Winds of Destruction

by Peter John Hornby Petter-Bowyer

  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 between 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.

  Back at Nevada Farm however, he became frustrated by the Police choosing only to react to ground-acquired intelligence and refusing to accept any lead given by a pilot. Two days later a cave with freshly burnt embers, at the precise location John Rogers had plotted on the police operations map, proved to have been occupied by the terrorist gang on the night in question.

  Intelligence established that the Nevada Gang, comprising seven men, was a component of the twenty-one men who entered Rhodesia together then split up near Sinoia. The Armageddon Group had remained in the Sinoia area where it had been annihilated and the third group of seven had gone on to Salisbury. An ex-BSA policeman by the name of Gumbotshuma led the gang we now sought. He turned out to be a wily bird because he understood police thinking and tactics. In particular he understood the police cordon-and-search system and obviously knew how to exploit its weaknesses, as we were to find out.

  Following discovery of the cave, ground leads indicated that Gumbotshuma and his men were currently camping on the side of the Mcheka-wa-ka-Sungabeta mountain, some way northeast of the cave. This section of the mountain range formed the western boundary of the Zowa African Purchase Land for black farmers. It was from a named farmer that the Nevada Gang was receiving succour. From his lofty perch Gumbotshuma could monitor all movements on the African farms below. Nevada Farm was only thirteen miles away and all roads leading into his area were visible to Gumbotshuma.

  He watched the helicopters flying to the ridge behind him and knew that they were deploying men of the stop line. He watched the vehicles arriving at the base of
the mountain and saw flanking men climb the mountain in two lines on either side of his position. After a long while, the sweep line at the base commenced its slow climb towards him.

  All of the terrorists were closely grouped in a gully and moved slowly forward under directions given by Gumbotshuma. When the gap he was watching for seemed right, the gang tucked against one bank of the gully and listened as the closest men in the sweep line passed noisily by. Having been missed, Gumbotshuma knew the force would be uplifted from the ridge by helicopter and flown back to the waiting vehicles below. All he had to do was stay low until all the police returned to base.

  There is a basic rule for aircrew concerning the consumption of alcohol. This is, ‘eight hours between bottle and throttle’. It is easy enough to comply with if one or two drinks are taken before retiring to bed early. In the bush we would not consume any alcoholic beverage until we were certain there would be no need to fly that night. However, after the abortive sweep of the mountain all was quiet so the aircrew tucked into a couple of ice-cold beers before dinner and an early night.

  We had consumed three beers apiece and were about to have our meal when Ian Harvey and I were instructed to grab our kit and get up to the police station at Zwimba. With three beers in an empty stomach, having not eaten since early morning, I was very concerned about flying on such a dark night. The act of lifting off into the black had the apparent effect of sobering me up completely and we arrived at Zwimba safely.

  At Zwimba every policeman available had set off to investigate a report of a lone terrorist who had arrived at a farmer’s house. We waited all night to be called forward but no call came. I remember how Ian Harvey curled up under the Charge Office counter and slept like a baby whilst my technician Jerry Hayter and I paced up and down until vehicles arrived at dawn with a wounded terrorist. His name was Abel Denga.

  Abel had been shot through the stomach by an African police sergeant when he emerged from a hut next to the farmer’s house and attempted to shoot the sergeant. Abel had been with the Nevada Gang during the unsuccessful sweep on the mountain the previous day. He said he knew where Gumbotshuma and the rest of his gang could be found some distance from the mountain. In response to questioning, he said he would be able to direct an airborne force to their present location.

  Following first-aid treatment to his wound, I got airborne with Abel and five armed policemen. Ian followed with another six armed policemen. But it soon became clear that Abel had no idea where he was because we were being given haphazard changes in direction. The police believed he was deliberately misleading us, so we returned to Zwimba for the exercise to be conducted by road. This also turned into a wild goose chase because Abel was totally disorientated. He looked really washed out when the ground party returned, so we wrapped him up in blankets and placed him on a stretcher to fly him to Harare Hospital.

  Jerry Hayter watched Abel throughout the flight and became concerned about his fast and weakening pulse. An ambulance was waiting at the hospital helicopter pad where two black female nurses took the stretcher from us and were about to put it in the ambulance. I requested that they return the stretcher to the helicopter as soon as possible. “Certainly”, said the older of the two nurses, whereupon they rotated the helicopter stretcher to drop Abel face down onto their own ambulance stretcher. Jerry and I were incensed by this callous act but the older nurse simply said, “Bloody terrorist bastard”, climbed into the ambulance and sped away towards the hospital. Having seen relatively kind treatment from the Police and SB, including the sergeant Abel had attempted to shoot, the attitude of these professional nurses seemed way out of place. Two days later we heard that Abel Denga had died.

