Gunship Ace Read online

  Published in the United States of America and Great Britain in 2011 by

  CASEMATE PUBLISHERS

  908 Darby Road, Havertown, PA 19083

  and

  17 Cheap Street, Newbury RG14 5DD

  Copyright 2011 © Al J. Venter

  ISBN 978-1-61200-070-1

  Digital Edition: ISBN 978-1-61200-082-4

  Cataloging-in-publication data is available from the Library of Congress

  and the British Library.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission from the Publisher in writing.

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  Printed and bound in the United States of America.

  For a complete list of Casemate titles please contact:

  CASEMATE PUBLISHERS (US)

  Telephone (610) 853-9131, Fax (610) 853-9146

  E-mail: [email protected]

  CASEMATE PUBLISHERS (UK)

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  CONTENTS

  Author’s Note

  Prologue

  1 Formative Days in Southern Africa

  2 Early Days in the South African Air Force

  3 Early Days During the Border War

  4 Soviet SAMs versus Helicopters in the Bush War

  5 Into Angola with the Gunships

  6 Death of a Good Man

  7 Koevoet, Night Ops and a Life-Changing Staff Course

  8 New Directions—Dangerous Challenges

  9 Executive Outcomes in West Africa

  10 Into the Congo’s Cauldron

  11 On the Run Across the Congo River

  12 Back to Sierra Leone—The Sandline Debacle

  13 Taking the War to the Rebels in Sierra Leone

  14 The War Gathers Momentum

  15 The War Goes On … and On …

  16 The Mi-24 Helicopter Gunship Goes to War

  17 How the War in Sierra Leone Was Fought

  18 Operation Barras—The Final Phase in Sierra Leone

  19 Iraq—Going Nowhere

  20 Air Ambulance in Sarawak

  21 Tanzania 288

  22 Neall Ellis Flies Russian Helicopters in Afghanistan

  Endnotes

  BOOKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR INCLUDE:

  Report on Portugal’s War in Guiné-Bissau

  Underwater Africa

  Under the Indian Ocean

  Africa at War

  The Zambezi Salient

  Underwater Seychelles

  Coloured: A Profile of Two Million South Africans

  Africa Today

  South African Handbook for Divers

  Challenge: South Africa in the African Revolutionary Context

  Underwater Mauritius

  Where to Dive: In Southern Africa and off the Indian Ocean Islands

  War in Angola

  The Chopper Boys: Helicopter Warfare in Africa

  The Iraqi War Debrief: Why Saddam Hussein Was Toppled

  Iran’s Nuclear Option: Tehran’s Quest for the Atom Bomb

  War Dog: Fighting Other People’s Wars

  Allah’s Bomb: The Islamic Quest for Nuclear Weapons

  Cops: Cheating Death: How One Man Saved the Lives of 3,000 Americans

  How South Africa Built Six Atom Bombs

  Dive South Africa

  Barrel of a Gun: A War Correspondent’s Misspent Moments in Combat

  War Stories by Al Venter and Friends

  To my lovely Caroline

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Gunship Ace is a book about a combat helicopter pilot who is not only an outstanding pilot but also a very good friend. I have been on operations with him in Angola and while he fought to turn around the rebels in Sierra Leone. In both ventures he was successful, so much so that in a personal letter to me in 2010, General Sir David Richards, then Chief of the General Staff—and today Chief of the Defence Staff in Great Britain— told me: ‘He is a great man; I and everyone in Sierra Leone owe him much.’

  This is the first time in recent history that the serving head of a Western defence establishment has paid tribute to the role of a mercenary pilot in wartime.

  Neall Ellis and I have been friends for a very long time. Indeed, I watched his four children grow up and he observed some of the disturbing antics of mine. In-between we sank a few ales, swopped a few yarns and travelled many different roads together. Writing about old buddies is never easy as you know them far too well to be complimentary about all they do. In a sense, as the saying goes, no general is a hero to his batman.

  Nellis is different and, to me, a true hero. An efficient combatant when the occasion demands, had he not beaten the rebels back from the gates of Freetown—both times flying alone in an antiquated Mi-24 and at night— our governments’ representatives would today be sharing space with some of Foday Sankoh’s barbarians at the United Nations and other world bodies. In Afghanistan, for almost three years he has been flying support missions in Russian Mi-8 helicopters across some of the harshest and most demanding mountain terrain on the planet. This is dangerous work; while preparing this book for the printers in September 2011, these choppers twice came under RPG-7 attack while attempting to land. Nellis wasn’t flying at the time, but he was immediately tasked to try to find solutions to what appear to be an insoluble range of problems.

