It is well known that one’s second parachute jump is always more frightening than the first and that is because you know exactly what happens, both physically and mentally. It’s obviously fine if the first jump went well with no hiccups. Sadly, that wasn’t the case with me as my first night operational freefall descent started with a very unfortunate fatality.

The mission covering this second operational jump was for two freefall teams to parachute into enemy territory, find suitable dropping zones and to simultaneously attack two terrorist base camps by Rhodesian Air Force Canberra and Hawker Hunter jet aircraft followed by a ground attack by SAS troops. There would be some 20 SAS troops for each ground attack. Lieutenant Rob Warraker would command the attack on Camp One while Sergeant Horse Greenhough would command the attack on Camp Two (known as Ridodo Camp). The date when this operation commenced, and noted in my SAS parachute logbook, was 9 October 1973 also at 13 000ft AGL. We were jumping with full kit, webbing, ammunition, radio equipment and rifle. We also carried enough rations and water for about 10 days.

The pathfinder team for Terrorist Camp Two (Ridodo) consisted of Sgt “Horse” Greenhough, Corporal “Dumpie” Le Roux and myself, also a Corporal.
For the Ridodo camp attack, we were the only pathfinders on board the Dakota and we were accompanied by the Officer Commanding (Squadron Leader Derek De Kock) as well as his 2i/c (Flight Lieutenant Frank Hales) of the Rhodesian Air Force Parachute Training School as despatchers.

The flight itself was fairly routine in the sense that we took off from New Sarum (Rhodesian Air Force Headquarters adjacent to Salisbury International Airport) in the late afternoon and ascended to the appropriate operational height, knowing that we would climb to about 13 000 ft AGL when over Mozambique to ensure we could not been seen or heard.
Once over the Rhodesian/ Mozambique border it was customary for the Air Force despatchers to orientate themselves with the map and/or air photographs so that the predetermined Dropping Zone would not be missed.
Our three man “stick” was anxious and my personal anxiety heightened when I thought back to my previous operational jump when Sergeant Frank Wilmot’s parachute failed to open with devastating consequences.
I rather focused on the freefall drills that I needed to follow when exiting the Dakota.

It was getting dark as we crossed the border. Fortunately, we had a good moon and while glancing towards the open door of the Dakota, I was reassured that the despatcher appeared to know that the aircraft was on track as he was able to pick out noticeable geographical features.
Time drags by on such long flights, so one keeps an eye on the despatchers so as to anticipate when to start preparing for the actual jump. A glance at my watch indicated that we were minutes away from our anticipated exit time and I was becoming anxious that we hadn’t been given the “stand up …. check equipment” command.
The last glance toward the despatchers was certainly not reassuring; in fact, it was worrying.
Paratroopers flying into enemy territory don’t take kindly to despatchers who take on a look of being lost, confused and continually shaking their heads from left to right. They would rather see a confident grin, a thumbs-up and an upward and downward motion of the head.
We were obviously lost and I had no clue if we had overflown the DZ or had gone off track.
I remembered once asking a Dakota pilot what the cruising speed of a Dakota DC-3 aircraft was and he told me that one could work on about 250 km/h. Quick maths told me that we were presently covering 4 kilometres per minute.
Gosh, constant glances at the despatchers were now becoming scary and we understood that the freefall jump may have to be aborted. The despatchers said it was too dark to jump. However, the Officer Commanding the SAS, Major Brian Robinson, insisted that the jump went ahead and not to abort.
Another few anxious minutes ticked by, then we were told that we would have to work out on the ground where we were.
We were not happy; we were now beyond anxious and to be frank, we were somewhat “pissed off”.

After standing up, doing a last equipment check and before shuffling to the door, we put our portable oxygen masks on the aircraft seats.
A few minutes later, we were hurtling towards Mother Earth at great speed. I could see Dumpie below me and below him I could also see Horse.
It had become darker but the moon gave enough light to see the horizon. Looking down, I then lost sight of the team and feared something was going wrong.
Looking at my altimeter as well as the ground didn’t make sense. My altimeter read 4 000 ft but the ground looked much closer. I couldn’t see that well and thinking my altimeter was faulty, I decided to pull my ripcord.
It opened and I caught a quick glance of the two chaps below me, still hurtling towards the earth and then I lost sight of them. I feared for the worst as they looked far too low.
The night was still, there wasn’t much wind and at about 3 500 ft, I could still see quite a bit due to the good moon. I was concerned about quite a few small fires below. Perhaps they were cooking fires outside villager’s huts, or could they in fact be the cooking fires of the terrorist base which we were supposed to locate and attack?
With no wind about, my forward movement was negligible and turning away from the fires didn’t make much difference.

