Winds of Destruction

by Peter John Hornby Petter-Bowyer

  ZANLA’s first entry occurred just north of the Mudzi River and was detected by a routine border patrol just after dawn. I was at Mtoko with my four South African recce students when news of the resumption of war reached us at the breakfast table.

  The elevation of the sun is vitally important for visual recce work. Because of this, most recce flights were conducted between 10 o’clock and 3 o’clock. However, aerial tracking could be done for at least two hours either side of these times. Since I was committed to a recce task inside Mozambique, not too far from the entry point, I tasked Francois du Toit to precede me and try his hand at aerial-tracking the CTs who were reported to have split into three groups of about fifteen men each.

  When I got airborne, Francois had already been flying ahead of trackers for about an hour. I listened in on the operations frequency but only heard general natter between the ground callsigns and supporting helicopters. I had been working inside Mozambique for some time when I heard Francois ‘sunmistakable Afrikaans-accented voice calling for troops to be lifted forward to a patch of thick bush where he had lost one trail he had followed for some distance from the border. He did not sound too confident but his request was met without question. The action that followed accounted for some CTs killed and the capture of large quantities of equipment abandoned as survivors scattered. With his ability in aerial tracking now proven, Francois went after the trails of the other two groups and brought troops into contact with both of them.

  Sitting at height over rough terrain in Mozambique, I was following the action in Rhodesia with interest and a sense of pride in the young South African I had trained. I had become so engrossed in what I was listening to that I did not immediately understand the meaning of dense white smoke that suddenly blossomed on the ground 5,000 feet below me.

  The smoke densified slightly and appeared to be drifting quite rapidly when I noticed a shadow line racing down-sun from the smoke. I clicked to the fact that this was the trail of a missile coming my way. It would not have helped one bit but I instinctively closed the throttle and switched off both magnetos and watched the smoke line streaking upwards. I did not see the Strela missile itself but watched its swirling white plume pass about 200 metres behind the aircraft. Thanks to the anti-Strela modifications to the Cessna, the missile had failed to ‘see’ the aircraft. The operator must have tracked the aircraft until he received a false ‘lock-on signal’ from the sun. Nevertheless I was happy to signal Air HQ with the good news that we had outright proof of the effectiveness of our anti-Strela modifications.

  Shortly thereafter the four South African pilots returned to their home bases. However, Jan Mienie and Francois du Toit had enjoyed their time with the Rhodesian Air Force so much that both of them resigned from the SAAF and joined us later in the year.

  Lynx ferry

  IT WAS AT THIS TIME that final preparations were being made to take delivery of the new twin-engined (push-pull) Cessna 337 aircraft from Reims in France.

  If the story about a Trojan T28D shipment being turned around within sight of Cape Town is correct, it is hardly surprising that the option to sea-freight the Cessnas had been discarded. But it is more likely that an existing problem influenced Air HQ to opt to fly the machines directly from France to Rhodesia. A batch of SAIA-Marchetti SF 260C training aircraft, which were to replace the Provost as a basic trainer, had been shipped from Europe months earlier but all trace of them had been lost. Although the first batch of seventeen (to become known as Genets) eventually pitched up, there was great concern for their safety when the Cessna 337 aircraft were ready for collection.

  To ferry the Cessnas such a long distance was a dangerous undertaking at a time when a Rhodesian might be arrested on sight in many countries, and more so in the black African countries through which the aircraft would have to transit. To reduce the risks, considerable trouble was taken to disguise the ownership and destination of the aircraft. French-speaking Malagasy was chosen as the ultimate destination for two separate flights; the first down the western side of Africa and the second down the east.

  The Government of Malagasy knew nothing of this plan nor did they know about the fictitious Malagasy Fisheries Surveillance Company whose fancy crest was emblazoned on variously coloured and brightly painted Cessnas. The false company’s name was Sociedad Estudios y Pescas Maritimas, registered in Spain. All documentation, flight planning and correspondence was in French and, where appropriate, gave the impression that the original paperwork had been sent ahead to the Malagasy-based company. Considering Rhodesia’s considerable successes in sanctions-busting, it would not surprise me to learn that there were agents of the bogus company actually sitting in Tananarive to handle mail and queries.

