The two helicopters lifted into view and moved forward to the helicopter pad. The one with the kamena kawena pump landed well clear of the drum that lay on its side. The one with the pressure refueller landed next to the upright drum. Both pilots closed fuel cocks and stopped the rotors, but only the pilot with the kamena kawena pump closed down his engine. Both crews exited and removed their refuelling gear from the rear compartment. The pressure-refuelling pump was inserted into the drum the moment the bung had been removed and refuelling commenced before the technician of the second aircraft had rolled his drum to the helicopter. Pressure refuelling ended, the pump was back in its storage bay, and rotors were wound up to governed speed for lift-off six minutes after landing. At that moment, the pilot of the second aircraft had just started cranking the kamena kawena pump. He lifted off sixteen minutes after landing.
Squadron Leader Rogers and I received a bit of a blasting for unauthorised development and for using Station Workshops and materials without HQ approval. Otherwise, the Air HQ officers were convinced by the demonstration and gave authority to manufacture pressure pumps for each helicopter.
Some days after all helicopters had been equipped with the new pressure pumps, I was astounded to be told by Air HQ that, being a commissioned Officer, I could expect nothing for my invention. I knew this without having to be told but, because the matter had been raised, I requested that Air Force take out a patent on the design. This request was made so that any financial benefit that might derive in the future could be passed to the Air Force Benevolent Fund that provided relief to servicemen in distress. I was assured this would be done.
Sanctions against Rhodesia were affecting our ability to buy certain spares and more so to procuring additional helicopters. A number of visits from Frenchmen of Sud Aviation as well as South African and Portuguese military people included inspections and demonstrations of the helicopter gun-mounting and pressure-refueller. Arising from French interests in the refuellers, it seems that the full data pack for the pressure equipment was handed to Sud Aviation in exchange for our urgent needs. That was fine, but no rites or royalty agreement was concluded because no patent existed.
When I learned about this, I was as mad as a snake for three reasons. Firstly, the French asked if our latest order for three new helicopters was to be with or without pressure refuellers. Secondly, we heard that the French had sold the refuellerdesign to the USAAF for use in Vietnam and finally, Air Force members with wives and children in need of special medical treatment outside the country could not expect the level of assistance from the Benevolent Fund that might have been possible had AIR HQ patented the refuelling system—as had been promised.
Accidental entry into Zambia
THE FRENCH HAD ALWAYS MADE it clear to all Alouette III users that this helicopter should not be flown at night or deliberately enter cloud. This was because, unlike fixed-wing aircraft, helicopters are inherently unstable and cannot be allowed to enter into any unusual flight attitude that could, in a matter of seconds, result in the aircraft breaking up in flight. However, because our Air Force seniors had not flown helicopters and believed that Rhodesian pilots were too well trained to worry about French opinions our helicopter pilots were committed to flying at night. For this they had to be wide-awake for every second in the air. We even had to practise daytime instrument flying under a hood arrangement and were tasked for hundreds of night training flights into every remote police station in the country.
We really needed every possible aid to reduce uncertainties and tension at night, whereas our aids were limited to standard flight instruments and VHF radio. My own experiences had shown me that navigation at night was particularly difficult and that there was urgent need for an instrument that would indicate the direction to fly to reach the point of destination. Such an instrument was already in service with South African Air Force helicopters. It was known as the Becker Homer.
A Becker Homer responded to incoming transmissions on any selected frequency. A needle on its indicator dial moved left or right of a centre-line marker in response to an incoming signal. Though the needle should have remained upright for a transmission emanating from directly ahead, it seldom did. Nevertheless, by asking the ground operator to give a long transmission it was possible in a turn to watch for the needle’s swing across centre as the nose came to the direction to steer to the point of transmission.
I submitted a request for this equipment through my Squadron Commander and OC Flying Wing who both added their weight to the request. Though the Becker Homers were readily available in South Africa and were not expensive, nothing was forthcoming because bids for these instruments had not been included in the squadron’s annual returns. Because of this, I got myself into a near-fatal situation.
