The terrorists, who were almost certainly FRELIMO and obviously shaken by the noise of 1,000 rounds cracking around them, ceased firing at callsign 21 to flee from the area—though I saw nothing of them. A sweep up and over the ridge succeeded in locating the terrorist firing positions but apart from expended communist 7.62mm cartridges and many .303 bullet holes in the trees nothing was found. The SAS continued on their intelligence gathering patrol and I returned to Nyamasoto.
Visual reconnaissance across the border was made difficult by the paths of many refugees, some into small hidden camps and others into Rhodesia. Quite why they were running from FRELIMO was difficult to understand initially. Then, following up on an SAS report, I picked up the trail of a very large herd of cattle that had obviously been stolen from the Mozambican tribesmen. They had been driven away to the north by FRELIMO but I broke off my search having tracked the herd for more than forty kilometres from our border.
I also noticed that most Mozambican villages had been abandoned and that no crops had been planted. All this confirmed that FRELIMO had been in control of Tete, all the way up to our border, for some considerable time. It also meant that we would have to fight both FRELIMO and ZANLA to prevent terrorism from taking root in Rhodesia.
Although every consideration and effort was given to preventing civilians becoming involved in any armed conflict, it was inevitable that unexpected incidents did occur. One such occasion gave rise to a situation that was described to me by one of the helicopter pilots. Although I was not involved in any way, I think it is a story well worth repeating in the style of its telling.
Nicholas and the old man
RLI PURSUED A MIXED GROUP of FRELIMO and ZANLA in a running action from the Rhodesian border deep into Mozambique. Most Mozambican civilians dispersed and ran from the fighting in the general direction of Rhodesia. Then during this day, one RLI callsign of four soldiers came upon a very old, partially blind man standing by himself under a largetree. He was in a state of fear and confusion. The soldiers did what they could to calm the old fellow with drink and food but it took time to understand that his distress centred on the loss of his personal donkey. It transpired that the donkey’s name was Nicholas and that he was no ordinary donkey; he was blue-grey in colour. The old man relied on Nicholas to carry him about and he had been trained to answer to his name. Nicholas was also trained to make mounting easy for the old man.
The soldiers called for helicopter assistance but were told that all the helicopters were too busy—one would come over when there was opportunity. The hours moved on and, though the white soldiers with their new-found charge tried to be patient, they called many times to make sure the Air Force had not forgotten its promise. When eventually a helicopter could be spared, the pilot was surprised to be asked to search for a blue-grey donkey.
Helicopters are extremely expensive to run and, in operations involving the movement of troops, fuel endurance is limited. Nevertheless the RLI soldiers’ story touched the pilot’s heart so he started a search. He managed to find a handful of donkeys, which he herded together before driving them towards the far-off tree under which the old man waited with his RLI friends. When the donkeys were close enough, the pilot broke away for Rhodesia to refuel.
The RLI soldiers were tickled pink when one donkey responded to the old man’s frail call, “Nicholas, Nicholas”. Sure enough the donkey that came to them was blue-grey, not like those other common brownie-grey jobs. He trotted straight to the old man whose eyes streamed with happy tears. But this was not the end of the story for the Air Force. The RLI troopies were not going to leave the old man and Nicholas behind because all of his kinsfolk had disappeared; so they called for helicopter uplift of themselves, the old man and Nicholas.
When a helicopter pilot said he could take the old man but that there was no possibility of getting Nicholas inside the helicopter, the RLI soldiers already had the answer to that problem. They had ripped apart their webbing and had fashioned a harness to lift Nicholas back to Rhodesia by way of the cargo sling, which was fitted to every helicopter.
By this time the helicopter pilots, who had just about completed the uplift of RLI troops back to Rhodesia, were getting a bit fed up with the persistence of the troopies. Being closest to the border, they were assigned for the last lift but their persistence and 7 Squadron’s flexible attitude soon had the callsign and old man airborne with one braying donkey hanging under the helicopter.
