Gunship Ace

by Al Venter

  Excitement rippled through our camp and while we were left, beers in hand, speculating about what was going on, the captain spoke to his boss back in Oshakati on the radio. There was an uneasy sense of foreboding about what the morrow would hold for us.

  We spent the next day on standby, speculating about whether the team still in the field—and on the wrong side of the border— would run into any enemy patrols sent out to investigate the mine incident. There was nothing to report from the recce team that evening and our enthusiasm started to dampen. A heavy rainstorm followed and went on for much of the night: it was quite an experience hearing the mighty Kunene River—barely two kilometres away—roaring in flood through the mountains.

  The following morning saw an early start. Major Paula Kruger, the Puma chief, suggested that we plan a recce along the length of the Kunene River in the area and search for possible insurgent crossing points. Half seriously, he said that the food in the camp lacked the kind of vitamins that could only be found in ocean fish and black mussels. For that reason, he said, the recce would have to go all the way to the sea at the mouth of the river. His choice of ‘vehicle’ was one of the Pumas and he said he’d also use the opportunity to show some of the cooks and bottle washers what the area looked like from a helicopter.

  We took off in good spirits, looking forward to a cool ocean breeze along the beach. However, about 10 minutes into the flight, Kruger passed a headset back towards me and indicated that he wanted to talk. Things had suddenly become serious, he declared. Dennison and his men had a SWAPO patrol of platoon strength in sight and, by all accounts, contact was imminent. It seemed that things were finally happening.

  Our immediate problem was to get to Dennison and his patrol before the enemy found them. If that was not possible, their presence could not only be seriously compromised, but they would be heavily outnumbered. If we got to them too late we could end up having to evacuate the entire recce team—or at least those that had survived—to the Sector 10 hospital.

  Back at the TAC HQ, we found Verster perplexed. Dennison had just come through by radio and said that they were being attacked. Apparently, the enemy had picked up their tracks and chased them down: there was simply no avoiding a contact.

  After a quick briefing about the possible deployment of troops, we took off, the Pumas coming along behind with our 32 Battalion reaction force troops, all 16 of them. Because the Alouettes were much slower than the Pumas, we timed it so that we’d arrive at the destination before the larger helicopters so that we could reconnoitre the area. The sudden arrival of Pumas, we felt, could only compromise the contact as the insurgents knew that troops were likely to be deployed if large choppers started orbiting their position. Also, our Pumas were only lightly armed and were vulnerable to small arms fire. Under the circumstances, it was wise to give the gunships time to check things out and perhaps fine-tune what was still a tentative battle plan, before the Pumas dropped their loads.

  Just after take-off, a very unhappy Dennison came through again on the radio. The SWAPO patrol was approximately 18 strong and had begun to fire on his position with light mortars. He was taking evasive measures, he said, but didn’t have time to elaborate. After roughly 20 minutes flying time, we arrived over the area and could see evidence of battle below us. The bush had started to burn and that served us well as a homing beacon to where the contact had taken place. The only comment heard from Jose Dennison as we arrived overhead was a sarcastic: ‘If you’d have come yesterday, you might have been of some help.’

  By then Dennison and his team had taken up a position on a small hill, about 100 metres high. Situated adjacent to a large rocky ridgeline, with steep cliffs overhanging the contact area, the top was flat and easily defensible. He didn’t need to indicate any enemy positions: bush cover was sparse and the enemy could easily be spotted, sprawled out flat on their stomachs with their weapons extended in Dennison’s direction. For a moment or two I thought they all looked like the little toy soldiers at play, inert and harmless. The insurgents were in a position half way up the hill, the nearest only 40 metres from Dennison’s position. They had spread out and were steadily advancing towards the reconnaissance squad, using well-disciplined fire and movement tactics.

