Gunship Ace

by Al Venter

  Overall, the attack was a success. Own forces casualties were one dead and two wounded, all from 32 Battalion. The official body count of the enemy was over 100, although the actual figure must have been higher because it didn’t take into account the many SWAPO troops who were killed in the bunkers during the bombing strikes. Quite a few weapons were recovered, together with huge quantities of ammunition. Events that day proved that the relatively flimsy little Alouette was deceptively rugged and, indeed, able to take a remarkable amount of punishment. With correct tactics and pilot tenacity, we proved that we could neutralize an anti-aircraft gun emplacement without taking undue casualties.

  Before the South Africans finally vacated the area, Captain Tinus van Staden, also of 32 Battalion, was deployed with his company to ambush the camp area during the night. It was expected that the enemy would return at some stage to look for survivors and whatever weapons remained. However, this time things went awry. The enemy must have been aware that the troops were there because they hit the area with 122mm missiles from their B-10s. Fortunately, the troops had dug in for the night and there were no casualties.

  The final week of Operation Meebos showed no evidence of a SWAPO presence and the 32 reconnaissance group commanded by Captain Willem Ratte was dispatched to an area near the Angolan town of Cuvelai in a bid to locate SWAPO’s B Battalion, also known as the Socialist Unit. This was a large and, by reputation, aggressive fighting element which included the enemy’s central and eastern area headquarter units.

  Intelligence following our early successful attacks indicated that several fighting groups had merged. If this was true, we had to acknowledge that we would be up against a formidable force. Each SWAPO element would consist of about 150 men, giving the enemy a force of approximately 600 soldiers, all well-armed and adequately trained. From our perspective, it also meant that there would probably be half a dozen, or more, anti-aircraft batteries. By my count, that would have given them a minimum of a dozen 14.5mm guns, plus scores more in the 12.7mm range.

  Ratte and his group were due for uplift at midday but the previous evening he’d reported that he was fairly certain of B Battalion’s location. He’d reported by radio that he had seen a suspicious vehicle and wanted to follow it through to where he thought the enemy might have concentrated their assets. However, his request for a 24-hour extension to clandestinely survey the area was refused, as headquarters felt that the enemy had either left the area or split into smaller units. Instead, it was decided to deploy troops to carry out area operations.

  Troop deployment was scheduled for early afternoon that day. All our pilots attended the briefing and Captain Ratte suggested that, because of the anti-aircraft potential, the Pumas should avoid the area where he suspected the enemy might be encamped. Two Alouettes were tasked to give the larger helicopters top cover during the drop. Flown by Captain Mike Hill and Lieutenant Chris Louw, they would go straight in, hoping to pick up evidence of an enemy presence. Altogether, there were eight Pumas tasked, split into two groups of four each, with an adequate time gap allowed between each formation.

  Then it happened; a catastrophe that was not altogether unexpected. ‘What surprised me,’ said Nellis a long time afterwards, ‘was that it took so long in coming.’

  At approximately 14h25 on that day, while routing into the area, the Pumas, loaded with troops, unwittingly flew over the chana where the long-looked-for SWAPO concentration had deployed their anti-aircraft guns. At first glance, it would appear that all the weapons had been gathered into an open clearing, but were positioned too close to one another, which would inhibit the crews manning them from firing all of them at the same time. The leader of the flight was Captain A. J. Botha. Captain Ian Solomon was at the controls of another of the Pumas and he described what took place:

  We were following the Alouettes to the landing zone and my machine was in number three position, just behind that of Captain John Twaddle. As far as we were concerned, the main action was over, so we’d assumed a loose ‘V’ formation. Some of the choppers were over the chana, but my course overlapped some bush at its southern verge. Twaddle’s flight course was straight down the chana itself.