The flight had to be made at slow speed so as not to spin the donkey or drown him in the airflow. At the RLI’s bush base, Nicholas came into contact with the ground gently, the pilot pressed his cargo release button and Nicholas waited patiently for his harness to be removed. Within five minutes he was nibbling fresh green grass. The old man had his own tent, complete with the most comfortable bed he had ever known. He was given a hot shower and fresh clothing to replace his rags.
The old man and Nicholas were tended day and night by the troopies who had found him. When these soldiers went on patrol they handed their wards into the care of other soldiers. For two weeks Nicholas and the old man were comfortable and both gained weight. Then, out of the blue, there was the sharp crack of a rifle shot in the camp. The small contingent of soldiers and helicopter crews in base rushed to investigate and were horrified to find Nicholas lying dead from a bullet through his brain. A vehicle was racing away westward and the INTAF man, who came to shoot Nicholas for being ‘illegally imported into the country without veterinary inspection and compulsory quarantine’, was lucky to get away with his life. Had the RLI soldiers who gave chase in a lumbering Army truck caught up with this guy, there can be no doubt that theywould have killed him, so great was their anger.
The helicopter pilot who told me this sad story was the one who intercepted the INTAF man, possibly a District Officer acting on instructions from the District Commissioner, and flew him to safety. This he did to protect RLI soldiers from committing murder, certainly not out of pity for the detestable INTAF man. An attempt to console the old man and find a replacement blue-grey donkey failed when, just a few days later, he died broken-hearted. Internal Affairs’ reputation, already poor amongst operational soldiers and airmen, worsened.
For me, this story highlighted the very best and worst of the human spirit but it also raises another issue that you, the reader, can judge for yourself. I recorded what you have just read in about 1985. Now in 2001, following publication of Beryl Salt’s book—A Pride of Eagles—I read Ian Harvey’s account of an airlift of hundreds of civilians from Macombe in Mozambique to higher ground near the Musengezi Mission in Rhodesia. This move of people was at the request of the Portuguese to save them from the rising waters of the Cabora Bassa dam. This is part of what Ian told Beryl Salt:
As the final day progressed, with time running out, I was able to pile more and more people into my Alouette III as fuel burned off. My last load, with fuel down to 110 pounds, was a total of twenty-nine passengers (surely a world record), with my tech Finn Cunningham sitting outside on the running board with his feet on the port wheel.
This load included an old man with a crude type of skateboard. The RAR CSM approached me saying that the old man was a cripple who had trained a donkey called Reggie to pull him around the village and into the fields. It was his most treasured possession. In the fading light, I agreed to do one more lift. We set off with a cargo net and sure enough, there in the field standing alone was Reggie, a riempie halter around his neck. We loaded him into the net without any fuss and with the donkey dangling under the chopper we delivered him to his owner who was beside himself with joyat having been reunited with his companion.
The District Commissioner, who was probably under orders, had specified that no livestock would be permitted. He summarily shot Reggie. The RAR were so incensed that they had to be restrained from evening the score.
I prefer the first story and like the name Nicholas better than Reggie, but I am left wondering if Ian Harvey’s account is the correct one o
r if there were two old men with special donkeys. Seems unlikely!
Beit Bridge rail link
THE SERIOUS DEVELOPMENTS IN THE northeast confirmed our worst fears that the Portuguese would not contain FRELIMO. It also brought into question just how long our roads, railways and oil pipelines linking us to the port at Beira would remain secure. Similar concerns were developing for the future security of Rhodesia’s other rail lines to the coast. These ran to Lourenço Marques, the capital of Mozambique, and to South Africa via Botswana. Botswana showed no sign of outright hostility to Rhodesia, but it was clear that Seretse Khama’s black government could be forced by African governments to turn the screws on us.
