Dingo Firestorm (22 page)

The 40 RLI troops who would go in by helicopter to close the northern side of the box boarded trucks together with a paratroop reserve for the four-hour drive in convoy to Grand Reef, the Fireforce base near Umtali. In the early morning, the heli-borne troops would leave Grand Reef for Lake Alexander, a picturesque drive through the mountains – although not best viewed from the back of a covered truck just before going into battle against enormous odds.

To reduce congestion at New Sarum and for better mission secrecy, the 10 reserve, or ‘Polo’, helicopters of Yellow Section would fly to Grand Reef for a night stop, and leave for Lake Alexander in the morning.

Squadron Leader Rich Brand flew back to his Midlands base at Thornhill, deep in thought. In the morning, the responsibility fell on him to fire the first shots and start the battle at exactly 07:45, not a few seconds early or late, but on the button and on target.

It was an enormous responsibility. Not only that, but everyone was expecting him to shoot Mugabe and his generals while they reviewed the parade from the porch of the HQ building. But Brand felt calm. He knew he could fire accurately; he also knew that the more planning he did, the easier it would be on the day for him and his men.

By the time Brand was back in his office at Thornhill Air Force Base, he had already worked out the bones of his plan. Now, with maps, a pencil, protractor, ruler and calculator, he quickly worked out the finer detail. He would brief his Hunter section at 17:00 in the pilots’ briefing room, where the ground-crew chief and the meteorology man joined them. Each pilot had his own gridded photos of the target. Brand reminded them of the objective:

Gents, our mission is to attack targets, neutralise anti-aircraft sites and provide top cover. We will open the battle with Red Section hitting three prime targets at 07:45:00 local time, here, here and here. At 07:45:30, as the Cans come through, White and Blue Sections will hit these four anti-aircraft pits. Thereafter, we will form a cab rank and attack targets, as directed by Delta Zero, ‘Boss’ Walsh’s callsign in the command helicopter. I will lead Red Section, Vic Wightman will lead White and John Blythe-Wood will lead Blue.

Brand outlined the route, timings, contingencies and other details. ‘Gents, the mess will be open for breakfast from 05:45; we will have a recap briefing here at 06:30. Any questions?’

Back at New Sarum, Dave Jenkins and his fellow technicians had checked and serviced their aircraft; now it was time for a few beers. ‘The corporals’ mess was designated an all-ranks mess for that night. I think most of us had a few chibulies [beers], but without getting too pissed, after which we made our way back to the hangar, where we dossed down on our stretchers,’ Jenkins recounted.

A silence settled over the base. It was a balmy late-November night in Salisbury. After seven months of the dry season, the atmosphere hung heavy with the expectation of rain. Soon, the Indian Ocean monsoon would blow moist air across Mozambique. As the air collided with the solid wall of the Rhodesian Highlands, it would be forced upward, cooling rapidly and forming mountains of white cumulus cloud.

As the moist air spread across Rhodesia, massive late-afternoon thunderstorms were caused by heat rising from the ground. You could almost set your watch by the regular afternoon thunderstorms in Salisbury. At about half past four, just as people were preparing to knock off from work, the ferocity of a storm would be unleashed with surprising regularity.

There is something very special about the first storm after the dry season. First, huge white cumulus clouds grow and grow, towering as high as 40 000 feet. Then it gets darker as the heavily pregnant cloud struggles to hold its water. At this stage, just before the wind starts blowing furiously, the unique metallic smell of fresh rain hits the nose, an indescribably wonderful aroma. Then it’s time to run for cover to avoid getting drenched and, more importantly, to avoid the lightning, Africa’s biggest natural killer on the Highveld. It all ends quickly, then the sun comes back to cast wonderful rainbows and orange glows across the sky. High above, the cloud changes from the shape of a mushroom to that of a blacksmith’s anvil, the death shape of the storm.

Norman Walsh fell asleep at home, hoping Mother Nature would hold off for another four days. It wouldn’t.

When each major milestone during Operation Dingo was reached, a code word would be reported back to the command structure. Nine milestones were set, each with a code word derived from cricket, starting with ‘Short Handle’ and ending with ‘Off Spin’, the point at which all troops were safely back on Rhodesian soil.

