CHAPTER 13 THE FIRST HALO OPERATION (PART ONE)

In war time, with the best preparation, training and forethought, risks are minimized. They can never be eliminated. This was made painfully apparent on our very first HALO drop into hostile territory. It was the task of the PTS to ensure that the paratroopers were delivered onto the ground, at the right place, at the right time, and, above all, safely. This time we were not entirely successful. Decades later I still wonder what went wrong to cause the death of young, and brave, Sergeant Wilmot.

January 19, 1973, I was doing the usual, never-ending paperwork when the phone rang. It was New Sarum Ops Room/Com centre, advising of a signal for me. This was unusual. Most signals were delivered by messenger and were usually requests for suitable dates for the next basic course or continuation training. Puzzled and curious, I arrived at the Ops room in station headquarters and signed for the top secret signal. It was just the first of many dozens of such signals I would receive over the next six and a half years.

 Immediately I opened the signal, the adrenaline started to pump. It was an Air Task. To drop two sticks of Pathfinders at last light that day. The signal detailed the map references on which the two separate sticks should land. These Pathfinder Teams would find suitable DZs for follow-up static line troops which would be dispatched either that night or the next. Everything we had been training for was about to be put into practice.

 Palms sweating and heart still thumping, I went straight to OC Flying to discuss this operation and to express my concerns about the lack of practice the eight HALO troops involved had received. I suggested it would be a good idea if Frank Hales, my second in command, and I jumped with these Pathfinder Teams. This was not going to happen.  OC Flying told us, if we jumped on this Op we would be court-martialled. And, as if reading our minds, that if for some reason we “fell” out the same fate would await us on our return. Anyway, with only eight tactical assault, free fall parachutes, some members of the SAS Pathfinder Teams would miss out if we jumped, and there was no way this could be allowed.

Soon after we developed the technique of inserting troops into hostile territory, I made the ruling that all operational HALO drops must be led by an officer PJI. They were never delegated to the SNCO PJIs. In the early days there were only two officers in the PTS, Frank Hales, and myself. We shared the HALO tasks and often flew together, many times accompanied by a SNCO PJI who joined us to gain experience. Frank was more than just my right-hand-man, he was my entire right arm in organising this and future operational drops. For this first Pathfinder Op we also had the SAS boss, Major Brian Robinson, along to observe the two HALO drops.

The first thing to do was to plot the area where the Pathfinder Teams were to be dropped, so I acquired a 1:250,000 map of the general area and a 1:50,000 map of the exact target area. With my office door locked, Frank and I spread the maps out on my desk and had a good look.

 The target was easy enough to find as it was on the Southern bank of the Zambezi River, over the border, inside Mozambique. There were a couple of notable bends in the river just before the first drop point, and it widened out at the second point. That should not be too hard to see, even at last light. We marked this point on the map.

To make sure, we asked the photographic section if they had aerial photos of these two spots. The Canberras of 5sqn had taken photographs of just about the whole of Southern Africa, and excellent maps and photographs were available. Of course the guys in photographic section were curious as to why we needed them. I told them it was none of their concern and was never asked for a reason to procure an aerial photo of a specific area again.

These operations were top secret, but we required information and equipment from outside sources which could lead to similar unwanted questions. In the early days we were often doing silly things and could get away with odd information or gear requests without too much speculation. If one of the SNCO PJIs went to collect a piece of equipment on my or Frank’s behalf, it was easy for him to shrug and say, “Ask the Boss,” to stall further discussion. When it came to operations, there was always one rule, strictly enforced, -if you did not need to know, you did not get told.

With the aerial photographs in hand, we returned to my office to compare them with the 1:50,000 map. There was a reasonably flat area to the south of the Zambezi, not far from the first drop point. We marked this on the map with a pencil for the second drop point.

The next trick was to get a meteorological forecast for the area, especially the wind speeds, for the ground wind and every 1000 feet up to the drop height. This would allow me to plot the exact drop point, or close to it, and hopefully not have the Pathfinder sticks ending up in the Zambezi River.

 Whenever the PTS did parachute drops we’d phone the Met Office at Salisbury Airport for the information we needed to land on our usual DZ. This time, however, we needed to know the forecast for an area across the border, inside Mozambique. As it was supposed to be a top secret drop, this was a problem. I arranged a private chat with the Chief Met Officer.

 Although Id spoken to various Met Officers over the phone for years, it was the first time I’d personally called on them. This would change. From now on members of PTS would be calling. Often. I asked for a forecast for the area near Kanyemba, the closest point inside Rhodesia to our destination.  I also wanted to know the forecast winds for every 1000 feet up to 12,000 feet ASL, as well as twilight time and the last light time.

Having obtained the necessary information from the Met people, Frank Hales and I plotted the exact drop points onto the 1:50,000 map and the aerial photographs. We then had to work out a way to get to that precise point. Flying in from the West along the Zambezi River was obviously the most logical. This would put the setting sun behind us and make it easier to see the exact release point.

