Winds of Destruction

by Peter John Hornby Petter-Bowyer

  Everything was going RLI’s way until, on 18 March 1968, contact was made at the Mwaura River with a large group led by Hedebe himself. Under Lieutenant Dumpy Pearce, troops of 3 Commando RLI were pinned down on the north bank by intensive fire coming down on them from heavy bush on the higher south bank. John Barnes with Senior Technician Monty Maughan arrived in their helicopter and put down 600 rounds of MAG fire into the position of the unseen enemy. Their intention was to draw attention to themselves and give the ground commander a chance to move his troops to a safer position. Since this had no effect whatsoever, and the troops remained pinned down, John called for heavy airstrike.

  Meanwhile Mark McLean with Corporal Brian Warren came in at lower level to draw terrorist gunfire, which was returned in short measured bursts. Though the helicopter expended only 150 rounds of 7.62mm MAG ammunition, Mark’s actions gave Dumpy Pearce the break he needed to move his men to safer ground. Then, under Mark McLean’s directions, a pair of Vampires put in accurate strikes with 60-pound squash-head rockets and 20mm cannon fire before a Canberra checked-in preparatory to making an attack with ninety-six 28-pound Frag bombs.

  Newly appointed OC of 5 Squadron, Squadron Leader John Rogers, had elected to fly the air task, much to the annoyance of his experienced Canberra crews. When he called one minute out, Mark passed low over the target to place down a phosphorus grenade as a visual marker. The marker was on the terrorists’ position but wind carried its white cloud away from target. The bomb-aimer concentrated his aim on this cloud with the consequence that bombs were released off target, some to explode near ground troops waiting in the ‘safer ground’. Fortunately no one was seriously hurt.

  Prior to Op Cauldron pilots usually flew without a gunner and carried six troops. From Cauldron onwards, it was unusual for pilots to fly without gun and gunner but this limited carriage to five troops (as in this photo where three soldiers and the gunner occupied the back bench). In 1973 it reduced to four, due to increased weight of soldiers’ equipment. This allowed removal of the front centre seat (occupied by the seated soldier seen here) giving the gunner improved angles of traverse.

  When the somewhat annoyed troops moved forward, no fire came down on them because the terrorists had pulled out. By the time they had swept through the abandoned area and established the direction of flight, it had become too dark to follow tracks. The following day the tracker-combat callsign was moving on a trail heading straight for the escarpment.

  At the same time, a smaller callsign was following frothy pink splatters of blood from a single terrorist who obviously had a serious lung wound. By late afternoon they had not closed on this man but reported that spoor of two hyenas overlaid the tracks of the wounded terrorist. Believing the terrorist would not survive the night, the follow-up troops were uplifted for re-deployment to more important task.

  It was probably five years later when I was asked by Special Branch if I remembered the Op Cauldron terrorist we had given up for dead because hyenas were following him; I certainly did. “Would you like to meet the man?” I was asked. It seemed unbelievable but I met the recently captured terrorist whose beaming face showed he was pleased to be alive following his second brush with our security forces. His story was amazing. No white man would have survived the ordeal he described.

  He had been wounded in the attack made by Vampires. He panicked and ran off even before the main group under Hedebe left the contact site. All night and the next day, he struggled for breath as he made his way to the foot of the escarpment. In the late afternoon his attention was drawn to a helicopter coming from behind him. Only then did he see, for the first time, the two hyenas as the helicopter frightened them off. When the aircraft landed it was so close that he could see the rotor blades whirling above low scrub. He tried to get back to it for help but moved too slowly. As the helicopter rose into full view he waved madly trying to attract attention but he was not seen before the helicopter turned and disappeared.

  The two hyenas then reappeared and stayed about thirty metres behind him as he commenced his breathless ascent of the steep escarpment. By then it was almost dark and he was too tired and breathless to continue. So he sat down and faced the hyenas as they moved left and right in short runs, each time coming closer. When they were no more than ten metres away he shot one but missed the other and chased it with a long burst from his AK-47 rifle. Overwhelmed by tiredness, he lay down to sleep; surely to die.

  He was amazed when he awoke at dawn, wheezing and frothing with his clothing covered in freezing-cold, caked blood. But he was still alive! All day he struggled slowly up the steep escarpment until evening when he lay exhausted and wanting to die. Again he was amazed at the dawning of the third day. Still wheezing and frothing he struggled to his feet and wobbled on ever higher. By nightfall he had reached the high ground and was about to lie down when he noticed a light shining some way off. He noted its position by reference to a tree and went to sleep; again not believing he would survive the night. But, yet again, he awoke on the fourth day.

  Taking a line on the tree and noting the relative position of the sun he plodded off. At around 10 o’clock he came to a farm store that sold goods to the local African people. He was recognised for what he was but told the superstitious storekeeper how he had been unharmed by hyenas; an omen the keeper should know was deadly to anyone reporting his presence.