  Two ferry flights following widely separated routes was considered essential, as more than ten aircraft flying one route could draw attention; eighteen aircraft would certainly look too much like squadron strength to any knowledgeable observer. Separate timings of the two flights was another issue. To minimise risk, it was necessary to keep the number of stops along each route to the barest minimum. This necessitated the use of specially designed long-range fuel tanks that occupied the entire volume of cabin space behind the pilots’ seats. Direct injection into the engines of oil for the long flights was also necessary. However, the fuel tanks were so expensive that only ten were made to cater for both ferry flights. After the first ferry, tanks were to be flown to France as quickly as possible by a Rhodesian-owned sanctions-busting airline to get the second ferry completed before hostile intelligence services picked up on what was happening.

  Considerable care was taken in the selection of nine Rhodesian Air Force pilots. Seven would be used on the first ferry, but only two on the second ferry. This was to avoid having recent entries in their false passports evidencing passage down the west coast of Africa, which might raise unwanted questions along the east coast route.

  The plan was for each participating Rhodesian pilot to be accompanied by a French pilot. The Frenchmen had to do all the talking at the various refuelling stops as ‘proof that the ferry was a purely French affair’. The explanation for the presence of English-speaking pilots with southern African accents was to be that they were commercial pilots who had been hired to ensure safe passage through tropical weather conditions with which the French pilots were unfamiliar. I was one of the pilots selected to go to France for a quick conversion onto the Cessna 337 before the first ferry commenced. But then at short notice I was withdrawn because a SAAF delegation that was about to visit us specifically requested my presence in Salisbury. In consequence I did not attend the pilots’ briefing by the Commander and DG Ops who made it clear that, if things went wrong, the Rhodesian Government could not guarantee the safety of individuals.

  The pilots who went to France for the first ferry were Wing Commander Rob Gaunt (in charge), Eddie Wilkinson, John Barnes, Dave Thorne, Vic Wightman and John Bennie. Wing Commander Keith Corrans and Mike Gedye were there too, preparing for their participation as the only two Rhodesian pilots on the second ferry.

  My disappointment at this turn in events switched to outright annoyance when the South African visit was delayed to a time beyond the period of the ferry. However, probably in compensation, I was instructed to accompany Wing Commander Len Pink on a mission to Ruacana in South West Africa. The purpose of this mission was to monitor the first ferry during the times the aircraft were airborne all the way from Reims in France to Ruacana.

  The ferry refuelling stops were Palma (Balearic Islands), Agadir (Morocco), Dakar (Senegal), Cotonou (Benin), Port Gentil (an island just off the coast of Gabon) and Ruacana. At the Ruacana airfield we were accommodated in tents with a resident South African Army company. The Rhodesian team assisted Chuck Dent to erect an HF radio aerial that he had personally designed for this mission. To Len Pink and me the aerial looked like a large, flimsy, horizontally inclined turntable washing line that wobbled in the breeze high above the radio tent. We said nothing but both of us wondered if
the aerial would work at all, never mind receive and transmit signals between far-off France and Ruacana.

  Bob d’Hotmann (hat), technician John Potts, Chuck Dent (glasses) PB (right) Len Pink (kneeling, left) and telegraphist ‘Tweaks’, Fawns.

  Having prepared everything for the first leg of the ferry, which was on the night of 14/15 January 1976, we made a curiosity flight to the coast that particular afternoon. This was not a requirement but it would familiarise us with the ground over which the ferry flight would route when it turned eastwards from the Atlantic to head for Ruacana. Bob d’Hotmann, who had flown us to Ruacana in a Dakota, flew us over territory that was completely unknown to any of us.