At about 2pm, the two Pathfinder Teams arrived in the hangar with all their gear and were sent down to the Safety Equipment Section to pick up their parachutes.

All the PJIs were called into the lecture room and briefed, as up to this time, only Frank Hales and I were aware of what was happening. We didn’t have a course at that time and most of the PJIs were catching up with paper work or doing maintenance on the training equipment. Suddenly they were all required to carry out ground training for an operational static line drop into Mozambique that night, onto DZs chosen by two Pathfinder Teams who would soon be dropped HALO at last light.

Aircraft had to be checked, static line parachutes picked up from Safety Equipment Section, and weapons and ammunition drawn from the armoury. And, it all had to be top secret. There was the usual nonsense at the armoury when the duty armourer wanted to know why PTS was drawing their personal weapons with lots of ammunition but it was soon sorted out and we never had a problem again from the armourers. PTS was a hive of efficient activity and all the staff was involved.

Just to be safe, I also went down to the camp hospital and borrowed all their portable oxygen sets, which were loaded onto our Dakota and spread out down the cabin. One set was made available to the flight crew. Additionally, we brought with us a special UHF radio for communications with the two HALO sticks after the drop.

At about 3pm, the pilots strolled across from 3Sqn to ask when we’d be ready for the Pathfinder part of the drop. I asked how they proposed to do the operation. They showed me what they’d done, which was to draw a line on a 1:250,000 map from Salisbury to a point inside Mozambique, just south of the Zambezi River. “OK,” I said. “When we get over that exact spot will you just turn the Green Light on?” That was when they realised there was more to this op and perhaps a little more detailed planning was required.

I showed them what we, at PTS, wanted them to do. Fly from Salisbury to Kanyemba, climb to 12,000 feet ASL, turn onto an Easterly heading and map read our way to the two spots, at which time I would do the drop from the back of the Dakota. I wanted the take-off time which would get us to the first spot just before last light and to the second spot right on last light.

At about 4pm the HALO teams were kitted up and checked. Frank Hales and I went to Safety Equipment to draw Para Commander parachutes, and to the armoury to get our weapons. On return to PTS we equipped ourselves with our webbing and collected an altimeter each.  All that was left was to brief the two HALO sticks on the free fall formation and pull heights. And, most importantly, to set the altimeters, not only my own, but also those of the HALO Pathfinders. The leader of each stick had a modified aircraft altimeter, so that the QFE at the chosen DZ could be radioed to the static line dropping aircraft to ensure a correct drop height on the follow-up drops. 

 We took off from New Sarum with an altitude of 4896 feet ASL, and were to drop the Pathfinders near the Zambezi River inside Mozambique with an altitude of 1000 feet ASL. As we were already 3896 feet above ground at the proposed DZs the altimeters would have to read nearly 4000 feet before take-off. Was this correct? Nerves made me double-guess everything I knew to be right.

The troops were trained to pull the rip cord when the altimeters read 2500ft or, if in a big stick, at various altitudes but never below 2000ft AGL. If I made a mistake with the altimeter setting it could easily kill a whole Pathfinder Stick.

It was also my job to instruct the two sticks on the free fall formation they were to adopt during the approximately 50 second plunge down to opening height. On exit, the No. 1 in the stick would hold the aircraft heading for 10 seconds, do a 180 degree turn, and fall to his pull height of 2000 feet on the altimeter. This was 500 feet lower than normal and his job would be to select a place for the whole stick to land as they followed him down.

No. 2 would hold the aircraft heading for 10 seconds before doing a 180 degree turn. He would locate No.1, turn 90 degrees to the right, adopt the track position for five seconds, and remain on that heading to his pull height of 2500 feet on the altimeter. After opening his parachute and doing all his usual drills he would turn his parachute and follow his No.1 to the ground.

No.3 would hold the aircraft heading for 10 seconds, do a 180 degree turn and to find both No.1 and No.2, do a 90 degree left turn, then a five second track and remain on that heading to his pull height of 2500 feet on his altimeter. Again, after opening his parachute and doing his drills, he would follow his No.1 down to the ground.

No.4 would maintain aircraft heading for ten seconds, do a 180 degree turn and look for the other members of his stick. He would then maintain his position, pull his ripcord at 3000 feet, and follow his leader down to the ground.

These manoeuvres were designed to avoid collisions during the free fall phase of the drop and to provide separation on opening, as well as stacking the parachutes so they could be manoeuvred to land close together on the ground. I reminded the stick to always be aware of their position in relation to the other members of the team, especially at pull time, as it would be very embarrassing to have somebody else’s pilot chute in your face at terminal velocity.

 Finally I reminded them if they got into trouble there was always that D ring on their right hand side. I wished them a good jump, and told them it was not luck, but skill that counted. Turns out – luck, especially bad luck, can play a part too.

