In the end the Israelis agreed to go ahead – provided the mercenaries would guarantee three things: they would send an accurate description and photographs of the DZ; they would take two Israelis into the Yemen with them, and they would show them their safe house in Nuqub.
Plans developed slowly, and in the mountains Johnny Cooper became irritated by the delay. ‘I accept the job of remaining here until the para is over and then must come out,’ he wrote to Jim on 15 March. ‘Today is number 226 since I returned to the Khowlan – seems ages too.’ Himself a veteran organiser of para-drops in France during the Second World War and later in Malaya, he had already reconnoitred a possible DZ, but knew that it might have to be changed to meet the Israelis’ requirements. ‘We are waiting ready with eagerness the first drop,’ he wrote on another day. ‘The morale value alone will be terrific, Jim, plus the end of five months’ wait for the Yemenis to see us keep our word. Inshallah!’
Operation Leopard began in earnest on Friday, 20 March, when Tony Boyle flew into Aden escorting two Israelis, travelling as Robert Lichtner from Austria and Alber Babayea Pour from Persia. They brought with them their personal gear for an expedition into the hills – sleeping bags, blankets, and so on – and also a radio and codes, for their mission was to go up into the Yemen and make their own assessment of the DZ that Johnny had selected. As they checked in at the Hotel Metropole in Aden, they were met by a man who greeted them with the identification passwords ‘Do you know Louis?’, and one of them, known as ‘David’, replied, ‘Yes – do you know Tim?’
For their journey into the hinterland Tony furnished them with personal weapons, ammunition, radios, Sarahs (Search, Recognition and Homing devices), a Verey pistol (for firing flares) and other equipment for the drop. He then flew with them to Beihan. Thence they continued to Nuqub; David stayed there, and his companion Louis went on.
To preserve security, the BFLF at first referred to Israel as ‘Wales’, and to the Israelis as ‘the Welsh’. Later the dropping scheme was known as ‘Mango’, and Israel became ‘Mango Land’ or ‘Scotland’. An ‘Exercise Plan’ drafted by the London office issued a series of code names. The Israeli control-point at Tel Nof Air Force Base, a dozen miles south of Tel Aviv, became ‘Headquarters’; the reception area in the Khowlan ‘the harbour’; and the Egyptians ‘birds’. There were also strict instructions for the men on the ground:
The minimum number of people should know about the operation, and these should only be told the shortest possible time before the operation. Unusual activity in the harbour area should be kept to a minimum, and when unavoidable should be explained away with a cover story.
Tony returned to London via Aden; but when, on 25 March 1964, he went out to Israel again to join the first flight, taking details and photographs of the DZ, he found that there had been a difference of opinion between Weizman, who was in favour of the operation, and his second-in-command, Colonel Motti Hod, who was against it. Several senior officers shared Hod’s opinion that the assignment was too risky; if an Israeli aircraft crashed in the Yemen, Nasser would have an almighty propaganda coup.
Nevertheless, it had been agreed that the drop would go ahead. The aircraft detailed to fly the mission was a Boeing Stratocruiser – the biggest, four-engined transport of the day – which had been modified for earlier operations by fitting clamshell doors at the back of the fuselage, and rails running the length of the cargo hold so that boxes attached to parachutes could be rolled out under the tail. The plane was painted white on its upper part, silver below, and carried no markings.
Johnny Cooper, meanwhile, had been reinforced by the arrival of Cyril Weavers and David Bailey; but their radio batteries had run down, and they were anxiously awaiting the arrival of a camel-caravan bringing new ones, together with the Sarah beacons. During the days before take-off, volleys of radio messages passed back and forth between Tel Aviv, Leopard (Rupert in Nuqub) and Johnny, many of them occasioned by a last-minute debate about whether or not to change the drop zone from the one known as ‘Red’ or ‘Avocado’ to another, designated ‘Orange’, some 12 miles away. Johnny had decided that Red was too dangerous, because there was a risk of an Egyptian attack; instead, he favoured Orange, at a place called Beit al-Ghadr, which had the advantage of being further from Sana’a. Tension rose all over the network as ideas flew back and forth. The supply caravan reached Orange on the 25th and Johnny sent the following:
Strongly advise operation Orange March 30 alternative 31 or first April. Extreme secure drop zone. Plateau not mountainous. No administrative difficulty defence and so on. Amir Abdullah bin Hassan receives benefit and credit.
