from I Flew for Savimbi by Simon Van Garderen
In this entertaining autobiographical account, veteran South African pilot Simon Van Garderen recalls his days as a bush pilot during the 1980s and 90s, flying the length and breadth of sub-Saharan Africa on secret missions for a clandestine air transport company dubbed 'Savimbi' Air by its employees.
A former SAAF jet fighter pilot, Simon had retired from military flying when he secured a job with Pasload Flights ~ a supposedly civilian air transport company operating from Wonderboom airport in Pretoria. It was, in reality, a covert operation of the South African government of the day, set up to secretly assist the UNITA terrorists in Angola, led by Dr Jonas Savimbi, who were waging a protracted civil war against the Communist-backed MPLA.
Simon flew Jonas Savimbi on many occasions ~ to secret meetings in various African countries and even as far afield as Munich in Bavaria. In the process they developed a mutual respect and affection that continued until Savimbi’s untimely death in 2002, when he was assassinated by his former allies for reasons of political expediency.
[Editor's note: for legal reasons Simon has written his story in the third person and appears as the character 'Harry' in the book]
In no time flat, they are airborne. Fred, the chief pilot and Ralph are in the cockpit for the first leg. Harry sits in the cabin with Matie, who briefs him on the mission, saying:
"I'm flying as an extra pilot today, since we have to fly more than 22-hours without sleeping over. That's why you're so welcome to share the flying. We are flying to Jamba now to pick up Dr Savimbi, codename Spyker, with four of his top generals, and taking them to Kinshasa, Zaïre, whence the Americans will fly them to Washington in preparation for the talks with the so-called Front Line States later.
The Americans are sick-and-tired of the civil war in Angola and are naive enough to think that an enduring political solution can be found in Africa... I have news for them!
By the way, we address Dr Savimbi these days as ‘Mr President’, in the hope that he will be president of Angola in the very near future. I believe that it is attainable. How well do you know him, Harry? Do you know that he is reputed to speak seven languages? "
"Yes, Matie, I know him well enough. We often picked him up at Omega airstrip when I was flying at 21 Squadron, VIP-Transport. A Puma helicopter would bring him in from Jamba, just across the border and we would jet him to Air Force Base Waterkloof, in Pretoria for talks with our Government. I found him very charismatic and a gentleman.
I think it was during these operations, that I started seeing politicians for what they really are – disgusting, power drunk buffoons, who order war at a whim, then sit back, watching how fit young men kill each other while their own sons are kept very far from killing zones, by father’s influence… Bastards!
They would come and meet Dr Savimbi at my aircraft, smiling and greeting me by my first name, because I often flew them all over the country. Tomorrow on National TV, they sit there with their false smiles, denying all knowledge of where that bloody terrorist Savimbi finds himself…"
Harry's eyes are flashing. Politicians are not all that high on his love list…
Some 3¾ hours later Fred lands a pisser on the Jamba airfield. (Forgive us pilots our scatological fascination, but there is an American saying that goes we landed as smoothly as a cat pissing on plate glass… Sorry, but it is part of your education in things aeronautical!] They taxi in to the apron on the southern side of the airfield and shut down.
Dr Jonas Savimbi’s stocky figure is easily identifiable amongst his generals and soldiers assembled on Jamba airfield, where not a single cigarette butt or cold drink can ringlet can be found. It looks like any crack unit’s parade ground, such is UNITA’s neatness and discipline.
Savimbi welcomes the four pilots as his guests for lunch. As they walk to the Mess Hall next to the Apron, his resonant bass voice drones at Harry in English:
"So, my Colonel," he says, in the French form of address, "we meet again!"
"Indeed, Mr President, we do. I am happy to see you looking so well."
"My Colonel, I see you are now a civilian captain, if you will pardon my Irish."
"Yes, Mr President. I have exchanged my military epaulettes for the four-bar insignia of an airline captain; as you have exchanged your general’s insignia for the suit and tie of a politician."
"Oh, but my Colonel, it is only for such opportunities as these that I must play the role of a politician. I will always prefer the honest life of a soldier, which I really am at heart, but tell me… I hear that you almost came a cropper at Mavinga the other night," he teases, with the soldier’s gallows humour.
Dr Savimbi’s memory and attention to detail is legendary…
"Yes, Mr President, we were expecting your usual warm welcome, but almost met with the white hot kiss of one of our own missiles!"
"You know that I would have wept for you, my Colonel, had it happened…" resumes Savimbi seriously, but continues teasing a moment later, "even though you were hunting me down near Mavinga, some 20-years ago."
"Yes, Mr President! But you were a terrorist leader then."
