At about the time Canberras were running in for their strike, Bill felt confident that all was well when, without warning, a black man in Rhodesian camouflage dress appeared out of the bush. In a loud voice he said, “Good evening gentlemen. I am a terrorist,” whereupon he threw a grenade into the middle of the callsign as a wave of terrorists charged forward, lobbing grenades and lacing the area with automatic fire. In spite of being caught so badly off guard and suffering casualties, the callsign retaliated so fiercely that it drove off the attack, killing two terrorists in the process and wounding others.
Hoffy and Ian picked up the seriously wounded before I put down where a soldier signalled me to land. Two terrorist bodies were loaded on the cabin floor behind me. As I looked over my shoulder I noticed the bowels of one spilling out onto the cabin floor just as the stench of death reached me. Being squeamish, I started to retch. Bob Whyte saw this and came around the front of the helicopter, lighting a cigarette for me. As I drew on the fag it had the effect of multiplying the stench so I really had to force myself to regain control. Deliberately I took in very deep breaths of the foul-smelling air.
Whilst this was happening, a third body had been placed on top of the two dead terrorists. Only then did I realise it was an RAR soldier. The body of a white policeman, who I realised must be one of the dog handlers, was about to be loaded when I signalled the troops to wait for the next helicopter. I asked John Rogers who was waiting to come in behind me to uplift the policeman’s body. As I got airborne I spotted a dead black dog lying about 100 metres from the troops. I passed John Rogers its location and requested him to uplift the dog too. Though he did this, John said later that the stench of the dead dog had been horrific. This Alsatian was Brutus whose handler survived the attack.
On the flight to Tjolotjo I could not take my mind off the dogs. There were specific issues that occupied my thoughts.
Firstly, the dogs had been pulling against their leashes for about two hours before losing scent or becoming too tired to work. Secondly, had the dogs been free to track untethered at their natural speed, they would have caught up with those terrorists in less than an hour. Thirdly, the dogs were totally pooped by the time the callsign stopped to rest so, with human scent all around them, they had no chance of detecting the terrorist group. And finally, I had found it very easy to see the dogs from the air.
From these simple facts, the idea came to me that by using a helicopter to follow one or more dogs along a trail, it would be possible to overhaul terrorists quickly. The question I asked myself was, “Could dogs learn to be controlled by radio from the air?” This had to be explored so I decided there and then to follow this up when I returned to base.
Terrain and temperature conditions were tougher on Winall’s follow-up than for this training session on the highveld.
Bodies of Corporal Cosmos and three terrorists laid out.
As I landed at Tjolotjo I took a really deep breath and held it as long as it took to bring the rotor blades to rest then leapt out into the fresh air. The RAR troops laid out the three bodies then complained bitterly about the body of Corporal Cosmos having been carried on top of dead terrorists. They found this to be extremely offensive. I apologised explaining how I had been retching instead of watching the loading of my helicopter. A huge N’debele sergeant told me I had nothing to apologise for. He and his men felt that “the troops who loaded the bodies should have known better than to lay Corporal Cosmos on top of terrorist scum.”
From here on follow-up operations, which now included RLI troops, had the effect of fragmenting the terrorists, following a series of contacts in which one more RSF member was killed. Operation Nickel eventually wound up when it was clear that at least twenty terrorists had made good their escape into Botswana. Many years later, after Nelson Mandela’s SAANC came to power in South Africa, someone on TV mentioned that Chris Hani, then leader of the SA Communist Party, had been one of those who escaped from Operation Nickel. Joe Modise, Nelson Mandela’s first Minister of Defence, was another.
PB and Hoffy (top) RAR Officers’ Mess at Tjolotjo.
RAR Officers’ Mess.
Thirty-three SAANC and ZAPU men were known to have been killed, thirty-four were captured and twenty-seven were unaccounted for which, although a military success, had cost Rhodesia dearly in that eight of our security forces had been killed and thirteen wounded. One RSF man lost for just over eight terrorists killed or captured was considered far too high a price to pay. This was certainly a wake-up-call for the military.
There was a great deal of media coverage about the death of Spencer Thomas, the dog handler I had asked John Rogers to uplift. Spencer was a third-generation Rhodesian and his Alsatian Satan was missing, but not presumed dead. For two months Satan was lost until found by locals who lived many miles from where he had run from attacking terrorists. The scruffy and emaciated dog was returned to the Police Dog School where he quickly regained weight and his shiny coat.
Radio tracker dog project disallowed
BACK AT NEW SARUM I discussed the idea of using a radiocontrolled tracker dog with the man in charge of the Air Force Dog Section. Warrant Officer Peter Allen was certain the concept would work. I then went to Wally Jefferies in the Radio Section and asked if he thought it possible to make a two-part, lightweight radio arrangement for fitment into a harness for a dog. One radio was to be a receiver with earphone on one frequency. The other was to be an open transmitter with microphone on a separate frequency. Wally had a storm of questions that I was able to answer before he told me, very cautiously, that he thought it possible.