  Using his Rhodesian money he bought a large bottle of Dettol for his wound as well as something to eat and drink. He repeated his warnings of doom to anyone reporting him and returned to the bush. Under shade in good cover he cut a long thin stick and stripped the bark away. He then inserted the stick into the wound in his chest and manoeuvred the stick until it came through the exit hole on his left shoulder blade. Then, moving the stick in and out slowly in long strokes, he poured the undiluted Dettol into the entry point and down his shoulder into the large exit hole of his terrible wound. Having emptied the bottle and removed the stick he knew in his mind that he would heal. He settled down to eat and drink before falling into a deep sleep that lasted for at least two days.

  The Special Branch man asked the terrorist to remove his shirt so that I could see his scars. The shiny black puckered scars and the dent caused by the loss of a section of shoulder blade showed how large the chunk of shrapnel from a Vampire rocket must have been. I asked the man, “Was it not very painful when you pushed the stick through your body? Didn’t the Dettol burn like crazy?” He said that these were not a problem. “I was choking on neat Dettol blowing out of both holes and into my throat. It was the choking that nearly killed me!”

  Returning to Op Cauldron itself. On 26 March 1968 three young Rhodesian Light Infantry soldiers were killed in two separate actions; all three happened to be under the age of eighteen. This caused such an outcry throughout the country that every soldier under eighteen years of age had to be withdrawn from operations. Most were in the field at the time and had to be gathered in by helicopters. Almost without exception they objected strongly and tried to lie their way out of having to return to base.

  In the meantime Hedebe’s group was already well south and closing with the farming area on the high ground above the escarpment. So a second forward HQ manned mainly by police reservists was established at Doma Police Station. This was called Red Base. When I arrived there my first tasks were in support of small teams of PATU (Police Anti-TerroristUnit) who, using African game-trackers, were cross-graining for Hedebe’s group along the northern most farms fence lines. Quite by accident I learned of shotgun traps set for wild pigs in maize fields where they did great damage to crops. Through the Police I arranged for the farmers to disarm all the gun-traps to safeguard PATU cross-graining patrols as well as the RLI tracker-combat group following Hedebe’s trail.

  Red Base was well organised by PATU who were all local farmers. With wives roped in, they provided excellent meals and a good bar service. Toilets and showers were pretty basic but they proved to be an absolute luxury for Norman Walsh and
his technician when they flew up from the discomforts at Dean’s Camp. Following a hot shower and a good meal, Norman prepared to return to flies and dust whilst grumbling at me for being “a sporny blighter with all the comforts”.

  On 2 April, I flew from Red Base to the tracker-combat group, now on lush high ground some five kilometres north of the east-west fence line running next to the maize fields from which gun-traps had been removed. I found the callsign of about 15 RLI men moving in shallow echelon formation across an open grass vlei with clumps of trees and small rock strewn hills ahead. As soon as I saw the lead trackers I also saw the well-defined trail that the terrorists had made through lush green grass. I followed this trail without difficulty to where it turned east just short of the fence line.

  The trail meandered in and out of heavily treed patches until it reached the last group of trees with open grass vlei beyond. I could find no exit line and became confused by many trails that looked identical to the one I had been following. I did a fast low-pass next to the trees and noticed many small patches of upturned earth made by wild pigs digging for roots.

  Realising that pigs were responsible for the multiple trails, I opened my search and picked up the terrorist trail running north into a line of small hills covered with large boulders and trees. The trail led through an open gully of short grass before it circled around and led back to boulder-strewn ground overlooking the open gully. This looked to me like a deliberate ambush set-up. I was absolutely certain Hedebe and his group was waiting here for the RLI troops, so I called for troops to be helicoptered in.

  There was immediate reluctance on the part of the Army to use a small reserve of troops that had only just reached Red Base. So far as the local commander was concerned, responding to calls from the air was unproven, whereas the tracking callsign was still on fresh tracks and must, sooner of later, catch up with the terrorists. I guess Norman Walsh changed the Army’s mind because troops were made available quickly enough.

  John Barnes.

  I remained over the spot whilst John Barnes and a second pilot flew in RLI troops of 3 Commando. My fuel warning light had come on, forcing me to leave the area as soon as I had shown John the terrorists’ position. On my way back to Red Base, the troops called ‘contact’ and then I heard John Barnes voice being overlaid by his own MAG fire. John’s gunner, Brian Warren, killed one terrorist and another three were killed by the RLI. Unfortunately the use of only ten RLI soldiers against more than twenty terrorists was insufficient to prevent Hedebe and most of his men from escaping. Nevertheless, the Army acknowledged that the terrorists had been in a very good ambush position and, had the Air Force not wrested the advantage from them, the tracker-combat group would almost certainly have suffered serious casualties.

  Disappointed at having missed the action, I flew back to pick up the terrorist trail again, this time at Army’s request. It proved successful and showed that the terrorist survivors had moved east through vlei grass before moving onto a well-worn cattle path running along the fence line. The direction having been established, I made a reconnaissance of the ground well beyond the farming area and returned to Red Base. John Barnes and I then flew an RLI ambush party to a likely site I had chosen well ahead of the terrorists. Here the only well-worn path for miles around crossed over a dry riverbed.

