected at New Sarum to provide communications for Wing Commander Keith Corrans and Squadron Leader Mike Gedye.

This is Keith’s account of the second ferry:

Although the Frenchmen were stranded they were unhurt, so Keith wished them well and promised to send help as soon as possible. The welcoming party in Salisbury was somewhat dampened. Even with seventeen Cessnas safely home and tucked away out of sight, there was deep concern for the one lying damaged in hostile territory. Fortunately, Keith Corrans knew its precise location and had the necessary details of the damage sustained.

Local tribesmen took the two Frenchmen into their care until FRELIMO officials arrived from northern Mozambique and, fortunately, no Tanzanian officials showed up. The Frenchmen did a first-class con job using language difficulties to maximum effect. This was matched by the senior French pilot in Salisbury who telephoned Maputo direct from Salisbury to ask for FRELIMO’s permission to mount a recovery operation for the ‘French-owned’ aircraft. He explained that the downed aircraft had been flying to Malagasy when it suffered engine problems. This had forced the crew to land on an airstrip on Tanzanian soil very close to Mozambique rather than risk the long over-water leg to Malagasy. FRELIMO’s authorities were assured that this was a purely civil aviation matter in which Rhodesian civil aviation authorities had agreed to give full technical assistance to the French.

FRELIMO, still new in government, took the Frenchman at his word and made no attempt to contact the Governments of Tanzania or Malagasy to verify a request emanating from ‘hostile Rhodesia’. Approval was given for the use of a Rhodesian-registered aircraft to fly Rhodesian personnel in to effect necessary repairs for a one-time flight. They agreed also that the Cessna 337 would need to be flown to Beira for fuel and then on to Salisbury for final repair work before undertaking the long flight to Malagasy.

Group Captain Charles Paxton had been earmarked to become the Commander of the Rhodesian Air Force but he opted for early retirement instead and was then flying for a civilian charter firm. His current employment and Air Force background made Charles the ideal person to conduct the recovery operation. This had to be done rapidly for fear that FRELIMO might establish the true ownership of the damaged aircraft. It meant getting to site immediately, performing the barest minimum of repair work and departing with minimum delay. In the meanwhile the French crew and FRELIMO had arranged for the holes in the runway to be filled in by the locals. The plan worked well. The rear engine was replaced, the nose wheel was jacked up and bolted into place, the front propeller was replaced and engine checks were conducted. A large box of goodies for FRELIMO and the locals ensured full co-operation without interference. Both aircraft then departed for Beira.

Since the Cessna had to fly with undercarriage down, the flight to Salisbury via Beira was a long one. Charles Paxton escorted the Frenchmen all the way for a night arrival at Salisbury. The Cessna was wheeled off to the security hangar and a third celebration marked the conclusion of the second ferry with all eighteen aircraft safe on Rhodesian soil.

With one aircraft requiring major repairs and five others awaiting camouflage paint, the Air Force defiantly rolled out twelve camouflaged Cessna 337s into the open for the whole world to see. It felt and looked great, and the new war-machine became known as the LYNX!

All that remained to be done was to modify the aircraft for their armed role. Work on this started the day after the first flight arrived. Mainplanes had been especially stressed during manufacture to cater for increased ‘G’ loads. Under-wing pylon mountings were installed at New Sarum to allow for the carriage of SNEB rocket pods, bombs, Frantans, flares and teargas. Within a week all 4 Squadron’s pilots had been converted onto type. Fitment of machine-guns had been considered but this was held over for the moment. It is a great credit to all participating technicians and pilots that these aircraft did a marvellous job for the Rhodesian war effort. The Lynx came at the right time and its selection had been a good one.

The first record of a Lynx accompanying Fireforce was on 7 March 1976, though Flight Lieutenant Ed Potterton did not use weapons on that occasion. Fitment of guns came later.

Fireforces back in action

ZIPRA, HAVING BEEN DEALT A few severe blows by SAS inside Zambia in late 1974, and again during 1975, did not seem to be ready to rush into any major offensive actions simply to keep up with ZANLA. Nevertheless its existence necessitated ongoing patrolling in the west. All of ZANLA’s effort was concentrated in the east.

Following their return in January 1976, ZANLA groups moved with great caution into their original sectors Nehanda, Chaminuka and Takawira taking pains not to draw attention to themselves before they were re-established amongst the locals. By early February the game was on once more. ZANLA’s intention to launch on all three fronts had been delayed as previously mentioned, but their presence just across the mountain border near the Mozambican town of Espungabera brought the newly formed Chipinga Fireforce, led by Mike Litson, into its first action on 7 February. Two months later, penetrations in the southernmost sector meant the RSF was tied up along the entire Mozambican border.