Squadron Leader Rogers had already given me his approval in principle so it was just a matter of getting Air HQ’s authority to explore the possibilities. The two most senior members of Air Staff immediately saw the advantage of speed tracking with helicopters and dogs. Both were especially interested in the possibility of wresting advantage from terrorists who might be lying in ambush. Except for the accidental death of Ken Pierson, most of our losses during Operation Nickel had come from ambush situations, hence the Air Staff interest. They realised that, if the tracker dog system worked, it would become essential to have additional airborne helicopters with troops for vertical envelopment of terrorists located by dogs.
With no objection from Air Staff, I put the same case to the Technical Staff. Here I found the same cynicism as when I had sought permission to develop pressure refuellers. The self-same officer who had spiked that request with his story about refuelling Spitfires from four-gallon Jerry cans spiked this project also. He asked, “PB, if we train elephants to fire machine-guns, will that interest you?” I said it certainly would but that this was not what I had come to discuss.
Any project requiring expenditure of money had to be wholly approved by both Air and Technical branches so the radio tracker dog plan, contested by only one officer, seemed to be doomed, at least for the time being.
Find Sherriff
ON 15 SEPTEMBER 1967, I flew to Sipolilo Police Station where Flight Lieutenant John Swart awaited me. He had been on a four-day exploration walk with Chief Superintendent Ted Sheriff in the northern section of the Umvukwes mountain range. They had become separated and big John’s search for the older and equally big Ted had been fruitless, so he walked out to seek help. His main concern was that Ted may have fallen and incapacitated himself in rough country that was full of ridges and deep ravines.
The mineral-rich Umvukwes range, known as ‘The Dyke’, runs for over 150 kilometres in a near-continuous mix of folded mountains and sharp ridge lines running from the southern Mcheka-wa-ka-Sungabeta mountain range to the high ground of the Zambezi escarpment between the Musengezi and Hunyani river exits into the Zambezi Valley. Within a northern section of this range known as the Horseshoe mountains there existed a unique species of palm trees known only to this areatogether with rare orchids and a great variety of birds. John and Ted’s interest in these wonders of nature had been the reason for their exploration trip.
The helicopter is a truly amazing machine when it comes to searching for someone who wants to be found. John Swart directed me to the spot where separation had occurred. In less than five minutes we made a detailed search of the area that had taken John one whole day to cover. It took another five minutes of searching to find Ted at the bottom of a deep ravine next to a fast-flowing stream from which we winched him to safety. Apart from his embarrassment, the chief superintendent was none the worse for his experience.
Mountain flying
IN OCTOBER 1967, I CONDUCTED Terry Jones’ helicopter conversion and finalised the mountain-flying phase Hugh Slatter needed for his helicopter instructor’s rating. Mountain flying was a very important aspect in helicopter training because it prepared pilots to recognise and manage dangerous wind conditions, to judge distances when approaching to land on high ledges and peaks and to conduct mountain rescues using the cable winches that we called hoists.
Mountain-flying training, though potentially dangerous, was great fun. Invariably our rest breaks included picnic lunches, trout fishing and naked swimming in icy mountain pools. For Hugh’s training with technician Ewett Sorrell we commandeered Corporal Jerry Duncan of the Station Photographic Section to make pictorial records of helicopter operations in the mountains.
One photograph we wanted necessitated placing Jerry on an impossibly small slippery rock to show hoisting work against the backdrop of Martin’s Falls.
In November John Rogers received notice that he would be leaving us. His disappointment at leaving helicopters was offset by his posting to command No 5 (Canberra) Squadron.
On the other hand, OC 1 (Hunter) Squadron, Squadron Leader Norman Walsh, was really distressed about his posting off Hunters to take command of helicopters. Like most pilots who had not flown helicopters, Norman looked upon thesemachines with disdain: “Bloody egg beaters! Not aircraft at all!” He was echoing a general view and did not believe me when I told him that he would come to enjoy flying Alouettes more than Hunters.
This photograph taken by Jerry Duncan shows Hugh Slatter on the cable operated by Ewett Sorrell with PB flying the helicopter.
Family in helicopter
IN THE LATTER HALF OF December and early January 1968 I was with the Army at Kariba for local training. Air HQ took advantage of this by having me take over FAF 2 so that the permanent OC could take long overdue leave. This gave me opportunity to get Beryl and the children to Kariba for the Christmas and New Year period. We stayed at the Cutty Sark Hotel on Lake Kariba where I was in continuous contact with FAF 2. Staying at the same hotel was Hugh Maude who had been one of Winston Churchill’s wartime secretaries
Hugh Maude was a political friend of the Rhodesian Government and hated what the Labour Government was doing to destroy our country. He was enjoying a break from political work at Kariba and asked me to take him on a visit to FAF 2. Debbie and Paul already knew Hugh because of his friendship with my mother and Berry. So they asked him if they might accompany him in his chauffeur-driven car. Beryl and I in our own car were leading the way when we came upon ‘George’, a well-known elephant bull who was always close to Kariba Airfield.
George, charging our car.