 At approximately 5pm the pilots arrived and we boarded the Dakota for the first operational HALO drop into hostile territory. By this time the various maps, and aerial photos were stuck to the cabin floor, and we were ready. I felt an enormous sense of responsibility; it was my job to get all the men down safely and I wouldn’t relax until this part of the job was complete. I hoped I hadn’t forgotten anything.

 It had taken about eight solid, stressful hours to plan this HALO drop and there was no way of doing it quicker. This timeline became the standard for all HALO operational drops at later stages in the Rhodesian Bush War. On all future HALO drops we would also carry out at least one practise drop with a minimum 40 second delayed opening.

 As soon as we took off we headed in a Northerly direction at a steady climb rate, and soon levelled off at 12,000 feet ASL. I checked all the troops’ altimeters were reading the same as mine and confirmed this with the Skipper, Flt/Lt Bruce Smith. The parachutists’ altimeters were all reading 11,000 feet, which was the height above ground level at the chosen spot.

 We were very lucky with the weather; we had only a little cloud at about 7000 feet, hardly any wind from ground level up to the drop height, and there was not enough haze to obscure the ground. In other words it was perfect. All I had to do was drop the guys in the right place, return to New Sarum and fly the static line sticks into the DZs chosen by the Pathfinder sticks. Piece of cake. Things appeared to be going well for the first operational HALO drop. Things are not always as they appear.

 We flew along steadily as I tracked our position against the map stuck to the floor, poking my head out of the door periodically to check land marks. It soon became clear that on future flights I’d have to wear a lot more clothing especially if we were going higher. The aircraft heaters were on full blast, which kept the pilots and the HALO teams relatively comfortable. But I was at the back end in the cold draughty bit. I took a few breaths of oxygen every now and again to ensure my vision was not impaired.

 The sun was heading for the Western horizon and soon I could see the Zambezi River and the police camp at Kanyemba. I ordered the skipper to turn onto the previously calculated magnetic heading, almost due East. The first stick stood and checked their equipment. Frank Hales, the No.2 dispatcher and oxygen monitor, double- checked the first stick and gave the thumbs up.

 The two sticks were to be about eight or nine minutes apart, but we knew what it was like to stand with a very heavy load at altitude, so the second stick remained seated but ready, with all equipment in place. The shadows grew longer on the ground, but I could see the first spot very clearly. This would be a breeze.

The Skipper slowed down to a decent drop speed and gave me a half flap, as per the usual HALO dropping configuration.  I called the first stick to action stations, gave Lt Chris Schulenberg a thumbs up, and indicated the DZ to him.

On my instructions the Skipper made a few small corrections and, at the appropriate moment, I gave Schulie a smart smack on the leg. He immediately jumped into the slipstream, followed by Corporal Danny Smith, Lance Corporal Dave Cale, and Sergeant Frank Wilmot. I stuck my head around the edge of the aircraft door, hoping to see the stick as it went down, but could not see anything.

Frank Hales had positioned himself at the front of the door for a better view and didn’t appear too concerned, although he indicated that No.4 seemed to be a little wobbly. Brian Robinson had strapped himself into the rear-most seat so he could also see his men on their way down and he too seemed to be pleased. There was nothing that could be done by us except hope all was going as planned.

We still had the other stick to dispatch, and had to get the aircraft to the right spot. The second stick, lead by Captain Garth Barrett, followed by Lieutenant Ron Marillier, Pete Marshall, and Horse Greenhoff, were stood up and ordered to check equipment. Frank Hales gave the stick a once-over and indicated they were ready.

I waited for the first stick to report in, when there was a call from Schulie on the special UHF radio: “Papa One, Papa One, one of my men has gone straight into the ground!” My immediate reaction was nauseating shock, followed by questions. What the hell had gone wrong? And, were the altimeters set correctly? Could this be my fault? What had I forgotten?

.

It was time for some quick thinking. I had to decide on the spot whether to dispatch the second stick, or cancel the entire operation.

I first talked to Major Brian Robinson; they were his men but I was in command of this operation at this time. The ultimate responsibility was mine.

We decided to carry on but, in case the altimeters were incorrectly set, I ordered the second stick to pull at 3500 feet. I returned to the door of the Dakota and calmly, (on the outside at least,) carried on with the dispatch.  I was lucky, because just as I got back to the door, the dispatch point came into view and there was no time to second guess my decision.

I called the stick to action stations and pointed out the spot to Capt. Garth Barrett. After a few small direction changes to Bruce the skipper out they went. About four minutes later Garth Barrett came up on the radio - all his stick was OK. I also got the good news - the altimeters were reading zero. Huge relief. Massive relief. My calculations had obviously been accurate.

But what had happened to Frank Wilmot? Unfortunately, we will never know the exact circumstances and can only guess at what may have occurred. After many years of painful consideration, I am still unable to come to a satisfactory conclusion.

The follow up of the static line drops and the outcome of Sgt. Wilmot's death will be told next week.