Ian Smith knew that only a direct rail link with South Africa via Beit Bridge would overcome future political crises; to which end planning for a new line from Rutenga to the Limpopo, to link into the South African rail system at Messina, was stepped up. This 147-kilometre line was eventually built in just three months instead of twelve months as originally planned.
Commencement of Operation Hurricane
BY DECEMBER 1972, REX NHONGO’S ZANLA group had been in the St Albert’s Mission area for over seven months, politicising the locals, taking out recruits for training and building up war supplies. His group was based exactly where 4 Squadron had reported its presence in late July. Undisturbed, Rex Nhongo (his chimurenga pseudonym) and his men had lived in relative luxury, sometimes in caves, enjoying all the free food, beer and women, provided for ‘the boys in the bush’ by willing locals.
By now Rex was ready for offensive operations that he planned to launch between Christmas and New Year when he guessed many servicemen would be on leave. ZANLA groups to his east were supposed to open their offensive at the sametime. But news from the eastern groups was bad, so Rex decided to strike immediately with a view to drawing Rhodesian forces away from stressed comrades.
On the night of 21 December he attacked the farmstead at Altena Farm, which was to the west of his base area. Though this attack occurred earlier than intended, it fitted with Rex’s fundamental plans. A list of farmers who were unpopular with their labourers had been drawn up as primary targets. Popular farmers were also identified so that they might be left alone, at least for the time being.
His plan was to attack Marc de Borchgrave’s Altena Farm then stand off to see how the security forces would react. There was no special planning for the attack itself. During the approach to the homestead, the telephone line was cut and a landmine was laid in the roadway. A close-in recce of the house was made before Nhongo and his men stood back and emptied two magazines apiece from their AK-47 assault rifles through windows and doors. The group then ran off into the night, whereupon Rex found himself separated and alone.
In the de Borchgrave home the children were sobbing with fear and Marc was perplexed by his family’s isolation with no telephone or any other means to alert police and neighbours. His one little girl of seven was hurt but fortunately not too seriously. Fearing there might be another attack or that an ambush had been laid for his vehicle, Marc waited with his family for some time before setting off across country on foot to get help. The possibility of a landmine in the roadway had not crossed his mind.
Seeing military activity developing around him at first light Rex Nhongo, having first hidden his outer set of clothing, weapon and other paraphernalia, commandeered a bicycle from a youth. He was stopped by police and questioned. He claimed he had neither seen any armed men nor heard any firing. Presenting his situpa (identification document) that gave his name as Solomon Mutuswa, he was allowed to go on his way.
Many, many terrorists were to escape capture in this manner. From the earliest days of Op Hurricane, which was established the morning after Altena Farm was attacked, terrorists wore more than one set of clothing for two basic reasons. Firstly, an armed guerrilla is better off without telltale rucksacks to carry changes of clothing and, secondly, identity of dress could be switched by exchanging inner with outer clothing or simply removing and hiding the outer clothing. Pseudonyms were discarded for real names and authentic situpas were presented.
The de Borchgrave family moved in with friends whilst Altena Farm was thoroughly checked over. They were unlucky enough still to be at Whistlefield Farm when another of Rex Nhongo’s groups attacked it two nights later. Rex told me eight years later that this attack had also been made to study security-force reactions.
On this occasion, Marc de Borchgrave and another of his daughters were injured, but again not too seriously. Unfortunately, however, Corporal N. Moore of the RLI died when the Army vehicle in which he was travelling to Whistlefield Farm detonated a landmine on the approach road to the farmstead. This occurred in spite of the fact that, during the follow-up at Altena Farm, the landmine planted by Rex Nhongo had been found and lifted.
At this time the SAS had been withdrawn from operations over the border in Mozambique to assist JOC Hurricane, which based itself at the Centenary Airfield. Rex Nhongo’s plans to draw forces from the east had worked, just as he hoped.