I was at Thornhill participating in a School of Infantry exercise code-named ‘Happy Wanderer’ when, just after dinner one evening, I received instructions to get to Binga at first light with three MAG machine-guns and a large supply of ammunition and mortar bombs. A terrorist crossing of Lake Kariba had been detected and Army troops were on follow-up. A FASOC (Forward Air Support Operations Centre), two helicopters and two Provosts were already at Binga.
My technician Ewett Sorrell and I loaded the aircraft before I contacted Thornhill’s Meteorological Officer who forecast an eight-knot headwind at 8,500 feet, which was my intended cruise altitude. We went off to bed at around 20:30. When we lifted off at 03:00 I took the precaution of making a run down the centre-line of the tarmac runway 31 to check that my directional indicator had been set correctly from the tiny, difficult-to-read, P2 magnetic compass. Coincidentally, the runway direction was the same as the heading to Binga.
Throughout the climb the haze level was unusually dense. At 8,500 feet haze density was such that it created a fairly distinct though false horizon at about forty degrees above the true horizon. Below the aircraft the night was as black as hell but above the haze line there were stars to help hold heading without continuous reference to instruments. At altitude I sensed that there was strong drift to port but I could not be certain of this because the ground was not visible to conscious sight. The sensation bothered me so much that I asked Ewett Sorrell if he was sensing the same thing. He said he was not.
At about eighty nautical miles, based on time, I picked up the faint greyish white ribbon of a riverbed that ran along track for a while then broke sharply left and was lost in the black. I took this to be the distinctive bend on the Gwelo River. This placed me on track and a little ahead on time. Despite the river check, the sensation of drift persisted. At about the halfway point a bush fire came up on our right side but it was impossible to establish the direction the smoke was blowing because the haze only allowed light from the circular line of flame to show through.
At 05:10 I called FASOC and was answered immediately, loud and clear, by Gordon Nettleton. I told him we were estimating Binga at 05.25 though we may be a little late because I had changed heading for Chete Island to offset the sensation of high but unproven drift. Even though the haze had reduced dramatically I could not see the lake at 05.30. It was then that Ewett Sorrell picked up the glow of town lights way off on our port side. I was dumbfounded thinking that this must be Wankie and that my sensations of drift had been correct after all. I called FASOC, but there was no reply.
The Alouette fuel gauge was calibrated by fuel weight from zero to 1,000 pounds. With cruising power set and flying at 8,500 feet there was sufficient fuel for a flight time of between two hours, fifty minutes and three hours. Before reaching zero fuel, a small light on the fuel gauge gave warning when only fifteen minutes of flying time remained. The light would flicker for a while before burning brightly. It was from this point that the fifteen minutes was timed. When we saw the lights of the town the warning light flickered for the first time. Dawn was breaking but I knew I must get on the ground as soon as possible to await better light. An autorotative descent was made to conserve fuel and halfway down the descent the ground b
ecame vaguely visible. As we got closer, I saw that we were over very rough country with deep ravines that looked wrong. Even in the poor light conditions the rivers seemed to be running south when they should be flowing north. I had not seen the lake or the Zambezi River so put this matter out of mind as I eased on power to level off over one of the ridges. We spotted a small vlei deep in a valley and went in to land. On short finals, however, the fuel warning light came on steady at the very same moment that we picked up a herd of elephant right where we had to land. They cleared off quickly enough allowing us to put down in the long grass that reeked of the great brutes. After fifteen minutes waiting with curious elephants milling around us it became light enough to get airborne.
As we crested the ridge we saw farmlands directly ahead and set course for the closest farmstead. Close up the farm looked very dilapidated so we went on a little farther to one that looked much neater and landed in a paddock close to a fence. Just beyond the fence was the farmhouse from which smoke was rising lazily in the cold morning air. A couple of moving figures showed that the place was coming to life. I had a sneaking suspicion we were in Zambia but wondered how this could be since we had not seen the Zambezi River.
