Winds of Destruction

by Peter John Hornby Petter-Bowyer

  Flight Sergeant Benji

  THE GRASS STRIP AT CENTENARY had become very worn and dusty from high-volume traffic when it was decided to lay down a tarmac runway, so all personnel and aircraft moved to an airstrip on Eureka Farm, just a short distance away. The tented camp at Eureka suffered terribly from dust stirred up by every helicopter and fixed-wing movement. Whenever the wind blew from the flight lines to the camp, it brought dust that penetrated bedding, clothing, radios and kitchen; not that this dampened the spirits of the men.

  An over-supply of camp toilet seats, nicknamed ‘thunder boxes’, provided an answer to the shortage of seats for a pub the technician constructed from scrounged materials. Elevated to barstool height, they gave the option of hollow or solid seating at the bar counter of ‘The Thunderbox Inn’.

  One of the Eureka Farm dogs, a scruffy terrier named Benji, took to the Air Force in a big way. Benji was returned to his owner many times but he simply ran back to the camp. He was always in evidence lying on anything that was elevated, such as the sandbag walls around the camp. When the Centenary Airfield tarmac runway was completed and the Air Force returned to comfortable accommodation, Benji followed. The farmer felt there was no point in returning Benji to the farm every day and was happy to pass the scruffy little mutt into Air Force care.

  Benji stayed with Air Force for years. In October 1973 he was inducted into the force with the rank of corporal. Later he was posted to FAF 4 at Mount Darwin. Having risen to the rank of flight sergeant Benji disgraced himself by peeing on the Camp Commandant’s cap and was demoted back to sergeant. When he regained his rank for outstanding service and devotion to duty, Benji was posted to FAF 7 (Buffalo Range) in mid-1978 where he continued service to the end of the war. When FAF 7 closed at the cessation of hostilities, Benji was taken by car to New Sarum but, probably sensing the changing times, he died before reaching his new home.

  Flight Sergeant Benji.

  Another Aloe Festival

  AT THE END OF JUNE 1973, No 4 Squadron was given clearance to withdraw most aircraft and crews from operations to participate in Umtali’s annual Aloe Festival. It was wonderful to have the majority of our squadron together for the first time in eighteen months and to sense the spirit and esprit de corps that existed throughout the ranks. The technicians were an incredible bunch of men whose wide-ranging characters and talents too often manifested themselves in impish acts.

  The officers and wives stayed at the Wise Owl Motel whilst the technicians all booked into the Flamboyant Hotel. This was not a case of rank separation but was the consequence of insufficient accommodation for everyone at either location.

  At a civic function on the first night, I presented the mayor with a 4 Squadron plaque that, between deployments, I had personally crafted for the Umtali City Council.

  Just after sunrise on the day of the flypast and Aloe Ball, I received a visitation from the Police who reported that a whole bunch of my technicians had been seen running down Main Street totally naked save for Air Force caps, black socks and shoes. Few people were around at the time and none of the surprised onlookers had lodged a complaint. The Police had gone directly to the hotel only to find every tech ‘fast asleep’. Of course everyone who was questioned knew nothing about a mass streak and since no complaints had been received, no charges were laid; but the Police felt I should know of the incident to avoid trouble in the future.

  PB presenting the mayor with a personally crafted 4 Squadron plaque.

  Having been warned to behave themselves at the Aloe Ball, all squadron members were on their best behaviour. I crowned the Aloe Queen, everyone enjoyed a great meal and good music had brought most people onto the dance floor when Henry Jarvie started an impromptu act that stopped everyone in their tracks. I knew Henry would be the instigator of something unusual because of his naughty nature, but I had no need to worry about him being crude or destructive.