SAS trackers accompanying the RLI on the Whistlefield call-out were lucky because they had climbed off the truck to commence a search for tracks just before the vehicle hit the landmine. These same trackers, now angered by the mine incident, picked up the trail of the terrorist group and started after them. They tracked all day until darkness fell. Unknown to them, they slept very close to where the terrorists had stopped to rest. They only found this out when they came upon ZANLA’s campfire soon after tracking recommenced at dawn.
Major Brian Robinson, who had recently taken command of the SAS, was at Centenary. He decided to deploy another SAS callsign by helicopter as a cut-off force ahead of the tracker group. The position he chose was spot-on and resulted in the death of three terrorists and the capture of two others in the first military contact of Op Hurricane. The RLI were especially pleased by this success against the group that had laid the mine that killed one of their men and injured others.
Countering landmines
EVEN BEFORE THE COMMENCEMENT OF Op Hurricane, landmines had become a serious menace, playing havoc with vehicles and causing serious injuries and loss of life. On 27 April 1971 Lance Corporal Moorcroft and Trooper Meyer were killed in a single mining incident. Two months prior to Op Hurricane, Sergeant Hill died in another landmine detonation.
Efforts to counter the threat were redoubled and many satisfactory though crude solutions were found. First efforts revolved around correct sandbagging of floors and filling tyres with measured quantities of water. Within eighteen months hideous-looking vehicles started making their appearance and, insofar as military vehicles were concerned, landmines ceased to be the dangerous weapon of early times. Rhodesia and South Africa worked together to become world leaders in countermine warfare. This was achieved with specially designed mine—defecting modules affixed to standard truck and Land Rover chassis.
Loss of life and injuries to military and paramilitary personnel was almost completely eliminated and most vehicles that struck landmines could be returned to service at relatively low cost. When death or injury did occur, it was usually through failure of passengers to observe correct seating and securing procedures. Hapless civilians were not so fortunate; hundreds were killed or severely maimed when unprotected buses and cars detonated mines that had been laid without concern for civilian traffic.
There was always a worry that airfields would be mined because there was no way of protecting aircraft from catastrophe if one detonated a mine. Why the terrorists did not capitalise on this one cannot say, yet I only recall two landmines laid for aircraft. One was planted in the aircraft parking area of a remote airfield but was detected and lifted. The other occurred on 19 February 1979 when Byrne Gardener, an Internal Affairs pilot, died when his aircraft activated a land mine on the Mrewa Airfield.
Because landmines planted by well-trained individuals are impossible to detect visually, many electronic devices were developed as substitutes to the slow an
d laborious ground prodding method. One electronic system was borne by a vehicle known as the ‘Pookie’ (nickname for a Night ape). Its purpose was to act as lead vehicle to detect mines ahead of vehicles travelling in convoys.
The Pookie was a light vehicle based on the Volkswagen Beetle chassis, riding on four very wide, low-pressure tyres. It was fitted with a single-seat mine-proof module for the driver who monitored signals coming to him from a wide mine-sensing unit mounted crosswise to the module base. This vehicle, which looked as if it had come from outer space, could pass over a mine without detonating it. But because the detector response rate was slow, and the need to stop quickly to prevent following vehicles reaching a detected mine, Pookies could only travel at about 40 kph (25 mph). These vehicles came into Rhodesia’s bush war in small numbers and only served to give convoy protection along the highest-risk routes. In consequence, most convoys continued as before.
One such convoy was travelling along a typical TTL dirt road with gunners standing in their vehicle cabs manning machine-guns mounted on a ring affixed to a hole in the cab roof. From their elevated position they had a good vantage point from which to search for threats on roadway and surrounding bush. They passed a couple of young children who, as the lead vehicle went past, stuck their fingers in their ears and distorted their faces in obvious expectation of a big bang. The lead gunner slammed the top of the cab with his hand to signal the driver to brake hard. It only took a minute of prodding to find the landmine lying just two metres from the front right wheel. The kids had disappeared, probably disappointed, but they had given the best mine warning any soldier could hope for.
Winds of Destruction Page 44