As a precaution I asked Ewett to remain in the helicopter cabin and prepare his rifle in case of trouble—what trouble I could not say. I walked forward of the helicopter and stopped at the fence to await a man who was coming towards me. Because I could not speak N’debele, I greeted the guy in the usual Shona way with the words “Mangwanani, mamuka se”? to which he replied “Tamuka! Mamuka wo”? I then asked him where the ‘boss’ was to which he replied “bwana ne dona vakaenda ku taundi." His use of the words Bwana and Dona really worried me. Even though the man spoke Shona, my guard was already up when I asked him for the direction to Binga. He had never heard of the place, so I asked where Livingstone was. He pointed in a southwesterly direction saying Livingstone was quite close. Quite close in African terms usually means a long way off!
I thanked the man and was about to turn round when, in English, he asked in a rude fashion “Where the hell you come from”? I told him we were on our way from Lusaka to Livingstone but the haze had been so bad that I was making sure I had not crossed the Zambezi into Rhodesia. He seemed satisfied and I turned to walk back to the helicopter as coolly as I could. My nonchalance was overdone because my foot slipped through the step and I nearly broke my leg between the two bars that formed it.
There was no time to rub my aching leg. Two others had joined the man and all three were climbing through the fence to get a closer look at the helicopter. On selection of the engine starter switch the engine fired up but suddenly quit. I slammed back the fuel-flow lever to close the micro switch that had caused the motor to shut down. Then, hand-signalling the three approaching men to stay where they were, we had to wait an agonising thirty seconds before repeating the start-up sequence
As soon as the engine start sequence ended, I advanced the fuel-flow lever much faster than normal to wind up the rotors to governed speed before lifting off into backwards flight to prevent the men on the ground from seeing RRAF 503 painted on the belly of the helicopter. Suddenly the reverse airflow caught my unlocked door and flung it forward where it engaged with the lock that normally held the door open on the ground. I had not even strapped myself in but this made reaching the lock possible as I rotated the aircraft with rudder to turn it into forward flight. This caused the door to whip back and strike my elbow with great force.
Once strapped in and settled in the climb, I headed in the general direction of Livingstone Airport where I told Ewett we might have to take on fuel, at gunpoint if necessary. I scrabbled for my map case, found the appropriate 1:250,000 map and positively confirmed Senkobo and Kananga railway sidings ahead and right of our course. We already had a cumulative flying time of over five minutes since the warning light had first come on, which seemed to place Livingstone Airport beyond our reach, so I kept climbing at eighty knots seeking as much height as possible. Attempts to raise Victoria Falls Airport and the FASOC at Binga met with no response.
I was mildly concerned about RAF Javelin fighters that had recently been deployed to protect Zambia from imagined aggression from Rhodesia, but decided that they would not be able to respond to a call from the farm or from Livingstone Airport before we were safely out of Zambian airspace. The fuel warning light had been on for more than twenty minutes when we passed over Livingstone Airport at almost 11,000 feet. Below we could see the fuel storage depot and two fuel bowsers parked next to a building close by. The Zambezi River was still just out of reach if the engine quit but there was ample space to make a forced landing where the bowsers stood. A minute later we knew we were safe when the south bank of the Zambezi River was within our reach.
The flight line was altered to fly directly for the police station at Victoria Falls just three nautical miles ahead. At twenty-three minutes on warning light, I could see the small sports field by the police station and entered into an autorotative descent for a powerless landing on the sports field. We rolled onto the grass exactly where I intended at a little over walking speed. The engine was still running when I applied collective pitch to keep rolling towards the road where police usually dropped fuel for helicopters. We had not quite reached this point when the engine quit.