Back in the Op Hurricane area, Wing Commander Tol Janeke had anticipated that his Fireforce might be called to action in the rough terrain of the Zambezi escarpment some thirty kilometres northwest of Mount Darwin. So on 6 February, with the concurrence of his Army counterpart, he moved the whole Fireforce to Stacey’s Farm to cut down reaction time.

To help follow the ASR below, the helicopter pilots were Flight Lieutenant Rob McGregor flying K-Car; Yellow 1, 2 and 3 were, respectively, Air Lieutenant Jo Syslo, Air SubLieutenant Venter (Op Polo) and Flight Lieutenant George Sole.

Air Lieutenant Norman (Bambam) Maasdorp, N4, flew the Provost. The Police Reserve Air Wing pilot, Copper 08, was Hamie Dax whom I have already identified as the most successful of the PRAW recce pilots. The abbreviation PATU stands for Police Anti-Terrorist Unit and c/s is the abbreviation for callsign.

Rob McGregor’s illustration, cut from a 1:50,000-scale map is reproduced to assist the reader in following his ASR. It reads:

Wing Commander Janeke’s report reads:

Griff’s remarks about the employment of techniques used in the past but now almost forgotten are valid. However, in this case, the follow-up on terrorists moving through very rugged unpopulated terrain lent itself to the re-employment of methods used in the days before CTs lived and operated amongst the population.

Tol Janeke was a taskmaster who demanded the best of the men under his command. He was not too popular and some individuals were even frightened of him. One such individual was Flying Officer George Sole who, though a bit of a dandy, was a very nice guy.

When one day the Fireforce callout siren sounded at FAF 4, George rushed to his helicopter, which was already occupied by the soldiers he was to carry into action. Relating to what was to follow, George said, “As I moved onto the step to get into my seat, I let off a friendly fart but shat myself instead!”

George apologised to his gunner and the troops and ran off for a shower and a change of clothing. Tol, seeing one helicopter still on the ground after the others had flown off, enquired loudly, “What the hell is going on?” The gunner said, “The pilot has gone back for a shower and clothing change because he had a bit of an accident.” Tol went through the roof and ran off to find George Sole. George received a telling-off that left him in no doubt that Tol had no sympathy for his situation. “A Fireforce call out takes priority over all things. I don’t care if you are uncomfortable and that everyone will be subjected to your foul stench. You fly the mission and only clean up when it is over!”

A couple of days later George rushed out when the Fireforce siren sounded. In his hurry he tripped over a tent peg and fractured his ankle. Though in absolute agony, he dared not complain and flew the long Fireforce action before seeking medical attention.

The first airstrike by a Lynx was made on 25 March. It so happened that Air Lieutenant Bill (Starry) Stevens was on his first-ever operational deployment and this was his first operational strike. He did well when the K-Car, flown by Flight Lieutenant Dick Paxton, ran out of ammunition due to a runaway 20mm cannon. Sergeant Brian Warren handled his cannon’s misbehaviour coolly and still had CTs visual. Bill Stevens, having watched the K-Car’s strikes, knew the exact location of the CTs and though he could not actually see them was able to kill the lot with Sneb rockets.

On 27 March Selous Scouts controller callsign 69B was visual with CTs two kilometres south of his elevated position within the Mtoko Tribal Trust Land. He called for the Mount Darwin Fireforce, then operating out of Mudzi. Air Lieutenant Childs was flying the K-Car with Major Mike Ainslie of A Company 1RAR as the airborne Army commander, and Sergeant du Preez, as his gunner. Childs and du Preez were both Op Polo men. Air Lieutenant Mike Borlace, with Flight Sergeant Mike Upton as his MAG gunner, led three G-Cars of Amber formation.

Amber lead (Borlace) spotted the terrorists immediately upon arrival over the point the Scouts had given and Mike Upton opened fire. Childs had turned the K-Car away at that moment in an attempt to re-establish communications with c/s 69B. For some time Mike Borlace could not interrupt the K-Car radio transmissions to let Childs and Ainslie know he had the CTs visual. When he did, the K-Car moved to him, picked up the scattering CTs, and opened fire with the 20mm cannon. Heavy fire was being directed at both aircraft as they pursued visual targets.

It was in the second orbit when rounds narrowly missed the K-Car gunner, mortally wounding Major Ainslie and hitting the pilot’s left leg. Air Lieutenant Childs calmly broadcast his situation and instructed Amber 2 to follow him. He landed some way off next to an already deployed stop group to transfer the unconscious major to Amber 2 for casevac to Mtoko. Whilst this was being done Borlace took hits that knocked out the hydraulic servo-system, which operates the cyclic and collective controls.

