by Al Venter
The area was given boundaries and all movement in and out of the place frozen. This meant that no other security force operations could take place while the military remained active there. The same applied to air traffic: aircraft had either to fly at height over the area, or avoid it altogether.
Patrols sometimes spent days observing local villages from a distance. They would move closer at night and even enter villages to gather information. Obviously, the work was dangerous and only Special Forces troops trained in clandestine operations were employed for the task. Once insurgents were detected, the patrol would make contact with headquarters overnight and the next phase of bringing in ground troops would begin at first light.
Ideally, the composition of a combat ground force team in the Border War was an infantry company, similar to that of a rifle company, with three platoons of three sections of between eight and 14 men each. Each section should have a trained tracker—usually a bushman—and an interpreter for liaison with Ovambo-speaking civilians.
Numbers were essential in the kind of open country in which this war was fought. Because groups of men could be spotted from great distance at even a moderate altitude, most guerrilla movements took place during the dark hours. Should there be a contact during the day, the gunships would be in their element. The bush in South-West Africa is flat and virtually featureless, which made low-level aerial navigation extremely difficult. Nellis commented:
We dealt with navigation in our own way by initially using 1:250 000 scale maps to an easily recognisable point on the map then, for more accurate navigation to the contact point, we used 1:50 000 scale maps or, quite often, aerial photographs. Because of uniformity and a basic lack of navigation features, we used heading and time and always allowed for wind. Although this might have been regarded as a thumb-suck procedure, the majority of pilots knew the area well enough to be able to navigate quite accurately to the point of destination. In contrast, during the Rhodesian War pilots were thoroughly familiar with their areas of operation and only after they had reached the contact area would they bother to utilize maps for the final run in to target. Of course, that was possible because of the undulating nature of the Rhodesian countryside: on the Angolan frontier we had none of that.
Nellis’ Air Force component at Ondangua consisted of an Alouette III command-and-control helicopter (armed with a .303 machine gun) piloted by the mission leader. It would also carry the ground commander, who usually held the rank of major or above. For close air support along Angolan border regions, two Alouette III gunships armed with 20mm MG-151 cannon were preferred.
Along with the Reaction Force gunships there were the troopers, usually two or three Puma helicopters armed with door-mounted 7.62mm light machine guns. For visual reconnaissance and radio relay, a light fixed-wing aircraft such as the Cessna 185 or Bosbok, usually called a ‘Telstar’, might be sent over the battlefield to keep headquarters primed of developments. If necessary, a larger fixed-wing aircraft, such as a Dakota, would be brought into the mix for dropping a second wave of reserve troops by parachute, usually as a stopper group ahead of the target component. The role of the stopper group was to stop any enemy attempting to escape the attacking force by running in the opposite direction.
Because landmines had already become a feature of all of Southern Africa’s regional conflicts, surface movement remained problematical for the four decades that these military struggles lasted. Most of the unpaved roads in the South-West African operational area were mined and could rarely be negotiated at the speeds required to match helicopter assault operations. Also, the road infrastructure in the region was marginal at best. In southern Angola it was almost non-existent, with convoys heading north on cross-border raids making their own tracks through the primitive sand-covered terrain.
During the war, some of the most successful pre-planned attacks on the larger insurgent camps that involved Nellis, resulted from information gathered by aerial photography or by visual reconnaissance by fixed-wing aircraft. These methods became a feature of the conflict in the southern Angolan War. Alternatively, the Reconnaissance Regiment—the Recces— might be tasked to physically confirm that a specific camp was occupied by the enemy.
Operation Super in 1982 is still regarded as the single most successful heliborne assault of the war. An attacking force of only 34 troops, all of them members of 32 Battalion, was transported in at dawn by five Puma helicopters. Additional support came from four Alouette gunships, with Neall Ellis in overall control. The target was a remote SWAPO camp manned by more than 300 enemy troops. By the time the 90-minute firefight was over, 250 insurgents lay dead, for the loss of only four 32 Battalion troops.
Insurgents killed in battle were initially brought back to headquarters in Sector 10 in Ovamboland for fingerprinting and identification. Eventually the volume became so great that those efforts were abandoned, in part because there were many foreign Africans from Tanzania, the Congo, South Africa and elsewhere fighting with the guerrillas. Author’s photo
It is interesting that, as the war progressed, troops selected for the Reaction Force—in part because of pressure from pilots like Nellis, Arthur Walker and other seasoned veterans—had to be certifiably qualified for helicopter operations. They also had to be thoroughly familiar with all procedures related to emplaning and deplaning. When you are being shot at and some of your mates are wounded or killed, a combination of difficult communication resulting from screaming turbines and rotating blades can cause confusion, especially among unsophisticated African troops from rural backgrounds. There were several instances of soldiers ducking into the tail rotors of helicopters.
Later, while flying against the rebels in Sierra Leone, Nellis commented that they would regularly hear about such incidents. He actually had two of them. One was a Nigerian soldier who ran into the tail rotor of his Mi17 while he was airlifting troops out of a dangerous position. Nellis recalled:
The man killed himself and damaged the blade. My partner, Fred Marafono, a former SAS operator turned mercenary, came forward with big eyes and white face, to report what had happened. We ended up manufacturing a new rotor tip from a steel ammunition box. The chopper vibrated a bit, but was fine otherwise.