I was focusing on the fires which I was getting closer to, so much so, that I failed to release my CSPEP (Carrying Straps Personal Equipment Parachutist) to lower my backpack full of equipment and suspend on about 15 ft of rope).
It was pure luck that I landed on soft sand, as had the ground been hard, there would have been a good chance of a serious injury caused by not lowering my equipment. Foolish mistake.
I had to be quick as I reckoned the fires were about 200 metres away. After burying my parachute under a bush, I then tried to work out which direction I should walk.
We did not have individual two-way radios to talk with each other, so it was going to have to be a good guess in which direction to walk.
At least I was walking away from the fires. I guessed that I would be within about 1 500 metres of where the other guys landed. Every now and then, I would stop and listen very carefully, hopefully hear a give-away sound. I would also give a very low whistle. This went on for about an hour. I had no idea if I was even walking in the right direction.
I saw a very large tree ahead, with a very wide tree trunk and surrounded by short scrub. I would rest there and gather my thoughts.
I lent my rifle next to the tree and very quietly removed my backpack. I whistled softly and kept my mouth open to improve my hearing.
Suddenly, unexpectedly, someone grabbed me on my shoulder from behind and I gasped in shock. My heart was pounding. And I instinctively swivelled around.
I found myself looking into the white eyes of Dumpie Le Roux. What a relief and what a stroke of absolute luck that he had also been looking for me while not wandering too far from where he and Horse had landed. How obscure and miraculous it was to stand next to this wide trunked tree which he was also resting next to.
It didn’t take Dumpie long to tell me that we were “in the proverbial brown stuff”.

Horse was in trouble and we needed to get him down from the tree in which he had landed.
It turned out that when Horse pulled his ripcord, he had a problem with his parachute deploying properly. The sleeve (sock) went through one of the open side panels of the canopy and this caused him to spiral. Pulling on the toggles did not help and when he then released his CSPEP, the 15ft of rope tied to his Bergen and the other end to his parachute harness, it created a violent pendulum effect.
Horse was too low to cut away and he then knew that he would have to ride it in. He also could not see the ground; then, all of a sudden, he crashed into a huge mopani tree. In a way, it broke his fall, for had he not hit the tree he would have hit the ground and certainly killed himself. At the very least, he would have smashed both of his legs.
His injuries were horrific. A broken mopani branch ripped the back of his upper leg open and he was bleeding profusely. His right ankle had been fractured after being wedged in a cleft branch leading off the tree trunk and he was left hanging by his foot. Being upside down complicated the matter further.
He had been given the nickname Horse due to being a very, very large man, stronger than an ox and having more pulling power that a Shire horse.
How to get him and the parachute down was going to be a huge challenge.
Dumpie Le Roux was a short (hence his nickname) man, but he was also very strong. Dumpie climbed up the tree and pushed Horse’s body up by using his head and strong arms to get Horse’s broken foot out of the cleft. It was an unbelievable feat of strength … and it worked out well.
The gash was large enough to fit a hand in, and once on the ground, it was closed up using 16 stitches. All our field dressings were used to keep the wound clean and tightly closed.
Horse continued to count his blessings when he felt that his “family jewels” were still intact.

We made Horse as comfortable as we could and then struggled for hours to pull the parachute out of the tree.
At first light, we moved Horse down to a dry river bed and hid him next to an anthill. He ordered Dumpie and I to go and find my parachute and bring it back. And off we set to do so, remaining very cautious, knowing that I had seen many fires during my parachute descent.
My main role in the team was that of being the signaller. It was time for me to establish communications with the SAS Tactical Headquarters situated on the border line between Rhodesia and Mozambique.
We used Morse Code for our transmissions but could change to voice should the necessity arise. I reported that we could not provide our Locstat (grid reference) because the Air Force had flown well off course to the DZ, but we could confirm that we were definitely not on our maps.
In the report I also indicated that Horse had been badly injured and would need a casevac. This would not be possible seeing that no one knew where we were. However, contingency plans would be made.
During the day, a plan to rescue Horse as well as to bring in 20 SAS static line paratroopers to attack the enemy camp was given.
I was able to send through the QFE barometric pressure reading (using our altimeters to determine our height above sea level for aircraft bringing in paratroopers) and we were to expect the large SAS team about midnight.
The plan was for the same pilot to fly on the same compass bearing as we had flown in on and as and when we heard the aircraft, Horse would guide them in.
It was a long day and it wasn’t a good start to the Operation. However, we would be able to get Horse back to Rhodesia once the Dakota found out where we were.
It was late that night when we heard the pilot of the aircraft calling us over the radio. When Horse answered, they asked if we knew where we were. Of course, we didn’t.
Horse told the aircraft to keep flying as we did not know where we were. However, when we heard the aircraft engines, we would notify them.


Horse then indicated to the pilot over the radio that they should fly at 5,000 ft AGL and turn their landing lights on.
It was then that we saw the powerful landing lights of the aircraft turn on and Horse advised the pilot to keep flying along the compass heading they were currently on.
We were surprised when the pilot responded by indicating that he could see a light flashing and asked if it was us pointing the light at the aircraft?
Someone else was flashing a light at the aircraft and it wasn’t us. Perhaps it was from the area where I saw the fires?
It was obviously the enemy were attempting to deceive the pilot and thus he only listened to the instructions being given by Horse.
The SAS guys standing in the open door of the Dakota also saw the flashing lights.
The parachute drop was successful and the next morning, Dumpie and I left with the main group to locate and attack the enemy camp.
A small SAS team stayed with Horse until he was extracted by helicopter to a remote airfield on the Rhodesian border. Thereafter a Police Reserve Air Wing aircraft collected him and took him off to the nearest hospital.
Once the small SAS team met up with the main attack group a tactical advance was made towards the terrorist camp.
As it so happened, the camp had been hastily deserted, most probably due to the recent movement of the Rhodesian Air Force Dakota and Alouette helicopter.
As for Horse, he went on to make a full recovery but more than four decades later, when I asked him to recall exactly what happened that night, he recounted it in vivid detail. Hanging upside down by a broken ankle in enemy territory and with a giant gash in the back of his upper leg, was not something to be forgotten.