by Al Venter
‘We’d barely got down and joined some of the guys on the ground, who were busy preparing their daily ration of rice, when the shooting started … there was incoming coming from all over the place.’ The situation was extremely hazardous so Nellis urged his crew to get going, and waited impatiently for everybody to board.
Yazid, meanwhile, had occupied the co-pilot seat and seemed to view the process with the kind of detached equanimity that might have been better suited to a Sunday drive back home. Surprised, Nellis leant across: ‘You’re aware of course that we’re being shot at?’ he asked, his faced creased with a smile.
‘Yeh, reckon so,’ the youngster replied, ‘but what’s there to do about it?’ Point taken. His laid-back approach both impressed and pleased Nellis. Yazid might be useful in a tight spot, he thought
Just then, eager as hell to get the hell out of there, Nellis upped the revs. Indicating with his hands, he told the others that he was about to lift off. It was the only way to settle everybody. With that, a Sierra Leonean Army sergeant major moved forward and brusquely ordered a Nigerian corporal out of the engineer’s seat. ‘Get up. I’m sitting there!’ he barked and promptly sat down between Yazid and Nellis. He was a big guy, Nellis recalled and, anyway, it was no time to argue.
The NCO had barely strapped in when an AK round came though the fuselage and went straight into his leg. The exit wound it made was the size of a man’s fist and, although it would have been worse had he taken a gut wound, the crew had a job on their hands trying to stop the man bleeding to death.
‘Fucker had it coming’, exclaimed Yazid when he told the story afterwards. ‘Better him than me. But that bullet did come right between Nellis and me and hit him square on, so it must have been sooo close!’ He said, laughing.
George Yazid flew regularly with Nellis and the boys after that. In the end, he proved to be a useful acquisition, although the group never had any money to pay him. However, he saw good action and used his newfound experiences to eventually get a job with PAE.
By mid-February, 1999, Juba Joubert had returned to Sierra Leone with a pair of Mi-24 helicopter gunships, which were crated in an Ilyushin transport aircraft. There were also great piles of ammunition on board, along with several Russian technicians, who were there to put the package together, and a Moscow-based test pilot. Nellis recalls:
We didn’t really need the man but, what the hell, he was there. About the third afternoon, I was tasked to fly to Lungi with a load of rations, and asked our illustrious test pilot friend if he’d like to come along for the ride. Trouble was, he spoke no English and I knew no Russian. He settled straight into my right-hand seat in the Mi-17 and I didn’t argue. If he wanted to fly the chopper, I’d let him. It was probably the worst decision of my life.
For a start, he’d been drinking vodka, by then probably half a bottle of the stuff. I could also see that, being accustomed to the cold climate of Eastern Europe, he’d underestimated the effect heat would have on the chopper lifting off. He started rolling forward and when he got to transition, he just lifted the collective to takeoff, which meant that the helicopter dropped away at the end of our all-too-short runway. I would have liked to think that he was also aware that at 88 per cent power, everything cuts out, including autopilot and the machine’s electrical system.
I saw what was coming and grabbed the controls, but the Russian wouldn’t let go: he simply froze. Sindaba, sharp guy that he is, quickly turned round and slapped the man across the face with a powerful backhand. Only then did the Russian yield, allowing me to control once more.
Just then, the helicopter was over the swamps and water that surrounded the base on two sides out of three, and my only option was to come down on power and allow the engines to build up revs. Several observers at the base said that they could see that our wheels actually touched the water several times. Had we gone into the drink that day, it would have been my third crash.
While Nellis fought the air war in West Africa, former Executive Outcomes members waged a maritime struggle against infiltrators and smugglers coming into the country from the sea. Author’s photo
By the time the chopper got to Lungi, the Russian was severely shaken. His face was white and his hands trembled. Repeatedly, he said sorry. Nellis thought the best thing to do to get the man’s confidence back was to ask him to handle the return flight to Cockerill Barracks, but he refused.
Only weeks later, the two Hinds had been tested and were ready to fly. Juba, despite his drinking, had effectively handled Nellis’ conversion so that he was almost as confident at the controls of the Mi-24 as he was at those of the Hip. He’d quickly mastered the 12.7mm four-barrelled Gatling as well as the gunship’s 57mm rockets. Nellis recalls:
We celebrated the event by taking President Kabbah and Brigadier-General Kholbe on a formation fly-past over Freetown. We did it, not only to show the populace and the enemy that we were serviceable and working, but to boost our own confidence as well.
By now, our beloved ‘Bokkie’ was very tired indeed. In theory, we could still get an all-up weight of 14 tons out of her but, once in the air, we’d be well below the accepted cruising speed. Also, the Hip was over-vibrating, which was worrying. It told us that she needed a serious overhaul. In reality, she actually needed a new set of engines, but there was no money for that.
Then the old girl’s tanks started to crack and sometimes the floor at the back would be covered in kerosene when we got back to base. However, as we were being paid the stipulated two grand an hour, we kept on pushing ‘Bokkie’ to the limit, even though we knew something would eventually have to give. We just hoped it wouldn’t happen over Injun Country.