Mike Borlace, now on very heavy manual control and still carrying troops, refused to disengage the CTs until the K-Car returned. He was still orbiting over the CTs with Mike Upton firing burst upon burst when the gearbox warning light came on. Then, to add to their problems, the machine-gun ceased firing because a CT round had severed the ammunition belt. Undaunted, Mike Upton took an MAG from one of the Army soldiers and continued firing free-hand at visual CTs. Borlace said Mike Upton’s fire continued to be very accurate.

Though wounded, Air Lieutenant Childs returned to resume command of air and ground forces, allowing Mike Borlace to break contact and make a forced landing next to the stop group at whose location Major Ainslie had been transferred. Together with the stop group and the stick that had been on board, the two airmen armed with their personal weapons, took up positions that strengthened the original stop group and provided protection for the downed chopper. The troops that had been in Mike’s helicopter were immensely relieved to be on terra firma. Though used to being at the receiving end of enemy fire, these soldiers had been absolutely terrified by the ground fire whilst totally exposed in the air with nowhere to hide.

FAF commanders such as Tol Janeke and Peter Cooke always highlighted jobs well done by aircrew personnel. In Contact Reports submitted to Army HQ, Army field commanders often praised their own men and the aircrews who supported them. But Air Force officers were generally less forthcoming. So it was good to see the following signal to Air HQ from John Digby who was OC FAF 5 at Mtoko:

ZANLA’s ability to hit our aircraft had improved significantly, indicating that, again no thanks to the Vorster imposed ceasefire, a great deal of effort had been given to antiaircraft training prior to the CTs return to Rhodesia. Almost all engagements hereafter resulted in hits on aircraft, sometimes killing or injuring aircrew and soldiers. The centrally mounted fuel tanks of the Alouettes presented a relatively large surface area and over time they suffered many hits. Fortunately Avtur fuel does not ignite easily and a self-sealing compound wrapped around the tanks prevented fuel loss.

Seven days after his forced landing, Mike Borlace took hits once more. Flying Amber lead, again with Mike Upton, Borlace was asked to put down his troops. As he approached to land, his aircraft took strikes. He received a hit on his right hand, limiting him to the use of index finger and thumb. A hit on his left inner-thigh was superficial but another bullet went through the arm of one of the soldiers on board. Mike pulled away, saw five terrorists and immediately engaged them. Only when K-Car came across, taking on three surviving CTs, did Borlace drop off his stick, less the one that was bleeding badly from his wound. He returned to Mtoko and was out of action for the rest of that day.

Air Lieutenant Troup and his gunner Sergeant Knouwds, both Op Polo men, had proven themselves to be an excellent K-Car crew on a number of occasions. They led Fireforce to a contact with a group of CTs just 3,000 metres to the southeast of the position at which Major Ainslie had been mortally wounded two weeks earlier.

During this typical Fireforce action in which one helicopter had already taken hits, Flight Lieutenant Russell Broadbent, a medical doctor who had joined us from the RNZAF, was flying his third operation on Lynx when he was called upon to make strikes. Acting on GAC directions from an Army callsign of the Fireforce he fired Sneb rockets, which was fine. The callsign then required another position to be attacked, this time with Frantan. Russell took hits during this delivery causing him to include the following paragraph in his ASR:

Before the arrival of the Lynx, only Provosts had made Frantan deliveries and few hits were received because .303 Browning machine-guns were fired all the way down the delivery run to the point of Frantan release. This is the ‘covering fire’ Russell Broadbent referred to. His suggestion that Frantan attacks should include Sneb rocket fire during the delivery run was fair enough but it presented a very real danger. Sneb rockets sent a shower of shrapnel into the air through which the Lynx would have to transit after a low-level Frantan release; too dangerous to contemplate. There was only one solution and that was to fit machine-guns to the Lynx. The operational pilots had not forced this matter on Air HQ. Design work had been on the go for some time with two options in mind. The first was to produce wing-mounted gun-pods because the mainplane structures disallowed internally mounted wing-guns. The second option was to mount two .303 Brownings above the cabin roof.

The first option was thrown out because of unacceptable weight and aerodynamic drag penalties whereas the drag generated by light fairings over guns mounted above the cabin was negligible. One Lynx was taken off-line for prototype fitment and firing trials. The prototype fit was subjected to many tests and alterations before Squadron Leader Dag Jones, who was then OC 4 Squadron, finally accepted it. Thereafter all metal components, fibreglass fairings and wiring looms were made ready before Lynx were pulled off-line for modification.