‘Short Handle’ would let the commanders know that the first major task had been completed, namely setting up the helicopter assembly area at Lake Alexander. This would be the main helicopter transit point, where RLI troops and other support personnel would board the Alouettes. A medical resuscitation unit and a helicopter spares, supply and repair point would also be established at Lake Alexander.

The lake – actually a dam on the Odzani River – nestles in the Stapleford Forest, making it an attractive venue for rowing, fishing, camping and picnicking. The planners chose the largest open camping area for the helicopter landing zone. A gently curving dirt road framed the longest edge of the LZ, providing ideal access for transporting troops and fuel.

Lake Alexander was an ideal compromise, being less than four kilometres from the Mozambican border, yet far enough away from the prying eyes of populated areas, particularly the lovely city of Umtali, 25 kilometres to the south. There was only one problem. At 5 725 feet above sea level, the thin air at Lake Alexander would rob the Alouette helicopters of weight-bearing capability, especially the G-cars, with four fully kitted infantrymen and a crew of two. This meant the helicopters would have to carry less fuel.

Men from the air force began to arrive and stake out 22 places along the edge of the dirt road. A further 10 spots were staked out in a second row behind. Fuel drums would be dropped off at each stake to demarcate where each helicopter should land. The spaces had to be far enough apart to allow the helicopters to land safely next to each other. The rotor diameter of the Alouette is 11 metres, and there was a buffer zone of five metres between helicopters. The distance from the first to the last stake would be just over 300 metres.

Later that afternoon, the growling of a convoy of trucks carrying 160 drums of helicopter fuel interrupted the tranquillity of Lake Alexander. Initially, two drums were dropped off at each stake. Most of the 22 target-bound helicopters (K-cars and troop-carrying G-cars) would land along the edge of the road.

Fortunately, the Rhodesians had managed to borrow 10 Alouette helicopters from the South African Air Force. Known as Polo helicopters, these machines were not permitted to fly near the target; they would act in a support role, ferrying men and equipment between Lake Alexander and the admin base across the border.

Typically, the Alouette G-car would fill up with one 200-litre drum of fuel, enough for about 40 minutes’ flying time, with a small reserve. The helicopters would fill up with fuel to their capacity in Salisbury to minimise refuelling time at Lake Alexander. Therefore, most would only need to top up at the lake to have 230 litres in the tank, which would bring the machine close to its maximum weight limit. This fuel load would be just enough to reach the target, drop the troops and fly to the admin base, leaving a contingency reserve of no more than 10 minutes’ flying time. The lighter K-cars would load more fuel, giving them an endurance of at least an hour and a quarter.

Given its proximity to the Mozambican border, Lake Alexander was certainly not a secure area in 1977. It was vulnerable to attack by ZANLA, so 20 RLI troopers with 81-mm mortars were needed at Lake Alexander to provide protection for the helicopters, personnel and equipment until the operation was over.

By early evening, all the work had been done in preparation for the arrival of 32 helicopters, truckloads of RLI troops and lots of support staff. After a final inspection just after dawn, the RLI protection troop officer at Lake Alexander transmitted the first key radio message of the operation: ‘Short Handle complete. I say again, Short Handle complete.’ The message was received by the SAS radio facility at the Grand Reef Airbase near Umtali and quickly relayed to Salisbury. Robinson and Walsh ticked off the first critical milestone. The next critical stage would be Cover Point.

The admin base over the border in Mozambique would serve a similar purpose to Lake Alexander – a refuelling and staging post for the helicopters, with facilities for repairs, medical resuscitation and initial prisoner screening. There was, however, one big difference: ‘Cover Point’, its code name, needed to be close to the target and, therefore, well inside hostile, foreign territory.

This was a challenge for the planners. The base needed to be within 10 minutes’ helicopter flying time from the target, but away from roads and populated areas. It also had to be large enough to accommodate up to 32 helicopters.

Areas to the west and south were out of the question; these were heavily populated and well defended. The only feasible option was to the north. The planners scanned aerial photographs of the area between the Pungwe River and New Farm, looking for a flattish, open area. Ideally, it would also be near some high ground to allow an army mortar team to take position to protect the vulnerable helicopters from attack.

