Winds of Destruction: The Autobiography of a Rhodesian Combat Pilot

by Peter Petter-Bowyer

  I was returning from one recce sortie in Mozambique low on fuel when I encountered a solid line of cumulonimbus running the length of the escarpment. There was no way around the storm line, which was putting on a spectacular display of near-continuous lightning strikes. My destination was Centenary and it was already too dark to go into Mukumbura or Musengezi, so I selected a section between two huge cumulonimbus columns that appeared to offer the safest passage through the storm line.

  With lights set to maximum brightness and having transferred attention to instruments, the cloud was entered with stopwatch running at an indicated height of 6,500 feet above sea level. Instantly smooth, straight and level flight changed as unseen forces within the storm cloud took hold of the Trojan and lifted it as if it was feather-light. Inside the aircraft the sensations, sounds and instrument indications were terrifying.

  With all my strength I worked to keep wings level, paying scant attention to the varying pitch attitude as the airspeed indicator fluctuated rapidly between stalling speed and somewhere beyond VNE. The Vertical Speed Indicator was against its upper stop and the whole airframe shuddered and shook so violently that I thought it might break up. One minute and ten seconds after entering cloud, which felt like an eternity, the aircraft was spewed out of the storm into clear, calm air at 11,500 feet above sea level. Stretched out ahead was a fairyland of security lights burning brightly from Centenary’s farmsteads.

  5,000 feet gained in such a short time was one thing; unstoppable descents towards the ground with full power applied was quite another. There were times when it seemed such descents must end in disaster. On one particular occasion I was flying along a narrow valley in the Shamva area with the high ground right and left a little below the level of flight. The aircraft started to descend rapidly under the influence of a strong crosswind flow so I applied full power and was in a normal climbing attitude, but the aircraft continued descending into the valley.

  I was not concerned about going all the way to ground because it was obvious that wind flow must level off before this occurred. My concern was for the ridge at the end of the blind valley that was too narrow to allow turn-about. The aircraft levelled out at about fifty feet as expected and remained there until lifted upwards so fast that it had risen above the high ground well before valley’s end.

  The Trojan’s response to local windflow and thermal activity could have it descending like a streamlined brick or climbing like a homesick angel. For me the Trojan’s sensitivity to air currents was especially annoying when I first started visual recce. It took some time to get used to trimming the aircraft and allowing it to float up and down without fighting to hold a fixed height. Somehow the downs seemed to equal the ups as the aircraft yow-yowed about the intended recce height.

  SAS ops in Tete

  UP UNTIL AUGUST 1973, SAS operations in Tete had not achieved what Brian Robinson had hoped for. Patrols succeeded in locating groups of ZANLA moving through the area but infantry reaction to SAS hot intelligence had been agonisingly slow and poor for a variety of reasons. The greatest of these was the pitifully small lift-capacity of only two helicopters operating from the co-located SAS and RAR Tactical HQs on the border at Musengezi Mission. Other helicopters were always tied up elsewhere on internal operations.

  Parachute deployment of the infantry by Dakotas was an obvious solution but at the time there were no paratroopers besides the SAS. This was because the Air Force had only sufficient parachutes for the SAS and the Air Force Parachute Training School was short of PJIs (Parachute Jump Instructors). So, although planning and provisioning was underway to make all regular soldiers paratroopers, we were stuck with what was available.

  When the SAS located CT groups, the two Alouettes had to make a number of round trips to position sufficient troops ahead of the assessed line of CT movement. This in itself involved a lot of time. But a greater limitation came from the noise of helicopters that carried for miles in the flat Zambezi Valley. CTs, having travelled through the silence of bush for many days, could hear helicopters flying as much as thirty kilometres away, which accounted for major deviations in their headings that invariably bypassed the awaiting troops.

  The SAS had been entirely successful in their classical role of finding the enemy for the infantry. However, repeated failures by the RAR to capitalise on the good work of his men made Brian Robinson reconsider the SAS role. He concluded that SAS callsigns must continue in their classical role but take on the ZANLA groups themselves.