Patchen explorer

FOR A LONG TIME I had been interested in building a tandem-seat aircraft specifically designed for visual reconnaissance. I considered that an ideal recce aircraft had to be very quiet and almost impossible to see when flying at 5,000 feet against a clear-sky background.

Matt black was the best colour and a shielded up-turned muffled exhaust system for a motor driving a slow-revving paddle propeller would be very quiet at cruise power. Of greatest importance was the need for all-round visual freedom of ground. This meant having large, sliding side-panels reaching to floor level.

It was impossible to gain any support to build the machine I had designed in detail. It was based on proven glider technology with wooden frames under fibreglass cladding. The Air Staff considered this was beyond Rhodesia’s capability and, anyway, financial constraints ruled against such a project. I was not totally ignored however and was sent to South Africa’s CSIR to explore possibilities.

The South Africans showed considerable interest in my design and their interest was not limited to military reconnaissance. The concept seemed ideal for police surveillance work as well. I was shown a gyrocopter that had been built with the express intention of testing CSIR’s developmental work in carbon-fibre rotor blades. The gyrocopter had an ideal cabin with good visual freedom and, if fitted with a paddle-bladed propeller and muffled exhausts, it seemed to be the answer to my dreams. However, this machine was not ready for flight-testing because the prototype rotor blades were not yet completed. Because the gyrocopter would not be ready for many months, I was invited to look through Jane’s Book of Aircraft to see if there was any machine in it that might fit the bill.

I went right through the book and pointed out a Canadian experimental aircraft called Patchen Explorer. I thought nothing more of this until the one and only Patchen Explorer was purchased by South Africa. SAAF Captains Dean and Rawston flew this machine, bearing South African registration ZG-UGF, to Rhodesia for me to assess. Being a slow aircraft, it took them five hours to fly from Pretoria to Salisbury. They then continued on to Centenary to meet up with me.

My first trial flight was made with Captain Dean. It was immediately obvious that the side-by-side seating arrangement was not ideal but, otherwise, the visual freedom was really good. The real problem with the Patchen Explorer, apart from being very noisy, was the amount of physical effort required to handle it. After two hours I was quite exhausted and happy to get back on the ground.

The next day I flew with Captain Rawston and asked him to do the handling whilst I concentrated on the visual aspects. From this I concluded that, with servo-assisted controls and modifications to quieten the power unit, the Patchen Explorer had real possibilities.

We landed at Everton Farm for lunch with Hamie Dax and his wife Petal. Hamie continued to be very successful with his recce work in spite of the severe visual restrictions imposed on him by his low-wing Comanche; hence my reason for dropping in to show him the Patchen Explorer.

After its return to Pretoria I heard no more until I learned that it now resides in the SAAF Museum at Swartkops, Pretoria.

War spreads and hots up

BY APRIL 1976, FIVE FIREFORCES were permanently deployed. Two of these continued to operate out of Mount Darwin and Mtoko, as before. Two had been established in the new Op Thrasher area, operating from Grand Reef (FAF 8) near Umtali and Chipinga (FAF 6) near the southern end of the eastern mountain range. The fifth force was based at Buffalo Range (FAF 7) serving newly established Op Repulse in the southeast. Some time later, FAF 9 was established at Rutenga when another Fireforce came into being. Whereas the Hurricane and Repulse forces comprised a K-Car and four G-Cars each, Thrasher had been allocated two K-Cars but only four troopers for use as OC Air Detachment Thrasher deemed fit. Consequently the Grand Reef and Chipinga Fireforces were two troopers below strength, except on those occasions when the two forces came together.

Wing Commander Roy Morris commanded Air Detachment Thrasher initially and was relieved by Squadron Leader Cyril White, after he relinquished command of 4 Squadron to Squadron Leader Dag Jones. Wing Commander Rob Gaunt had been the first commander of Air Detachment Repulse but was replaced by Wing Commander Tol Janeke in August. Tol’s proven successes during his time at Mount Darwin were needed in what was considered to be the most critical of all the operational areas. This was because Rhodesia’s road and rail lifelines to South Africa, running through the Op Repulse area, were known to be ZANLA’s top priority targets.

Op Hurricane Fireforces were being employed on a daily basis, whereas within the Thrasher and Repulse areas the forces were used less frequently in the first half of 1976. This was partly due to the terrain and more so because the CT groups were still trying to establish themselves amongst the local population. Consequently, almost all of the early contacts in Thrasher and Repulse occurred along the border with Mozambique and, initially, succeeded in severely hampering ZANLA planning.

