4 Squadron was doing well, morale was high and training had become interesting. We flew many first-light and last-light GAC strikes and also made first-run attacks on targets marked by airborne FAC using 37mm Sneb rockets. Realising it may be necessary to call in a number of aircraft from different locations to link up for combined first-light strikes, we ran exercises in which three or four aircraft met before dawn at a prearranged position well away from target.
Meeting in the dark required height separation initially and cautious manoeuvring to come into formation on the navigation lights of the assigned strike leader. There was something magical about those early morning flights when the progressive brightening of the sky revealed the black shapes of Provosts, or Trojans, flying together in loose formation.
First light for callsigns on the ground occurred as much as twenty minutes before pilots’ visual contact with ground was good enough to safely make diving attacks. Only by flying with us did Army officers appreciate our problem. In consequence, any ground force needing close air support at dawn always had to endure an agonisingly long wait beyond ‘soldiers’ first light for ‘pilots’ first light.
To reduce training costs, live strikes were made using one machine-gun or just a pair of 37mm Sneb rockets. The low-cost Kaylite sand-and-powder BUBS were always used in place of Frantans.
Jungle Lane
THERE WAS NEED FOR ALL squadron personnel to be reasonably well prepared for self-defence if downed amongst the enemy and to be able to assist in the defence of airfields. Every pilot and technician underwent weapons training on rifle ranges and all had to be proficient with both rifle and pistol.
Whereas the Army always received maximum Air Force assistance in preparing for FAC, GAC and helicopter-trooping, the same could not be said of the Army when we sought professional assistance to prepare aircrew in ground-fighting techniques. Fortunately we had one or two ex-Army men ourselves, so 4 Squadron was given the necessary training by Warrant Officer Barney Barnes. One Army exercise he put us through was known as the ‘Jungle Lane’.
Jungle Lane was designed to develop snap reaction and accurate shooting whilst under high physical and mental stress. Preparation for this involved setting up a number of hidden pop-up ‘hostile’ targets along a difficult twisting bush course known only to the man who prepared it and conducted the training runs.
Barney Barnes took one pilot or technician at a time with FN rifle and three magazines of live ammunition to run the course. He followed close behind bellowing instructions on which way to move or firing his FN to signify when to dive for cover. Man-sized targets, standing, crouching or lying, popped up when Barney pulled on hidden strings. The man running Jungle Lane had to fire two shots from the hip immediately a target appeared but without losing forward momentum. Targets could appear as far back as forty-five degrees, which meant having to cast around for them but still avoiding obstructions along the way.
I hated Jungle Lane with a passion. Barney Barnes, on the other hand, revelled in my breathless agony. Being a smoker did little to help me run in deep sand along a dry river-course with Barney’s live rounds sending spurts of sand and rock splinters flying left and right about me. The steepest banks were the points he selected to change from riverine to bush and vice versa whilst he trotted gently along level high ground.
Having passed the first five targets and diving for cover I felt my legs would carry me no further. My mouth tasted of blood and my lungs were close to bursting. Twice I received a verbal blast for not counting how many rounds I had fired when I was about to move on without changing magazines. When fifteen or so targets had gone by Barney declared the run completed. We then backtracked the course to count hits on the targets. It took me the entire route back to recover my breath but I was always pleased to have seen every target and equalled the results of the best of my men. Nevertheless, those Jungle Lane runs made me decide that, if I was downed, I would go into cover and let the bloody enemy do the running.
Jungle Lane and all other ground-combat training had me wondering what attracted men to a career in infantry. I knew they had to be barmy to enjoy filth, sweat, breathlessness, leopard-crawling and diving for cover at full running speed with heavy kit and weapon impeding a gentle touch-down. I never came to any conclusion on the issue but found it interesting that soldiers wondered what madness made a pilot operate in full view of the enemy with no place to hide.
‘October Revolution’
THE PRESIDENT OF THE OFFICERS’ Mess Committee at Thornhill, Squadron Leader Ralph Parry, was the station’s Senior Technical Officer. It was unusual to have a non-flying PMC, but there he was sitting at the centre position of the top table for a dining-in night in October.
Bad habits imported from RAF Aden dining-in nights broke loose on this particular occasion when Rich Brand set off a very loud cracker that filled the room with strong-smelling smoke. The PMC rose to his feet and called for order, whereupon another cracker went off. Infuriated by this, Ralph Parry returned to his feet and in an uncertain manner threatened to expel the culprit if the incident was repeated. Following a much bigger bang with more dense smoke, the perplexed PMC rose to his feet yet again and ordered the culprit to leave the room. Since he did not know who the culprit was, he became even more perplexed when twelve of us rose as one and departed from the dining-room.
When we were outside laughing our heads off at the way our gentle PMC had handled misbehaviour, Tol Janeke invited everyone to his home to continue the evening there. Where all the beer came from remains a mystery but I remember Tol attiring everyone with his wife’s prized lampshades as headdress over mess kit. A very merry party ensued.
Some of the wives, including Tol’s wife June, pitched up from a gathering they had been to and went behind the neighbour’s hedge to watch their rowdy men partying in the house. The position they chose to lie in the shadows was not a good one. Cyril White, coming out of the light into darkness, failed to see the girls on the other side of the section of hedge into which he relieved his bladder. Mildly splattered, the girls backed off but managed to suppress their mirth until Cyril let loose a very loud fart.
Many parties were held in many places, most to be forgotten. But this night, nicknamed the ‘October Revolution’, was an impromptu affair that remains clear in my memory.
Operation Sable
IN SPITE OF ALL THE assurances given by the Department of Internal Affairs (which we nicknamed Infernal Affairs) it was obvious that they had no clue of what was actually happening in the remote places of northeast Rhodesia. The intimate contact that existed back in the days of horse and bicycle patrols, when every tribal kraal, big and small, was visited regularly, had been progressively lost with the advent of motor vehicles. The same might be said of the Police but for their ‘ground coverage’ men and agents who continued to make Peter Stanton and his colleagues our best source of ‘people intelligence’.
From information gleaned after the SAS attack on Matimbe base, it was clear that ZANLA had reached the Rhodesian population earlier than expected. This brought about increased military activity in the northeast, including RLI and RAR deployments along the border inside Rhodesia with SAS working inside Mozambique.