Winds of Destruction: The Autobiography of a Rhodesian Combat Pilot

by Peter Petter-Bowyer

  I instructed all squadron members, including wives and children, to gather for an open-air spit braai at a quiet spot at White Waters just twenty kilometres from Thornhill. When Beryl and I arrived there at around 10:00, we found a team of four technicians basting a whole impala carcass on a spit over deep coals. These guys had been working since first light and were already pretty plastered, pouring as much beer over the roasting carcass as down their throats.

  About eighty people gathered under lovely trees with colourful chairs, umbrellas, shade tents and tables laden to bursting with food all beautifully set out. Children clambered over the domed granite hill against which we were gathered and everyone got to know everyone else. Beryl insisted on being called by her first name and not Mrs Petter-Bowyer, which endeared her to everyone. I acquired the name ‘Boss PB’ which I much preferred to being called ‘sir’. Thereafter the prefix ‘Boss’ was applied to a number of officers who were popular with junior pilots and technicians.

  The roasted impala, superbly tasteful and tender, was wholly consumed but the rest of the food spread proved to be more than ravenous youngsters could manage. Beer and wine flowed freely and everyone enjoyed the best open-air party I can remember. When the squadron’s personnel reported for duty at 06:30 on Monday, I knew I was leading a totally changed team of men. There was sparkle in their faces, spring in their step and the mischievous spirit that continued beyond my three years with 4 Squadron had been unearthed.

  My good friend Flight Lieutenant Rob Tasker with whom I had served as an instructor on 2 Squadron, was ‘B’ Flight Commander. He ran me through Provost re-familiarisation flights. Having lost the stomach for fuel vapour, spinning and aerobatics I felt really ill after the first two flights.

  Gordon Wright conducted my conversion to the Trojan. This was an aircraft that was easy to handle in flight but one that tested one’s abilities when it came to engine handling and limit flying. The engine was too low-powered for the Trojan’s bulky airframe and thick high-lift wings, which severely limited payload. Increasing and reducing power was not a simple matter of opening and closing throttle control. With every change of power or engine rpm the fuel mixture had to be adjusted to prevent power loss. This meant that any change in engine setting necessitated rapid movements between throttle, pitch and mixture control, which took some time to master. I found no joy in flying the Trojan, preferring to fly a Provost at every opportunity. Gordon, however, enjoyed instructing on the Trojan because, of all our aircraft, it was the most challenging one to handle proficiently.

  Provost

  My first solo in a Trojan ended with a forced landing on the Gliding Club strip at Moffat Airfield because of partial engine failure with insufficient power to reach Thornhill safely. At first I thought the problem was engine mismanagement on my part, but it turned out to be a fuel feed problem.

  The Trojan was a very noisy machine because its propeller tip speed was supersonic in the higher rpm range. Take-off performance at Rhodesia’s high altitudes was marginal and in flight the aircraft was slow. Because of these characteristics the Trojan attracted unkind clichés such as—having constant power with variable noise—noise generated by five pistons clapping for the one doing all the work—reliance on the curvature of the earth to get airborne—the only aircraft that received bird strikes from the rear.

  The latter saying came to mind one day during operations when I was conducting visual reconnaissance. I was making a gentle turn to port when a Bateleur eagle overtook me on the inside of the turn just a couple of metres off the wing tip. Through the open window I shouted. “Bloody show off! I hope your eyes are watering.”

  Because of the Trojan’s power limitations and the need to operate in and out of short runways, Gordon placed great emphasis on preparing pilots for short-field operations. We flew long low-level flights, hopping from one airfield to another, sometimes stopping over for a break in Bulawayo where three or more Trojans crews met for lunch in Gordon’s favourite Chinese restaurant. This was considered a real treat and emphasised just how much I missed flying versatile helicopters with frequent luncheon stops at farms and hotels or simple picnic breaks in beautiful surroundings.

  Whereas we usually made a low-level inspection-run of every remote runway before each roller landing, Gordon told me not to worry about this procedure when we were approaching the airstrip at Guyu. On very short finals we both realised that the grass was far too long for a safe landing but, because it took so long to power up, the aircraft came to ground as full power was achieved. Fortunately we had not lost too much speed, but drag on wheels and airframe threatened to overcome the thrust of the propeller that was slicing through thick grass. We were fortunate to lift off with absolutely no runway remaining. Whereas Gordon was very annoyed with himself, the experience was important to me. When added to all of Gordon’s work it fully prepared me for many strange and often frightening flights to come.

  Learning recce

  AS SOON AS I WAS proficient on the Trojan, all my attention turned to learning visual reconnaissance in a fixed-wing aircraft. I had little idea of how to go about this but persuaded myself that, since man is a creature of habit, his routine movements must give a picture of his activities. I felt that if I fully understood the pathways of ordinary tribesmen who had no need to obscure their movements or presence, it should be possible to detect those made by men in hiding. I already knew something about aerial tracking and how to find terrorist and civilian camps in Mozambique, but all of that had been done at low level.