At that time ZIPRA’s long-term intentions were not known. It was clear, however, that it was preparing a large conventional army and only committing small irregular units into the Op Tangent and Splinter areas to keep the Frontline States happy. It was presumed that ZIPRA’s long-term objectives were to let ZANLA take a beating whilst wearing down the RSF. It would then launch massive effort against Rhodesia, and probably more so against ZANLA. Whatever ZIPRA’s true intentions, Rhodesia would have been stretched beyond limit had ZIPRA come over in strength at the same time as ZANLA, because ZANLA alone was tying up most of our air and ground effort. No 7 Squadron faced many difficulties in providing helicopters and crews to the Hurricane, Thrasher and Repulse areas. There were also others needed to support lower-intensity operations against ZIPRA in the Op Splinter (Kariba Lake), Op Tangent (western border and western Zambezi River) plus Op Grapple (Midlands area).

Harold Griffiths commanded a squadron that was four times larger than a standard squadron. Although it was an Air HQ task to decide on the actual allocation of helicopters, Griff, his flight commanders and squadron warrant officer had to continuously juggle aircraft and crews to meet these allocations whilst also being committed to increased levels in major and minor servicing schedules and the repairing of battle damaged aircraft. At the same time they had to train new crews and maintain standards amongst the operational pilots and technicians who moved in and out daily. The very nature of operational flying invariably involved harsh handling which made it necessary to re-hone pilot and technician skills every time they returned to base.

Seldom did a day go by when 7 Squadron did not have to re-plan for unexpected issues such as wounded aircrew and aircraft damage. There was always a need for some immediate remedial action to be taken. For Griff and his senior men there was such high stress at base that they looked forward to their own field deployments that, though loaded with periods of extreme tension and danger, afforded them some degree of respite.

The jet and transport squadrons were regular-sized units and their personnel for the most part were base-bound, so they did not suffer the high stresses of the bush squadrons. Like 7 Squadron, 4 Squadron’s crews spent most of their time in the operational areas but their problems were of a different nature. 4 Squadron’s greatest difficulty was the never-ending loss of experienced pilots and technicians to meet increasing needs for helicopter crews. With each crop of brand-new pilots off training, 4 Squadron had virtually no chance of providing adequate guidance to youngsters by seasoned operators. In fact, 4 Squadron was sometimes so short of aircrew that retired officers, unkindly referred to as ‘retread pilots’, were re-called to duty to make up numbers in the field. The retired officers I remember operating Lynx included Group Captain Charles Paxton, Wing Commander John Mussell, Squadron Leader Mike Saunders, Flight Lieutenant Dickie Dives and even Squadron Leader Ted Brent was borrowed from 5 Squadron for a while. Flight Lieutenant Don Northcroft (Sword of Honour student of No 19 PTC) who was a bright gentle-natured man had returned to farming was another of the retread pilots until a gang of CTs gunned him down whilst he was inspecting his lands.

It was at about this time that the members of my training course, 10 SSU, came together for a re-union party. Unfortunately Gordon and Faith Wright chose not to attend, whereas Ian and Helena Ferguson took the trouble to leave their farming business and drive seven hours to be with us. It was a very happy occasion in spite of all the troubles that surrounded us.

SO Plans

IN MARCH 1976, I WAS promoted to the rank of wing commander in the Air Staff post of Staff Officer Planning. Air Marshal Mick McLaren as Commander of the Air Force altered the terms of reference for this post to allow me to assume responsibility for all Air Force projects and to commence the weapons development work I had been pressing for over the years.

So Plans was the only post in the Air Force that allowed the incumbent officer direct access to the Commander without the approval of DG Ops and the Chief of Air Staff. Though this was very useful, I never once used the privilege without first advising Air Vice-Marshal Frank Mussell or Air Commodore Chris Dams about the project details I needed to discuss with the Commander. I will discuss the project work shortly because it was delayed a while.

In June I was pulled away from my post to assist 4 Squadron, yet again, with recce training. I was very put out by this as I had spent more than fourteen months in the field during my eighteen months as Ops I in Air Staff. Fortunately Cocky Benecke was made available to cut down on training time and advantage was taken of my presence at Mount Darwin to allow OC FAF 4 to take some well-earned leave.

This period of training was for the new OC 4 Squadron and some of his pilots. It was also my first experience in teaching from the rear seat so that I could see ground on Dag Jones’s side of the aircraft. During our second sortie on 11 June 1976 we were aerial-tracking a strong trail that led us to a brand-new CT camp. We immediately called for a depleted Fireforce of K-Car plus two G-Cars. Being passenger caused me to see the action from a new perspective that turned out to be very useful for reasons still clear in my mind.

Firstly, I had not seen a fresh base for a long time. Secondly I could see that, as in many actions past, there were insufficient troops immediately available to Kip Donald, the RLI Fireforce commander. I knew there were plenty of troops available at Mount Darwin and that a Dakota, then available on the ground at FAF 4, could have brought them across at the same time that the helicopters arrived; but none of these troops was para-trained.

