If this involved an air strike, photo-reconnaissance was flown to positively identify the headman’s house and pamphlets were airdropped or hand-delivered to every person in or near the headman’s village. This was to allow the headman time to empty his home and to let his people know the British were going to punish him for being a bad lad for having helped terrorists. The pamphlets told everyone the day and time that the headman’s house was to be destroyed and suggested were they should go for their own safety. The venue chosen was invariably a high position to give everyone a good view of the event.
Such an occasion occurred whilst we were there and I witnessed the event when Varky and Randy were tasked to destroy a three-storey house that was separated from neighbours by very narrow streets. To cater for the flight path of 60-pound. squash-head rockets, only one direction of attack was possible.
The ALO identified the ridge on which he and a large gathering of people were assembled, and we could see them all clearly. Varky’s salvo of four rockets scored direct hits on the house. To start with, the combined effect of the explosions seemed to have taken out the entire village until the huge dust-cloud drifted off to expose a heap of rubble where the headman’s house had stood. Only a small portion of the bottom storey, at the rear of the downed house, remained above street-level. I thought there was no more to be done, but Randy fired a pair of rockets with such accuracy that no damage extended across the road and no portion of the house remained standing.
The ALO said everyone, including the headman, was very impressed but the headman’s immediate neighbours were very disappointed that they would not be able to claim for damages from the British Government.
We had only been in Aden ten days when I was tasked to accompany Flight Lieutenant Buster Web of the RAF, who was to be the RAF’s Air Liaison Officer (ALO) to an Army convoy travelling from Aden to Dhala in the mountains. My job was to assist Buster and learn something about British Army–Air Force co-operation.
The Royal Rhodesian Air Force had trained Buster but, together with Barry Raffel, Cyril White, Bernard du Plessis, Roy Morris and Doug Bebbington, he had left Rhodesia on completion of his SSU course to join the RAF. The latter four officers were destined to rejoin the RRAF but, at that time, they were all flying Venoms on No 8 Squadron. Why Buster had remained behind in Aden when the rest of his squadron was in Cyprus, I cannot say. I only remember him saying he was not too keen about the Dhala route, which he referred to as ‘ambush alley’.
An Army Arab levy drove the open Land Rover in which Buster and I travelled behind the armoured vehicle carrying the convoy commander who headed the long line of vehicles. Numerous armoured vehicles and covered trucks stretched back about two kilometres. Our drive started by crossing the centre of the main runway at Kormaksar, this being the only route from Aden to the interior. Once through Shaykh ‘Uthman we entered the open desert which was hot, dusty and boring.
In the late afternoon, camp was established about five kilometres short of the mountain range that ran square across our route. The extreme cold of the desert and the loud incessant crackling and chatter on the Army radio network made it seem a very long night.
Before sunrise we had coffee and set off on a road along the bed of a steep-sided gently winding wadi (watercourse) running through mountains for most of the remaining distance to Dhala. At the end of this wadi the road left the watercourse to climb up the southern side of a steep mountain face known as the Dhala Pass. On the opposite side, high rough mountain faces overlooked the narrow roadway all the way to the high plateau where the village of Dhala stood. This was the section that gave the route the name ‘Ambush Alley’. The entire wadi line and, more especially the pass itself, offered perfect terrain for terrorist ambushes. They could hide in strength amongst rocks and scrub, attack from behind excellent cover, then melt into the rugged countryside behind.
We had been running up the wadi for about an hour when the lead vehicle came to an abrupt halt and the commander leapt out onto the road. Behind us all vehicles bunched up and stopped as soldiers ran to take up defensive positions under a barrage of loud commands. Buster went forward to the Army commander to establish what was going on. I saw the Army commander pointing to the right mountain ridge as they talked. Buster then shouted to me, “Call Air." I had absolutely no idea what the fuss was about nor did I know how to call up aircraft because I had not been told how to. So, having heard RAF pilots use a callsign in jest, I transmitted, “Pig’s Arse, Pig’s Arse, this is Dhala ALO. Do you read? Over.”
To my surprise and great delight I received an immediate reply. I said where we were and two Venoms arrived overhead in less than a minute, by which time Buster had returned to our vehicle. He told the Venom pilots that one soldier had been hit. This may have been a lone sniper but there was no way of knowing if more terrorists were about. The jets made passes along the ridges even though there was virtually no hope of seeing bandits in that rough country. The real value of the Venom presence was to dissuade anyone from taking on the stationary convoy.
A large-calibre musket round had passed through the side of one of the convoy trucks, ripped away half of a soldier’s right buttock, and lodged in the seat between two soldiers sitting opposite him. Buster requested the lead Venom to call in a Twin Pioneer transporter to uplift the casualty back to base.
For almost an hour we waited for the Pioneer. I did not hear or see this twin-engined high-wing light transport aircraft until it was already rolling along the floor of the wadi. It was amazing to see that it had landed on unprepared ground then picked up the casualty without stopping engines. Immediately the Pioneer took off in a reverse run of no more than 200 metres. Its pilot told Buster on radio that his casualty was all smiles because he knew he would be flying back to Britain before the day was out. “Wait till the morphine wears off, most of the poor bugger’s arse is missing.”
The rest of the trip to Dhala was uneventful and we spent a pleasant evening with the OC of the Army company we had come to relieve and return to Aden. I was amused to hear the amiable posh-speaking Army major progressively revert to his natural Cockney accent as gins and tonic took effect. The next morning we were on the road again and reached Aden that evening following a disappointingly trouble-free trip.
On the 16th November 1959, I flew wingman to Varky on a call to strike a specific location near the base of the deep Wadi Adzzh that ran through the highest mountain range northeast of Aden and close to the Saudi border. Terrorists were reported by an ALO to be based up at this specific spot. We ran east along the mountain ridge with Wadi Adzzh on our starboard side. As Varky came abreast of the target location he called “Turning in live" and rolled right into a steep dive down the deep valley. Smoke was streaming from his guns as I followed about 1,500 meters behind him. His strikes were concentrated and easy to see.
When Varky broke off his attack and pulled up left, I started firing all four 20mm cannons with my sight set high above the target. I had not fired all four cannons together before and revelled in the noise, airframe shudder and the sight of my very first rounds exploding right on target. I was impressed by the length of time the firing continued before all four guns stopped as one.
I then turned hard to port pulling up sharply to align with the short eastward leg of the wadi. The only route out was straight ahead and over the top of the mountain, because the wadi turned ninety degrees south followed by ninety degrees east that was way too tight a route to follow. As soon as the aircraft was angled for the summit, I realised I was in deep trouble because my speed seemed insufficient to make the ridge ahead. The Mlanje mountain experience in Nyasaland immediately came to mind and my breathing went into overdrive.