The soldiers called for helicopter assistance but were told that all the helicopters were too busy—one would come over when there was opportunity. The hours moved on and, though the white soldiers with their new-found charge tried to be patient, they called many times to make sure the Air Force had not forgotten its promise. When eventually a helicopter could be spared, the pilot was surprised to be asked to search for a blue-grey donkey.
Helicopters are extremely expensive to run and, in operations involving the movement of troops, fuel endurance is limited. Nevertheless the RLI soldiers’ story touched the pilot’s heart so he started a search. He managed to find a handful of donkeys, which he herded together before driving them towards the far-off tree under which the old man waited with his RLI friends. When the donkeys were close enough, the pilot broke away for Rhodesia to refuel.
The RLI soldiers were tickled pink when one donkey responded to the old man’s frail call, “Nicholas, Nicholas”. Sure enough the donkey that came to them was blue-grey, not like those other common brownie-grey jobs. He trotted straight to the old man whose eyes streamed with happy tears. But this was not the end of the story for the Air Force. The RLI troopies were not going to leave the old man and Nicholas behind because all of his kinsfolk had disappeared; so they called for helicopter uplift of themselves, the old man and Nicholas.
When a helicopter pilot said he could take the old man but that there was no possibility of getting Nicholas inside the helicopter, the RLI soldiers already had the answer to that problem. They had ripped apart their webbing and had fashioned a harness to lift Nicholas back to Rhodesia by way of the cargo sling, which was fitted to every helicopter.
By this time the helicopter pilots, who had just about completed the uplift of RLI troops back to Rhodesia, were getting a bit fed up with the persistence of the troopies. Being closest to the border, they were assigned for the last lift but their persistence and 7 Squadron’s flexible attitude soon had the callsign and old man airborne with one braying donkey hanging under the helicopter.
The flight had to be made at slow speed so as not to spin the donkey or drown him in the airflow. At the RLI’s bush base, Nicholas came into contact with the ground gently, the pilot pressed his cargo release button and Nicholas waited patiently for his harness to be removed. Within five minutes he was nibbling fresh green grass. The old man had his own tent, complete with the most comfortable bed he had ever known. He was given a hot shower and fresh clothing to replace his rags.
The old man and Nicholas were tended day and night by the troopies who had found him. When these soldiers went on patrol they handed their wards into the care of other soldiers. For two weeks Nicholas and the old man were comfortable and both gained weight. Then, out of the blue, there was the sharp crack of a rifle shot in the camp. The small contingent of soldiers and helicopter crews in base rushed to investigate and were horrified to find Nicholas lying dead from a bullet through his brain. A vehicle was racing away westward and the INTAF man, who came to shoot Nicholas for being ‘illegally imported into the country without veterinary inspection and compulsory quarantine’, was lucky to get away with his life. Had the RLI soldiers who gave chase in a lumbering Army truck caught up with this guy, there can be no doubt that theywould have killed him, so great was their anger.
The helicopter pilot who told me this sad story was the one who intercepted the INTAF man, possibly a District Officer acting on instructions from the District Commissioner, and flew him to safety. This he did to protect RLI soldiers from committing murder, certainly not out of pity for the detestable INTAF man. An attempt to console the old man and find a replacement blue-grey donkey failed when, just a few days later, he died broken-hearted. Internal Affairs’ reputation, already poor amongst operational soldiers and airmen, worsened.
For me, this story highlighted the very best and worst of the human spirit but it also raises another issue that you, the reader, can judge for yourself. I recorded what you have just read in about 1985. Now in 2001, following publication of Beryl Salt’s book—A Pride of Eagles—I read Ian Harvey’s account of an airlift of hundreds of civilians from Macombe in Mozambique to higher ground near the Musengezi Mission in Rhodesia. This move of people was at the request of the Portuguese to save them from the rising waters of the Cabora Bassa dam. This is part of what Ian told Beryl Salt:
As the final day progressed, with time running out, I was able to pile more and more people into my Alouette III as fuel burned off. My last load, with fuel down to 110 pounds, was a total of twenty-nine passengers (surely a world record), with my tech Finn Cunningham sitting outside on the running board with his feet on the port wheel.
This load included an old man with a crude type of skateboard. The RAR CSM approached me saying that the old man was a cripple who had trained a donkey called Reggie to pull him around the village and into the fields. It was his most treasured possession. In the fading light, I agreed to do one more lift. We set off with a cargo net and sure enough, there in the field standing alone was Reggie, a riempie halter around his neck. We loaded him into the net without any fuss and with the donkey dangling under the chopper we delivered him to his owner who was beside himself with joyat having been reunited with his companion.
The District Commissioner, who was probably under orders, had specified that no livestock would be permitted. He summarily shot Reggie. The RAR were so incensed that they had to be restrained from evening the score.
I prefer the first story and like the name Nicholas better than Reggie, but I am left wondering if Ian Harvey’s account is the correct one or if there were two old men with special donkeys. Seems unlikely!
Beit Bridge rail link
THE SERIOUS DEVELOPMENTS IN THE northeast confirmed our worst fears that the Portuguese would not contain FRELIMO. It also brought into question just how long our roads, railways and oil pipelines linking us to the port at Beira would remain secure. Similar concerns were developing for the future security of Rhodesia’s other rail lines to the coast. These ran to Lourenço Marques, the capital of Mozambique, and to South Africa via Botswana. Botswana showed no sign of outright hostility to Rhodesia, but it was clear that Seretse Khama’s black government could be forced by African governments to turn the screws on us.
Ian Smith knew that only a direct rail link with South Africa via Beit Bridge would overcome future political crises; to which end planning for a new line from Rutenga to the Limpopo, to link into the South African rail system at Messina, was stepped up. This 147-kilometre line was eventually built in just three months instead of twelve months as originally planned.
Commencement of Operation Hurricane
BY DECEMBER 1972, REX NHONGO’S ZANLA group had been in the St Albert’s Mission area for over seven months, politicising the locals, taking out recruits for training and building up war supplies. His group was based exactly where 4 Squadron had reported its presence in late July. Undisturbed, Rex Nhongo (his chimurenga pseudonym) and his men had lived in relative luxury, sometimes in caves, enjoying all the free food, beer and women, provided for ‘the boys in the bush’ by willing locals.
By now Rex was ready for offensive operations that he planned to launch between Christmas and New Year when he guessed many servicemen would be on leave. ZANLA groups to his east were supposed to open their offensive at the sametime. But news from the eastern groups was bad, so Rex decided to strike immediately with a view to drawing Rhodesian forces away from stressed comrades.