  In essence, Brian advocated a ‘seek-and-find then shoot-and-scoot’ style of operation. To be effective in mobile reconnaissance as well as in static surveillance necessitated the use of small patrols. This meant that, when they came upon large groups that had previously been passed on to the RAR, they would not be able to engage the enemy in typical infantry fashion. Relying entirely on surprise, they would have to act rapidly to inflict maximum casualties and get the hell away as fast as possible. Such hit-and-run operations would obviously be dangerous and immediate air support had to be discounted. Nevertheless, Brian pushed for this new approach because he had supreme confidence in his men. They had all been painstakingly selected from the best volunteers and were trained to the highest degree possible. But he also realised that, if there was to be any hope of turning the ZANLA tide, it was essential that the SAS should operate in depth north of the Zambezi River with regular infantry covering the ground south of the river. For this he had to have at least two helicopters and two Provosts permanently available on immediate readiness at his Tac HQ.

  For this new role, there were three essential changes to be made. Firstly, an SAS Tactical HQ would have to base permanently inside Mozambique next to a runway that could support Provosts and laden Dakotas. Secondly, patrols would have to operate in groups of only four men (known as a stick); a limitation imposed by the lift capacity of an Alouette III carrying a machine-gun and gunner. Finally, SAS sticks would have to operate six weeks in the field with only ten days’ leave between deployments.

  In September 1973 Brian got his way and an SAS Tac HQ was established next to a scruffy little airstrip at Macombe. Macombe was a Portuguese aldeamento on the south bank of the Zambezi River lying midway between the north-flowing rivers Angwa and Musengezi. Two Provosts and two Alouettes positioned forward from Musengezi Mission to Macombe on a daytime-only basis, as SAS could not guarantee their safety at night.

  From the outset the SAS was entirely successful in this new style of operation but the RAR deployment to Macombe was withheld for months. So any advantages given by the natural Zambezi River obstacle and the disruptive effects of the SAS operations to its north were largely lost. Nevertheless SAS disruption of ZANLA’s supply lines greatly assisted in relieving internal stresses.

  I visited Brian at Macombe when he first moved there and passed him all the information I had gained from my recce work north of the Zambezi. Again I suggested to him that I should continue visual recce to continuously update the information and provide him with a daytime radio link to his troops. Brian would not entertain the idea. He continued to insist that, except in emergency, the SAS areas of operation should be free of any air activity. Contrary to Brian Robinson’s thinking, mine was that aircraft on visual reconnaissance should be a permanent feature over the entire Tete region, both within and beyond the SAS areas of operations. I contended that it was essential to provide the SAS with fresh intelligence upon which to plan, thereby saving lengthy ground recces to find the best sites to monitor, ambush or attack.

  Over months to come I would build up information on civilian locations, routes and terrorist camps covering large areas beyond those in which the SAS were active. When SAS operations switched to areas I had covered, as much as six weeks previously, Brian reported that my information, though correct, was out of date. Not surprisingly the men on the ground ignored much of the air recce intelligence that had been so painstakingly put together. But one thing they helped clarify was that I had been accurate in my asse
ssment of terrorist bases, as opposed to civilian camps. What had helped me distinguish between these sites, which looked much the same from height, were female toilet paths leading out of civilian locations.

  I was so frustrated by Brian Robinson’s attitude that I opted for air-controlled strikes on fresh terrorist bases. The Air Force never expected the successes that could be achieved by a pure SAS ground attack or those involving air strikes in conjunction with the SAS. Nevertheless, we knew that FAC strikes would demoralise and disrupt FRELIMO and ZANLA in areas unattended by SAS. In too many respects our Air Force had been forced to act independently in like manner to the Portuguese, which we had criticised so strongly—but there were advantages to be gained. I continued recces north of the Zambezi, always keeping well clear of the SAS and taking time before calling for jet-strikes. Once these got under way we developed procedures that required close understanding and co-operation. It took a few calls before FAC-controlled airstrikes became a well-honed routine.

