Whilst Sandy gathered in aircraft and tasked them for what was expected to be an easy search, I was finding out what had been happening in that area. From the Special Branch and Police I learned that a group of terrorists had been reported moving northward along the Ruya River two days previously. I asked if John Smart knew about this group, to which I received an affirmative reply; so I went to Sandy Mutch and suggested he should include the Ruya River in his search plan. He would have nothing to do with this because the Ruya did not fit in with his now finalised search plan.
I explained to Sandy that I felt certain that John had done what I would have done in his situation. I would have diverted from the direct track to run up the Ruya at low level in the hopes of catching the terrorist group in the open. There had been no urgency for John to reach his destination so a deviation of some forty kilometres would not have concerned him. Sandy still took no notice and two whole days of intensive but fruitless searching passed.
The wreckage of John’s helicopter was then located by accident. Hugh Chisnall of the Police Reserve Air Wing was on a routine flight along the border when he noticed strong sun reflections flashing off items in heavy bush in the Ruya riverbed. He knew an air search was being conducted for a missing helicopter and guessed that the flashes he had seen might have been from wreckage of that machine. His report was investigated by one of the search helicopters whose pilot immediately confirmed the reflections had been from the scattered wreckage of John’s helicopter.
Troops were flown in to secure the area before an Air Force team arrived to conduct a detailed investigation. The findings were that the helicopter had struck a tall, dead tree that John had obviously not seen (a known hazard when low-flying). Whether the impact incapacitated John or the helicopter was not clear, but some 100 metres had been traversed before the helicopter reached high bush and broke up in a long crash path. John and Tinker had been killed instantly and there was no evidence to suggest any enemy involvement.
Offensive recces
ALTHOUGH I HAD BEEN IN and out of Centenary to change over crews and receive updates on what was happening in the Op Hurricane area, I did not deploy to Centenary until March. Back at base Rob Tasker was busy with Trojan conversions and operational orientation for a new crop of youngsters fresh off PTC. These were Peter Simmonds, Chris Dickinson, Ken Newman, Cocky Benecke, Mark Aitchison and Willie Wilson.
There were limited calls on 4 Squadron in this period, so I decided to get back into Tete to see what was happening in the same area 4 Squadron had used for recce training eight months earlier. Mike Litson flew with me and we were both astounded by the changes.
SAS teams had been operating in this same region since January and had scored small successes against ZANLA. However, the area was simply too large for the limited number of foot-bound SAS callsigns to fully reconnoitre, monitor and ambush an expanding network of routes to Rhodesia.
Although in three days I could provide the basic intelligence the SAS would take more than a month of hard work to glean, Brian Robinson was dead against my continued presence over any area in which his men were operating. Since I held the SAS in high regard, I honoured Brian’s wishes, but I have to say that I never did agree with his thinking.
We knew ZANLA was making inroads into the populated areas. When a question arose as to how far their influence extended, I offered a simple way of finding out. I got most of my squadron crews and aircraft, from Thornhill and elsewhere, to meet at New Sarum. After my briefing we flew ten aircraft low-level along parallel lines set five miles apart heading due north from a start line that ran eastwards from Salisbury. We flew due north to another line running due east from Centenary to where the Mazoe River exited Rhodesia. Along this line, all aircraft headed east for fifty miles and repeated the parallel pattern heading south.
Each aircraft had a crew of two whose task it was to study the local peoples’ reaction to the presence of their aircraft. My observation over years had been that all the black folk, men, women and children, living normal lives instinctively waved at low-flying aircraft, even when they were caught stark naked. However, whenever there had been any political tension, such as occurred during the banning of ZAPU in the 1960s, nobody would look up at an aircraft, let alone wave at it.
The crews were asked to plot the point at which peoples’ responses to the aircraft changed from open friendliness to indifference. In this way we found that the terrorists were active in northern Chiweshe TTL south of Centenary, throughout that part of the Kandeya TTL lying north of the Ruya River, the northern half of Chimanda TTL and the whole of Masoso TTL. The Ngarwe and Mkota TTLs in the east appeared to be free of ZANLA influence.
In the manner we had come to expect, Internal Affairs paid no attention to our information but Special Branch men like Peter Stanton and Winston Hart took it seriously. These two men had already learned what pilots could pick up from the air using God-given Mk1 eyeballs.
Blonde-haired, softly spoken Winston Hart, like Peter Stanton, was a top-rate intelligence officer. Both of these men became key figures in future SAS and Air Force planning. As early as 1970 they were already well known but were seldom seen because they were forever on the move, and always in a hurry. Winston was particularly lucky to have been blessed with the lives of a proverbial cat but unlucky in another sense to be involved in two landmine explosions in the space of a few days at the beginning of Op Hurricane. In these incidents he was fortunate to get away with temporary deafness and severe bruising because proper mine-proofed vehicles did not exist then.
Non-offensive casualties
AN UNFORTUNATE FACT OF LIFE is that lives are lost or seriously affected by accidents. In the normal run of things they seldom draw public attention because accidents are simply regarded as risks of living. This changes the moment they involve men in uniform. In Rhodesia routine accidents continued but new situations introduced new hazards. The greatest of these came from killing devices such as rifles and explosives as well as increased vehicular movement of men.
So far as I remember, we lost more uniformed men to accidental gunshot wounds than to offensive actions. These incidents were recorded as ‘accidental discharges’, abbreviated to ‘AD’ in the daily Sitreps (Situation Reports) sent to OCC from the JOCs. Reports of deaths and injuries by ADs became so commonplace in Sitreps that the horror of these was usually lost to those who read them. But one thing was clear, ADs hardly ever occurred amongst highly trained and disciplined units. Road accidents also made too high a claim on our uniformed men and one such incident involved my cousin, Brian Ade.
Brian was the son of my Uncle Eric Smith who had died in Italy when his Spitfire struck high-tension cables. Eric’s wife, Eileen, remarried some years later and changed the surname of Eric’s son Brian and daughter June to that of her husband, Cliff Ade. Nevertheless, Brian and June Ade were still my first cousins and were special to me.
Brian was in charge of a number of TF (Territorial Force) soldiers being transported to Mukumbura on the Mozambican border in one of a convoy of Bedford trucks. The road to Mukumbura descended from the highveld into the Zambezi Valley floor via a steep, winding pass down the Mavuradona mountain range. During its descent, the vehicle on which Brian was travelling suffered total brake failure. Brian immediately realised that the steep gradient and sharp corners spelt disaster, so he ordered everyone to jump off the moving vehicle. Whereas most did so, a few men froze. Brian manhandled some over the side of the truck and was so engaged when the vehicle rolled on a sharp corner. Brian was flipped out and flew through the air in a near-vertical descent onto rocks. Unfortunately he landed on a wedge shaped rock that broke his back, confining him for life to a wheelchair.