CHAPTER 12 D.Z.SELECTION BY PATHFINDER TEAMS AND FOLLOW UP STATIC LINE DROPS AS TAUGHT BY PTS

 These days Drop Zones (DZs) can be selected with the help of satellites, or even good old Google Earth. The skipper of the dropping aircraft can simply dial in the GPS co-ordinates and fly straight to the DZ, even if it is thousands of kms away. But in the 1970s, with practically no aids other than common sense and the use of our eyesight, or as we called it, the Mk1 eyeball, DZ selection, and the subsequent guiding of an aircraft, required a large amount of skill.  

While the staff at PTS was in the process of  learning  how to do HALO parachuting, we also gave a lot of thought about how to teach Pathfinder Sticks the necessary skills for the selection of suitable DZs, and how to then direct the aircraft safely onto them.

As mentioned in the previous chapter, the first free fall courses were designed around the concept of inserting a Pathfinder Team into hostile territory, usually at last light. The Pathfinder Team was a stick of 4 SAS troops -their task was to locate a suitable DZ for a follow up static line drop at night. They would guide the static line-dropping aircraft to this DZ and position it so it could fly up the length of the DZ and carry out an accurate drop at the correct altitude.

The selection of the suitable DZ was always  at the discretion of the stick leader and depended on the military situation at the time. However a few fundamentals were always kept in mind: the DZ should be about 1000 metres long by 1000 metres wide and as flat as possible, mainly to enable the troops to rendezvous more easily – especially on a dark moonless night. Although low trees and scrub were considered acceptable, the area should be clear of rocks, tall trees and other hazards.

 Not only did we not have GPS or Google Earth, but our Dakota aircraft did not have any modern day systems to prevent them flying into the ground. Again we only had the good-old-fashioned, but not always reliable, Mk one eyeball. The Pathfinder sticks needed to select areas which could be reached from a safe aircraft flying position. We didn’t want the dropping aircraft flying into something hard, either on the approach to the DZ or on the way out. Therefore, the fly in approach and the fly out departure to the chosen DZ should be clear of hills for at least five nautical miles (10km).

 For an accurate drop, the stick leader had to assess the ground wind and allow for the drift of the parachutists. He needed to allow approximately 150 metres of drift for every 5 knots of wind. It was therefore better to choose, if possible, a run in where the dropping aircraft would fly into the wind.

 Once the DZ was selected, the stick leader positioned himself to have an unrestricted view of the direction from which the dropping aircraft would appear; in other words, there should be no tall trees in the way. As soon as the dropping aircraft made contact, the stick leader passed on the QFE (barometric pressure) so the dropping aircraft altimeters could be set to achieve an accurate drop height of 1000 feet AGL.

This was done by zeroing the aircraft type altimeter used by the Pathfinder Team, reading off the millibar scale and radioing this to the dropping aircraft. The magnetic bearing required for the drop to be along the length of the DZ was passed onto the dropping aircraft. The leader then positioned himself on the chosen spot and talked the aircraft in on the correct heading, calling for the red and green lights to be turned on as the aircraft passed overhead.

Most of the night jumps done on the static line courses were carried out on a large, clear, flat area close to New Sarum (where the PTS was located). The method we used for marking the DZ was a hangover from the Second World War, with a number of ground lights to indicate the direction, start point, and end point of the drop. This was how the RAF did it, and it was the method we used for many years. But, what worked fine in peace time, in an area well known to the pilots and on the same altitude as the take-off airfield was, absolutely useless for a hostile area, different to, and at a lower or higher altitude than, the normal DZ.

The first time we tried what we thought would be a typical Pathfinder type drop and DZ selection, was towards the end of 1969 at Oxford Ranch, which was 100kms from New Sarum, and just happened to belong to my family. The Pathfinder Team consisted of only two PJIs and we jumped late in the afternoon without any problems. We carried an A60 radio for ground to air communications and also had torches to mark the DZ as well as aircraft altimeters to set the QFE. We’d arranged for the SAS to provide us with a few volunteers to do the follow-up static line drop onto our chosen DZ.