  We purposely kept our profile low, just above the trees. Suddenly, I was surprised by a long tongue of flame and curtains of tracer emanating from the bush towards our left: we were obviously under some pretty heavy anti-aircraft and small arms fire. Then, quite unexpectedly, because I’d never seen anything like it before, I saw John’s aircraft pitch up. For a moment or two, it assumed a nose-high attitude and then its tail boom separated and somersaulted through the air. Almost simultaneously the Puma rolled onto its back and dived nose first into the ground, after which it exploded.

  I recall that we were doing something like 160 knots, so it all happened very quickly: that was one of the reasons why I wasn’t able to see what weapons were being fired at us. One moment John was there, the next he was gone.

  The shooting down of a Puma, together with everybody in it, was an enormous loss to the South African forces. All the aircrew, Captain John Twaddle, Lieutenant Andre Pietersen and Flight Engineer Sergeant ‘Grobbies’ Grobbelaar, together with 12 National Servicemen, all paratroopers, were killed.

  Hill and Louw immediately turned their gunships around and flew towards the area in the hope of rescuing survivors. Lieutenant Louw described what happened:

  While heading back to the LZ, we heard Cor Greef shout over the radio that number five in the formation had gone down. Mike [Hill] immediately ordered us to turn around and fly to the crash area. There was no missing the crash site: a thick column of black smoke spiralled up from the area.

  At this stage, we weren’t sure why the Puma had gone down, or even whether it had been targeted. There was some conjecture that there might have been mechanical failure, or possibly pilot’s error. I say that because until then there had been no obvious SWAPO presence.

  We were still about a kilometre from the crash when Sergeant Major Thomas, my flight engineer, shouted over the intercom that he had the enemy visual, and that surprised me. I immediately put the chopper into a hard bank to the left to bring his gun in line, which was when, directly below us, I saw a group of about 30 guerrillas running towards the downed helicopter. Thomas didn’t wait for orders and immediately began shooting at them.

  During the turn, our chopper took a number of hits, which is when you tend to look at your instruments to see that everything is still working properly. It wasn’t: the rotor RPM was winding down and I knew that I had to take immediate action before an engine cut. I told the crew to prepare for an emergency landing and started talking the machine down to force-land in the open area alongside a chana directly ahead.

  Thomas, apart from being our gunner, was also the flight engineer and he came through on the mike to say that the engine was working perfectly. I could hear that his voice was tense as he urged me to get the hell out of there. But I was already in the flare and only a few feet above the ground. After taking power, I flew the Alouette close to the ground for some distance and headed past the wreck.

  Any kind of inspection just then, with all that incoming, had to be cursory, but everybody on board was certain that nobody could have survived. Worse, there was already a large group of about 100 insurgents, elated at their success, dancing around the wreck. They were jumping up and down with their rifles held high above their heads and whooping, primitive style. Those on board who were closest to this spectacle started shooting as we sped past but, fortunately, possibly because of their elation, their return fire wasn’t accurate. We weren’t hit again. We cleared the area and Hill escorted us to the mini-HAG, which was about a dozen kilometres away. After we landed we inspected our own damage.

  I believe there were two aspects that saved the lives of Thomas and me that day. The first, was that the flight engineer urged me to continue flying when I wanted to land, and the second was that, because of my inexperience, I flew so very low past the wreckage. There were some
big guns in the immediate vicinity of the crash site but the enemy wasn’t able to depress their guns sufficiently to target us. All the AAA had been assembled on a slight ridge to our right, and as we flew past, you couldn’t miss their efforts to try to lower their barrels. They probably did in the end but we were gone in a flash.

  A more experienced pilot would probably have gained a bit of height, and probably presented a better target and so also have become a casualty. But it was not to be.

  As soon as word got back to the temporary helicopter base, Major Kiewiet Marais scrambled all the remaining gunships. Mike Hill refuelled, topped up on ammunition and also returned to the scene with an absurd hope that somebody might have lived through an experience that was clearly terminal. Hill was later awarded an Honoris Crux for bravery, while Louw got the Southern Cross Medal for his efforts in nursing his helicopter back to base.