It was round about this time that Nellis and crew were called out on a mission to Magburaka. They were to deliver rations to Nigerian troops operating in the region. On the way there, Nellis spotted some burning villages and it was obvious to everybody on board that there was a lot of rebel activity. They circled the area for several minutes but found nothing.
After we’d offloaded our cargo and were heading back to base, we spotted even more burning villages and also came upon a group of the enemy digging deep trenches across the only road linking that region to Freetown. Some of the holes were already two metres deep, which meant that they intended ambushing the next ECOMOG convoy heading that way.
Of course, Fred opened up and the rebels retaliated with their AKs and a lone 12.7mm heavy machine gun, after which they all bombshelled into the jungle. After getting back to Cockerill, Fred did his routine checks and came back to the ready room with the news—it was not good. There had been half a dozen hits in all and one of the rebel rounds, probably from a 12.7mm DShK, had gone through one of the rotor blades, almost severing it. It was an understatement to say that we were lucky to get back home: the rotor could have snapped off at any time.
Sindaba patched the old girl up and we flew her across the bay to Lungi, but even that trip was tentative because the helicopter vibrated throughout the flight. It was the last time we took ‘Bokkie’ up, but it was some consolation that we knew it was way past her time to be put out to pasture.
The almost derelict Hip was sold some years later to a Lebanese businessman who, Nellis reckons, ended up doing something with her, although he reckons that it must have cost quite a lot of money because ‘Bokkie’ needed an extensive overhaul.
The start of full operations with the Mi-24s was marred by Juba’s drinking. Since he’d returned from Europe, his boozing had got worse. The consensus among the guys was that the Frenchman JJ was responsible and that the man had a seriously bad influence on Juba. However, as Nellis conceded, Juba was the master of his own destiny and there was nothing Nellis or anybody else could do about it.
Then Juba went down with malaria again and was evacuated to South Africa where it was diagnosed as cerebral. Fortunately, he took JJ with him and he eventually recovered, although nobody was ever sure whether it was quinine or the booze that pulled him through.
&n
bsp; The situation was further exacerbated by money. Juba had appointed himself as our financial expert and it didn’t help that we battled every month to get enough from him to keep the show on the road. Finally, he sent us a message, saying that all our cash had been spent. ‘There is nothing left’, he declared.
Only much later did we discover that Juba and JJ had squandered much of it on holidays in France, which involved a minor army of women, and on hiring canal barges which took them all over Europe. Naturally, I was furious, and so were our other partners, Fred and the Ethiopian engineer Sindaba. They felt they had been seriously screwed over.
Totally unexpectedly, it was the Sierra Leonean Government that came to the rescue. The authorities in Freetown owed the group a huge amount of money and suddenly there was cash in abundance. They deposited their first tranche into a Freetown bank account and put Hassan in charge of all their finances.
It was a relationship that was outstanding and it went on for years. Hassan was not only cautious with our finances but he was also meticulous and transparent. It was a major step forward for us all, especially now that Juba was out of the picture.
At that point we decided to formalise our partnership with the government and created a commercial entity that we called Jesa Air West Africa Pty Ltd (Jesaair).
The name was basically an anagram, Nellis explained: the ‘J’ stood for Juba (Nellis kept him in the loop, although both Fred and Sindaba weren’t happy), with the ‘E’ for Ellis, ‘S’ for Sindaba, and the ‘A’ for Alfonso, who was actually Fred Marafono. Interestingly, the name ‘Fred Alfonso’ was a legacy of the days when Fred Marafono worked for an anti-poaching unit in Southern Africa. He even burned off the ‘Who Dares Wins’ SAS tattoo on his forearm because, in the apartheid era, he could then pass for a ‘darkie’.1
Juba eventually returned to Freetown but this made the atmosphere within the newly founded company very strained.
Juba was totally out of control and I was actually worried that somebody might take out a contract on the man, which is not unheard of in an environment where a man with a $10 bill in his pocket is considered rich.
Then Juba went down again, and his illness was more serious than before because he had contracted a form of tropical hepatitis that affected his liver. Give Juba his dues: he immediately stopped smoking and drinking and decided to return permanently to South Africa.
Meanwhile, with peace talks in the air, the war had also wound down significantly. That meant that Jesaair’s contract with the government was scaled down. The enemy was supposed to have laid down its arms since members of the opposing junta had been taken into a coalition government. However, in reality, little had changed, even though Foday Sankoh had been given the role of Minister of Energy and Mines in the Freetown government.
As soon as the peace talks were mooted, a group of former RUF rebels started taking hostages and the Air Wing was again tasked to continue with operations against dissident groups.
We were called out to the Kenema area to do some reconnaissance work on rebel positions at Segbwema. We were returning late that afternoon to Cockerill, to refuel and rearm with ammunition for the Gatling, when JJ, who had been observing events in an adjacent area in the fixed wing, picked up a large force of rebel vehicles heading our way. He reckoned the force was about 1,000-plus strong and after spotting his aircraft, the rebels started using civilians as human shields.
