Winds of Destruction

Brown Jobs versus Blue Jobs

AS IN THE YEARS BEFORE and in those to come, the Annual Army versus Air Force rugby match was a great occasion. Being a much larger force, the Army should have beaten the Air Force every time but, for the most part, the Air Force thrashed the Army. The rivalry that built up was good-spirited and the commanders of both forces always sat together to rib each other throughout each match.

In 1975 the big contest was held in Salisbury on the main rugby field in the BSAP sports grounds. With five minutes to go before kick-off, four Hunters flew over in perfect formation. As they did so, automatic gunfire, simulating anti-aircraft action, opened up from behind tall gum trees to the left of the main stands. The noise frightened a number of crows from the trees and, as they flew past the grandstands, the Air Force pointed at them shouting, “Army flypast!—Army flypast!” Next moment an Army wrecker vehicle appeared in the grounds carrying the twisted remains of ‘the destroyed aircraft’. But the outcome of the rugby contest was less of a joke for the Brown Jobs because the Blue Jobs beat them—again!

Doctored radios and ammunition

FOR A NUMBER OF MONTHS Provosts and Trojans had been taking off at sunrise in search of VHF signals from portable radios that had been passed on to some CT groups. Doctored radios, known a ‘road-runners’, came into existence because CTs were known to be listening in to Rhodesian broadcasts and Mozambican stations, particularly during early morning.

Special Branch produced a number of road-runners which, when switched on, emitted a VHF signal on one of our least-used air channels. Trials showed that the low-powered signal could be detected from as far as ten kilometres and, using Becker Homers, it was possible for a pilot to identify the position of each doctored radio with reasonable accuracy. The radios were given to individuals who knew how to get them into CT hands or were prominently displayed on outlying store shelves, madly overpriced, knowing the locals could not afford them and that CTs would steal them.

This system of detecting CTs might have worked from the beginning had each VHF transmitter been programmed to remain on for a few minutes after a radio was switched off. As it happened, pilots homed in on signals that cut off before they reached the radios’ locations. The sound of any aircraft obviously caused CTs to switch off the radios to allow them to listen and watch for the high-flying planes. This weakness was rectified later.

Doctoring of CT ammunition produced positive results. When standard Russian and Chinese equipment was located in CT arms caches, the standard ammunition was substituted with ‘doctored’ ammunition. Cordite propellant in standard rifle rounds burns at a relatively slow rate to drive a bullet down a rifled barrel at progressively increasing speed without risk to the weapon handler. When, however, cordite was substituted with any one of a number of plastic explosives in a ‘doctored’ round, instant over-pressure in the combustion chamber shattered it into a shower of lethal shrapnel that killed the weapon-handler and others near him.

In the case of ‘doctored’ mortar bombs, they exploded immediately on launch, and hand-grenade delay fuses were exchanged for instantaneous ones that made them function immediately the firing handle was released. Though these foul devices produced excellent results the practice of doctoring ammunition ceased when every item of captured equipment was needed for SAS and Selous Scouts operations.

Cocky Benecke

ALONG WITH MANY OTHER 4 SQUADRON pilots, Cocky Benecke had flown recce with me before. Like most, he had shown little interest and became thoroughly bored within an hour. On 11 August I flew with him on further training at the request of his OC, Cyril White.

There had been no complaints when he had flown with me in July but, just before we got airborne on this particular day, Cocky said, “ Sir, I am not cut out for recce. This is a job for old men with patience, like you.” I was not yet forty and took exception to being referred to as an old man by this cocky young pilot. He received a bit of a blasting for the ‘old men’ bit, but much more for using age as the reason for his disinterest in recce.

“Cocky, I know you enjoy action and that you have done well whenever you have been called. So tell me, are you happy to keep on sitting around just waiting for someone else to call you to action? Are you too special to act on your squadron’s motto ‘Seek and Find’ or are you going to get off your arse, find gooks and lead others to action?”

I cannot remember his response, but I do know that he was wide-awake two hours later when I pointed out another of many old CT bases I had been showing him. This one was on the western side of the Nyadiri River valley. “The base is in use, sir”, he said. “There are gooks down there. I can see their kit under the trees.”

My reaction was one of disbelief but, as we continued on along our search line, Cocky insisted he had seen plenty of kit. I knew how often he had seen motionless CTs when no other pilot or gunner could see them, but again I asked, “Cocky, are you absolutely certain there are ters in that base?” “No question about it, sir. I am absolutely certain.”

I called FAF 5 to have the Fireforce brought to readiness and asked for two Provosts to be armed with eight fragmentation bombs each. Cocky was champing at the bit and pressing me to go straight back to base, so I had to make him understand that in these circumstances it was essential to keep orbiting along our recce line so as not to give the CTs any clue that they had been spotted. At a safe distance we headed east for a while before racing south to Mtoko.

Having briefed the Fireforce, Cocky and I got airborne again, each flying an armed Provost. Flying 4,000 feet above the helicopters, we weaved left and right to remain behind them. Five minutes out from target with Cocky following 200 metres behind me, we put our propellers to maximum rpm to maximise noise effect and overtook the helicopters that were flying very low on their northward course in the Nyadiri River valley.

When abeam the target, I rolled the aircraft over and entered into a steep-dive attack to release my bombs into the base. Cocky did likewise and followed me in a wide orbit to watch the Fireforce helicopters deploy their troops. They came into contact very quickly and the entire group of fifteen CTs died in this combined ground and air action.

Cocky’s attitude to recce had been instantly reversed. He wanted to be released right away to work on his own. I would have nothing of this until we had covered a few more aspects of recce he needed to know. These were met the next day before we found another CT base. My immediate assessment of the small base was that it was fresh and occupied by six to eight CTs, even though I had seen no persons or equipment to reinforce the assessment. Again Cocky said he could see kit and at least three men wearing dark-blue clothing inside the base. For many months CTs had favoured blue denim slacks and tops, which made any man wearing dark-blue clothing a suspect.

Fireforce was called and we continued along our orbit line, which was in the direction from which the helicopters would be coming. We picked up the five helicopters flying line astern at treetop level with K-Car leading. This time we tagged along to give a verbal talk onto target. “Yellow, go five degrees left— that looks good—base approximately five kays ahead.” A little later I called, “Base is on the south slope of the ridge ahead of you. Stand by—pull up now—base ninety degrees left, 200 yards—NOW.” From there K-Car took control.

Cocky again said, “Gooks visual in the base. They are lying still in the shadows.” I could not see any myself