  As mentioned earlier, jet-strikes in direct support of earlier SAS operations had been very hit-and-miss affairs that improved little over time. For the men on the ground, particularly in flat terrain, there were considerable difficulties in judging the exact point of a jet-strike because bush and rough ground usually intervened between the GAC location and target. This meant that corrections had to be assessed from the sound of exploding weapons or from dust rising above the bush some seconds after each strike. FAC did not suffer these difficulties.

  The cost of live strikes on terrorist bases was naturally much greater than on routine weapons training, but routine training was conducted on a range that every pilot and navigator knew intimately. Unlike calls to live targets, routine training required no hurried navigation planning or the split-second timing involved in co-ordinating fast jets with a slow-flying FAC aircraft.

  Perfect timing for maximum surprise followed by slick and accurate placement of weapons were all essential ingredients considering the speed at which terrorists could run clear of their bases. The value gained by jet crews scrambling to meet FAC in remote areas for strikes on never-before-seen targets was immense, and it prepared us well for the future.

  With every target’s grid reference I also gave an IP (Initial Point) and the exact time of my marker strike. The jets planned to fly directly to the IP—a clearly identifiable feature out of sight and hearing range of the target itself. Formation leaders worked out the heading and precise flight time from the IP to target so as to strike no more than three seconds behind my target markers. I too would have an IP point from which to move in orbits towards the target.

  Canberras could not strike anything like as quickly as the fighter-bombers because the bomb-aimer required time to pass heading corrections to his pilot which necessitated quite a large stand-off distance at the moment of mark, so they were never used alone for FAC work against fleeting targets. In addition to the long run in, the flight time of bombs exceeded 10 seconds and shrapnel settling time limited following Canberras to long intervals between individual strikes. Consequently Hunters or Vampires usually preceded Canberras. Strikes initiated by Canberras with fighter-bombers following became commonplace in later years when the bombers made their attacks in formation. However, most early FAC work was with Hunters only—usually four of them.

  When the lead pilot checked in about five minutes before reaching the IP, we would synchronise watches and confirm individual running times from IPs to target. I would be told what weapons were being carried and the sequence in which they were to be delivered. This gave opportunity to suggest how the weapons should be distributed on the line of attack, relative to my target markers.

  Formation leaders normally planned to arrive at IP with as much as three minutes to spare. This was useful as it allowed me to make a slow approach onto my own IP in a series of orbits that the enemy on the ground recognised as my normal flight pattern. Even when out of sight, the sound of a piston aircraft indicates whether it is flying on a straight line or orbiting. In orbit the sound varies from highest frequency when approaching to lowest frequency when departing. For reasons of surprise, I needed to ensure that this continued right up to the moment that I turned in to fire my markers.

  For Hunters covering ground at the rate of seven nautical miles per minute, or Vampires and Canberras at five nm per minute, changes in wind velocity seldom affected their timing by more than parts of a second. However, the same conditions could make an enormous difference to the slow Trojan, which is why my own IP was always relatively close to target.

  Because it was important to mark bang on time I planned my final orbit line to be farthest from the jet attack line. In this way I was able to make adjustments in response to the strike leader’s calls. If I was running late I could turn in early, and if running early, turn in late. There were other important reasons to be on the side opposite to the jet attack direction.

  The Trojan noise covered that of the approaching jets and its presence drew terrorist attention away from the direction of their approach. In earlier times I was seldom aware of enemy fire though I knew it was happening because of the odd hole in my aircraft; but any ground fire directed at me provided additional noise cover and a perfect distraction.

  The camouflage paint on all of our aircraft was incredibly effective. This made it very difficult, even impossible, for high-flying jets to spot the FAC aircraft before reaching target. A variety of visual aids were tried. These included flashing strobe lights but only one worked reasonably well. This was a huge white ‘T’ painted on the top surface of the Trojan’s fuselage and wings. To make the ‘T’ clearly visible to the leading jet was another reason for marking towards the jets.

