signal. There was a general revolt by the Rhodesians aircrews causing considerable embarrassment to the Brigade HQ staff. The Portuguese sergeant was arrested and charged with murder whilst communications went back and forth between the Mozambican and Rhodesian authorities. Though the Rhodesians were persuaded to stay on in Tete, Hugh refused point-blank to do so, preferring to face court martial rather than operate with the “murdering Portuguese forces”. He was flown back to Salisbury where considerable effort was needed to persuade him to withdraw his resignation.
Our experiences in Mozambique concerned us deeply because everyone realised that military failure in that country would have serious consequences for Rhodesia’s security. We also felt deeply for the Mozambican people, black and white, who knew their country’s future was being mishandled by their metropolitan government 10,000 kilometres away.
Judging by the results that were jointly achieved during our detachments to Tete, a continuous presence of Rhodesian forces operating with Portuguese forces would have made all the difference in curbing FRELIMO and denying ZANU and ZAPU use of the Tete Province. In fact, if we had been granted continuous access along the Zambezi River’s southern bank within Tete province this would have met our strategic needs. It would have allowed us to extend our border-control operations eastwards to capitalise on the successes we had achieved along this same river at home. Unfortunately, politics disallowed this critical advantage and history records the consequences.
Tripper operations continued on and off and Peter Briscoe had this to say to author Beryl Salt about one attachment to Portuguese forces at Chicoa in late1970:
We formed a detachment based on Chicoa on the south bank of the Zambezi just west of the Cabora Bassa Gorge. Chicoa was a hellhole. We anticipated a lengthy stay and we had learnt to take our own field kitchen and cooks. It was the rainy season and the afternoons were punctuated with the usual thunderstorms. Cleanliness was a problem so we rigged up showers. These were serviced by a tank of water that was filled from the waters of the Zambezi. However, the water was chocolate brown and we ended up dirtier after the shower than before. So we found the answer—wait for a rainstorm, strip naked, bring out the soap and shampoo and use Mother Nature. Except for our feet and ankles we were clean. The only person who enjoyed shower time more than we did, was the postmistress who watched from a distance.
The thing we envied most about the Portuguese Air Force stationed at Chicoa was that their Alouette helicopter had a 20mm cannon. Compared with our 7.62 machine-gun this was a real killing machine. It was patently apparent that they had little or no idea how to operate this weapon or even service it and this was graphically demonstrated one morning when the gunner’s replacement arrived. The new incumbent had never seen a weapon like this before and was given a quick tutorial. The tutor, demonstrating how to load the gun, pulled back the moving parts and released the breechblock. He had, however, forgotten to clear the weapon. It picked up a 20mm round that went off with a fearful bang, travelled across the open ground towards the Portuguese camp, entered a tent and hit the cook who was taking his post-breakfast siesta. It removed a large part of his skull and he was casevaced to Tete by chopper. That evening the commander came over to tell us that the cook was dead. Seeing the looks of dismay on our faces, he immediately qualified his remark by saying, “Oh, don’t worry, he was a ‘sheet’ cook anyway!” We were stunned by this callous disregard for human life, but it was typical of the overall attitude.
As there seemed to be little action at one stage, we threatened to pack up camp and return to Rhodesia, which was bad news for the Portuguese Army colonel. We had just been to a scene where there had been a report of a Fred (FRELIMO) camp but it was a ‘lemon’. The Portuguese had to return by vehicle. No sooner had we landed back at Chicoa than the Portuguese Army colonel came running to our camp, in itself an unusual sight. Panting and puffing he approached Wing Commander Ozzie Penton, and, scarcely able to contain himself, he blurted out what was to become the most famous words ever uttered at Chicoa. “Colonel Penton, good news, good news, we have been ambushed!” Ozzie’s face was a picture. Recovering, he looked at the Colonel and said, “Well Colonel, if that is good news, what the hell is the bad news?” We deployed the troops but rain had washed the tracks away.
One morning Captain Neves, their OC, gave the whole company a pep-talk, telling them that convoys were going to be sent out on the three roads that led out of Chicoa to locate mines. This was a good plan—except for one small drawback—the intention was to discover the mines by hitting them. The plan also required volunteers to drive the vehicles. As these vehicles were not mine-protected, the volunteers were, in effect, going to their deaths. The troops got into a huddle and a group of volunteers stepped forward to loud applause from their comrades. They boarded the vehicles and drove off. Within the hour we were called on to pick up the casualties and drop trackers to search for spoor but, even in the case of freshly laid mines, the rains soon washed any evidence away. The young people lost their lives needlessly but this did not seem to bother the officers. After a few days the exercise was called off—there were no more vehicles. There was one concession, however. The drivers of the Bedford trucks were allowed to remove the bonnets because if they hit a land mine the bonnets would flip back and crush the driver!
Then we were off again on our ‘magical mystery tour’, on this occasion to the picturesque resort of Tembue, an Army camp encircled by a few mud huts. We were billeted in a corrugated-iron shed, which had a hessian partition across the middle to separate the officers from the other ranks. A short walk found us at the officers’ mess, next to which was an open kitchen in which the chef was preparing our evening meal, surrounded by a host of flies. A severely undernourished cow, which should have been put out of its misery months ago, was tethered nearby. On the second day, we returned to camp to find the cow missing. We decided not to risk it, so we dined on corned beef and ‘dog’ biscuits washed down with copious amounts of cerveja (beer). The following morning the cow reappeared, so we needn’t have worried, but the threat was ever-present that she would one day go missing for good.
Animal incidents
FOR THE MOST PART RHODESIAN troops were pretty bored with border-control routines though the abundance of wild life often helped break the monotony. The Zambezi Valley teamed with wild game in the early 1960s before they became disrupted by terrorist and security force activities, which forced some to move to quieter regions; many elephants crossed the Zambezi River for the tranquillity of Zambia.
On a number of occasions we saw soldiers swimming in deep water close to sandy beaches along the Zambezi River. From our helicopter my technicians and I could see the semicircle of large crocodiles lying submerged in close proximity to the naked men. Every radioed warning was ignored because experience had shown the troops that, if a group of people remained close together, crocodiles kept their distance. If however anyone separated from the group, or was alone, crocodiles would attack. A number of men were lost to crocodiles in this way, including some members of SAP operating in the Victoria Falls area.
Situations of confrontation between soldiers and big game occasionally induced friction between National Parks and the military, particularly when charging animals were gunned down. There were also situations in which the Army shot for the pot and to produce biltong (dried meat) in quantities exceeding Parks’ approval. But the presence of game had its lighter side.
A high-ranking aged policeman flew into Mana Pools during a joint-force inspection tour of border-control units. He was a keen photographer and left the helicopter immediately on arrival to take photographs of a large lone bull elephant he had spotted from the air just before landing. This was ‘Twinkle Toes’ who was well known to the locals, but not to this policeman.
Some months earlier Twinkle Toes had been darted by National Parks rangers to record his vital statistics and to mark him with a large white painted number for ease of tracing his movements. Before the recovery drug was administered, the rangers had a bit of fun painting the big jumbo’s toes in a variety of bright colours; hence his nickname.