  When Nellis arrived in the area, he could see the wreck, but he also couldn’t get close. Enemy 14.5s were firing in all directions and it was difficult to pin-point their positions as there was still a lot of smoke from the brush fires around and a subsequent fuel explosion from the downed Puma had made visual identification almost impossible.

  Well aware that we would retaliate, most of the SWAPO guerrillas had dispersed, which meant that the South African choppers were at the receiving end of small arms fire several kilometres from the crash site. The enemy also seemed to have a hefty supply of MANPADS, mainly SAM-7s. Three F1 Mirages from Ondangua, armed with rockets, were tasked to provide close air support but, because of the low visibility, accurate forward air control wasn’t possible. Neall takes over the story.

  Somebody had to call closure pretty soon, I felt, because if things went on like this, we’d probably lose another aircraft as enemy ground fire had picked up markedly. For their part, the guerrillas had tasted blood and they wanted more. That was when I decided that all aircraft should return to base. I’d decided that we’d go into an immediate planning session for what was still regarded as a rescue attempt.

  Time was running out. It didn’t take long for the commanders to decide that it wouldn’t be possible to deploy troops before last light. Instead, it was decided to leave Willem Ratte and his recce teams to observe conditions along the Colonga River in the hopes of perhaps detecting a SWAPO withdrawal. It was a typical SWAPO tactic to leave the area as soon as they had been compromised and it was likely that if they were not already heading north, they would soon be doing so.

  A hopeful sign was that a number of the aviators had reported seeing a large herd of cattle near the contact area. We were aware that the guerrillas often took small herds of livestock with them as a mobile food source. Find the cattle, it was argued, and you’d find the enemy. Observation post elements still out in the field were tasked with keeping a wary lookout for any animals on the hoof.

  We rose early the next day to be on standby just in case the remnants of the guerrilla force were observed. Among the men, both air crew and ground forces, there was a powerful groundswell of anger at the loss of the aircraft and its occupants. Revenge was very definitely on the cards.

  Normally, the camp would take time to get its act together at the start of the day, but that was definitely not the case that morning. The reaction force troops were ready and waiting at the LZ just before first light, even though the Pumas weren’t due for hours. I was tasked with a pair of gunships as escorts for a 08h00 take-off to get Pieterse to the crash site. His job was to coordinate his troops as well as a 61 Mechanised Brigade armoured unit advancing from the south.

  We were flying low as we headed out to the area, when suddenly I picked up one of the 32 Battalion call signs on the radio. It was call sign ‘CL’, who reported that he had visual on a large herd of cattle moving in a northerly direction towards the Colonga River. I radioed Pieterse and told him that I was heading there to investigate. Without waiting for an acknowledgement, I flew down the length of the river in a westerly direction. As we passed a riverside position about 30km north of Cuvelai, I spotted movement out of the corner of my eye. I had just turned my head when the distinctive smoke trail of a SAM-7 passed straight through the middle of our loose ‘V’ formation about 800ft above the ground.

  I immediately turned back and headed towards the launch site: Smoke from the missile launch still hung thickly on the ground and thus the action had started. I was still some distance away when the first rattle from the ‘typing pool’ began its clatter, but this time it was accompanied by a veritable wall of tracer fire. More disturbing, there were also the long pink flames of 14.5mm antiaircraft fire together with blasts from RPGs. It was an awesome experience, and quite unusual for some of the crews because another four SAM-7s were launched in our direction, which was unheard of. They all missed.

  We went into an orbit around the position and could now clearly see the AAA installations. Even though the sun was still quite low on the horizon, the dark shadows under the trees only accentuated the muzzle flashes. I counted at least a dozen positions, which meant that at least four detachments were moving together, which was a sizeable force in any war. I passed on the message that we had found the main SWAPO group and that they were attempting to escape towards the north. I also reported that they were bunched together, but even then, the entire group was spread over an area of about two kilometres square. If that first antiaircraft missile hadn’t been launched, we’d have flown over the detachments and not been any the wiser.

