I returned with my technician and four PR who had been retained in reserve. Upon reaching the centre of the vlei I spotted a black man standing under a tree on its north side. He was dressed in dark slacks and a white shirt but did not appear to have a weapon nor show any sign of concern for my helicopter’s presence. I was discussing this man with my technician when one of the PR spotted him too. Without warning, the PR started firing his Sten-gun at the figure, his rounds passing through the disc of the helicopter’s rotor. Ewett Sorrel snatched the weapon smartly and gave the bewildered man a shouted lecture as I flew out of the area to dump the PR men out of harm’s way on the Hunyani Bridge. When I returned to the vlei, the lone figure was still under the same tree. Although I had discounted him from being a threat I decided that Hoffy should get airborne with his machine-gun, just in case.
At the western end of the area I spotted another man crouching in long grass right in the centre of the vlei. Suddenly this guy, also wearing dark slacks and a white shirt, stood up and started shooting at my aircraft. I could not believe it at first, but the gun was pointing at us and clearly visible puffs of smoke were emitting from his weapon. I called Hoffy to come across to me with his machine-gun. The fellow stopped firing and crouched again to reload. Having done this he continued firing at my aircraft then, for reasons I did not appreciate immediately, he ceased firing and started running at high speed towards a ridge on the south side of the vlei. As he reached the edge of the vlei he disappeared in a cloud of dust created by gunfire from Hoffy’s aircraft. It was only then that I realised an earlier dustless burst into the grass area had got him running. I had not seen the shadow of Hoffy’s helicopter moving in opposite orbit to mine until now. So I broke away, found Hoffy above me, reversed from a right-hand to left-hand orbit and climbed above him to watch the action.
The terrorist had emerged from the dust cloud running even faster than before then disappeared from view in the dust of the third burst of fire. Again he emerged running up the ridge at super-Olympian speed. The fourth burst struck his weapon, sending it flying sideways out of his grip before he disappeared from view. He emerged beyond the dust staggering at walking speed before going down under the fifth and final burst. The Air Force had scored the first kill in a bush war that would continue for almost fourteen years and Hoffy’s good-looking technician, George Carmichael, acquired the nickname ‘Killer Carmichael’.
Hoffy was on his way back to Sinoia to stand by for any further call on him whilst I continued my recce around the area. Close to the point where the terrorist had fired at me, I picked up two persons standing together dressed in dark slacks and white shirts so I asked Hoffy to turn back. As I started to orbit these two characters looked up, their white faces shining in the sunlight. Fortunately for them Hoffy had not reached me before I told him that these were white men who were not supposed to be in the area. Later we learned that they were Police Special Branch Officers, Bill Freeman and Dusty Binns, who had moved off the strip-road aiming to get a better view of what Hoffy had been firing at. They were the handlers of the Police ‘contact’ and had arrived after the sweep had commenced.
Through John Cannon’s radio room I relayed a message to the man in charge of sweep line Charlie to watch for the man under the tree. They came up on him, declared him innocent and left him standing wide-eyed exactly where he was. Moments later PR elements of the sweep line opened fire on a terrorist and, having killed him, gathered around his body in a manner one might only expect at a farmers’ baboon shoot.
Fortunately, Major Billy Conn and his sergeant had joined the sweep line and were just off to the right of the bunched-up PR men. Billy screamed at the PR guys to spread out and move on, but they ignored his warning. It was then that two terrorists leapt to their feet, one in the act of throwing a grenade into the knot of PR men. Billy Conn’s first round struck this terrorist in the heart causing him to let go of the grenade which went straight up then landed between the two terrorists, killing the second man before he had fired a shot. The PRs were shaken by the incident and there was no further bunching. The final three terrorists were taken out singly in quick succession, thus accounting for all seven of the Armageddon Gang.