Obviously, this was a job for the Hind, so I went across and saw the column, but I didn’t know what to do. If I fired indiscriminately I reckoned that I’d kill civilians. Finally, I decided to fire my rockets about a third the way down the line, but as I started my run-in, I knew that my rockets weren’t synchronised.
Then, quite suddenly, fate took a hand. The rebels all bomb-shelled into the jungle on either side of the road and their civilian hostages remained on the road, almost all of them paralysed with fear. I’d meanwhile readjusted my aim, put the pipper directly onto the civilians and fired, knowing full well that the rockets wouldn’t hit what I was aiming at.
Every single one of the 64 rockets that I’d fired in that monumental salvo diverted from its original trajectory and veered off track. They exploded in a massive cluster where the rebels had taken cover in the jungle. Meanwhile, the civilians were all still huddled in the middle of the road.
With that, the rebels abandoned their hostages and turned around. Subsequent radio messages indicated that I’d killed about 70 enemy soldiers, without a single civilian casualty.
Neall Ellis’ Bo-105 air ambulance touches down at a village in the jungle interior of Sarawak. Conditions in these remote areas were basic, most lacking elementary navigational equipment. Photo: Neall Ellis
Neall Ellis at the help of his chopper on jungle duty. Photo: Neall Ellis Collection
A Sarawak medic on flight duty with Nellis attends to a patient airlifted out of a jungle clearing in order to be taken across the mountains to hospital. Photo: Neall Ellis with high winds when traversing mountainous or jungle regions in the Sarawak interior could make for treacherous flying conditions. Photo: Neall Ellis
with high winds when traversing mountainous or jungle regions in the Sarawak interior could make for treacherous flying conditions. Photo: Neall Ellis
Fighting fires in remote parts of the Eastern Cape in South Africa provided Nellis with an interesting learning curve after a career that was mainly military-orientated. Photo: Neall Ellis
The choppers were fitted with water scoops, such as this one, customarily suspended below the helicopter. This addition saved time when pilots needed large volumes of water to douse forest fires. Photo: Neall Ellis Collection
Helicopters in Africa attract a great deal of attention throughout Africa: As Nellis recalls, he would hardly have put down before the crowds came running and his crew had their hands full in trying to prevent some people from rushing
presidential entourage that Nellis helicoptered about the country for several months: the incumbent president (green shirt), was sitting front right. Photo: Neall Ellis
Typical African condition ‘brown-out,’ bringing the chopper down in remote areas where there are no paved landing pads. This could make landings hazardous, extremely so if there is no wind to dissipate the dust. Photo: Neall Ellis
The three-month Tanzanian deployment took Nellis across the length and breadth of this vast East African country, sometimes over some of the most beautiful tropical coastlines,
Repairs and maintenance while ‘on the road’ were cursory and most times improvised. Trucks with fuel and spares would be despatched from Dar es Salaam sometimes days ahead to await the arrival of the chopper at its scheduled destination. Photo: Neall Ellis
The presidential pilot is thanked by Tanzanian President Kikwete himself at the end of the months-long electioneering campaign across vast swathes of Africa. Photo: Tanzania News Agency
Neall Ellis was flying helicopter support missions in Afghanistan when this book went to print, seen here at his Mi-8 with pilots Peter Minnaar (middle) and Louis Venter (right). Photo: Neall Ellis Collection.
On the way back to Kabul after a day’s operational duties, co-pilot Mike Foster takes the Mi-8 over a partially snow-covered Afghanistan: the Hindu Kush can be seen in the background. Photo: Neall Ellis Above:Taliban ambush scene along one of the arterial highways in the Afghan interior: it stretched for several hundred metres and must have been masterfully planned by the guerrillas. Photo: Neall Ellis
Taliban ambush scene along one of the arterial highways in the Afghan interior: it stretched for several hundred metres and must have been masterfully planned by the guerrillas. Photo: Neall Ellis
American military helicopters are found in almost every location in which the civilian-owned support helicopters operate, such as this Chinook (with its side-gunner almost protruding) taking from a base in the distant interior. Photo: Neall Ellis
Armed personnel are an essential component of every flight into the Afghan interior: if the helicopt
er is brought down either by enemy fire or mechanical fire, it is their job to protect everybody on board from a possible Taliban attack. Photo: Neall Ellis
Isolated American military bases such as this one codenamed Pride Rock are integral to the ongoing war. It was the job of Nellis and his pilots to provide helicopter support for some of them. Photo: US ArmyCaptain Ryker Sentgeorge, taken while on active service at the base
A pilot’s-eye-view of the Afghan panoply with the snow covered Himalaya Mountains providing the backdrop. Photo: Neall Ellis
Marijuana is grown quite openly throughout Afghanistan (as are other drugs-producing crops such as poppies) in this case right up to the defences
Kandahar air base, one of the busiest in Central Asia. Nellis was told by one of the ground operations commanders that this facility dispenses one and a quarter million litres of fuel a day, the average for a medium-sized American airport. Photo: Neall Ellis
Picturesque view of one of the isolated regions in the Afghan interior. Every available patch of arable ground is cultivated in serried paddy-style because of steep inclines. Photo: Neall Ellis