It happened again not long afterwards. The blade cut clean through the top of the man’s skull. It killed him but, as Nellis recalls, there was luckily no damage to the rotor.
More importantly, says Nellis, helicopters are always vulnerable when they are on the ground during an action and correct procedures must be regularly practised, even in more sophisticated wars like Afghanistan. He reckons that it is worth remembering that more time on the ground tends to decrease survival chances, not only of helicopters but also of crew. Most chopper losses during operations occurred during landing, while on the ground, or on take-off.
Nellis states that the stick leader also has to ensure that each member of his team knows where to sit once on board the helicopter and how to take up a circular defence position immediately after deplaning. Loose straps and articles of clothing have to be properly secured as during flight unsecured objects seem to have a habit of flying out of open doors and fouling tail rotors. Similarly, radio antennae have to be taped down or removed and stored for later use. More importantly, the men must know the exact dimensions of the landing zone (LZ). In the event of a helicopter having to go in and pick up a casualty, or perhaps conduct an urgent uplift under fire, commonly known as a ‘hot extraction’, such things can have a direct bearing on the survival of everybody in the chopper.
What South African troops were rarely short of during the Border War was the wherewithal to fight. Sections were always heavily armed. In addition to their R5 rifles—the .223 calibre, South African, locally manufactured version of the Israeli Galil—troops carried phosphorous and smoke grenades, mini-pencil flares, ‘Day-Glo’ stick-on panels for their bush hats (so that they could be identified by circling gunships) and flashlights for searching bunkers and huts. Additional armament per section
might be a pair of 40mm grenade launchers, at least one LMG (with the No. 1 and No. 2 carrying 500 rounds of ammunition each) and, in some cases, a light 60mm assault mortar or an RPG-7 rocket launcher.
‘With all that equipment on board, chopper pilots had to be aware that the average all-up weight of a Reaction Force soldier was approximately 250lbs or 113k’, said Nellis.
Fuel was always a problem for helicopter operations, particularly in the vast Southern African operational region. Because of the largely ruralised infrastructure in Rhodesia, Rhodesian forces were able to place drums of helicopter Avtur at various towns or villages around the country, ensuring that no chopper was more than 10 to 15 minutes from the nearest supplies. The same was true of 20mm ammunition, which could be left in secure storage. Nellis comments:
The South African forces weren’t as fortunate. The only places where fuel could be stored were military or police camps, and these were scattered over a wide area across a region that sometimes extended hundreds of kilometres over the horizon. Distances between these camps could be huge. It was not unusual for a pilot to make a critical decision about whether he should leave the scene of the action in the middle of a firefight because his fuel level said he should—and consequently deprive the Reaction Force of its close air support—or remain over the action and fight. It was either that or land somewhere in the bush afterwards with zero fuel and high hopes that the drums urgently called for over the radio would not be too long in coming. These would usually be ferried in by Puma helicopters.
Routing to the contact area was often a difficult time for aircrew and troops alike. The mission leader and force commander were required to obtain as much information from the forward observation post position as possible and adjust the battle plan ‘on the hoof’ if necessary. ‘In addition,’ explained Nellis, ‘the mission leader was required to ensure not only that his navigation was correct, but to coordinate the timing for the strike aircraft that were to follow, as well as to ensure that all the helicopters were maintaining their positions in the formation.’
During the latter stages of the bush war in Southern Angola, he recalls, the Angolan Air Force aggressively flew air patrols in the hopes of encountering the South African Air Force in Angolan air space carrying out external missions. In addition, he added, they had a constant ground-to-air threat from SAM-7 missiles, both in South-West Africa and Angola. The fact that they were never able to bring any SAAF aircraft down didn’t exactly minimise the threat. Therefore, for mutual support and safety, all helicopters flew in a battle formation, largely to give each other adequate warning of any real or perceived threat. Once a threat was visually acquired, the formation took evasive action. Aircrew in the formation were also required to keep an eye out for evidence of possible enemy activity. According to Nellis, there were numerous giveaways:
Small things, like the presence of cattle in kraals during the middle of the day, told us that there were insurgents in the area. The local population would keep the cattle in the kraals so that they could watch over them to prevent the guerrillas from slaughtering them for food. Another indication was the behaviour of local inhabitants when helicopters passed over their kraals. Normally, they would just look away when we approached, or completely ignore our presence, even if we flew right over their huts. However, if they tried to hide or run away or perhaps behaved aggressively, maybe by throwing stones at passing aircraft or gesturing with their fists, it was more than likely that there were insurgents about.
Other indications included camouflage clothing near waterholes, women preparing food in the middle of the day, which was unusual because the local population in southern Angola and South-West Africa normally ate only in the early morning and in the evening. The preparation of additional food at midday indicated an alien presence.
Disturbed ground some distance from a village, possibly close to a prominent tree or an anthill—some were metres high—might have told an astute observer that there was an arms cache nearby. All this would be reported to intelligence officers at the post-flight debrief after the choppers returned to base.