  Neall Ellis has led an extraordinarily adventurous life through a dozen wars and more scrapes than he cares to remember. His career has been going on for more than 40 years and in this time he has never been seriously wounded, just scratched a few times.

  One aspect of this book that concerned me from the start was that having had War Dog published by Casemate in the United States in 2006— much of that action also involving ‘Nellis’—there was bound to be a bit of overlap. Most of it has been avoided, but I have once more had to bring to the fore one event that is seminal to the conflict in Sierra Leone. That was the ambush on the road out of Makeni of a convoy of vehicles rushing to meet a turncoat Nigerian general who hoped to do a deal with the rebels. Using all the subterfuge he could muster, Neall Ellis rocketed and machine gunned the column, killing or wounding many rebel commanders. In effect, it was the beginning of the end for Sankoh’s Revolutionary United Front as they never recovered from the setback.

  Others have helped put this work together and here I must pay tribute to journalist and author James Mitchell, who gave me much of what appears in the two chapters dealing with Neall’s time in Sarawak and while he served with a firefighting unit in South Africa. Like Nellis, James and I go way back: he even joined me on a lengthy sojourn across North America in a Hurricane motor home while I was working on the book on Richard David, the man who invented concealable body armour (and who has subsequently saved the lives of more than 3,000 law enforcement officers).

  Anita Baker edited this book and because of a plethora of detail, it became an enormous challenge for her to make sense of what was sometimes a jumble of facts, stats and figures. It took an inordinate amount of time and effort, but you can judge for yourself whether or not she succeeded. Thank you Anita—and here’s to our next title together.

  Libby Braden was the force behind finally bringing this book to fruition, and what a marvellous job she has done. It hasn’t been easy because of the enormous volume of material, and trying to fit all of it into what was already a very substantial work.

  I also have a special word of thanks for Steven Smith, editor-in-chief of Casemate and another old friend. He is the man who originally decided whether or not Casemate should take on this difficult work. He apparen
tly didn’t hesitate, nor did David and Sarah Farnsworth, who own and run the company in Philadelphia.

  A final word for my lovely Caroline, the woman who keeps my life, and my love, on track. You have been tolerant, affectionate and understanding during some extremely difficult times darling soul and, indeed, I am a very lucky man.

  Al J. Venter

  Downe

  November, 2011

  Neall Ellis at the controls of a former Soviet-Mi-24 helicopter gunship taken during a previous deployment in Sierra Leone. Author photo

  PROLOGUE

  Mike Foster, Neall Ellis’ co-pilot, penned the following observations while flying alongside him after take-off from Kabul in summer 2011. The helicopter, a Russian-built Hip registered ZS-RIX, was on its way to Khowst Salerno, a remote military outpost that routinely comes under attack.

  He’s a tough bugger, this Nellis guy, still flying helicopter support missions in his 61st year and there is no talk of retirement. That’s roughly 40 years of action in a dozen or more wars, and he has never been wounded. He says he can’t stop now because he’s got to put bread on the table … too many people depend on him.

  A peculiar, likeable fellow, Neall has become something of a legend in his time. He’s a father, a military man to his fingertips, a totally unforgiving mercenary fighter when placed in an uncompromising situation and, to his mates, honest to the point of being exploited by those less fortunate than he might be. He is peculiarly sensitive to the problems of others, although he’s got a bunch of his own that he rarely talks about, including the recent untimely loss of the woman with whom he shared six good years of his life.

  He can also be stubborn, interesting and occasionally infuriating, especially if things involving the machines he flies haven’t been done his way. He refers to it as ‘survival—straight and simple’. Then he’ll add: ‘Just do it right and we won’t have problems when we least expect them,’ which has been his credo throughout his career.

  These are all qualities that are typical of the Neall Ellis that I have got to know over the last two or three years. He is physically short, perhaps a bit stocky, but as confident as hell, with a discerning personality and force of character that reflects good leadership. He had probably acquired all that by the time he made colonel in the South African Air Force almost a quarter of century ago.