Squadron Leader Woodward was the duty officer who answered my telephone call to Air HQ. I had to tell him of our experience in veiled terms that he understood, having already learned from the FASOC at Binga that we were more than an hour overdue. Having shaken up the Police we took on fuel and flew off to Binga. Routing along the Zambezi Gorge, we established why we had not picked up the river in the dark. The water surface was completely covered by Kariba Weed (Salvinia Auriculata).
When I made contact with him, Gordon Nettleton told me that a Provost was on its way from Salisbury with a replacement helicopter pilot because I was to return to Salisbury with the same Provost and report to the Air Force Commander. Having not shaved and still dressed in flying overalls that smelled quite strongly of fuel, I felt awkward about being hustled from the flight line by Ozzie Penton to see Air Vice-Marshal Harold Hawkins.
Air Vice-Marshal Harold Hawkins.
When I entered his office the AVM had a 1:250,000 map laid out before him. He asked me to go through my experience and identify the farm at which I had landed. I told him the whole story and emphasised the sensation of drift, which I had tried to ignore after seeing the sharp bend of what I had taken to be the Gwelo River. In retrospect it was obvious this had in fact been the Shangani River whose line exactly matched the sharp bend of the Gwelo River. Though much further from Thornhill this landmark corresponded closely with the expected flight time to the Gwelo River bend.
There was no difficulty in pinpointing the farm we had bypassed and the one where we landed. Then AVM Hawkins told me that we had been very fortunate to give the first farm a miss. Special Branch had been to see him before me and had pointed out that this particular farm was ZAPU’s ‘Freedom Farm’ where large numbers of trained and well-armed terrorists were in residence.
Ian Harvey (wearing cap) and technicians taken during a mountain training rest period.
The Commander had been in contact with the RAF Air Liaison Officer in Zambia to apologise for the inadvertent landing of an RRAF helicopter in Zambia. He told the RAF officer that the pilot of the aircraft had been on a mercy mission and had strayed into Zambia in error. The Liaison Officer had acted in a very friendly way and told the AVM there was nothing to worry about; he would settle any political problems that might arise. None did!
I took the opportunity to emphasise to the AVM that had my helicopter been fitted with a Becker Homer I would have known that the FASOC transmission from Gordon Nettleton was coming from a point off to my right and that I would have turned starboard to reach Binga safely. The AVM took up the matter personally and Becker Homers were ordered.
Elephants and the minister
MARK MCLEAN
WAS MY FIRST helicopter student. Flying with him made me realise how great it was to convert a fully qualified pilot to a new style of flying. Apart from the usual struggle to master precision hovering Mark progressed well through all phases of his operational conversion, most of which were done in high weight conditions. To end his course, I received authority to conduct what became known as the end of course ‘around the houses’ training flight. We started with three days in the Chimanimani mountains, which was both essential and enjoyable. All of our flying was broken down into short periods of intensive work with picnic and swim breaks in between.
From there we moved north along the mountainous border, then east via low country and the Zambezi River line stopping for fuel at police stations and Army bases along the route.
Mark was a keen photographer who often passed flight control to me so that he could take photos of places that caught his eye. It was late afternoon with the sun about to set behind the western Zambian escarpment when we passed a large herd of elephants spread along a stretch of sand and drinking at the Zambezi River’s edge. Mark asked me to take control. Whilst he prepared his camera I took the aircraft into a long turn-about then ran close to the river whose waters reflected the superb sunset. As we passed slowly by the herd set off eastwards creating an enormous dust cloud that glowed red in the sunset, adding another dimension to colours reflecting off the huge river. I turned around for Mark to photograph this magnificent sight through his open window then turned back again to reposition ahead of the herd.
We had moved about 200 metres when I noticed people standing on a bank towards which this herd was moving. Immediately I flew ahead of the elephants and came to a hover behind the group of white people to force the elephants to stop moving in their direction. The herd came to a dusty halt short of the group, so we broke away to let them enjoy the sight.
Winds of Destruction Page 24