  The terrain around Ruacana was familiar savannah country with large expanses of treed areas and narrow open grasslands running along the river-lines. As we progressed westward this gave way to very broken dry rocky terrain and a range known as the Zebra mountains. Any artist painting this incredible spectacle might not be believed because the sharply defined black and white stripes that cover the mountains looked so much like zebra markings that it was hard for any of us to accept that they were natural.

  Beyond this, scrub-covered slopes met the brilliant white sands of the coastal desert in a defined line with no transition from one to the other. High, sharp-peaked dunes running in lines roughly parallel with the coast curved their way beyond sight. Next, the deep-blue Atlantic added yet another dimension to changes of scenery that had us spellbound.

  As if this was not enough, ahead of us was spread an enormous fleet of Russian fishing vessels with three large ‘factory ships’ festooned with eavesdropping radio aerials and receiver dishes. We counted over sixty vessels spread either side of the extended borderline between SWA and Angola. Our excited report-back to the South Africans was met with a very casual “Thanks buddy, we know all about the Ruskies. Maritime surveillance has been watching them for over two weeks. Their interest seems to be with the fighting in Angola.”

  Our doubts about the effectiveness of Chuck Dent’s aerial increased when we had heard nothing from the aircraft following an Air HQ signal that let us know two flights of four aircraft were airborne and heading for Palma. Rhodesians, each with a French co-pilot, flew six aircraft. Two experienced French airline pilots flew two aircraft but only one of these had a second pilot. This was due to my having been withdrawn too late to find a suitable replacement.

  At around 10 o’clock on the night of 14th Chuck’s optimism had already turned to serious doubt when Squadron Leader Eddie Wilkinson’s voice came through faint but clear. He said, “I have been receiving you strength five all the way. Landing in ten minutes. Second flight thirty minutes behind. Will call airborne 09:00 Zulu. Cheers for now. Out.”

  The first and final legs of this ferry were conducted at night for security reasons. Brightly coloured aircraft in formations might attract attention over France, but over Rhodesia they would undoubtedly cause unwanted excitement. The four intermediate legs were flown in daylight.

  The legs from Palma to Agadir, Dakar and Cotonou were uneventful and we had communication with the aircraft all the way. However, out at sea on the leg to Port Gentil both formations encountered frontal weather conditions with visibility so poor that visual contact between the aircraft was often lost. It was in these conditions that Dave Thorne experienced falling rpm on his rear engine and was forced to close it down.

  In a twin-engined aircraft it takes both fans turning to keep pilots cool over land, never mind flying way out over the ocean in heavy storms. So, with only one fan thrusting above a vast expanse of storm-tossed ocean, Dave and his French copilot were in a real sweat. There were still three hours to reach destination at normal cruise speed but, with his reduced speed on one engine, Dave had to make a decision on whether to hold heading or divert to a closer destination. In the event Dave elected to turn left for Libreville and take his chances if he was forced to land there; providing he reached the coast in the first place.

  Dave, my coursemate back in 1957, had left the Air Force in the mid-60s to join the Australian airline Qantas. He had enjoyed flying in the comfort of Boeing 707 airliners but, for family reasons, had returned to Rhodesia and the Air Force. Flogging across the Atlantic on one engine in bad weather must have made him long for those safer times flying four-engined airliners. As it happened, Dave and his wide-eyed Frenchman made it to the coast at Libreville then turned south staying over the sea within gliding distance of the steamy coastline until they reached Port Gentil safely. The reason for the engine problem was detected and easily rectified. The next morning the aircraft took to the air heading south for Ruacana.

  Lynx formation.

  Lynx line-up.

  The arrival of the Cessnas left me with a lasting impression of how ugly the aircraft appeared in flight and how noisy the machines sounded as they streamed past before landing. On the ground they looked much neater as they taxiied quietly to line up in a single row. Three colour schemes had been used and all were very bright and cheerful. The elaborate crests of the fictitious fisheries surveillance company were eye-catching— intentionally so!

  The crews were clearly delighted to be on friendly ground following four whole days of long flights with periods of tension between. Cameras were uncovered and a babble of French and English voices dominated as crews instructed each other on how they were required to pose. Whilst this was going on, storm clouds were towering in a continuous line to the east with much lightning and grumbling thunder.

