MEMORIES OF A PARACHUTE DISPATCHER BY MARK ZAMBRA Part 2

The regime eased a bit once we had qualified and we now started to feel a part of the PTS staff. We were quickly shown the ropes about getting the hanger ready, equipment was serviceable and ready for the training courses that were coming through the school. We were allocated to various PJI`s and assisted in the mock ups dispatching and training the troops, a selection from most of the regiments of the Rhodesian Army. We issued instructions with no fear or favour to troopies and Officers alike and were looking forward to doing it for real.

That day came and we got a chance to test out our finely honed skills:-

Line up all the troops, get them into their kit, equipment check and then march out with them to the waiting aircraft. Up and through the door, sit, lap straps fastened and ready for takeoff.

As we rolled out onto runway 32 or 06 the look upon the faces, the white skin and large eyes and hard swallowing, full of nervous expectation especially if it was their first jump. I can still picture the wide eyed look and remember the smell of adrenaline induced fear.

A great rattling roar as the Dakota accelerated down the runway and we were airborne. The Dispatchers and PJI stood and clipped themselves on in preparation to get the first stick ready. With a signal from the PJI we step to the front of the line and yell to the troops,

 `Right, listen in. Stand up, hook up and check equipment`

There would be a hesitant fumble for the lap straps and then an almost reluctant rise to hook on the Static Line and proceed with the equipment checks. When we were dealing with more experienced troops in the field this all happened much quicker as those guys couldn’t wait to get onto the ground and do the job they were trained to do.

We would then do our checks and wait for the instruction to call the troops to action stations.

`Action stations` and the troops would shuffle uncomfortably towards us, 1,2,1,2,1,2.

A big grin and a thumbs up to the bloke at the front of the stick, one eye on the lights above the door.

Red light on, `stand in the door`, green light `go-go-go`.

A slap on the arm, static line clear, a push or slap on the back of the leg and the stick was moving.

`Troops gone` and then grabbing hold of the bags and pulling them back into the aircraft against the slipstream and stowing them away and getting the next stick ready for their turn.

And so it went on for the next few weeks. If we were not dispatching then we helped out the other members of staff on the DZ in laying it out, driving vehicles and assisting wherever we could or were instructed. We also jumped when we could and rapidly gained more experience.

Then one day Flight came to us and said `OK you lot, we will be going operational tomorrow, pair up and you will get a PJI who will fill you in as to what is going to happen`.

At last!  We were to go out into the bush, to a Forward Airfield where we would meet up with whatever Regiment was based there and get involved with them in defending our country.

I remember packing my kit bag, collecting my rifle from the armoury and going up to the hanger. Then it was down to chat up the girls at Parachute Packing as we picked up a supply of parachutes to take with us. We then trundled them up to the aircraft, loaded, and were soon on our way to the allocated FAF.

A couple of flying hours later we would arrive and having found the parachute store, unload whilst the PJI would report in. We would check out our accommodation and then explore the area, peering into the revetments at the G Cars, the K Car and the other aircraft that happened to be there. We talked and watched the 7 Squadron guys getting ready and tried to get the lowdown on what was happening and what to expect.

Normally the troops we were to dispatch camped a little way from us and we really only got to meet them when the Fire Force was called out and we were equipping them for a jump.

When there was a call out the PJI would come to us and say, `an OP has reported a sighting of X number of gooks and the choppers will be leaving at such and such a time, we will take off approximately X minutes after they have gone. Let’s get all the equipment out and ready`.

We would then lay the parachutes out, ready for the troops just to buckle in to. As the designated time drew near the troops would arrive and with much banter and  humour  we would assist them to kit up and then wait until we got the indication to load the aircraft. When that happened there was a flurry of activity, things quietened down a bit amongst the troops as they prepared themselves physically and emotionally for the jump. Final checks were done and then we boarded and buckled up. We would then take off and proceed to the contact, where we would orbit, watching the proceedings unfold on the ground. If we were called in for a drop, and this did not happen on every contact, we would get everybody up, run through the checks and when prompted get them to the door, red-light, green light, troops gone!

We were able to listen to the radio on a headset and get info on how the drop had gone and how the contact was proceeding. Normally we would then fly back to the FAF or in some circumstances we would proceed to another airstrip where we would wait for the ground forces to be choppered in to us and we would take them back to base.