At about 8pm the Dakota took off from New Sarum and headed towards the DZ. It was not long before we picked up their call sign on our A60 radio requesting us to give them a bearing. We duly confirmed our presence on the DZ and held the transmit button down for about 10 seconds, which enabled the skipper to hone in on us using the Dakota’s homing device. This also was done without too much trouble.

The pilot could see the lights. The altimeter setting in the aircraft was satisfactory. With all this information they were able to fly at 1000ft AGL. Yet it was not easy to get the aircraft to fly precisely over the DZ in the correct direction. It proved confusing and difficult for the pilots to decipher the correct run in direction and the start and stop drop lights on the ground.

The aircraft flew around for some time making unsatisfactory passes over the DZ, with each pass rejected. Finally, I as the PJI Pathfinder Team Leader, decided to take control and gave the dropping aircraft verbal instructions, simply telling the pilot to, “Go left”, “Go right” or “Steady” and finally the order “Red Light On” and “Green On.” This arrangement worked surprisingly well and became the standard for all night drops, both operational and training from that time onwards.

The techniques for guiding in the aircraft were initially explained in the lecture room, and then practiced on one of our night drop DZs. At first, some of the younger troops found it difficult to give firm instructions to the dropping aircraft, especially if the skipper was impatient and  questioned their instructions. The odd comment from the skipper like, “Make up your bloody mind, are you sure you’re not talking to a star?” could really get the young soldier stuttering. This sort of comment would bring a blast from me as it was inclined to make things worse. As more Pathfinder sticks were trained and more and more troops were given instruction on how to direct the aircraft, the better and smoother the drops became. In parachuting, as in most things, practice makes perfect.

This technique, manually guiding the aircraft, solved the accuracy problem for the follow-up static line drops. But we still had an issue with the initial HALO drop. How do you drop the Pathfinder Team, onto more-or-less the right area, from great height, into hostile territory, using only maps and photographs? Accuracy was made even more difficult because the position of the pilots in the cockpit prevented them from seeing the ground directly beneath. They could only see the ground at an angle out of the cockpit windows, which distorted their perspective, and the higher the aircraft the greater the error.

When we were taught by the RAF, they trialled a system called CARP, which stood for Calculated Air Release Point. This method, for the accurate dropping of paratroops onto strange or hostile drop zones, involved gathering all available meteorological and drop zone location data and displaying it on the dropping aircraft instruments. This was supposed to enable the pilot to fly to the destination DZ and carry out an accurate drop. Great in theory.

The aircraft used by the RAF at that time were the Beverly and the Hastings and both were fitted with the CARP system. These may not have been the best parachuting aircraft around at the time but they gave us Rhodesians an understanding of the problems when trying to do accurate drops.

 During our PJI course at RAF Abingdon, I once jumped as The Drifter for a basic course night jump out of  a Beverly aircraft, fitted with the CARP system. It was a disaster from an accuracy point of view as I landed way off the DZ and it took me a very long time, with a lot of swearing, to walk back to the check-in point.

We found the only way an accurate HALO drop could be more or less guaranteed was for the PJI to freeze his face off. He had to stick his head out of the rear door and direct the pilot to the jump spot.  But first it was necessary to convince the pilots. Fortunately the 3 Sqn Airframe Drivers were very skilled and sensible people and it did not take much effort to prove we were right. But what really sold it was, if there was an error of a few miles, they could not be blamed.

For the PJIs, the greatest problem was always the cold. With his head stuck out the Dakota door, breathing portable oxygen through an uncomfortable oxygen mask, he directed the skipper on which magnetic heading to fly from one landmark to the next. This was where we really earned our 25 cent per day flying pay. The Dakota had an outside temperature gauge which went down to minus 40 degrees celcius and on many occasions it was stuck on the stop.

Head out the door, we plotted a course over easily seen land marks, which we used as navigation points on the way to the target area. In the early days, when we were just doing displays and showing off, it was relatively easy to fly down the main road and then turn in for the run up to the spot. It was a much greater problem when we started to actually perform HALO operations. Then the aerial photo, the 1:50,000 map, and the 1:250,000 map were stuck to the floor of the Dakota so we could map read our way to the target via specific features. Our only navigation aids were eyesight and the aircraft compass and stopwatch.