  The band was playing ‘Hey Girl’ when Henry climbed onto the stage with a pint of beer in his hand. He placed the beer on a stool at one end of the stage and, moving his lanky body to the rhythm of the music, proceeded across stage sliding off his jacket, which he then twirled above his head on one finger. At stage end he placed the jacket neatly on the floor and, mincing to the music, returned slowly to his beer. He took a great swig, turned about and repeating the first act, this time removing his wristwatch, again twirling it over his head before placing it on the jacket. The band clicked with Henry from the outset and just kept repeating the very catchy theme of ‘Hey Girl’. All eyes remained on Henry as he made pass after pass, never once using the same style of dance and always removing one item of clothing. It took two passes just to remove cuff links. Ripples of laughter passed through the crowd who loved Henry’s facial expressions and lanky body movement, everyone wondering just how far he would go. I knew he would not push the limits.

  Following the removal of his shirt with Superman poses to show off scrawny muscles, Henry was left with slacks and socks. The removal of the second sock gave Henry opportunity to demonstrate his sleight of hand by giving the distinct impression of filling the sock with beer and straining it into his mouth as he crossed the stage to lift his clothing and disappear as women yelled, “Encore! Encore! You haven’t finished yet!”

  The next day, Sunday, the squadron was invited to join the mayor and senior town counsellors for tea at Leopard Rock Hotel in the Vumba mountains. Beryl and I, together with other officers and wives, were having tea with the mayor and mayoress on the hotel lawn when Henry Jarvie appeared at the top of the hotel stairway high above us. He was resplendent in full chef’s regalia, high cap and all.

  On the open palm of his left hand he held a silver salver with a serving towel perfectly draped over his forearm. Down the steps he came, stiff as a board, looking straight ahead with a fixed expression. He came directly to our table and placed the salver in front of me, bowed and turned towards hotel guests seated under umbrellas. As he moved away we spotted the full beer glass held behind his back.

  Chef Jarvie.

  The silver tray contained a note and a sandwich. The note read, “Boss PB is in need of nourishment”. The sandwich consisted of two tomato toppings between very dry crusts of butter-less bread.

  Facial expressions of hotel guests to whom Henry moved showed he was up to no good. Initially they thought he was the hotel’s senior chef. At one table Henry warned that there would be a slight delay in serving lunch because all meat stocks had “gone off slightly due to refrigeration failure but a good soaking in vinegar will solve this problem”. To others he told of stale bread rolls that only needed a good soaking and re-baking to make them good and fresh. One group learned that the speciality of the day, crayfish, was giving the entire kitchen staff a major headache following their escape from the refrigerator. They had run off into flowerbeds and the fishpond but all would be rounded up soon, and lunch should be served on time.

  I intercepted Henry on his return to the stairway. I thanked him for the sandwich and instructed him to eat it on my behalf. Not saying a word, he took the silver tray, bowed and climbed the stairs, beer still behind back. When he reached the balcony he placed the tray and his beer on the serving towel spread neatly on the balcony wall.

  With much ceremony he broke the sandwich in two and summoned John Britton to assist him. Looking straight-faced at the distant Himalaya mountain range, he commenced eating. Next to him John Britton attempted to follow Henry’s act but, as with others who tried to emulate our squadron clown, John failed; he was just too big and clumsy next to his slim nimble friend.

  As he ate, Henry’s cheeks started to fill like a monkey’s pouches. When he had the entire sandwich in his mouth with cheeks fully extended, he commenced a violent choking and sneezing act. Each time he sneezed, with right forefinger held horizontally under his nose, a small stream of bread pieces flew vertically downwards from his mouth giving the distinct impression of muck flying from his nose, which he then wiped on his sleeve in lon
g exaggerated strokes. Few comedians could bring an audience to such fits of laughter as Henry Jarvie. The hotel guests, now realising he was no hotel chef, enjoyed the act even more than we did.

  Opportunity was taken to fly the squadron from Umtali to Centenary to link up with crews who had missed out on the Aloe Festival. The purpose of gathering the whole squadron was to have a squadron photograph taken, as this might not be possible for ages to come.

  Himalaya mountains viewed from Leopard Rock.

  In line with the propeller boss of the Trojan is Bruce Collocott. Moving left are Rob Tasker, PB, Warrant Officer Spike Owens and Chief Tec Mick Fulton. Pilots are to the right of those named and technicians to the left.