  Keith Corrans, held back for the second ferry, arrived at Ruacana to take the place of the one missing French pilot and following a happy evening, the crews were able to lie in next morning. However, one French airline pilot who was to fly the only aircraft with a French crew decided he needed to get back to France in a hurry and insisted on being taken to the nearest international airport. According to other French pilots, this fellow had become afraid of African weather conditions following the Cotonou-to-Port Gentil flight. When on arrival he saw the line of storm clouds building near Ruacana and learned of ITCZ conditions prevailing over Rhodesia, he was very jittery and became determined to get off the last leg.

  Air HQ instructed a very annoyed Bob d’Hotmann to fly the Frenchman the long distance to Windhoek and I was instructed to take that Frenchman’s place. Immediately I signalled Air HQ to make certain that DG Ops knew that I had not flown a Cessna 337 before and that my instrument and night ratings had expired 18 months ago. In his reply DG Ops said he was aware of these issues but was relying on my experience and the French co-pilot’s assistance to get the aircraft safely home.

  The shirtless man and the short-arse one seen talking to John Barnes, Eddie Wilkinson and Rob Gaunt were two of the nine French pilots.

  Our brief was to enter Rhodesian air space after dark, but all eight participating French pilots were very eager to see the Victoria Falls. By staggering take-off it was decided that only two aircraft would be seen at any one time over the Falls and that nobody on the ground would know whether they were Zambian or Rhodesian sight-seeing flights.

  We were happy to comply in any event because with bad weather forecast over western SWA and much of Rhodesia, and with difficult featureless terrain to navigate along the Caprivi Strip, it would be good to have a precise start-point before nightfall. During the flight we were not permitted to contact any Air Traffic Control centre other than Salisbury. Thornhill was available for diversion, but only in dire emergency. The specified natter frequency allocated for the ferry was to be the only one we could use until Salisbury’s control boundary was reached.

  I invited my French pilot, Monsieur José, to take the left-hand (captain’s) seat. He declined, saying I was the one who knew how to handle the weather he could see building up across our path. He said he knew how to manage the fuel and oil transfer systems and this was best handled from the right-hand seat. M José’s English was only marginally better than my all-but-forgotten schoolboy French, so we relied on single words and hand sign
als. Pointing his finger at switches and instruments M José guided me through pre-start checks and engines start-up. His double thumbs-up signified all was well. We taxiied out sixth in the line of eight aircraft and lined up on the runway to watch number five labouring into flight and heading for the cloudbanks we ourselves would soon encounter.

  The aircraft was loaded beyond design maximum weight so acceleration was slow and there was not much runway left when she lifted off with an uncomfortably high-nose attitude; but she soon accelerated to climbing speed. Response to rudder and elevator control movements was familiar but I found that the control yoke, which was narrower than any I had used before, made aileron handling heavy.

  Transfer to instruments was made before entering cloud with instrument lighting set to maximum. Turbulence was mild in the climb to 11,500 feet where we levelled off. For some time I could not understand why we had not accelerated to the cruising speed I was expecting and it took a while before I realised that I had not raised the wing flaps after take-of. M José had not spotted this at all. With flaps up the speed stepped up nicely.

  Not long after settling in the cruise, the rear-engine rpm started to hunt and I could not settle it down. M José’s response to my query was the typically continental one of screwing the face and raising both hands and shoulders. John Barnes, flying eighth in line, told me to do something or other, I cannot remember what, and the problem cleared. From then on both engines purred in perfect synchronisation for the rest of the fight.

  Halfway to Victoria Falls we cleared the cloud that, though dense and dark in patches, had been relatively smooth and had given me no difficulty. I searched all around but could not see any of the other aircraft. From there on it was a matter of working out our exact location from the limited information printed on the 1:1,000,000-scale maps. M José shook his head when I confidently pointed to our position on the map. To him everything on the ground looked flat with all vleis (wetlands along river-lines) running almost parallel to our course.