  From the hospital we flew the short distance back to New Sarum because I had been recalled to start my QHI (Qualified Helicopter Instructor) course. Back in the op area four terrorists were killed. Edmond Nyandoro who had received his training at Nanking Military College in China was captured and sentenced to death for his direct involvement in the Viljoens’ murders. Gumbotshuma escaped back to Zambia following a long trek up the Hunyani River and the Tete Province of Mozambique. The third group of seven made a serious mistake in going to Salisbury. They were all apprehended when Police ground coverage teams detected their presence the moment they arrived in Harare Township.

  Of the group of twenty-one men who entered Rhodesia, only Gumbotshuma escaped. Nevertheless, publicity arising from their activities suited ZANU perfectly. The loss of twenty men was of no concern to the politicos of ZANU whose only interest was to prove to the Liberation Committee of the OAU that the party was active inside Rhodesia.

  Aiden Diggeden

  MOST RHODESIANS KNEW OF A colourful young prisoner named Aiden Diggeden. He was a gentle rogue who claimed that no prison would ever hold him for long and, as I recall, he proved this three times. On one of these, Aiden escaped with two other white prisoners. I became involved in covering ground from Lake McIlwaine to the small settlement of Selous on the main road to Bulawayo. After a fruitless search of almost three hours I needed to refuel but no police station was prepared for helicopter operations in those times. Fortunately our Alouettes’ engines could use Avtur, the correct jet paraffin, or diesel fuel, so I landed on the main road next to the Selous service station. Vehicles backed up either side of the helicopter until my technician and I pushed it to a diesel pump. This created consternation for the station attendant and drew crowds of people to watch proceedings until the diesel storage tank ran dry before the helicopter’s tank was half full. Then new information came through to let us know the search had switched to another area; so we returned to base. Aiden was apprehended three days later.

  On another occasion he triggered a countrywide manhunt that had been on the go for three days before Aiden was accidentally discovered hiding in a water reservoir set high above the main prison buildings. He had been waiting in there for everything to quieten down before making the escape he had planned.

  Aiden was a man who could charm anyone including his jailers and he used this gift to good advantage. He was also a gifted athlete. For some weeks, when out in the exercise yard, he would sprint to the high prison wall and run almost to its summit before executing a backward somersault to land neatly on his feet. He told his prison warders he was practising for the day he would reach the top of the wall, roll over it, and land next to the vehicle that would race him away to freedom. Believing the wall was too high, this latest leg-pull amused the warders who were used to being ribbed by Aiden. When the time was right however, Aiden did just as he said he would and managed to reach South Africa.

  Helicopter projects continued

  IN BETWEEN QHI FLIGHTS, THERE was time to continue with my two projects. With the aid of the Drawing Office and Station Workshops I produced a prototype mounting for side-firing machine-guns that incorporated an arrangement to arrest expended cartridge cases and links. Squadron Leader Rogers and I conducted firing tests that proved the mounting but highlighted the need for a suitable gun-sight. I managed to lay hands on a small French reflector sight that improved accuracy dramatically.

  PB showing visiting Portuguese officers the MAG fit.

  With minor modifications, the mounting was used for the next fourteen years though .303 Browning machine-guns, because of their higher rate of fire, later replaced the MAG machine-guns. Because .303 Browning had a bad reputation for jamming, they were fitted in pairs.

  Every pilot and technician on 7 Squadron was required to attain high proficiency on these side-firing guns. It took some doing, but Air HQ eventually agreed to the award of Air Gunners Wings to all technicians who met the laid-down standard of proficiency.

  These embroidered cloth wings, displaying upward facing bullet set between two stubby wings (second from left on the bottom row), that were proudly worn above rank insignia on the left arm.

  Badges of rank and distinguishing badges.

  When the pressure refuelling pump had been proven in secret I told my Squadron Comma
nder what had been done and why. Having witnessed a demonstration he gave me his unreserved approval for what had been achieved and even undertook to take the project on his own head to protect me from the inevitable repercussions that would flow from Air HQ. For this I was grateful but said I must take the responsibility, having intentionally hidden the developmental work from him. Nevertheless, Squadron Leader Rogers arranged for a high-level team of Air and Technical Staff officers to visit the squadron.

  Visiting from Air HQ was a team of four officers comprising the Director General Operations, Staff Officer Operations, the Director General of Supporting Services (DGSS) and Command Armament Officer. They went directly to Squadron Leader Rogers’ office for discussions on subjects that differed from my OC’s prime purpose, which was to demonstrate pressure refuelling.

  The concrete helicopter pad was bare but for two full drums of Avtur. One stood upright and the other was on its side at the edge of the pad. Out of sight on the sports field were two waiting helicopters. One carried the conventional kamena kawena pump and the other was fitted with the lighter prototype pressure-refuelling unit.

  When the visiting officers emerged from the OC’s office they were invited by John Rogers to witness a short demonstration. As he approached the hangar door and saw only two fuel drums on the empty Helicopter pad, Group Captain Jimmy Pringle (DGSS), who had not been opposed to running an engine to refuel helicopters, immediately realised what was coming. He winked at me and whispered in my ear, “Naughty, naughty.”