George was browsing close to the roadside so I passed him and stopped well forward leaving plenty of room for Hugh’s driver. The chauffeur obviously did not know too much about elephants because he stopped before reaching George. I told Beryl I did not like this and was signalling the chauffer to come forward when George decided it was time for fun. He charged first towards us then turned for the other car.
The chauffeur reversed at great speed but George was moving faster. Only when the trunk of the screaming jumbo was over the car bonnet did George break away having enjoyed his naughty car-chasing habit. Five minutes later we arrived at FAF 2 and listened to simultaneously spoken stories from our two excited children. Hugh and his driver were noticeably quiet.
Next morning, on Christmas day, I received a call from FAF 2 to say that the SAP helicopter permanently based there was well overdue from a task it had been sent to conduct in the Chirundu area. Beryl and the children accompanied me to the airfield where they were to wait whilst I flew down to Chirundu to investigate the SAP helicopter situation.
My technician, Corporal Butch Phillips, and I were about to lift off when we saw the entire FAF contingent walking towards us with Beryl and the children in tow. The senior NCO came to my door and shouted, “Sir, you cannot pass up the opportunity to give your family a ride in the helicopter. Nobody here will say a word. Please take them along with you.” I was going to refuse when I realised that Debbie and Paul had already been ushered aboard, their faces full of expectancy. I relented and Beryl came in to sit beside me.
By its very nature a helicopter is too easily misused. Some pilots had given rides to unauthorised persons, but this was the first and only time for me and it troubled me for ages until I felt certain I had got away with it. The children never breathed a word though they must have longed to tell their friends.
This, their first flight in any aircraft, started out under patches of low cloud on our route along a green valley in the high ground running to open sky on the lip of the escarpment where the Zambezi River exits the Kariba Gorge. The spectacle was breathtaking as could be seen in the facial expressions of my family.
Family on Kariba Lake-Christmas 1967.
We had just descended to follow the river at low level when I spotted the SAP helicopter approaching up-river towards us. As I turned to climb back up the escarpment, the other helicopter came into loose formation adding more excitement for the children. Having been airborne for just a short time, I decided to fly another five minutes by routing back to the airfield through an area that carried plenty of wildlife. I was showing the various animals when eight-year-old Debbie pointed ahead saying she could see a rhino. Butch Phillips and I could not see the beast but Debbie kept pointing directly ahead. I held track for over three kilometres before seeing the rhino at the edge of bush that was yet another kilometre ahead. Debbie’s eyesight amazed us all.
Training Norman Walsh
FLIGHT LIEUTENANT MIKE GRIER ACTED as OC of the squadron for the month between John Rogers’ departure and Norman Walsh’s arrival. There was need to get the new OC converted onto the helicopter in the shortest time possible and, as ‘B’ Flight Commander, the task fell on my shoulders. Norman’s training started on 9 January 1968 and was completedin record time on 21 February.
Of all the pilots I instructed on helicopters, none was more frustrated by the learning process than ‘steely-eye jet pilot’ Norman Walsh.
He simply could not understand why he could not control the Alouette III in the hover and muttered angry words to himself when the aircraft failed to respond to his bidding. During his second flight he was attempting to keep theaircraft stationary at about three feet but, as happened to all pilots, Norman was over-controlling on cyclic. The aircraft would pitch nose down and move forward, followed by overcorrection so that the nose pitched up and the machine moved backwards before the next over-correction induced forward movement.
Flight Lieutenant Mike Grier.
I had seen this all before and what Norman actually said as the aircraft seesawed back and forth, I do not remember. Nevertheless I had to switch off my microphone to conceal my laughter as aircraft pitching and Norman’s frustration grew progressively worse. Hardly able to see through my tears, I took control, steadied the aircraft and handed it back to Norman. “It’s all right for you,” he grumbled, “You’ve had plenty of practice,” and the over-controlling started all over again. By the end of this flight, Norman’s brain started providing the right signals and he was able to hover jerkily from point to point around the white-lined square we used to practise precision hovering.
Norman Walsh (left) with Peter Cooke and Cyril White—Centenary 1972. Those who knew him well will recognise Norman’s habit of nibbling at the end of a pen or pencil.
As with my previous stud
ents, Norman’s flying training was mostly at high weight. At the conclusion of the operational conversion phase the usual ‘round the houses’ exercise was flown. We started with mountain-flying at Chimanimani, then flew a series of legs via Army and Police positions up the eastern border, along the Zambezi to Victoria Falls then down to Bulawayo to conduct helicopter enplaning and deplaning training for the Police and Army. Every conceivable aspect of helicopter operations was practised along the route in widely varying terrain, temperature and altitude conditions. Because of his personal experience, Norman became a stalwart in supporting the need for this type of training. By now he had grown to love helicopters and in his dealings with the Air Staff he was able to convey that the final ‘round the houses’ flights, though great fun, served an all-important purpose in more fully preparing pilots for most operational situations. As had happened to me, Norman Walsh did not have long to wait for his first operation on helicopters.
Winds of Destruction: The Autobiography of a Rhodesian Combat Pilot Page 29