  We had to decide quickly what we were going to. There was only one section of heliborne troops, so the Puma deployment would be restricted to a single sweep-line with no stopper groups. If SWAPO could be duped into thinking that our small company was a much larger force, our sweep-line might initially act as a stopper group. Once the main punch-up was over, the men on the ground could then go through the contact area and mop up any remaining resistance.

  I instructed Sergeant Steve Coetzee, my flight engineer, to target the rear end of the attacking force with his heavy machine gun (HMG). That would create confusion because they would be caught in the crossfire between the gunships and our own forces. Once that became apparent, confusion in the SWAPO ranks was bound to follow and they would try to pull out. The enemy’s retreat line could then quickly be ascertained and our troops pushed into position

  Both gunships attacking the SWAPO group from the rear, along with the original recce team firing down from their hilltop position, had an immediate effect. The insurgents broke in the direction of open ground, which offered far less cover than before, trapping their entire squad in the open ground. Within a minute they had started to panic and their actions became desperate and totally uncoordinated. Shortly afterwards, the Pumas dropped their troops who were deployed in the direction of the breakout. Meanwhile, Coetzee and Angelo Maranta’s gunner were picking off targets at will.

  Soviet military hardware, such as this anti-aircraft gun taken inside Angola, were captured in quantity from the enemy. Photo: Pierre Victor

  It says much for our training, and the ability to be able to think on the hop, that it was over within only a few minutes. Following our hastily devised plan, the attack went splendidly and the men were chuffed. Had we not arrived when we did, it might have been another story. Those guerrillas not killed in the initial onslaught ended up running headlong into the stopper groups. All that remained was for the ground troops to sweep through the area and capture surviving SWAPO cadres; there were only a handful.

  By then, both Alouettes were low on fuel. The Puma charged with bringing in the fuel drums had not yet returned, so we had to land and continue managing the sweep-line from the top of the high point that overlooked the contact area where Dennison had initially sought cover. There was no question that the sudden appearance of our gunships had astonished the group and knocked the fight out of them.

  We had no casualties on our side, and the final score was 14 SWAPO dead and seven captured. More importantly, the fight had been so fast and furious that the enemy weren’t able to alert their own headquarters of the presence of our helicopters in the area. According to the prisoners, there were between 250 and 300 more of their comrades in a camp further into Angola. They confirmed, too, that the unit was equipped with shoulder-launched, anti-aircraft missiles, presumably SAM-7s, but they were unsure about anti-aircraft guns. They also confirmed that their forces were well armed, with the usual Soviet squad weapons including AK-47s and light machine guns which included PKMs, RPDs and RPKs. There were also several RPG-7s. Meanwhile, some of our men returned to the TAC HQ with captured anti-vehicle mines and rifle grenades.

  Once we were able to gauge roughly how big the target was, action was quickly taken to fly in extra helicopters and troops along with additional fuel and ammunition. Our main concern was that if the camp were not attacked within the next 24 hours, the remainder of the group would disappear into the bush as they would have become aware, due to the lack of communication, that one of their squads was missing. Most of that night was spent listening to the interrogation of the prisoners while the senior men threw about ideas for bringing in extra aircraft and men. One of the problems we faced was that we’d never initially planned for anything nearly this big and headquarters back
at Oshakati was faced with a critical shortage of fuel and ammunition. To truck it all in from Windhoek might have taken anything up to a week, which meant that a fuel drop by air was requested. This was subsequently carried out by C-130 and C-160 transport aircraft and completed by lunchtime the next day: not a bad feat when one considers that the fuel had to be decanted into drums and flown up from Pretoria, 2,000km away.

  Ammunition and the rest of Hougaard’s 32 Battalion company were flown in by DC-3s and Pumas from Ondangua and Ruacana, while two more Alouette gunships from Ruacana, headed by Major Charlie Bent and Lieutenant Andre Schoeman, were also attached to the group. By midday, all required forces had gathered.

