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.
Sumo Jarvie.
Helicopter technicians had to be proficient at both ends of hoisting operations. Pilots also had to do this to ensure their proficiency in responding to the hoist operator’s directions on positioning and height over points not visibleto them.
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!
Cyril White
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 lead
ership. 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 s
itting 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.
Ian Smith at the controls.
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.
Islander.
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.
Winds of Destruction: The Autobiography of a Rhodesian Combat Pilot Page 59