The third point of importance came from my direct observation of Frantan effects at the moment of ignition. All of my many Frantan attacks had been from Provosts whose wings disallowed observation of weapon effects at the moment of impact. Now I saw one Frantan spew flaming gel at forty-five degrees to flight line thereby missing two CT’s I saw so clearly. The second Frantan did a similar action but actually killed one CT that I had not seen at all. I realise immediately that steel construction and the container’s impact orientation were the reasons for haphazard distribution of flame. I vowed to myself that I would do something about producing highly frangible units that were both stable and aimable.

The CTs had chosen a site in thick but narrow riverine bush with open grasslands all around, except at one end where a sparsely wooded ridge met up with the bush. In the dry season, the CTs would only have had the ridge as an escape route but, because of late rains in 1976, the grass was still high and green and severely impeded the forward-visibility to the soldiers on the ground. With too few troops, Kipper Donald forced the pace of his troops, resulting in the wounding of one of his men in the first contact before the responsible CT was dispatched.

In this action, as with so many others, it was obvious that there was need for more troops to be immediately available in the vital period. With limited helicopter availability, this could only be achieved if Fireforces included paratroopers in an accompanying Dakota. In this particular contact, Kipper Donald could have used paratroopers the moment the CTs’ presence had been confirmed. This would have prevented six CTs crawling away through the long grass. When I took the idea of a para-trooping Dakota with each Fireforce to Air HQ, Group Captain Norman Walsh told me that, having been approached with the same idea by Army HQ, he was actively attending to the matter. In fact the RLI had already commenced paratrooper training. This was good news indeed.

Operation Sand

IN A TOP-SECRET EXCHANGE (Operation Sand), Rhodesian Air Force instructors, technicians and students were attached to the South African Air Force. This was necessary because our ageing Vampires could not keep up with the production of new pilots. Flying training on Impala jets was conducted at Langebaan Air Base and later in Durban. This was a quid pro quo exchange for our training needs and for operational experience needed by SAAF helicopter crews. At the time we also manned one entire SAAF Mirage lll squadron in another top-secret arrangement.

Although I was aware of this and had met some of the personnel during my many visits to CSIR in Pretoria, it is surprising how little I knew about the reasons and objectives involved. They might even have been preparing for the on-take of Mirages by our own Air Force but no questions were asked and no information was given.‘Top Secret’ meant exactly what it implied and to this day I do not know the answers. But, from one senior SAAF officer I later learned something that really intrigued me. Unfortunately the Rhodesian jet pilot involved in this story died in an air accident before I could verify what I now record.

It was Flight Lieutenant Ricky Culpan who was very disappointed by Mirage III air-to-air gunnery results. Ricky was not content to accept that such a sophisticated aircraft could be equipped with an air-to-air aiming system that gave excellent pilots very poor results. To cut a long story short, I understand that he came to the conclusion that an essential component of information was missing and had to be introduced into the software of the gunsight’s computer system. This was the precise angle between the gun-line and the airflow that, in the case of this delta-wing fighter, varied more than in conventional fighter designs. The actual airflow angle had to be provided by an externally mounted vane.

How Ricky got through the ‘red-tape’ at SAAF HQ I do not know, but permission appears to have been given to fit this sensor vane on a Mirage III airframe and link it to the sighting computer. An acquaintance of Ricky’s, who I was told was a fundi in computer software, upgraded the gunsight’s computer programme by integrating the sensor vane’s input. This resulted in a manyfold improvement in air-to-air gunnery results.

By recording this story I hope one day to receive confirmation of it because it places my one-time neighbour in Thornhill Married Quarters, Ricky Culpan, on a higher level of imagination and determination than I thought he possessed.

Diverse personalities and different situations

BY MID-1976 ALL THE FIREFORCES were engaged daily in a variety of actions against ZANLA. Some actions were very successful and others drew blanks. There were so many individuals involved, and the actions so widespread and diverse in nature, that it is impossible to give a chronological sequence of events or provide a concise picture of the happenings in each area. By this time ZANLA had extended operations from the northeast all the way down the eastern side of Rhodesia to the South African border.

I have taken a very small sample of events during 1976 in each area and have focused on three individuals having different ranks and operational functions. One was a commander on the ground, one flew helicopters and one flew Lynx.

My selected individuals are Tol Janeke, Mike Borlace and Cocky Benecke. The first two individuals might not have been first choice for many but almost every Rhodesian serviceman would have selected Cocky.