  The soldiers remained in position until, at 10:00 next morning, the troop commander called for the ambush to be lifted. The soldiers were preparing their kit for helicopter recovery when Hedebe’s group suddenly appeared, comingdown the very path for which the ambush had been sited. The terrorists were just as surprised as the troops. Both sides opened fire simultaneously as the terrorists broke north and disappeared into the bush. Neither side sustained casualties and Hedebe had survived his third encounter with RLI. Back in the valley contacts with small groups and lone terrorists continued on a daily basis. By 4 April it had become clear that Hedebe’s group of around sixteen men constituted the only worthwhile objective when, much to my disappointment, I was recalled to base to continue helicopter instruction. Terry Jones replaced me.

  Two days later the RLI killed most of Hedebe’s group in a series of running actions. Four of these had holed up before being taken out with phosphorus grenades. After this action helicopters had to fly out the terrorist bodies because there was no road access into the contact areas. Prior to Op Cauldron we had always loaded terrorist bodies into the cabin. This created real problems because the helicopter’s nose-down attitude in loaded flight caused blood from the bodies to flow to the rudder pedals and around the base of the instrument console. The corrosive effects of blood, though bad in itself, was made worse when water was used to clean up because diluted blood simply penetrated deeper into unreachable areas. Because of this, blood was allowed to dry so that most of it could be brushed or vacuum-cleaned away.

  Whereas we continued carrying our own dead inside the cabins, there were so many more dead terrorists to carry that we were forced to reduce the blood spillage problem by carrying their bodies in underslung cargo nets designed to carry fuel drums.

  The four terrorists killed by phosphorus were lifted by Flying Officer Terry Jones who was instructed to fly them to Karoi. Phosphorus is really naughty stuff and only burns when exposed to air. When in contact with human flesh, phosphorus burns until below surface where oxygen is denied by flesh closure over entry points. Terry Jones was blissfully unaware of the fact that, in flight, the airflow had opened the dead terrorists’ wound points sufficiently to expose and re-ignite phosphorus that was then also burning the cargo net.

  Because of turbulent flight conditions, Terry did not register the weight loss as all four bodies broke through the net. Only on approach to land at Karoi did his technician look down to see that the net was tattered, empty and trailing high. Terry reported the matter to JOC Karoi just before a somewhat irritated farmer phoned the JOC complaining that Air Force had just dropped four smoking bodies onto his front lawn. After being persuaded that this had been an accidental release, the farmer was pleased to hear that an Army truck was being dispatched to clean things up.

  Op Cauldron was wrapped up when it was clear that Hedebe plus one member of his group had broken north and reached safety. sixty-nine terrorists were killed, on the basis of body counts, though many wounded were believed to have died and not been found. Fifty terrorists had been captured.

  I was at Kanyemba on another unrelated operation some weeks later when a call was received from the Portuguese Chef do Post at Zumbo to say he was holding Hedebe in his prison cell. One of our helicopters flew an SB man across the Zambezi to collect him. Like everyone else around, I was very disappointed when Hedebe climbed out of the Allouette. He had obviously taken a beating but otherwise was of medium height, scrawny and very ordinary in looks; nothing like the tough rebel leader we had pictured in our minds.

  Apparently Hedebe had gone down the Angwa River and, once inside Mozambique, sought the help of locals to take him across the Zambezi River to the Zambian shore opposite Zumbo. This is where the Luangwa River, which separates Mozambique from Zambia, joins the Zambezi River. The people agreed to do this. When, however, Hedebe got into the canoe he was laid low with a blow to the head and was bound up because, unknown to Hedebe, the Mozambicans knew that they had a reward coming from the Chef do Post for handing over any live terrorist. When the locals told the Chef do Post of Hedebe’s coming for help, the Chef do Post gave them hell for letting Hedebe walk to the river, saying he might have escaped. An old man responded by explaining that he could see no sense in carrying Hedebe to the river when he was fit to walk the long distance and wanted to go there anyway.

  Some time after Op Cauldron there was a need to uplift large numbers of RAR and RLI soldiers from different locations and take them to their vehicle transport sited at a single pick-up point. At the time, there were four helicopters available for the task, mine being one. I elected to undertake the RAR uplift with another helicopter, and tasked the most junior pilots to
do the RLI uplift. This was an entirely selfish decision!

  All of the troops had been in the bush for many days without having bathed or changed their clothing. The use of deodorants was forbidden because even the lightest scent would give terrorists early warning of troop presence. It was for this reason that had I elected to collect RAR soldiers. Experience had taught me that the smell of white soldiers is appalling after only one week without a bath, whereas the smell of black soldiers, in equal circumstances, was much easier to tolerate.

  The difference between black and white body odours was probably due to diet. For me the smell of unclean black men is similar to that of faintly rotting onions. With the passage of time, the intensity increases but the basic odour remains much the same. On the other hand, the smell of unclean whites varies from individual to individual ranging from stale, sour milk to rotten meat. Collecting RAR was fine because I knew exactly what to expect and each man entering the helicopter smelled the same as the next. With white soldiers, I found myself retching from the foul stench that changed as each man came aboard; and no batch smelled the same as another.

  P. K. van der Byl