Most of the trips I have done have become a bit hazy after thirty odd years but there are some occasions that stand out for me, watching from above as the K Car did its stuff, frantans and snebs being used by the Lynx, the mass external drops in Zambia, the forays across the border into Mozambique flying at treetop level, pulling up over a railway line and watching the tracer from the train mounted 12.7 or 14.5mm arching towards us, then going out and wondering if it would hit us. Casualties being collected by us or assisting in the unloading of stretchers from the helicopters. Prisoners being flown to the nearest airstrip to be collected by Special Branch, the organised mayhem of a big external out of Mabalahouta, the thump, thump of the Bells overhead and the sight of foreign registered aircraft on the hardstand. All of these are memories both good and bad but some of the special ones are as follows;

Once, based at Kariba Airport things were pretty quiet as we waited to be called into Zambia so we organized a training jump, both for ourselves and the troops based with us. The troops went out at 800` along the runway and we then climbed to 3000` where I was going to go out as the Freefall drifter. As I stood in the door waiting to go Flight Hogan shouted in my ear ~watch out for the Viscount` and gave me a hefty push out of the door. Out I went thinking Viscount? I did my all round checks and there in the distance I saw a large aircraft away to my right. It was the Air Rhodesia Viscount on finals coming in to land at Kariba. I watched it touchdown and taxi to the terminal before I had to concentrate on my own landing. I thankfully made a decent landing opposite the terminal and was cheered loudly by the watching passengers.

The next day we were called out and after dropping the troops we gave Carabia Bay an almighty beat up in the Dakota, good fun!

Another was when we were based up at Mtoko. We had a trainee pilot in the left seat and I think the Professor in the right. We had dropped the troops and were coming in to land. By now we had accumulated a fair number of flying hours and could tell reasonably well when things were OK or that something was amiss. We noticed the ground getting closer as we approached on finals but the aircraft was slewing sideways and one wing was definitely lower than the other.

`It’s Alright, he will power up, pull out and we will go around again` we all thought. The realisation that this wasn’t going to happen sank in quite quickly and we all buckled ourselves in tightly without saying much and braced ourselves.

When we did hit it was with an almighty thump, we bounced into the air again, came down with another crash, clouds of blue smoke billowed past the door, the tyres were squealing as the pilots fought to regain control and keep the plane on the ground and in a straight line. Once we had stopped and got our breath back we walked up the runway and the skid marks were very, very impressive, at least a couple of a hundred meters long and very snake like!

 Other memories of events happened closer to home. When we were doing a practice jump on runway 32. one of our crew was blown off course by a wind change and could not steer himself away from the Radio Masts and got his parachute tangled up over the top of one of the masts. These masts had to be 70m high and he was up there a long time before they managed to get him down.

Then there was the officer doing his freefall course, his first jump with a square chute and his inability to control it as he disappeared over the fence and behind the trees. Oh heck, we all know what is behind there. ` You, off you go and pick him up, but don’t get the vehicle dirty`. I drove out through the security gates of New Sarum and down the road towards where the officer had last been seen. There he was, all in one piece, parachute all rolled up neatly but neither it nor the officer were the same colour as they both had been earlier. As I got closer I now knew why I had been instructed to not get the vehicle dirty, the officer and all his kit was filthy and the smell would have knocked you down at 20 meters. He had made a graceful landing in the Stations Sewerage Farm.

 `Sorry sir, you will have to ride in the back! `

And so it carried on, three weeks out, a week or so back at PTS catching up, doing a few jumps and then back out again until it could be seen that the writing was on the wall and the powers that be were negotiating an end to the Bush war and we were all called back to New Sarum for good.

Once there we discovered that the Yanks were coming!!. Not only the Yanks but the Canadians and the Poms too. A huge field camp was being put up and the enormous Galaxy Starlifters were being parked on the civilian side of the airport and huge quantities of equipment were being unloaded.

The Monitoring Force had arrived and the changeover to Zimbabwe had begun.

Realizing that we were not needed any more we went through the process of signing out of the Army, bidding a fond farewell to  that  tremendous collection of people and nationalities who made up the Parachute Training School and moving out into civilian life.

To all the guys that were there with me, both above in rank and below, thank you for the memories.

Mark `Harry` Zambra

Dispatcher