Gunship Over Angola

I also learnt to curse for 60 seconds straight without repeating a single swearword, fantasised endlessly about what I’d do with it if I ever got hold of whatever was hidden behind the strategically placed black stars in Scope magazine, and, like most of the other chaps there, remained firmly seated on the ground for a long time after watching the odd blue movie smuggled into the base by our own resident Radar O’Reilly (a character in M*A*S*H).

Days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, and the daily routine of an Alo pilot based in Ondangwa didn’t vary much. Normally, I was awake by 05h00. After showering, shaving and brushing my teeth, I’d go down to the operations briefing room with the other crews, where I’d wolf down a cup or two of steaming tea or coffee (sometimes it was difficult to tell the difference), accompanied by biscuits and rusks and small dried-out sandwiches. There we’d all receive the day’s flying activity briefing. Then it was to the aircraft for the pre-flight check and back to the technical hut to sign the F700 form, by virtue of which you accepted that the aircraft allocated to you was serviceable and flight-ready. Take-off followed as soon as all formation participants were ready to go.

It was rare to have a day off, and even when this luxury was bestowed you would almost certainly still be required for stand-by duties. If you did have a day off, your primary concern was to sleep in as late as practically possible, ease into the day when it got too hot to remain submerged under the mosquito net, and later repair gently towards the small splash pool located adjacent to the accommodations. ‘Nothing rushed’ was the strict order on those days.

So, when news reached us that AFB Ondangwa had a new RSM it barely raised a blip on the chopper pilots’ radar. This news was particularly overshadowed when the operations officer informed all Alo crews that there would be no flying for us the next day. In our minds, the two events were not even remotely linked.

The advisory to the chopper pilots, delivered just before closing time in the pub, that the new RSM intended holding an inspection parade at the officers’ terrapin quarters the following morning, on a rest day, was dismissed with the contempt it rightly deserved. At precisely 07h00, while we were all still deeply asleep, the new RSM marched smartly up to the door of our digs, crashed to a thunderous halt, ripped the door open and shouted, as only an RSM could, at decibel levels bordering on the criminally negligent:

‘OFFICERS… ATTEN… SHUN!’

A few seconds of dead silence followed and so he shouted again, even louder than before, ‘OFFICERS… ATTEN… SHUN!!!!!’

‘Fuck off!’ said the eight-strong pilot complement of the two adjoining terrapins simultaneously.

‘I am the RSM and I am authorised to inspect the officers’ quarters with adequate warning!’ wailed the startled but still indignant man. ‘And I gave the notification to you all in the pub last night!’

‘If you come through that door, we will fucking shoot you!’ someone shouted.

Discretion being the better part of valour, the RSM immediately stalked off in a great huff to Major Newham, who later told us what had transpired.

‘Major, the chopper pilots are undermining my attempts to improve discipline!’ the RSM whined when he entered Newham’s office.

‘What happened?’ Major Baz asked quietly.

The RSM puffed up his ample chest, stood smartly to attention, staring straight ahead, and related the exact details of the events of the preceding minutes.

Then Major Newham, in measured tones, said, ‘RSM, if you ever again tell my chopper drivers to ready themselves for an inspection by you or anyone else, without discussing it with me, and particularly on one of their off days, I will shoot you myself!’

*

The main road that connected South West Africa to Angola ran north from Windhoek through the town of Ondangwa, and then skirted the Ondangs airfield just to the east of it, before heading almost dead straight northwards to the border at Oshikango Gate. The border post on the Angolan side is still called Santa Clara, and five or so kilometres into Angola is the small town of Namacunde.

Intelligence sources had reported that a large group of PLAN soldiers was gathering just across the border. A raid was planned by the SADF to deal with the proximity threat they posed and to discourage the meeting. As raids go, this was a small one, and only two chopper gunships were allocated to provide air support to about 200 infantrymen, supported by a few Buffel landmine-protected troop carriers and a handful of Eland armoured cars. The Eland, a South African-built, modernised version of a French design, was colloquially known to the troops as the ‘Noddy car’.

It was my first operation.