Some ground near the foothills of a modest elevation called Monte Utumece, 25 kilometres north of the target, looked ideal, at least from the pictures. It afforded a high area to the east; it was 17 kilometres from Highway 102, linking Chimoio and Tete, and seven kilometres south of the lightly populated banks of the Pungwe River. What the two-dimensional pictures didn’t show was that the grass was tall, and so were the clumps of dense bush – not ideal terrain for helicopter landings. Validating the area before the raid, however, was not an option, so if there were obstacles, Peter Petter-Bowyer, the admin-base commander, would have to make a plan.

Ideally, PB would land at the admin base before H-hour, giving him time to quickly familiarise himself with the lay of the land and then supervise the all-important fuel drop from the DC-7. The key tactical advantage for the Rhodesians, however, was total surprise. Therefore, it was too risky for even a single helicopter to fly across Mozambique ahead of the main attacking force. To reduce the risk of compromising the element of surprise, Norman Walsh modified the original plan and allowed PB’s admin helicopter, flown by Flight Lieutenant Bill Sykes, to tag along with the main helicopter assault force and separate en route to arrive at the admin base a few minutes before the DC-7. This would give PB the opportunity, albeit brief, to assess the terrain and figure out where best to drop the fuel. PB would talk the DC-7 onto the drop zone by means of a portable VHF radio.

‘Dingo was just another op, so I had no problem sleeping,’ Norman Walsh remembered. ‘But I did have to sneak out with my flying gear, as my wife, Merilyn, had no idea I would be flying on an op.’

The bedside alarm clock jangled loudly at 03:15, and Walsh silenced it quickly as he slipped out of bed. He pulled on his flying suit, and slid his feet into the comfortable
veldskoens
that were standard uniform issue. Walsh grabbed his flying helmet, briefcase and an overnight bag, and sneaked out of the house. He drove off in the dark to New Sarum. The pre-dawn air was fresh and cool; there had been light rainfall during the night – not something the weathermen had forecast.

The New Sarum base slowly came to life. The first people out and about at just after 03:30 were the helicopter technicians, who removed the covers and prepared the 22 helicopters scattered around the base and on the sports fields. Torchlights flashed like fireflies as the techs in poorly lit areas busied themselves in the inky darkness just before dawn.

In the shadows of the west apron stood seven Dakotas and a DC-7; Alouette helicopters randomly occupied empty spaces. On the northern apron stood four giant bat-like Canberra bombers, with their canopy and engine covers in place. Seven Vampire jets were lined up neatly nearby, also still covered.

Norman Walsh arrived at 03:45. After a weather briefing and a quick cup of coffee, he and Brian Robinson set off to find their command helicopter. Dave Jenkins, Walsh’s flight technician, greeted the two commanders as they strode up to the Alouette. In the gloom, Walsh barely noticed that there were strange covers over the machine-gun barrels. Jenkins explains: ‘Henry Jarvie found two cylindrical cardboard containers the evening before, which he promptly stuck over the two barrels of my twin Brownings, saying that the gooks might think it some sort of secret weapon, which would stop them shooting at our command aircraft. Needless to say, the cylinders blew off as we got airborne.’

Henry Jarvie was probably the best-liked No. 7 Squadron technician and one of the funniest. His idea of the secret-weapon joke backfired because, as it turned out, the gooks did shoot at the command aircraft – accurately too.

Walsh and Robinson were strapped in and ready at 04:25. Jenkins remained outside, resting against the Alouette’s fuselage while he waited to check the helicopter during the wind-up process. Walsh flicked on the battery master switch, bathing the cockpit in a soft glow from the instrument lights. He turned on the radio, set it to the check-in frequency and waited.

The brooding silence was broken when the man leading the helicopter armada, Squadron Leader Harold ‘Griff’ Griffiths, called ‘check-in’, which prompted a response from the rest of the first section of helicopters to lift off that morning. The calmness of the morning was shattered as one Turbomeca gas turbine engine after another screamed into life. The noise of the helicopters seemed to act as an alarm, spurring on the base. The Canberra armourers seemed to work faster; the Dakota technicians put more urgency into preparing their ancient machines; and everyone started walking around more briskly. In the rising din, Air Marshal Frank Mussell, the air force commander, strode out of the main building to wave the machines off.