He pointed out that if they used the Avocado drop zone, the supplies would not go directly to Abdullah. There was also the worry that Avocado was closer to Sana’a and Egyptian armour. At Orange, on the other hand, there was no enemy artillery close enough to shell the DZ after the drop, even if the Egyptians woke up to what was happening. Johnny therefore announced that he would go ahead at Orange.
The Israelis were inevitably nervous about venturing into uncharted, hostile terrain at night, to a DZ 7,000 feet up in ferociously steep mountains. They needed every scrap of information they could collect, and now were unhappy about the change of plan. Louis – their one man on the ground – had not seen the Orange site, and had had no chance to take photographs of it, so they were reliant on verbal descriptions.
On their behalf, Tony (by now in Tel Aviv) insisted that the drop take place at Red. At 0300 on the 26th he messaged Leopard: ‘Imperative John accepts drop at Red. Inability to do this cancels whole plan. ‘Then at noon he added that four nations were standing to assist on the nights from 29 March to 1 April, and that if the British failed to organise a drop between those dates, the chances of the friendly countries cooperating in future would be negligible. Without them, no future drop would be possible. Tony therefore urgently requested Johnny to stick to the original plan.
Johnny, however, was emphatic that he had had to move the rendezvous for security reasons. He sent back a message saying that the Orange DZ was completely organised, and that it was safer and sounder than Red, where the security was dubious: ‘Expect repeat expect and standing by for drop.’
In justifying the switch to Orange, he made a list of points:
1 Better DZ. No mountains near.
2 Not observed by Egyptians.
3 Can clear [stores from] DZ with transport.
4 Petrol [for signal fires and battery-charging] coming here now.
5 Sheikh Nagi al Ghadr as commander is great asset.
6 Position only 12 miles from Red.
7 Nearer by two days to its destination Amir Abdullah.
8 Security much better . . .
At the end of the message David Bailey added: ‘John has received 100 drops before and wonders why you cannot rely on his judgment. Severe heartbreak here if job cannot be done.’
Sheikh Nagi al-Ghadr had ‘obtained’ – that is, captured – sixteen tins of paraffin (for fires) ‘from enemy sources’. A large supply of wood was on hand, and sixty gallons of petrol were on their way. ‘This [is a] great effort by Ghadr,’ Johnny told Tony. ‘If you fail us now to meet your obligations, our word, honour and reputation gone for ever.’
Bowing to Johnny’s experience, Tony gave in and asked for details of Orange. Back came the answer:
Bearing of DZ centre line 260 degrees. Length 1,800 yards width 1,000 yards approx altitude 8,000 feet. Bearing from Sana’a 100 degrees distance 25 miles. Bearing from Jebel Lawz 118 degrees. High point above DZ 360 degrees 500 feet one mile. No problem circuit approach bearing 260 degrees.
The most critical task was to ensure reliable communication between the incoming aircraft, code-named Rhumba, and the ground. On the afternoon of 29 March Tony sent instructions to Leopard:
1 Direct contact Rhumba–Orange can be established on one of Orange’s existing frequencies.
2 Rhumba will answer on Orange frequency.
&nbs
p; 3 Inform night frequency in use Orange–Lemon. Shall use same frequency for Rhumba–Orange.
4 Fix call-sign for Orange.
5 All stations calling own call-sign only.
6 Contact Rhumba–Orange will start two hours before Rhumba arrival to Orange.
7 Inform Orange will use BRM rpt BRM call-sign.
8 This to enable Rhumba to be in direct contact with Orange in order to transmit if all OK. Emergency msgs [messages] will be transmitted plain language.
Next morning – 30 March – Tony told Johnny and David:
1 Glad inform you as result yr info Louis accepts Orange.
2 Stand by from now.
3 Date and ETA [estimated time of arrival] rpt ETA to be notified on day of Op. Code name for night of operation is Moonlight rpt Moonlight. When received Moonlight means op. tonight.