  Flying at 1,500 feet above ground, because it was considered to be high enough for safety from enemy ground fire, I spent hour after hour studying every pathway and disturbed area over hundreds of square miles of tribal territory. I watched people moving along pathways, found where women bathed and laundered clothing along rivers and even watched people move into cover near their homes to attend to their toilet needs. Slowly I picked up similarities that helped me understand what I was seeing and how to use the sun to illuminate very faint pathways. Herds of cattle in the tribal areas were usually too large for the ground that supported them, resulting in hundreds of cattle paths which ran in parallel lines. Though clearly visible, they were not as well defined as human paths and had many distinctive shallow-angled linking lines—something like railway yards.

  Of specific interest to me were small short paths close to huts that followed erratic courses into tree cover. At the end of each pathway there were barely discernible patches of bare ground that I had already established were toilet points. But it was noticeable that one group of paths had four bare patches at their ends whereas others had only three. I guessed that the former were women’s toilet paths and the latter were those made by adult men. At most villages there were also patches of haphazard trail lines that crossed over each other in a jumble. I concluded that these were the loo paths of children.

  When I thought I had a fair understanding and was reading ground well enough, I made a specific study of one small group of huts that were close to a road and not too far from Thornhill. I attempted to determine the exact numbers of men and women living there and identify the purpose of every pathway leading from these huts. Having decided that there were three adult men and five women, I motored to the village to check this and other aspects of my assessment.

  Hours spent studying the terrain.

  When I reached the place, I drove off the road and stopped just short of the village. In a loud voice I called “Kokoko” which is the polite way of calling for attention to be invited in. Kokoko represents the sound of knocking on a door. The old man who emerged from one of the huts turned out to be the local sabuku (keeper of Government record books). As is customary, we talked about the weather, cattle and crops before coming to the purpose of my visit. I asked the old man if he had seen an aircraft circling above his kraal earlier in the day. He said he had. When I told him I was flying that aircraft he told me I was not telling him the truth because he could see that I was much too big to
fit into that tiny ndege. Fortunately there was a vehicle parked at another kraal about two kilometres away. I told him that though the vehicle looked small it was farther away than I had been above him. Since he knew he could fit into that vehicle he was able to accept that the aircraft must have been big enough for me.

  He asked what I had been doing flying over his kraal, so I told him and said I had come to seek his help to confirm my assessment of his family’s routines. The pathways the family used to go to the river, the location of the women’s bathing place and that used by the men were correct. We walked along the paths to confirm all of this. Communication lines to drinking water, to maize fields, to the local store and the community school were all spot on. I was pleased and asked if we could turn to the toilet areas used by his family. Immediately he said this was not for men to discuss; his wife would have to help me with such delicate matters.

  The mbuya (grandmother) came to us full of smiles. Her husband told her all about how this white man could fit into the small ndege they had seen flying above. He pointed to the parked car way off to prove his statement. He told of our walk along the paths, telling his wife how I had said what each path was used for even before we followed it. Exclamations emitted from the old lady with every statement her husband made. He then told her that she must help me with a matter I would explain before hurrying off to the safety of his hut.

  The mbuya was amazed by what I wanted to know and even more so when I pointed to specific areas saying I judged these to be toilet area for five women, four men and a number of children. She wasted no time and led me down the path used by one of her daughters. At the end of its short run, I saw fresh evidence of a recent visit at one patch, one was clean and two showed that previous wastes were all but cleared by busy ants. With the old lady’s help, I learned why there were four positions.

  Bowel movements for the average black person occurred at least twice a day because of their high-bulk maize diet. Two squat points used today would be cleaned by ants within twenty-four hours so only four points were needed. I asked her about the matter of urinating. She said this always occurred at the same time as the bowel movements. In-between needs were met on the previous day’s patches to “help the ants finish their cleaning-up act”. Having said this, the mbuya gave a very graphic demonstration of how women, standing with legs set wide apart, pulled their pants to one side then let their fluid flow. Screeching with laughter, she said how much easier this was for men.

  I was taken down three more toilet paths used by two other daughters and a daughter-in-law. However, there was absolutely no question of going down the path she used. So I had been right; five women. The men’s lines, three of them, were checked out. Sure enough there were only three cleared patches for which the old lady had a simple explanation. Because the men were often away from the village during the day, three points sufficed and all in-between urinating occurred along the path, not at the squat points. The children’s toilet area was just as it had appeared from the air—a shambles requiring close attention to every step one made.

  Now I had a fair idea of the basics but needed to know more about patterns that developed when humans occupied ground temporarily. Army bush camps, farm workers felling trees for tobacco barn boilers and grass cutters reaping thatching grass were some of the activities that helped build a picture of fresh human disturbances in open grassed and bush areas. Remembering how pigs had confused me during Op Cauldron there was need to find a way of distinguishing between game and human pathways. Wild pigs move about in an erratic manner often doubling back and crossing over their own tracks. Sharp kinks in their path lines were easily recognised and they seldom used a pathway twice.