  The remaining gunships were scrambled and ordered to head towards us. I also requested additional support from the squadrons of strike aircraft on standby at the air base. Unfortunately, the Pumas transporting the Parabats still had not arrived and I knew we wouldn’t be able to contain this large a gathering of enemy troops once the contact had been initiated. In fact, the troopers with the Parabat stopper groups arrived on the scene only two hours after battle had been joined.

  For once, the jets did a good job. In fact, they excelled. Between the Mirages and the gunships, all the enemy’s anti-aircraft guns were taken out in just a few initial attacks. It was impressive watching the Mirages go in and launch their rockets and then, after pulling out of their dives, we’d sometimes see two SAM-7s hurtling at their exhausts.

  At one stage, there seemed to be so many RPG bursts within our orbits that it became a cause for concern. I told the others that one of the helicopters would be hit sooner or later. To complicate matters, the RPG self-destruct air bursts were at the same height as our orbits, and that was unusual. It took me a little time to work out that the air bursts were not from RPGs, but from the self-destruct mechanisms in the 30mm shells fired by the Mirage F1s on the lead-up to their attacks. We were sitting at about 1,200ft to make it more difficult for the enemy gunners, yet our people were lobbing 30mm shells in our direction.

  Once all the anti-aircraft fire had been silenced, we moved towards the main body of the enemy and started selecting individual targets. Sometimes, this would be groups of insurgents who had gathered in strength and were covering all approaches. At other times it would be two or three enemy troops who, although fleeing the scene desperately, were still not afraid to mix it with their pursuers. There were scores of these elements and because the survivors were desperate, these contacts soon became the most vicious exchanges of fire of the campaign so far. While the guerrillas might have been hurt in our attacks, there was still an awful lot of small arms fire on all sides, along with volleys of RPG rockets directed at the choppers.

  The aviators and their gunners settled down quickly, especially after it became clear that none of the aircraft were taking strikes.

  The SWAPO commanders must have realised that we were determined to avenge our losses so they were quite literally fighting for their lives, which made them particularly aggressive.

  Once the Pumas got there with the first wave of troops, these men were dropped towards the west which seemed to be the direction the remaining SWAPO cadres had taken for their breakout. Lieutenant
Harry Ferreira of 32 Battalion was dropped along the river and Lieutenant Tinus van Staden was deposited, with his unit, to the north-west of the area. It was the job of Major Jab Swart and his Parabats to cover the north-east and they did so with meticulous aggression, in a bid to settle scores. However, brush fires in the tinder-dry grass started to present problems again. Some of Ferreira’s men were trapped by flames towards the west along the river and several men with serious burns had to be taken out by chopper. Because of the proximity of the river, these grasslands were lush and fertile, but also dry because it hadn’t rained in a while, and in places the flames were more than 10 metres high. Visibility also dropped as a result of the fires, which meant that the choppers were forced to come down to almost ground level in search of targets. Many enemy soldiers were killed after they had sought shelter under bushes.

  A particularly disturbing order came from headquarters later that morning. During the course of the battle, the herd of cattle was found to have been corralled in a chana to the north-east of the contact area. There must have been almost 600 of these animals. Since SWAPO placed great store on their mobile meat supply and, because of the lack of food in these southern areas, their loss would obviously be a great blow. The gunships were instructed to kill the cattle, every single one of them!

  Some of the pilots refused. As Nellis explained afterwards, he understood where they were coming from so after killing or maiming about 100 of these poor creatures he gave the order to stop firing. He remembers that it was an appalling scene down below.

  In some cases, our 20mm shells had blown off legs and the animals, covered in blood and bellowing in severe pain, were hobbling around with their shattered legs dragging behind. I asked Swart to send a few of his men in to despatch the maimed animals so they spent the best part of an afternoon running after wounded animals and delivering the coup de grace. When we finally uplifted the troops and returned to the TAC HQ the men were generally elated at the overall success of the battle but the cattle incident dampened spirits.