Back at Sinoia John Cannon was elated with the success of the operation and let this be known when he addressed the participants at a debriefing in the Spots Club. The beer was running freely by the time all five helicopters departed for New Sarum and Major Conn and his sergeant continued their journey to Kariba. I submitted a detailed and scathing report to Air HQ saying that, whilst the operation had been 100% successful in accounting for all members of the Armageddon Group, it had in reality been a shambles. But for Dave Becks and Billy Conn, there would undoubtedly have been police casualties. Major difficulties in command and control due to non-compatibility of Air Force and Police radios would not have arisen if Army troops had been used. PGHQ were very displeased with this report and the Army loved it. Incredibly Air HQ chastised the squadron for “expending 147 rounds of precious 7.62mm ammunition to kill just one terrorist.”
Today the ZANU government of Zimbabwe celebrates the start of its Chimurenga war on 28 April, the anniversary date of the ‘Battle of Chinhoyi’ where “a gallant force fought against impossible odds in which the Rhodesian enemy used thousands of Army troops and powerful helicopter gunships." What they conveniently forget is the expediency of their actions in committing the young men of the Armageddon Group before they had been given adequate training for their mission.
These unfortunate young men were launched way too early, simply to provide proof of ZANU’s active involvement in Rhodesia simply to sweeten Organisation of African Unity (OAU) attitudes to their cause because, at the time, OAU only supported their rival ZAPU. Nevertheless, I personally agree with ZANU that 28 April 1966 was the true date of the commencement of the bush war in Rhodesia. Many historians give it as 22 December 1972, thereby ignoring all the Offensive actions and combat-related deaths before this date.
Helicopter projects
JUST PRIOR TO THE SINOIA operation there had been embryonic moves to mount a side-firing MAG machine-gun to our Alouette helicopters. Ozzie Penton as OC Flying Wing had insisted that Hoffy take the MAG along with him even though no firing trial had been conducted. The actual fit was no more than a simple bipod fixed to the step on the port side of the cabin. There was no rigidity in this arrangement nor were there any means of ensuring that ejected cartridge cases and belt links were retained within the safety of the cabin. This was important because these loose items, if allowed to enter into the slipstream, could cause serious damage or total failure of the fast-spinning tail rotor. Hoffy had been lucky that none of the 147 cases and links had struck his tail rotor. All the same, I took it upon myself to design, build and test a decent mounting for a 7.62mm MAG machine-gun and to fit a gunsight suited to side-firing in forward flight. During the time of this project I also looked into changing the way we refuelled our helicopters
Throughout my training away from base and during the Sinoia experience, I found refuelling to be irksome and way too slow. We were using a hand-operated wobble pump that Africans called the ‘kamena kawena’ pump. Loosely translated this meant ‘for me, for you’ in Chilapalapa; a bastardised language that continues to be the common lingo for multi-ethnic communications on South Africa’s gold mines.
The kamena kawena Pump was packed in a large metal trunk stored next to the fuel tank behind the cabin’s rear wall. To refuel, the pump had to be removed from the fuel-soaked trunk. It had then to be assembled by one member of the crew whilst the other rolled a drum of fuel to the aircraft, heave it onto its base and remove the sealed bung. The pump stack-pipe was dropped into the drum, the flexible pipe nozzle inserted into the helicopter fuel tank and hand pumping commenced. Even with technician and pilot taking turn in pumping, it was a tiring business. Once the drum was empty, the process was reversed; by which time one’s hands and overalls were stained and stinking of fuel.
We only
had eight helicopters and could ill-afford a slow turn-around and the physical stresses that repeated refuelling induced during intense operations. Too often a pilot needed to be briefed or debriefed between flights meaning that his technician had to do the entire refuelling job on his own; a situation of considerable embarrassment to many pilots. There had to be a simple way of overcoming this.
My contention was that the aircraft should be a slave unto itself. I started by testing the jet engine at idling rpm, when rotor blades were static, and found that six psi of air pressure could be continuously tapped from a P2 pressure plug located on the engine casing just aft of the compressor assembly. By using a compressed air cylinder with pressure regulated to six psi, it was easy enough to prove that, by pressurising a fuel drum, the fuel could be forced to flow up a pipeline into a helicopter’s fuel tank. It was also established that a drum of fuel could be pumped more rapidly this way than by a kamena kawena pump. I then approached Shell and BP who supplied our fuel and was assured that pressurising a drum to six psi was entirely safe.