  By now, headquarters elements from Oshakati had become more involved. The general commanding Sector 10, the overall command centre for the entire northern region, decided that we’d have to go in at 16h00 that same afternoon. I countered this, saying that experience had already proved that a camp that large needed an entire day to clear. Moreover, rushed actions usually result in higher casualties. However, nothing would convince the commanding general to delay so we were tasked to take off at 15h40 for a 16h00 strike. Then fate played its hand. We took off after the final briefing, only to have to abort because of a tropical rainstorm that almost turned day into night in the immediate vicinity of the enemy camp. I was mightily pleased as I’d been looking for an excuse to cancel.

  In any event, the planning was not at all to my satisfaction. I was almost certain that with only limited intelligence available, the exact location of the camp had not yet been determined. Shortly after we returned to camp, a senior intelligence officer arrived with fresh information that suggested a clearer picture of where the SWAPO camp lay. He had built a sand model of the area and was able to pin-point everything as detailed by the prisoners. That was fortunate indeed as, had the attack taken place as originally planned, we would have put our troops on the ground almost 20 miles from where they should have been.

  I awoke at first light feeling quite light-headed. The big day had arrived and finally we were going to go in. Intelligence had already established that the camp was the largest that the South Africans had gone up against for some time. It was also my biggest to date and I was concerned that we were not strong, either on the ground or in the air. Our total forces comprised 45 soldiers from 32 Battalion, led by Captain Jan Hougaard. For backup he had an 81mm mortar group, four Alouette III helicopters and five Puma medium transport helicopters for troop deployment.

  Because of the meagre resources available, the plan had to be both simple and thorough: any delay in bringing in troops or lack of fuel at the mini-Helicopter Administrative Group (HAG) would cause us to lose kills. The basic plan was simple. We would initiate the strike at 08h00 that morning. SWAPO units were usually on parade at that time each day, which was also when orders were issued. This suited us because the sun would be high enough to lighten the shadows and to allow us to spot any enemy hiding underneath the bush cover. Maranta and I were to search for the camp and, once identified, we were to order the deployment of both sweep-line and stopper groups. Four Pumas were tasked to transport these men, and another would be detached from the main group to deliver the mortar group to a more distant position overlooking the camp.

  Once our forces were in place, the two remaining Alouettes would provide top cover to two small groups deployed towards the far north of the camp and monitor any forces trying to reinforce the enemy. We were also there to prevent any SWAPO forces from escaping while the battle raged.

  A mini-HAG was to be established about 12km from the camp, from where the helicopters would refuel and rearm. If a Puma could not get into an LZ in the contact area for a medevac, the casualties would be transported back to that temporary base by one of the gunships. A Puma would then be able to land, uplift the wounded and take them back to the tactical HQ for further treatment. The critically injured would be flown directly to the military hospital at Oshakati.

  After a quick breakfast of dog biscuits and plastic coffee, we went over the plan once again. We needed to ensure that the intelligence scenario had not changed overnight, and that everyone understood the communications plan. Someone finished off the briefing with a prayer and we ambled out to the aircraft at about 07h20.

  For me, personally, those few moments before take-off are sacrosanct. I actually prefer to be alone and would wander off a short distance to collect my thoughts. It is also a little time for reflection about what all this is about, a time for prayer. Like it or not, I routinely have to deal with what I term the pre-battle butterflies, which I have always felt is necessary in order to create a balance between the feeling of fear and the high that is likely to follow after it is all over and you find yourself not only intact, but alive. Moments later everything is channelled to the task on hand, which usually starts with a final gesture towards the gunner, already strapped in behind his weapon.

  The take-off was uneventful and no snags were reported. Captain Maranta and I flew our machines at tree-top height to the target area; visibility was excellent and there were no clouds above us. Once across the Kunene River, it was my job to get down to the serious business of navigation. Generally, the trick is to keep the chopper as low as possible, so that the noise of the rotors doesn’t carry too far and give the enemy warning of our approach. However, navigating in rocky or mountainous areas when flying ultra-low can be problematic because of the limited horizon and the many ridges and gullies that can easily cause confusion. Our Alouettes had no navigational aids like those fitted to modern-day helicopters, with the result that I used only my line-of-sight, or what we liked to refer to as ‘Eye-Ball Mark 1’. At such times, if the pilot was not up to the situation, it was easy to become disorientated.