CHAPTER FOUR
SOVIET SAMS VERSUS HELICOPTERS IN THE BUSH WAR
The message landed on Neall Ellis’ desk at the Ondangua Air Force Base on 8 May 1982. It was succinct: ‘your mission: to provide top cover to the Pumas during the recce drop at last light on the 9th and then to be on standby for close air support for the duration of the operation.’
At a subsequent briefing, the intelligence officer told the crews attending that a ‘source’ had reported an unconfirmed SWAPO presence in the Cambino area, approximately ten kilometres north of Iona, a small, obscure village in a barren wasteland. The area was a remote and desolate semi-desert about 30km north-east of the Marienfluss Valley in north-west Kaokoveld. This barely populated area was extremely difficult to get to overland because there were no proper roads.
Initially, it was explained, the plan was for a reconnaissance patrol to be dropped by chopper into the vicinity to determine whether there was a SWAPO insurgent presence or not. Nellis had been sceptical from the start. He argued that the area was simply too remote and there was no ‘local pops’ (local population).
While the ops officer was giving his briefing, I began speculating how big a ‘lemon’ we were going to have. A ‘lemon’, roughly defined, is a mission where no contact is made with the enemy, which means no kills. However, as I was aware, not all ‘lemons’ were unpleasant: the Atlantic Ocean was less than 20 minutes’ flying time to the west and I’d never fished off that coast before. The mouth of the Kunene River was supposed to be one of the best locations for some of the big deepwater ‘uns’ on the west coast. While trying to work out where I could borrow a fishing rod, the ops officer broke my reverie by asking me if I had any questions. We both knew that he had caught me off guard.
After sorting out a few domestic arrangements, my highly experienced wingman, Captain Angelo Maranta, and I were satisfied. We knew what was expected of us and left the briefing room to prepare for a late-morning take-off for the ‘Fluss’ the following day.
Interestingly, I had been in the Marienfluss a few years earlier and had found it to be one of the most beautiful places I had ever seen. When I visited it again in 1975 it was one vast valley, approximately 120km in length and perhaps 15 clicks wide. The memory that remained with me for many years was suddenly coming upon that expanse of beautiful waist-high, golden grassland with wildlife grazing everywhere. There were gemsbok (oryx), wildebeest, eland, and even elephant, all seemingly unaffected by civilization. However, this time, I was in for a shock. Long before we’d landed I could see that the valley had transmogrified into a barren stretch of desert. There was no grass and no animals of any description.
Our tactical headquarters, or TAC HQ as we would call it, was situated alongside the runway, shielded on both sides by two rows of rusty old 44-gallon drums half buried in the sand. A lifeless windsock flew alongside and by that, surrounded by a ring of whitewashed stones, stood three nondescript army issue tents. This was to be our home for the next couple of days. The trouble was, there wasn’t a tree in sight, which meant that there was be no shade to give relief from the stifling desert heat of late summer.
Our commander was an army man, Captain Vissie Verster, and the reconnaissance patrol leader introduced himself as Sergeant Jose Dennison. He had ten men under him, he said, all of them seasoned fighters. Captain Jan Hougaard headed the modest, 32-strong 32 Battalion attack group. At that stage, the air force helicopter complement consisted of a pair each of Alouettes and Puma transport helicopters. Also mustered was a Bosbok single-engine light aircraft, which would act as ‘Telstar’ for relaying communications back to HQ while everybody was working in ‘Injun Country’. Its role would become crucial once our flight paths took us across the Angolan border.
The morning of the 9th was spent going over planning details with the patrol. Aspects such as radio frequencies were dealt with, including alternative freque
ncies in the event of jamming by the enemy, battle frequencies, etc. Final briefings were held on escape and evasion for aircrew in the event of any of us being shot down; rendezvous points if crew became separated; and what recognition aids were being carried by the troops and aircrew.
The drop was timed for just before last light, at a point northwest of the suspect area. There, inside Angola, aerial photos showed that a road had been built that followed a river pass through the mountains. Once the patrol had been dropped, they were to mine the road at the entrance to the pass, the idea being that should our chopper drop have been picked up by the enemy, any hostile force entering the pass would detonate the mine and the patrol would be warned.
The drop inserting Dennison and his men was carried out without incident and all aircraft returned to base to wait for the patrol’s report. Not long afterwards, shortly after nine, when we’d all settled down around the fire for the evening’s usual session of war stories under the stars, we heard a muffled explosion to the north. Somebody had detonated a mine.
‘Contact!’ shouted one of the officers and there was a crazy rush to the ops tent to find out if Dennison was OK and if he could tell us what was going on. He reported back almost immediately: a large Mercedes truck had passed him heading in towards the pass, from which he had just emerged and it appeared to have detonated one of the landmines. At the same time, it became clear that the entire operation had had its priorities enhanced. Early intelligence reports had indicated enemy activity in the area, but there was little substantive proof, which is why it came as such a surprise when a large SWAPO force was suddenly encountered in an area that had been largely passive before. There was obviously some strength to the original intelligence report that there was a suspected SWAPO camp in the Cambino area.