"Would you have killed me, my Colonel, had you found me then?"
"Yes, Mr President," answers Harry simply, as one soldier to an opposing one.
"Perhaps you and I should stay away from Mavinga in future, my Colonel!"
"Mr President, even when we were adversaries, I respected you. Now that we are allies and friends, the respect is greater. But will you please remember one lesson from the Bush War, when you deal with the devious politicians in future?"
"And that is, my Colonel?" asks the future Angolan President.
"Check your six, Mr President! Among fighter pilots we always say ‘check your six!’, referring to the vulnerable six o’clock position behind your aircraft."
"You give sound advice, my Colonel…," Dr Savimbi ends off, inviting his guests and four select generals to take their places around the beautiful, highly-polished, solid Rhodesian teak tables in the Mess Hall at Jamba airfield.
Unhurriedly the four pilots dine with Dr Savimbi and his selected generals, while they patiently wait for the bush fighters’ greatest ally; the night. For at night, the seasoned bush fighter can operate unseen and it is very difficult to prevent him from doing what he wants to do…
Later that evening, in pitch-blackness, Harry sits in the cockpit with Fred, who wants to "show-him-something."
They do the start-up procedures, with Harry wondering how they are going to take-off in the dark, as Jamba certainly does not have the normal lighting system that airports posess for such operations.
When they are ready to taxi, Fred flicks the aircraft's powerful landing lights on-and-off for a split second.
Like magic, little flares begin to sprout up along both sides of the runway.
"Each flare is an empty Coke can, with its top cut off," Fred laughingly explains. "It is placed on the ground, next to the runway then filled with sand and a cupful of diesoline is poured into this sand. To make it easier to light it, a teaspoonful of petrol is added. left unattended a mini-flare like that would burn steadily for 15-minutes on end, but every one is attended by a UNITA soldier. Onthe agreed signal he strikes a match or lighter to ignite the flare. As the aircraft on take-off passes, he puts his boot on the open end of the Coke can, smothering the flame, so the flare-path disappears like magic as the aircraft runs past it, with no landing lights giving away its position to possible prowling fighters. It is very operational and very efficient!"
Harry is enormously impressed with this smuggler’s trick and performs the take-off between the mini flares into the pitch-black Angolan night. He turns north after take-off and flies up the 22° Eastern longitudinal line, the boundary between Angola and Zambia.
There is no radar coverage in that part of Angola or Zambia and even if someone hears an aircraft overhead, it is on an international border. Anyone who knows Africa will know that they will still be arguing over who is to do the interception a week after the aircraft has flown past! In any case, a night fighter interception at 1,000 feet above ground level could not be carried out anywhere in Africa at that time ... or even now.
Ralph comes to the cockpit to relieve Fred. He shows Harry how the route is to be flown: up along the 22° longitude line, then in between the fighter bases of Mongu in Zambia and Cazombo in Angola, outside the maximum range of the fighters.
When they meet the civilian airway between Lubumbashi and Kinshasa, they climb on that airway to 10,500 feet, switch on their internationally accepted navigation lights: red on the left wing tip, blue on the right wing tip and white on the tail extremity.
Nice and legal again, they contact the ATCO at N’Djili-airport in Kinshasa. It is all very simple, provided that each and every one of the liaisons has been done and every key person is in the picture. Otherwise fuel starvation will force you down in hostile territory, where you could very well be shot as a spy…
Life is not held in very high esteem everywhere in Africa, especially during revolutions and civil wars, which are rife in this neck of the woods.
Tonight it all goes like clockwork. Harry does the BONBI-1A-standard-arrival into Kinshasa; he intercepts the 12-mile-DME-arc, turns onto the ILS runway 2-4 at the lead-in Radial and executes a smooth landing at N’Djili International on the stroke of midnight, where the ATCO’s are fully conversant with the high-level delegation on board.
They taxi in to the red carpet, where the Zaïre Government Officials await Dr Savimbi, who walks down the air stair when the propellers swish to a stop, his trademark swagger stick with the ivory-topped handle hanging by a leather throng from his left wrist.
Just before entering the main airport building the Doctor turns around, facing the turbo-Dak and, like a naughty schoolboy, seemingly waves at the pilots, holding up his hands above his head, the fingers of the right hand spread, the left fist clenched, with only the left thumb raised, his white teeth sparkling in a wide grin under the lamplight.
In disbelief Harry whispers to Ralph.
"He is indicating check-your-six – just like I showed him! What a naughty old sport he is!"
© copyright 2007 ~ Simon Van Garderen ~ all rights reserved