  At the Two Minute Mark, I called for the climb and confirmed that the Pumas were in the holding area. In theory, according to our earlier planning sessions, that climb should have taken us over a lengthy ridge that overlooked the camp area. For a moment or two I prayed for complete surprise and, like Angelo who was on my wing, was a little disappointed when no enemy base appeared ahead. We were aware that the target area was in a kind of bowl, surrounded by high mountains. Indeed, before us was a large hollow depression in the undulating desert country, completely surrounded by high ground.

  There was no option but to continue searching. We set a course close to the nearest flank of a large mountain, hoping that our engine noise, dissipated by all the valleys and canyons in the vicinity, would confuse the enemy. Certainly, they couldn’t yet be sure from which direction we were approaching and the muted camouflage paint on our choppers went some way towards preventing visual detection.

  At that point I was still apprehensive about anti-aircraft fire, as that capability had not been determined, and I had visions of grinning black faces sitting behind double-barrelled anti-aircraft guns, their sights lined up on my chopper with itchy fingers just waiting for the order to fire.

  The trouble just then was that I’d expected to see the camp almost as soon as we got over the crest, but there was still no sign of it. Surely, I told myself, an enemy base that size couldn’t be missed. We knew it was expansive—with something like 300 men, it had to be. There would be sleeping quarters, lecture rooms, offices, latrines and the rest. We should have picked it up by now. Still, all we saw was flat scrub.

  We went into another orbit over the area, convinced now that even if the camp were deserted, we’d still pick up path patterns and possibly the parade ground. It had to be there somewhere, I knew. Every so often I would check the altimeter as I was subconsciously gaining height which I had to stop doing. All I could see now were large numbers of dew-soaked rocks, dark brown in colour. I sent Angelo Maranta towards the north of the area to have a look. Just then, Coetzee shouted over the intercom that he could see tents below us. I looked down and saw nothing. However, he was adamant. He had tents visual, he shouted into the intercom, describing them as ‘squarish and dark brown’.

  At th
at moment another kind of picture unfolded before me. Dark brown rocks became bivouacs and, moments later, a path pattern emerged, almost like a spider’s web. Then I spotted uniforms that had been hung out to dry, camp debris and much else that had been concealed. A second later, both Coetzee and I hit the ultimate jackpot: under every bush lay inert soldiers, four or five of them gathered together in some areas where there was more cover. One of the bushes resembled a star fish, legs protruding everywhere.

  The enemy had obviously heard us arrive. Almost as if they had been trained to do so, everybody scurried for cover under the nearest bush. However, they couldn’t hide their legs, which protruded in every direction. It was a remarkable revelation: I’d never seen so many enemy troops on the ground before; they were all over the place.

  Assessing the situation a little closer—at the same time, telling command by radio what we’d found—I could see that the camp was structured around a derelict kraal. It must have covered an area of roughly a dozen football pitches and the choice of location was excellent. Everything had been cleverly positioned in a rocky area that offered both natural cover as well as camouflage, much of it small trees and scrub. Ground cover was sparse though, and from the air we could quite easily observe the entire panoply.

  By now our excitement had peaked. I was aware that we faced a chance of a lifetime, but our options were curtailed: two tiny gunships ranged against a significant enemy force with who-knew-what firepower. We were on our own until the rest of the group got there and I had to play my game carefully. My first task was to get our troops on the ground. Once the insurgents started to break out, their movements might become a flood, so I had to keep them guessing whether or not they’d been spotted by us. I instructed Maranta to widen his orbit, climb a bit higher and act as nonchalant as possible.