Throughout the climb the haze level was unusually dense. At 8,500 feet haze density was such that it created a fairly distinct though false horizon at about forty degrees above the true horizon. Below the aircraft the night was as black as hell but above the haze line there were stars to help hold heading without continuous reference to instruments. At altitude I sensed that there was strong drift to port but I could not be certain of this because the ground was not visible to conscious sight. The sensation bothered me so much that I asked Ewett Sorrell if he was sensing the same thing. He said he was not.
At about eighty nautical miles, based on time, I picked up the faint greyish white ribbon of a riverbed that ran along track for a while then broke sharply left and was lost in the black. I took this to be the distinctive bend on the Gwelo River. This placed me on track and a little ahead on time. Despite the river check, the sensation of drift persisted. At about the halfway point a bush fire came up on our right side but it was impossible to establish the direction the smoke was blowing because the haze only allowed light from the circular line of flame to show through.
At 05:10 I called FASOC and was answered immediately, loud and clear, by Gordon Nettleton. I told him we were estimating Binga at 05.25 though we may be a little late because I had changed heading for Chete Island to offset the sensation of high but unproven drift. Even though the haze had reduced dramatically I could not see the lake at 05.30. It was then that Ewett Sorrell picked up the glow of town lights way off on our port side. I was dumbfounded thinking that this must be Wankie and that my sensations of drift had been correct after all. I called FASOC, but there was no reply.
The Alouette fuel gauge was calibrated by fuel weight from zero to 1,000 pounds. With cruising power set and flying at 8,500 feet there was sufficient fuel for a flight time of between two hours, fifty minutes and three hours. Before reaching zero fuel, a small light on the fuel gauge gave warning when only fifteen minutes of flying time remained. The light would flicker for a while before burning brightly. It was from this point that the fifteen minutes was timed. When we saw the lights of the town the warning light flickered for the first time. Dawn was breaking but I knew I must get on the ground as soon as possible to await better light. An autorotative descent was made to conserve fuel and halfway down the descent the ground became vaguely visible. As we got closer, I saw that we were over very rough country with deep ravines that looked wrong. Even in the poor light conditions the rivers seemed to be running south when they should be flowing north. I had not seen the lake or the Zambezi River so put this matter out of mind as I eased on power to level off over one of the ridges. We spotted a small vlei deep in a valley and went in to land. On short finals, however, the fuel warning light came on steady at the very same moment that we picked up a herd of elephant right where we had to land. They cleared off quickly enough allowing us to put down in the long grass that reeked of the great brutes. After fifteen minutes waiting with curious elephants milling around us it became light enough to get airborne.
As we crested the ridge we saw farmlands directly ahead and set course for the closest farmstead. Close up the farm looked very dilapidated so we went on a little farther to one that looked much neater and landed in a paddock close to a fence. Just beyond the fence was the farmhouse from which smoke was rising lazily in the cold morning air. A couple of moving figures showed that the place was coming to life. I had a sneaking suspicion we were in Zambia but wondered how this could be since we had not seen the Zambezi River.
As a precaution I asked Ewett to remain in the helicopter cabin and prepare his rifle in case of trouble—what trouble I could not say. I walked forward of the helicopter and stopped at the fence to await a man who was coming towards me. Because I could not speak N’debele, I greeted the guy in the usual Shona way with the words “Mangwanani, mamuka se”? to which he replied “Tamuka! Mamuka wo”? I then asked him where the ‘boss’ was to which he replied “bwana ne dona vakaenda ku taundi." His use of the words Bwana and Dona really worried me. Even though the man spoke Shona, my guard was already up when I asked him for the direction to Binga. He had never heard of the place, so I asked where Livingstone was. He pointed in a southwesterly direction saying Livingstone was quite close. Quite close in African terms usually means a long way off!
I thanked the man and was about to turn round when, in English, he asked in a rude fashion “Where the hell you come from”? I told him we were on our way from Lusaka to Livingstone but the haze had been so bad that I was making sure I had not crossed the Zambezi into Rhodesia. He seemed satisfied and I turned to walk back to the helicopter as coolly as I could. My nonchalance was overdone because my foot slipped through the step and I nearly broke my leg between the two bars that formed it.
There was no time to rub my aching leg. Two others had joined the man and all three were climbing through the fence to get a closer look at the helicopter. On selection of the engine starter switch the engine fired up but suddenly quit. I slammed back the fuel-flow lever to close the micro switch that had caused the motor to shut down. Then, hand-signalling the three approaching men to stay where they were, we had to wait an agonising thirty seconds before repeating the start-up sequence
As soon as the engine start sequence ended, I advanced the fuel-flow lever much faster than normal to wind up the rotors to governed speed before lifting off into backwards flight to prevent the men on the ground from seeing RRAF 503 painted on the belly of the helicopter. Suddenly the reverse airflow caught my unlocked door and flung it forward where it engaged with the lock that normally held the door open on the ground. I had not even strapped myself in but this made reaching the lock possible as I rotated the aircraft with rudder to turn it into forward flight. This caused the door to whip back and strike my elbow with great force.
Once strapped in and settled in the climb, I headed in the general direction of Livingstone Airport where I told Ewett we might have to take on fuel, at gunpoint if necessary. I scrabbled for my map case, found the appropriate 1:250,000 map and positively confirmed Senkobo and Kananga railway sidings ahead and right of our course. We already had a cumulative flying time of over five minutes since the warning light had first come on, which seemed to place Livingstone Airport beyond our reach, so I kept climbing at eighty knots seeking as much height as possible. Attempts to raise Victoria Falls Airport and the FASOC at Binga met with no response.
I was mildly concerned about RAF Javelin fighters that had recently been deployed to protect Zambia from imagined aggression from Rhodesia, but decided that they would not be able to respond to a call from the farm or from Livingstone Airport before we were safely out of Zambian airspace. The fuel warning light had been on for more than twenty minutes when we passed over Livingstone Airport at almost 11,000 feet. Below we could see the fuel storage depot and two fuel bowsers parked next to a building close by. The Zambezi River was still just out of reach if the engine quit but there was ample space to make a forced landing where the bowsers stood. A minute later we knew we were safe when the south bank of the Zambezi River was within our reach.