In order to assess the exact spot to drop the HALO sticks at our home DZ we would obtained a meteorological forecast of the wind at the opening altitude. Using an aerial photo of Salisbury airport we would plot the exact point we wanted the parachutes to open, so they could  be steered downwind to the DZ. Again, this would be simple enough in this day of  Ram Air type parachutes which have a very good glide capability. It is far easier now to land on target than it was in the days of 28-foot flat canopies with a few holes cut out of them and it took a lot of practice to get it accurate.

This photograph shows a PJI on his knees looking down the edge of the parachute door. He is talking to the Skipper through his headset and giving instructions to "Go Left or Go Right or Steady." At the appropriate time he would disconnect his headset and indicate to the PJIs jumping, to exit and he would then tag onto the end of the stick. This photo shows Sgt Ralph  (The Rat) Moore doing the despatch,  the author hanging onto the cable and Sgt Iain Bowen looking towards the cockpit.

Firstly, the PJI had to ensure the pilot was pointing the aircraft in the right direction; bringing it over the DZ and going into the wind if possible. We did this lying on the floor of the aircraft, to the rear of the open door, head out into the slipstream in order to see forward as well as directly down. Then, like the “Bomb Aimers” did it in the Second World War, we gave the pilot the run-in instructions.

These were simple enough; “Go Left,” “Go Right,” or “Steady”. Then, as the aircraft got closer to the drop point, the PJI asked the pilot to slow down and give a half flap. Then he knelt and brought the troops to action stations. Now came the tricky bit, especially if it was from very high altitude. He looked down and along the vertical edge of the door and, whilst still giving directions to the skipper, brought the aircraft directly over the dispatch point. At the appropriate moment he indicated to the troops to stand in the door and gave them a smart smack on the leg to exit.

Whilst we were teaching ourselves the skills required to get the old Dakota to fly over the correct spot, we found out a few things about drift in free fall and how much this could affect the accuracy of the drop.

Before doing a HALO parachute drop from the higher levels we would obtain a forecast of the winds for every 1000 feet up to our proposed drop height. We averaged them out for speed and direction, to plot the most suitable drop point on the aerial photo and the 1:50000 map. It is very surprising how far the human body will drift during free fall – for example, with an average wind speed of 15 knots on a delay of 60 seconds drift is about 460 metres. This could mean the difference between landing on the bank of the Zambezi River, or in it.

Another calculation we took into account was the throw forward of about 350 metres. When the PTS put on a display, either for a function or to show some dignitaries how clever we were, we’d plot the landing spot on a 1:50,000 map of the area. It was during these early days we realised that a man jumping out of a Dakota flying at about 95 knots doing a HALO drop exceeding 30 seconds would follow the path of the aircraft for about 350 metres before going down vertically. This little point could mean the difference between landing in front of the crowd to much applause, or looking foolish and having to hitchhike. So this became another factor for consideration when we plotted drop points on operations at a later time .

This photograph shows Sgt Ralph (The Rat) Moore getting ready to throw out a streamer to check the wind speed and direction for a H.A.L.O. demonstration at one of the many public displays we carried out in the early days of Free Fall parachuting

For these demonstrations, we’d fly over the DZ at the parachute opening altitude and drop a piece of broom handle with a streamer attached to it. This gave us an indication of how strong the wind was and in which direction it was blowing. The skipper then applied power and we climbed to the drop altitude – as high as we could go in the time allotted. On many occasions it was in the region of 10,000 feet AGL which would give the PJIs time to fly like a bird and do anything except go up. All these displays and demonstrations gave us practice for the time when we at the Parachute Training School would have to drop very special soldiers a very long way from home.

As more and more HALO drops, both demonstration and operational, took place we became better at gauging the exact release point for the troops. During the Rhodesian conflict, we developed these techniques to a very high standard. The PJI, doing the HALO drop was responsible for the accuracy of that initial HALO drop and the Pathfinder Leader, for the accuracy of the follow-up static line drop. Generally, the two systems worked very well. But even we got it wrong on rare occasions, and although, fortunately, they never unduly messed up the operation too much, they sometimes resulted in a long walk for the troops involved.