The countdown started at 0900 on 31 March, when Tony messaged Leopard: ‘As from 1600 we shall listen to you permanently . . . You must contact us once an hour.’ Starting at 2100 GMT, Orange was to contact Rhumba for five minutes every fifteen minutes – but in all the calls no messages were to be sent: the contact itself would mean that all was well. Only in an emergency would plain language be used for warnings.
During the day Johnny sent out weather reports, including atmospheric pressure, and at 1440 back came the code word ‘Moonlight’. The operation was on.
In Israel a huge security operation had surrounded preparations for the flight, designated Operation Rotev. Because the Stratocruiser would be vulnerable to the Jordanian Air Force over Jordan and to the Egyptian Air Force over the Red Sea, and then again over the Yemen, some 200 people were involved: the air crew, a marine rescue crew, several helicopter crews (for sea and land rescue) and an army insertion unit all attended the briefing, together with the Mossad chief, Meir Amit. The primary alternative – the first airfield to which the mission could divert in case of emergency – was set as Asmara, some 30 miles inland in Eritrea, and the second was Djibouti, further down the African coast.
Captain of the aircraft was Major Arieh Oz, an experienced transport pilot of the Israeli Air Force, who knew the limitations if the Stratocruiser all too well. Its four Pratt & Whitney engines, each with four rows of seven cylinders, tended to run hot, particularly in the last row, and when this happened the pilots had to open big cowl flaps on the engine casings, which caused a lot of drag and upset the aircraft’s trim. Another common problem was dual magneto failure, which meant that an engine had to be shut down. As Oz recalled later, ‘you had to be very careful and fly by attitude more than by airspeed, as the hull was not too aerodynamic.’3
With a crew of co-pilot, navigator, radio operator, flight engineer and loadmaster, five paratroopers to provide manpower in the cargo-bay, and an intensely interested passenger in the form of Tony Boyle, Oz took off at dusk on 31 March 1964. His instructions were to radio his estimated time of arrival ahead to the reception party in the mountains, and if his signal was not acknowledged within three hours, he was to return to base.
At first he flew due south, over a corner of the Jordanian desert, keeping very low to stay under the radar, and on over Saudi Arabia, heading for the coast between Al-Wajh and Yanbu, then over the Daedalus reef and on down the Red Sea for more than 800 miles. On the flight deck tension gradually built up, for the acknowledgement from Orange did not come through until fifteen minutes before the deadline. Thereafter all was well. Over the Red Sea, with Egypt on its right and Saudi Arabia on its left, the Stratocruiser climbed to a cruise height of 15,000 feet; then, before reaching Hodeidah, it turned left (east) towards the Yemen coast.
Tony, perched on a small extra seat installed at the captain’s left shoulder, between him and the side window, later described the approach:
We turned in on schedule, with the lights of the harbour shining bright forty miles to our right (the south). Then a ten-minute haul over the sand-plain and up the incredibly steep mountains . . . then over several valleys and peaks until the lights of the capital appeared very bright – like Piccadilly – to our left. Then the flash of a car headlight to the south-east of the capital. Then, with a sigh of relief, we picked up the homing beacon (radio) and used it for the final six minutes. Then, when the beacon indicated we were nearly overhead, the lights blazed.
Oz later described the atmosphere on the flight deck as ‘tense, but very professional, with minimum conversation’. His big aircraft was heading for jagged 12,000-foot peaks in a country none of the crew had ever seen, and for a rendezvous lacking all the navigational aids to which they were accustomed, with the possibility of a hostile reception from Egyptian anti-aircraft gunners on the ground. Peering ahead at the dim outlines of mountains, he could not discern natural features clearly, so he let down very gradually, making sure he had clear air ahead. Then at last he spotted a tiny, faint yellow cross twinkling from the black massif, and increased his rate of descent.
On the ground Johnny and his little team had been waiting anxiously. The only electric lights he had been able to muster were a pair of car headlamps running off old batteries, so he had also prepared a number of petrol and diesel fires. To minimise the chances of betrayal or ambush, the smallest possible number of Arabs, picked for their reliability, had been chosen to help on the DZ: they were told that an aircraft would be coming over, but had no idea of its nationality or departure-point.