My Squadron Commander John Rogers and OC Flying Wing Ozzie Penton supported my intention to produce a prototype refueller, as did the Air Staff. However, I met with opposition from one senior officer of the technical Staff at Air HQ. He told me how during WWII Spitfires had to be hand-refuelled from four-gallon jerry cans in the hot desert sun and, anyway, refuelling with engine running was totally unacceptable.
The strict rule of not running engines whilst refuelling with highly volatile aviation gas was fundamentally sound, but it did not seem to fit with the low volatility of non-atomised refined paraffin (or diesel). I simply could not believe my ears about the ‘jerry can’ coming twenty years after WWII. However, what I thought did not alter the fact that I had not gained official approval to proceed with the project.
So as not to implicate OC Flying or my Squadron Commander, I carried on in secret by designing and producing a pressure-refuelling pump. This could not have been done without the willing assistance of Master Technician Frank Oliver who ran Station Workshops and who did the necessary machine work out of working hours. The unit we produced was really quite simple. A pressure line from the P2 pressure plug (the six psi static pressure point) conveyed pressure air into a head on the stack-pipe. With the stack-pipe inserted into a drum the head sealed the drum’s bunghole when a handle bar on its side was rotated through ninety degrees. The pressure air then forced fuel up the stack-pipe and into the helicopter fuel tank via a standard flexible hose. The effort required was minimal.
Both refuelling and gun-mounting projects were interrupted by a series of Police and Army ATOPs (Anti-Terrorist Operations) exercises that had obviously been generated by interest in the lessons learned during the Sinoia operation. One of these exercises was with the RAR (Rhodesian African Rifles) Battalion at Mphoengs close to our southwestern border. Apart from some interesting flying, this short detachment sticks in my mind because of an embarrassing incident. The RAR camp was set in heavy riverine bush where full blackout procedures were enforced. Screening inside the large Officers’ Mess marquee allowed dim lights to be used at the bar and dinner table. It was in this mess that I first witnessed RAR’s insistence on maximum comfort in the field. Because the Battalion Commander was present, the Battalion’s silver and starched tablecloths were laid for all meals.
In the absence of moonlight I found it difficult to navigate my way through the bush to my tent. I was awaked to the call of nature one night and decided not to try and find my way to the loo but to spend a penny on what appeared to be an anthill under bush close to my tent. I was half way through my need when ‘the anthill’ moved and cursed in N’debele. I was deeply embarrassed, but the soldier who rose from under his wet blanket laughed when he realised what had happened. He called to his mates saying he had been “urinated upon by a Bru-Jop." Blue Job was the army nickname for Air Force people.
Just after this, during a period of flying training in the Chimanimani mountains, Mark Smithdorff and I met up with Major Dudley Coventry, commander of C Squadron Special Air Services. I had only seen this strongly built officer a few times at New Sarum when he and his SAS men were undergoing routine parachute training. In this Dudley stood out a mile because he wore glasses that were secured by thick Elastoplast strips to his nose and temples to prevent the windblast from removing his all-important visual aid.
At the Chimanimani Arms Hotel, we learned from him about SAS and its style of operations. He told us we would probably be seeing a number of young soldiers in the mountains undergoing an SAS selection process. The next morning on our way into the mountains we spotted SAS tents near the base of the mountains at Dead Cow Camp from which place the selection course was being conducted. Then, late in the afternoon, I was flying with my technician Butch Graydon when I spotted two men climbing the long slope of Ben Nevis. One virtually carried the other.
I landed on the steep slope right next to these two exhausted men and established that the man being assisted had broken his ankle some hours earlier. I asked the injured man to come aboard so I could fly him out for medical treatment. He refused point blank saying he would fail the SAS selection process if he did not get to the top of Ben Nevis and then complete the descent to Dead Cow Camp next day via a really tortuous route running down a very long and steep forested ravine. Not fully understanding the harshness of the SAS selection process, and using rank, I ordered the injured man to come aboard saying I would explain to his seniors that I had forced him into doing this. Reluctantly he boarded the aircraft, but his mate refused a lift saying he would be fine now that he no longer needed to assist his injured mate.