  Fresh elephant feeding paths and human transit lines through grassed areas gave me some difficulty until I passed the shadow of the aircraft along them. In doing this I noticed that human paths, and those made by wild pigs, left a continuous chevron pattern pointing in the direction of movement. Elephants on the other hand created a series of half-moon patches with undisturbed grass in between these patches. The explanation was simple. Humans hardly lift their feet when walking and draw grass blades forward, then bruise and flatten the stems under foot. In green grass a single human leaves a faint but detectable trail. When others follow in single file, the visible intensity magnifies rapidly until it stabilises when six or more men have passed along the same line.

  On similar ground, elephants tended to move about individually in random patterns. They only follow each other in single file when the matriarch cow leads the herd from one area to another, in which case jumbos prefer their established pathways.

  Rhino were seldom seen in numbers exceeding three. Their trails through green grass were indistinguishable from elephants but I could not see them presenting any difficulty to recce pilots. I found that the only barely discernible difference between established elephant pathways and those of humans was that those of elephants, over flat ground, exhibited smoother and longer curves than those made by humans. The width of elephant paths is greater than that of humans but this is impossible to judge from height.

  On hillsides, human paths followed the most direct route, often ascending steeply, whereas elephants and all other game follow shallow inclines with sharp turn-abouts like hairpin bends on a mountain roadway. In flattish country it was obvious that humans used elephant routes wherever these coincided with their direction of travel. In fact it was for this reason that ZAPU and SAANC had used elephant paths before they were detected at the start of Op Cauldron.

  These issues added together made it clear that, in remote areas populated by elephants, detection of terrorists would only be possible from the air wherever they set up bases. In such cases I expected that radiating toilet paths would be a give-away and since a base had to be close to water the areas to be recced should be relatively small, particularly in the dry season.

  Buffalo herds created patterns identical to domestic cattle and most antelope used buffalo or elephant paths when commuting to water. Otherwise they left no visible trail whatsoever. Apart from elephants, rhino and to a lesser extent hippopotamus, I concluded that game paths should not mislead pilots searching for terrorists.

  After two months I was ready to start teaching pilots and technicians but I realised that such training as I could give would have little impact unless it involved working over terrorist affected areas. It was obvious to me that what I had been doing would be far too boring for most men and their enthusiasm would soon wane. So, at the beginning of May, I approached Air HQ for permission to conduct recce training inside the Tete Province of Mozambique. This was eventually cleared with the Portuguese authorities with the proviso that all flights remained south of the Zambezi River and west of the Dague River.

  This was a much smaller area than I had hoped for but it encompassed one sector that I believed ZANLA was likely to use in the future. For the time being I felt it would be a good training ground because FRELIMO was known to be operating in the block.

  Aloe Festival

  BEFORE CLEARANCE WAS GIVEN TO train in Mozambique, the squadron paid its annual visit to Umtali on 4 May 1972. The town in which I had schooled had adopted No 4 Squadron and always invited the unit to visit for the weekend of its annual Aloe Festival. Our direct involvement was limited to cocktails with the mayor and city councillors, providing a formation flypast over a colourful parade of floats along Main Street and to crowning the Aloe Queen at the Aloe Ball; the highlight of the festival. Otherwise we were guests of the Town Council who treated us like royalty. 4 Squadron spirits were high and a particularly naughty element had developed amongst the technicians. At the centre were Sergeants Henry Jarvie, John Britton and Phil Tubbs whose every move needed to be closely monitored.

  Umtali, surrounded by mountains. The town centre is behind the photographer who faces up Main Street.

  Wives and girlfriends accompanied most officers but the technicians elected to go stag. The unmarried technicians pooled money for a ‘Grimm
y prize’ to be awarded to the one who dated the ‘grottiest-looking grimmy’ for the Aloe Ball. This idea of ‘grimmies’ was one adopted from RLI troopers. At the end of a party, the man who had brought along the grottiest (least attractive) grimmy (grotty female) received the Grimmy prize. John Britton decided he could win this prize if he dated Henry Jarvie in drag.

  Dressed in a badly fitting three-quarter-length floral dress, lipstick almost to his nostrils and wearing way too much eye shadow and rouge, Henry completed his attire with thick brown stockings and heavy boots. He certainly was the ugliest-looking partner whose actions and antics had everyone in fits. But he and John Britton were discounted from the Grimmy contest because Henry was judged to be grottier than grotty.

  As the fanfare heralded the Aloe Queen’s entry into the huge ballroom, slim Henry and big John moved ahead of her approach-line to the throne. Henry pirouetted neatly revealing hairy legs above knee-length stockings; his right index finger in John’s raised left hand. John moved in smooth steps with feet splayed in exaggerated ballet fashion, straight-backed, right arm bent with hand on hip. They continued down the length of the aisle before Henry leapt into the air with arms spread and head back to land horizontally in John’s outstretched arms.

  Most people found this impromptu ballet display unbelievable and very amusing, but not so the organisers who were badly put out as it had drawn attention away from the Aloe Queen’s grand entrance. Soon enough the Aloe Queen was seated on her throne and, by the time I had crowned her, all was forgiven and everyone enjoyed a grand evening.

  Grimmy prize winners.

  ZANU and ZAPU activities