All helicopter aircrew were top-line operators; too many to mention personally. However, one pilot’s name kept coming to the fore and would remain there for some time. Many of the helicopter technician-gunners loved to fly with him whilst others considered him too bloody dangerous. Nevertheless, Flight Lieutenant Mike Borlace, who has already featured in other actions described in this book, recorded his seventh ASR as K-Car pilot in the Op Thrasher area at the beginning of June. His gunner was Sergeant Henry Jarvie, a clown when occasion permitted, who was deadly serious in his duties.

Due to the decision to have two Fireforces, one at Grand Reef and the other at Chipinga, Mike had only two troopers carrying eight soldiers, plus a supporting Lynx. He was called upon to take on a group of CTs reported to be resting by a small stream. The soldiers were inexperienced in Fireforce operations and did not have their own officer airborne; not that this mattered because K-Car pilots had so often proven that their abilities were equal to the best of RLI commanders.

Air Lieutenant Chris Dickinson (M8 Black Lead) had Sergeant Phil Tubbs as his gunner. Air Lieutenant Atkinson (V8 Black 2) and his gunner Sergeant Griffen, were both OpPolo men. Air Sub-Lieutenant Ray Bolton (M4) flew the Lynx. In his ASR Mike used # in lieu of the usual c/s and # Sparrow 1 was a tracker callsign.

Mike’s ASR reads:

Thirteen CTs were killed in this action, two of which were accounted for by the ground troops. Had there been more soldiers available to Borlace in the opening minutes the CTs would have fared even worse than they did. Notice that Mike said CTs were wearing “a green top shirt”. Under that would have been more shirts to facilitate change of visual appearance and identification.

A week later, Mike Borlace, flying K-Car with Henry Jarvie, ran into heavy fire. This occurred in an action that was so close to the Mozambican border that at times the Fireforce, and a pair of Hunters which came to assist, had fire brought to bear on them by FRELIMO forces firing from a store across the border.

Part of Mike’s ASR reads,

Eighteen months had elapsed since I left 4 Squadron; yet only Cocky Benecke remained when Dag Jones took over command from Cyril White. Although he clearly deserved a posting to helicopters, as had occurred with all of his PTC colleagues, Cocky had been left on 4 Squadron because his unique talents were best suited to fixed-wing operations. Funnily enough Cocky was pleased with this. Because of the relatively low cost of flying light strike aircraft, Cocky felt he could pursue his talent and his desire for action just as far as his passion drove him. Again I say, “What a change in attitude from those days when I struggled to get him interested in recce.”

The number of Fireforce successes directly attributable to 4 Squadron recce pilots, especially Cocky Benecke, was astounding. In spite of its limited strength in machines and operationally seasoned men, 4 Squadron was the most cost-effective military unit in Rhodesia. This statement in no way detracts from the undeniable potency of our squadrons, the SAS, Selous Scouts, RLI or any other unit. It simply conveys the undeniable fact that a small complement of pilots, ably supported by an equally small group of dedicated technicians, induced and participated effectively in more actions, pro rata, than any other Rhodesian unit.

Cocky displayed his talents, courage and aggressiveness for the umpteenth time in a lone action in the Op Repulse area. This occurred just after Tol Janeke was posted there. On 2 August 1976, Cocky was sent to provide top cover to c/s 143 of H Coy 1RR, a Territorial Army tracker unit, that was following blood-spoor from a contact with CTs earlier in the day.

Having established the position of the trackers and the direction in which the CTs were heading, Cocky commenced a recce forward of the troops over flat, featureless terrain. He soon found a group of people sitting under shade at the edge of a bushy patch that was set well away from local villages. It is unlikely that any other pilot would have seen them.

He was asking the trackers what colour clothing the CTs had been wearing when he came under fire and saw two CTs break from the group. Cocky attacked immediately and took them both out with rockets. Fire continued so he turned and attacked the main group that was breaking up. Having expended all rockets, Cocky still had one CT in sight.

Part of Cocky’s ASR reads,

Cocky was wise not to attack with Frantans as his aircraft was not fitted with machine-guns to give him covering fire, and there was no way of knowing if more CTs were still around. The fact that he could see, from height, precisely how many magazines of ammunition had been expended was yet another example of this man’s intriguing talent.

Apart from four CTs killed, five females, hidden in the bush too close to the CTs, also died when Cocky made his second rocket attack. The loss of civilian lives in these circumstances, though deeply regretted, was inevitable when CTs failed to send women away before initiating offensive action. Happily, there were many other occasions where women saved themselves by moving into the open so that soldiers and airmen could identify them by dress. But even in these situations care had to be taken to ensure that they were not being used by CTs as human shields.