  Visibility markings.

  The Squadron Commander of Hunters in the period 1973-4 was Rob Gaunt. Flying FAC for him was quite an experience. Unlike other leaders, Rob favoured a procedure that worked well for him. He descended from the IP to run in at low level about one minute out from target. In this way he always picked up my aircraft flying at 2,000 feet before he pulled up to his ‘perch’ point, keeping me visual all the way.

  As I pulled up to roll over into the dive, Rob had his nose pointing towards the target, finger on trigger. Just by watching my dive, Rob placed his gunsight pipper at the point he expected to see the marker rockets. On three occasions I recall seeing Rob’s 30mm cannon shells exploding bang on target just before my phosphorus rockets reached ground. The white markers looked puny in the centre of the large area covered by his 30mm cannon shell flashes that rippled through target at forty rounds per second. This was very spectacular but I always tensed my buttocks expecting Rob to collide with me. There was really no danger at all; his Hunter always flashed through well below me.

  There was seldom need to call corrections to succeeding pilots, usually three of them, who placed their strikes to cover the target area without overlaps. When all was over, the jets returned to base and I continued recce, seldom to know what results had been achieved. Occasionally I saw individuals running during my marker attack, then nothing until the last Hunter had run through target. There were always bashas burning furiously with much black smoke and dust drifting on the wind before any human movement was observed. On occasions secondary explosions removed any doubts I might have experienced when no persons were seen.

  I continued to deeply regret not being able to work in the SAS areas of operations. Had this been allowed, no airstrike would have been made without SAS verification of ZANLA or FRELIMO presence. Following an airstrike the SAS would have been able to capitalise on enemy confusion and the Air Force would have known what results had been achieved. Many months were to pass before SAS moved in immediately after every air action. In the meanwhile, the SAS created havoc on the ground using no more than twenty-four men in six sticks of four men each. It took FRELIMO some time to realise what was happening and then they themselves started employing large forces to search for the elusive SAS; a kind of terrorist war in reverse!

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bsp; A pathfinder group making a free-fall parachute descent at last light from a Dakota flying high-level over unpopulated territory usually preceded deployment of the main SAS force. The four-man pathfinder group would then search for a suitable site to receive twenty men who would be flown in the following night.

  At their selected DZ (drop zone) the pathfinders provided pilots with the QFE (altimeter setting for zero height at the DZ) and guided the Dakota captain by VHF radio directly towards the DZ. Flying at 500 to 800 feet above ground, the pilot was told when to switch on ‘red light’ (standby) and when to switch on ‘green light’ (go); whereupon twenty men would launch themselves into the black. The reason for such low-level drops was to minimise the possibility of paratroopers drifting beyond the DZ. With the advent of anti-collision aids for aircraft known as strobe lights, their highly visible flashes provided perfect beacons for pilots to home on. To screen a strobe light’s potent flashes, SAS set them up in such a way as to make them visible only to the para-Dakota.

  By daybreak all parachutes and stores had been cached and, following a final briefing, all six sticks split up into four-man patrols and dispersed to their allocated areas. During the following six weeks the sticks operated independently, except when a target required them to rendezvous to strike in strength. Otherwise regrouping occurred at fortnightly intervals to receive night deliveries of rations and munitions from a Dakota that would, again, be controlled from the ground.

  Back at Macombe, the Provosts and Alouettes remained on immediate standby. Calls for support always involved a long wait for the SAS men working a long way from Macombe. Brian Robinson often accompanied Provost pilots, not only to talk to his men directly but because he was crazy about flying. Helicopters were often called for casualty evacuation or ‘hot extraction’. Provosts usually accompanied these helicopters and were also called upon to provide close fire support to any callsign being harassed by large FRELIMO forces. Considering the vastness of the territory and the minimal effects of Provost machine-gun and 37mm Sneb rocket strikes, there was little more that one or a pair of Provost pilots could do other than provide distraction and interfering fire to give the SAS a chance to break contact.