The Stratocruiser was a relatively quiet aeroplane, and as he came in Oz tried to avoid any change of engine speed, which would have created extra noise.4 After one preliminary reconnaissance circuit round the lights and fires, he made a low pass over the markers, with the clamshell doors open, running in at 130 knots on steady engine power with the rpm set at 2,350 and steady manifold pressure for the climb-out. Only 300 feet above the rock-strewn plateau, he switched the light in the cargo bay from red to green and pulled up the nose – whereupon the loadmaster whipped out the pins holding the boxes in place, and a shove from the paratroopers sent all twelve containers sliding out from under the tail. The moment his air-speed was down to 110 knots (the minimum he dared risk), Oz put on full power and started to climb out, aiming for the only gap in the ridge ahead. ‘Last parachute for you,’ Tony radioed. ‘Report.’
‘Drop excellent,’ came the answer. ‘Bull’s-eye. Only one candle.’
‘Everybody on the ground went wild,’ Johnny reported later. The Arabs who brought out bullock carts to collect the containers, and get them away under cover, found themselves the owners of 180 rifles, 34,000 rounds of Mauser ammunition and 17,000 rounds of .303, besides seventy-two 6-pounder, armour-piercing shells and 150 pounds of plastic explosive.
As the aircraft made for home, Tel Nof reported that the base was shrouded in fog; so, passing Jeddah, Oz decided to loiter, to give the sun time to rise and burn off the mist. He arrived over Israel to find a huge blanket of fog still lying, and only one side of the runway clear, but he touched down and completed the landing blind, on instruments, shutting down the engines with fifteen minutes’ fuel remaining in the tanks, after a fourteen-hour fifteen-minute flight.
At 0050 on 1 April Mango radioed Leopard: ‘Rhumba confirmed successful drop. Our best wishes.’ To which Leopard replied at 0650: ‘Congratulations and many thanks for your wonderful performance.’ At 0900 a final word came in from Mangoland: ‘Rhumba landed safely at 0630 GMT.’5
That morning the Egyptians put a reconnaissance aircraft up over the Khowlan, but not in the right place. They had evidently heard or seen something in the night, and had been alerted to the presence of an intruder, but where it had come from, what it had done and where it had gone remained a mystery. Confirmation of their suspicion came when they tried to bribe people to kill the DZ party and then heavily attacked the area from the air – as usual, causing few casualties.
The source of the weapons and ammunition had been efficiently concealed. Every serial number had been brazed out; the parachutes were of Italian origin, and even the wood shavings used in the pac
king had been imported from Cyprus. But the last container would have been a give-away, had it fallen into enemy hands, since it contained personal mail for the reception party, English newspapers and a bottle of Scotch, thoughtfully packed with a lavatory roll round its neck to cushion the shock landing. Johnny, who had not touched alcohol for more than a year, found that the whisky tasted ‘absolutely vile’; but he, David and Cyril lost no time in finishing the bottle.
In a report for Jim dictated onto tape immediately after the operation, Johnny made a number of points. The drop would have been a ‘fantastic morale boost’ even if the chutes had been empty. There had been only fourteen Arabs on the DZ, and they had not known what was happening until one hour before the plane arrived. The security had been ‘very good’, but the parachutes had been too small and overloaded, and there had been no packing between the rifles, with the result that some of them had been smashed.
In the middle of May, Tony went out to the Yemen again to perfect arrangements for the second drop. After meetings in Jeddah he flew not to Aden, but to Jizan, in the north, where he arrived on the 19th. Next day he travelled on southwards across the Yemeni border by truck, then at the base of the mountains took to his feet, walking for a total of seven hours to reach the Imam’s eyrie at El Qara at 2.30 a.m. There he found Chris Sharma looking ‘thin and ill’, and he had hardly taken his first sip of tea when he was summoned, and found himself surprised by the ruler’s ‘considerable presence, charm and sense of humour’, and by the fact that (at thirty-seven) his hair was turning grey.
In the morning he inspected the area proposed for the second DZ, which he thought ‘about as unpromising as possible’, as it was ‘perched on an eyrie, and in places only 500 yards wide, with sheer sides falling away; but he assured the Imam that the operation would go ahead, and got him to agree that on the evening of the drop he would invite all the local sheikhs for a qat session, at which he would explain to them part, at least, of what was happening.
The War that Never Was Page 14