Continuing with Cocky for the moment. He was in the Hurricane area with me during my short stay at FAF 4. Whilst I was instructing Dag Jones, Cocky was also teaching recce to Bill Stevens. Day after day he had been leading successful Fireforce actions, one of which occurred so close to FAF 4 that it caused me, as acting OC FAF 4, to comment:

K-Car pilots recorded most ASRs covering actions in which Cocky was involved. His own ASRs were therefore those in which Fireforce was not involved. His thirtieth ASR reports the situations arising from actions of 17 August 1976 when he was tasked to provide top cover to an Army tracker callsign of 2 Independent Company that was following fresh tracks of a large group of CTs that had broken through the Cordon Sanitaire minefield. Cocky’s own callsign was H4 and Mike Delport, who was flying with him, was G4. His ASR reads:

Cocky was lucky to have only been badly bruised by a chuck of airframe debris from a heavy-calibre bullet strike, and Mike Delport did a great job in getting the aircraft back to Salisbury.

Because of the long distance involved, Fireforce arrived a long time after Cocky and Mike had cleared target. Two trooper helicopters took hits that resulted in the death of Corporal Titlestad and continuous fire from a heavy machine-gun relentlessly followed the K-Car flown by Flight Lieutenant Terence Murphy (ex-British Marines helicopter pilot) but without scoring any hits. Due to fading light and some confusion caused by many widely spread enemy firing positions with troops in between, K-Car was reluctant to bring down any air attacks and the airborne commander, OC Support Commando RLI, had no choice but to issue orders for night ambushes.

Although there were no proven kills, this operation happened to be very successful because the CTs lost everything but their personal weapons. The group of about fifty had come in with a large re-supply of equipment which included an STM heavy machine-gun, a type 56 recoilless rifle, RPG launchers with many rockets, TM46 landmines and piles of 7.62mm ammunition; all of which was added to Rhodesia’s growing supply of captured equipment.

The reason for the ground explosions and apparent flak bursts that Cocky reported was explained by the discovery and capture of ‘air ambush’ (CT term) equipment. The CT group had come into Rhodesia with their new ‘air ambush’ weapon system that they had confidently rigged to protect their re-supply equipment against air attack. It consisted of many TNT charges planted in small holes in the ground with a stick grenade placed above each charge with its firing pin tethered to a ground peg. The TNT and stick grenade combinations were set in clusters, each cluster being linked by Cordtex to be fired simultaneously. Upon firing each cluster of TNT (the ground explosions Cocky reported) the stick grenades were propelled vertically to withdraw firing pins and detonated four seconds later at around 1,000 feet above ground (the suspected flak).

Having lost all of their ‘air ambush’ equipment during their very first day in the country, the CTs must have lost confidence in the system because I cannot recall another incident of this type inside Rhodesia. Occasionally they were employed in Mozambique. Long before this incident, I had read of an antiaircraft system, which Mao Tse Tung developed and named ‘ground cannon’. Later I will discuss my own tests of this crazy, crude and effective system.

Down in the southeast, on 27 August, a Grey’s Scouts callsign on horseback was following tracks of a large group heading straight for the Mozambican border. Tol Janeke called upon the Chiredzi Fireforce to join up with his Repulse Fireforce and placed the joint force close to the area of anticipated action.

Tol amalgamated forces whenever he judged it necessary, which is why in my opinion he was a particularly successful field commander. Every officer had been taught the ‘Ten Principles of War’; one of which is the all-important need for concentration of forces. Few heeded this in the great spread of activities where too few aircraft were called upon to meet too many needs. Tol not only practised this principle, he ensured that the concentrated force was correctly placed for immediate use.

In this particular case, two K-Cars, six G-Cars and two Lynx moved to c/s 24B, who reported that he was two hours behind the CTs. Flight Lieutenant Ginger Baldwin, flying lead K-Car, was surprised by the speed at which c/s 24B was covering ground on horseback. He knew the Fireforce troops could not possibly keep up with them and, since there was no fuel close at hand, decided to land the helicopters and await developments. The two Lynx loitered over the helicopters and maintained communications with 24B.

The horses were watered at a pan where c/s 24B reported twenty-nine CTs had been at water’s edge about one hour earlier. Noting how far this pan was from a game fence that lay beyond, Ginger decided to deploy two stop groups to the fence on the line of movement. This had only just been done when 24B called contact. The Fireforce was over the CTs shortly afterwards and learned that one of 24B’s men had been killed during the engagement.

Ginger described the ground over which most of the aircraft took on groups of bomb-shelling CTs as “… so flat and vegetation so uniform that it was impossible to pinpoint a specific point.”

Tol’s comments on the ASR were:

From our point of view, any man who would be returning to the country trained and armed within a few days, was a CT already.