  Early FAC to jets

  MY FIRST CALL FOR STRIKES by Hunters occurred inside Rhodesia, though much work had been done before I gained sufficient confidence to do this. Air recce inside Rhodesia was much more difficult than in Mozambique. Within the country the locals had no reason to hide from ZANLA and any stresses that existed within the population could not be detected from height; all path systems appeared quite normal.

  Because terrorists were known to move position continuously and reside at night in different kraals in ones and twos, their presence within the TTLs was impossible to detect. It was only within the boundaries of white-owned farms that terrorists based up in the bush, but never for more than two nights at a time.

  For years the African nationalists had complained that white farmers had the best land and the African folk had been allocated those regions with poor soil. From the air one could see that there was no truth in this allegation. The Centenary farmlands bordering the Kandeya TTL typified most boundaries between organised commercial farmland and the subsistence farming areas inhabited by tribesmen.

  Except for patches of bush on hills and rocky ground, Kandeya was substantially overgrazed and all maize fields were so over-utilised that the TTL exhibited a near desert-like appearance. Across the cattle fence that separated the TTL from adjoining white-owned farms, lush bush and grass cover contrasted as chalk with cheese, even though soil types were identical. Crop rotation and the use of fertilisers made white farmlands look rich and neat. This was why fresh pathways inside these areas stood out strongly. Although I was finding temporary bases in the farming areas, which were all confirmed by co-operative ground forces, I was gaining nothing more than an idea of what a temporary base looked like. I visited a couple of these places with ground forces to see for myself.

  It perplexed me to learn from Special Branch who had interrogated captured terrorists that bases I judged to be for twenty terrorists were in fact for only ten. I could not reconcile this until Special Branch established that there had also been ten women in residence to provide female comforts to ‘their boys in the bush’. The lesson was clear—divide estimates by two.

  I approached JOC Hurricane with the problem of not being able find terrorists in the TTL and requested that wide-ranging surprise visits be made on villages at all times of the night. The purpose of this was to see if we could force the terrorists away from the villages and make them base up in the bush. I guessed that, if they did this, each terrorist group would tend to site itself in a position with easy access to more than one village so that the daily feeding load could be spread whilst also giving them all-round early warning of any security force activities. I also guessed that female feeding parties would create telltale paths leading from villages to bases that, together with the inevitable paths within the bases, should make detection an easy matter. This ploy worked almost immediately. I picked up a well-defined campsite in the Kandeya TTL south east of St Albert’s Mission with fresh squiggly paths running to it from four different villages.

  Established paths change direction frequently but exhibit a smoother flow than fresh paths that route around the smallest of obstructions. With the passage of time and season, the sharp kinks that characterise fresh paths progressively smooth out because man, being a creature of habit, will shortcut any sharp bend once he knows the route.

  Having located this camp, which I estimated to be for thirty people, meaning fifteen active terrorists, I considered how it might be tackled with a handful of troops flown in by the only two helicopters available at the time. Looking back on the lessons learned on Op Sable it was obvious that most, if not all, terrorists would escape. A large ground force closing in on the camp might have worked but it meant gathering troops from far and wide with no certainty that the terrorists would be in residence when the force closed in. I opted instead for an airstrike that would shock the locals who were providing succour and, hopefully, account for a few terrorists.

  My style of reconnaissance involved continuous elliptical orbits that moved along a general line. Orbiting was essential because paths that could not be seen when viewing down sun stood out clearly when looking up-sun. At the end of one line of orbits, I would shift position by one orbit width and commence orbiting along a parallel line in the reverse direction. This was repeated until a whole block of territory, usually over 800 square kilometres, had been covered in a five-hour sortie. The sun angle played an important role in visual reconnaissance and 10:00 to 15:00 was the ideal time-block.

  This photo is not of the target in question but it shows the nature of terrain in the Kandeya TTL where hill features disallow cropping thus protecting some natural bush cover.

  Down-sun blur versus up-sun clarity (same orbit).