We flew down to Dead Cow Camp where I met Warrant Officer Bouch MCM for the first time. He struck me as a frosty old-timer who was not at all pleased with me for interfering with his selection course. I explained that, apart from the injured man’s foot being in serious need of attention, I was concerned that his mate might also become a casualty when bringing the injured man down the mountain ravine. Fortunately, Major Coventry showed up. He accepted that I had acted in good faith and all was forgiven. Happily both the injured man and his mate were accepted into the SAS.
Nevada murder
AT 04:30 ON 25 MAY 1966, I received a call requiring me to report to the squadron with my bush gear. Since this was always ready and packed, I left home within ten minutes of the call. On arrival at the squadron I found our technicians, who lived on station, preparing four helicopters. At a short briefing in New Sarum Operations Room, Squadron Leader John Rogers, Gordon Nettleton, Ian Harvey and myself were instructed to fly to Nevada Farm just north of Hartley where a gang of terrorists had murdered a farmer and his wife.
Our arrival at Nevada Farm was at dawn. We went into the farmhouse where the naked body of Mr Viljoen lay sprawled on the floor close to his dead wife. Three exhausted Special Branch (SB) men lay fast asleep on the bed from which the couple had risen to investigate knocking on their bedroom door.
It appeared that Mr Viljoen had been reluctant to open the door to late-night callers because the bullets that cut him down had been fired through the door. Mrs Viljoen had obviously gone to her husband’s aid only to be cut down too. The terrorists then broke down the door and stepped over the dead bodies. A baby sleeping in her cot in her parents’ room was narrowly missed by bullets that remained embedded in the wall above and below her. Two other children sleeping in their own bedroom escaped injury. By the time reports of gunfire brought help to Nevada Farm, the terrorists had vanished into the night having first put the three children back to sleep and looted fridge and pantry of all foodstuffs.
All day long we deployed police and SB groups for miles around to search for leads on the whereabouts of the group responsible for these awful murders. Feelings ran high as more and more police, some with dogs, arrived and set up camp next to the farmstead. A police mobile canteen had been established by 7 am and from it we were able to snatch the odd cup of coffee and ultra-thick sandwiches betw
een flights. In the evening, cold beers and a good meal were followed by welcome sleep. At daybreak a substantial breakfast, served by very friendly Police Reserve men and women, set us up for the day.
I was required to take six PR men to a position where the Umfuli River passes through the Mcheka-wa-ka-Sungabeta mountain range to guard a damaged helicopter. Gordon Nettleton had struck a tree with his main rotor blades whilst landing in the heavy bush that made this untamed area of countryside so beautiful. Fortunately, a technical inspection showed that Gordon’s aircraft would be safe for a one-time unloaded flight back to Nevada for rotor blades to be changed. With Gordon’s aircraft gone, the PR men I had brought in linked up with the ones from Gordon’s aircraft and together they set off on a patrol, seeking leads on what had become known as the ‘Nevada Gang’.
After dark Ian Harvey and I were required to return to uplift these same men because they reported having hot information. Landing in that general area by day was quite tricky, but finding the same location and landing in the dark could have presented major problems. As it happened, the PR had located an open ledge on the side of the Umfuli River making single-aircraft entries fairly straightforward for both Ian and myself.
Gordon Nettleton with Henry Ford, MD of the Salisbury-based company Rhotair that undertook all major works on our helicopters.
Though not needed for this uplift, our OC decided to tag along flying very high above us. He did this in hope of picking up a campfire in the remote and unpopulated area. When we were already on our way back to base, John Rogers told us that he had located a fire close to a distinctive bend on the Umfuli River. Judging by its relative position to the river, his map showed it to be on a steep slope and he was certain this was where the terrorists were camping.
Winds of Destruction: The Autobiography of a Rhodesian Combat Pilot Page 23
