it was a matter of waiting the right moment for ZIPRA to complete the construction of this huge underground bunker and fill it with war materiel. Equally important was to strike before the onset of the rains when ZIPRA was most likely to commence moving equipment forward to the prepared sites in Rhodesia.
In early October over forty SAS men moved in after aerial photographs showed that many vehicles had been to the cache site, which by then was totally covered over. They killed all the sentries in a set-piece dawn action involving assault and stop groups. Having secured the site the cache was inspected. Those who had a chance to enter the massive store were shaken by the quantities and variety of war materiel that far exceeded their wildest expectations, but the volume was so great that only half an inventory count had been completed when carefully laid demolition charges were ready to wreck ZIPRA’s planning.
No thanks to the restraints of detente, it was impossible to consider recovery to Rhodesia of anything from this monstrous find. For the SAS it was painful to destroy so much brand-new equipment, all of which would have been so useful in their own hands.
The big bang that followed set ZIPRA back for something in the order of a year. It was to be the first in a series of seemingly endless setbacks for ZIPRA.
7 Squadron gains at 4 Squadron’s expense
THROUGHOUT 1974 MY SQUADRON HAD been losing experienced pilots and technicians on posting to helicopters. Pilot replacements coming directly off PTC courses placed a continuous load on 4 Squadron both at Thornhill and in the field. In consequence Rob Tasker at base and myself in the field were both tied to instruction throughout the latter half of the year.
Due to the nature of helicopter operations 7 Squadron’s morale had always been good. However with the on-take of operationally experienced pilots and technicians there came an infusion of the naughty spirit that had developed on 4 Squadron. The antics of two of the technicians, Henry Jarvie and Phil Tubbs, though generally conducted in a spirit of good fun, forced OC 7 Squadron to rule against both men ever being attached to the same FAF together. Stories about these two, as well as those of others, would not pass censorship.
One antic Henry Jarvie was often asked to perform was his Sumo wrestler’s act. His scrawny build, exaggerated poses and noisy grunts with underpants stretched upward to the limit was guaranteed to make the most spiritless observer laugh.
Henry’s sense of occasion on 7 Squadron was just as it had been on my squadron. This was demonstrated when he was being instructed in hoisting. Pilots and technicians were taught how to lower or raise men in and out of places where helicopters could not land. Whilst operating the hoist a technician had to give a running commentary to the pilot who could not see the cable position. This was one component of hoist training. Another involved being lowered on the cable and learning how to effect the recovery of injured persons.
Henry had heard that any new pilot or technician undergoing hoist training was likely to be dunked in Prince Edward Dam whilst he was suspended helpless at the end of the hoist cable. Having made certain that Fynn Cunningham would be training him, Henry changed into the man’s uniform jacket, slacks, shirt, tie, socks and shoes. Over these clothes he wore his regular flying overalls and pulled its zipper right up to his chin.
When the time came to make his first descent, he was lowered onto a very high rock near the edge of Prince Edward Dam. From this rock he was lifted upwards and, as expected, flown through the air until over the water. The pilot, Roger Watt, then came to a hover and descended until Henry disappeared under water. Fynn Cunningham, operating the hoist, did not see Henry slip out of his harness below the surface of murky water and got one heck of a fright when the helicopter lifted to reveal an empty harness. Roger Watt also became agitated when Henry failed to reappear. Unbeknown to pilot and technician, Henry was swimming underwater heading for the shore. Suddenly he popped up some distance away at the edge of the dam. Stomping around to ensure that the shoes he was wearing filled with sticky black mud, Henry waved for uplift. When back inside the cabin, Henry put on his flying helmet and grinned broadly at Fynn who wanted to know why Henry was looking so smug. “I am wearing your uniform, that’s why!”
Fynn did not believe Henry and forgot about the matter until he went to his locker at work’s end. His clothing was so wet and his shoes and socks so mud-filled and sodden that he was forced to return home in working overalls and shoes with his wet uniform and service shoes wrapped in muttoncloth.
Ceasefire
ALTHOUGH I WAS IN THE field for most of the time, I could not participate directly in the excitement of increasingly successful operations as 1974 closed. I found it difficult to be content with listening in on Fireforce actions whilst continuing with my losing battle to produce replacement recce pilots. Because of this, news of my posting to Air HQ brought prospects of a much-welcomed break and opportunity to spend time with my family.
My hackles were raised on my first day in Air HQ when an officer one rank senior to me foolishly but officially questioned my handling of men. He accused me of being the only squadron commander ever to have completed three years in command without making or hearing a single charge against any one of his squadron’s personnel. I responded by saying I was proud of the fact that my flight commanders, squadron warrant officer and senior technicians had handled the men in a manner that produced results but avoided having ever to resort to punitive measures. I reminded him of the fact that Chris Weinmann might still be alive had I not asked for him to ensure the maintenance of discipline, whereupon I became somewhat aggressive and asked to be appraised of my squadron’s failure to meet any of its obligations in the field and at base. This officer, who over time had proven to be a lone antagonist toward me, admitted that there had been no failure whatsoever and immediately changed direction by saying he was not criticising me but merely ‘making an observation’. He had never seen flying service in bush operations—enough said!
From my own very selfish point of view, relinquishing command of 4 Squadron occurred at an ideal moment because a ceasefire came into effect on 11 December 1974. Following three years in command with only one three-week break, it felt great to hand over 4 Squadron to Squadron Leader Cyril White and return to our own home in Salisbury.
South Africa’s Prime Minister Vorster and Zambia’s President Kaunda, in another of their detente initiatives, had orchestrated the ceasefire.
The nationalists, Joshua Nkomo of ZAPU and Robert Mugabe of ZANU, had been released from detention to attend talks in Lusaka that helped bring about this farce and our forces were under orders not to interfere with any CT group exiting the country.
The ceasefire could not have come at a worse time for Rhodesia. For the first time terrorist numbers within the country were diminishing rapidly, primarily through Selous Scouts-generated Fireforce successes, and their areas of influence had shrunk in spite of the continued inflow of those CTs who managed to bypass the SAS in Tete. Security Force morale was high whereas almost every CT group had been broken up, forcing union of