  I was running the first line when I located the camp. The orbits were continued along the search line so as not to give anyone any indication of my having seen the base. I called Peter Cooke in the Ops Room at FAF 3 and we discussed the matter before jointly agreeing to set up a jet-strike for 16:00 when, we guessed, the terrorists would be in base awaiting their meal.

  By the time I landed, Peter had submitted an Air Request for a strike by Hunters and this had been accepted by Air HQ. The Air Task sent to No 1 Squadron was copied to FAF 3 to allow us opportunity to ensure that the Hunter pilots had received the correct details.

  Using a Provost, I marked the target with smoke rockets at precisely 4 o’clock and pulled up into a steep climbing turn to watch the lead Hunter’s 30mm cannon strike running right through the centre of the target. Three following Hunters, responding to my directions, patterned their 68mm Marta rocket strikes perfectly. As the Hunters cleared, I moved back over the target and saw many civilians running helter-skelter from the nearest village.

  Helicopters dropped off troops who found the fresh base well laced by cannon and rocket shrapnel. Unfortunately there had been no terrorists in residence at the time. Later we established that the terrorists had been with civilians at a beer-drink in the very village from which I had seen so many people running. I had been mistaken in thinking these were all innocent civvies, thereby losing the chance of diverting the helicopters and troops onto a good opportunity target.

  This, my first attempt at directing jets by airborne FAC, had worked better for the jet pilots than any one of many GAC strikes made over-border in support of SAS operations. The secret to success in first-run strikes under FAC control lay in four basic factors. These were, good timing, minimal radio chatter, excellent visual markers at target centre and control by a pilot who knew the precise location and extremities of the target and had witnessed the placement of each aircraft’s strike.

  Air Staff was not put off by the absence of terrorists; rather it commented that this strike had proven that airborne FAC could provide consistent precision and allow jets to strike closer to troops and civilians than had previously been considered possible.

  The face of terrorism

  HAVING ESTABLISHED THEMSELVES WITH THE locals, ZANLA realised they had, at last, entered into a decisive phase which they named the ‘New Chimurenga’ war. The first Chimurenga had been the Mashona Rebellion of 1896. During that rebellion, the BSA Company executed the leading zvikiro (spirit medium), Nehanda, whose spirit lived on in successive living female persons. The current incumbent,
who relayed messages from the all-important spirit of the first Chimurenga war, was Mbuya Nehanda. She advocated war as the only way of wresting power from the white government.

  Mbuya (grandmother) Nehanda was a frail old woman but her guidance was considered of paramount importance to ZANU and its military wing ZANLA. To ensure her safety and to allow her total freedom to communicate with the original Nehanda, she was carried by stretcher all the way through Tete to a camp known as Chifombo on the Zambian border. From this place she gave ZANLA commanders the encouragement they needed when proceeding southbound for Rhodesia. The old zvikiro also blessed all arms of war that were paraded past her private hut.

  By mid-1973 terrorism was spreading southward at an alarming rate and the names of three particular ZANLA regional leaders were on everyone’s lips. They were James Bond, Mao and Rex Nhongo. We were particularly keen to eliminate James Bond and Mao who were responsible for horrifying acts of brutality designed to put fear in the hearts of black people. They were eventually killed in 1974, whereas Rex Nhongo left Rhodesia and survived to become ZANLA’s commander at the end of the war.

  Gone were the days when tracker-combat groups could relentlessly follow and destroy terrorist groups before they reached the black population. Gone too were the days when locals reported the presence of terrorists. At first some tribesmen did not understand the terrorists’ determination to fight for ‘freedom’ and ‘the vote’. So far as they were concerned, it seemed an awful waste of time and life to fight for something they could not eat, drink, smoke or poke. But when promised that they would inherit European farms, equipment and cattle, ZANLA’s objectives made a great deal more sense. Political indoctrination was not the whole reason for tribesmen failing to report the presence of terrorists; it was more to do with having become more afraid of ZANLA than the forces of government; and with good reason.