  Neall Ellis has quite a few other accolades, which he won’t talk about. He has been acclaimed by quite a few notables, including General Sir David Richards, Britain’s Chief of the Defence Staff following victory against the rebels in Sierra Leone. That was the first time in recent history that British armed forces had worked hand-in-glove with an acknowledged mercenary. Before that, he was involved with Sandline’s Colonel Tim Spicer, who apparently has a high regard for him. There are others, but he’s non-committal about them as well. He just smiles when asked.

  Neall also has the gift of being a good listener. There has never been a time when he hasn’t made me feel comfortable, even when he has been really busy and I have interrupted him or intruded on valuable time, of which he doesn’t have much because he’s often still at his desk at 10 o’clock at night working on the next day’s flying schedules. He always makes you welcome and gives you his undivided attention. What more can I say?

  Neall was in the SAAF with me, but I never had much to do with him then as he was a lot senior to me. I only really got to know him after we’d been deployed to Kabul. Afghanistan is a land of contrast, harsh but pure, arid but green, sweltering heat contrasting with high altitude tables of snow, that’s how we pilots all see it. That is also where I really got to understand the man.

  Roughly the size of Texas, Afghanistan has very few major roads. The ones that are there are being increasingly monitored and mined by the Taliban. These actions have forced Coalition Forces to rely more on aircraft to move troops and supplies. Indeed, many remote military bases and out-posts—particularly in the mountains—can sometimes be reached only by helicopter.

  Bokkie the Mi-17 helicopter that was the real hero of the war in Sierra Leone. Full of holes, battered, but never beaten, this old war bird—with Nellis flying solo—played a major role against the rebels earlier in the war. Photo: Neall Ellis

  Ambush of a Coalition Forces road convoy in Central Afghanistan. Photo: Neall Ellis

  We arrived with the first group of South African Mi-8 helicopter pilots in Afghanistan and Neall approached this vast new Central Asian country with discernible eagerness. It was quite a hop, from flying Mi-24 helicopter gunships to being at the controls of slow and meandering Mi-8s. I reckon that it was hard for him to get accustomed to because the Hip is hardly an offensive weapon in this kind of environment. He changed his style of flying as well. These days he takes more of a defensive approach with the Hip—mostly high flying and none of the low-level aggressive stuff he was used to in Africa and elsewhere. You can’t help sensing that it is perhaps a little boring for him.

  This has come to the fore several times in recent months: an example being the day we were flying along the western fringes of the Hindu Kush when Nellis leaned forward with a curious look on his face. He tugged at the side of his helmet and turned that side of his head towards the window. With an elated grin he happily exclaimed that we were being shot at. Quietly, and without fuss, he pulled his helmet straight again, leaned back in his seat and, with a look of contented nostalgia, continued with whatever he had been doing moments before.

  Flying with Neall has its advantages. On long flights he insists that there has to be a break in the middle. That means stopping at a DFAC, usually on the turnabout point. It also means great food and goodies to enjoy. Fantastic! It does a lot for crew camaraderie and is always something to look forward to.

  I enjoy going to Kabul with him too. If he wants something he buys it, simple as that. In Afghanistan the art of bargaining is something ingrained in the local psyche from birth. The old story runs along the lines of dividing by two whatever they first ask you to pay but Nellis doesn’t have the time for that kind of nonsense. He just hands over the money and doesn’t argue. He reckons that ‘if you want it, buy it, don’t dally around’.

  It’s basically the way the man runs his life, and has done since his formative years growing up in the south of Africa.

  CHAPTER ONE

  FORMATIVE DAYS IN SOUTHERN AFRICA

  Neall Ellis’s determination to hew his own path in life can be traced back to his youth and, more precisely, to his experiences as a schoolboy in Bulawayo and, later, in Plumtree, both in the south-west of what is now Zimbabwe. In colonial times it was known as Southern Rhodesia, or simply Rhodesia.

  Born of good British stock in South Africa’s great mining and financial centre of Johannesburg on 24 November 1949, he didn’t live there long. Six weeks later his father moved the whole family to Rhodesia. At the time, Ellis Senior was general manager of Gallo Africa, a major music production and sales company, probably the biggest of its kind in Africa. Originally from Woolwich, near London, he had come out to South Africa with the Royal Navy during World War II. He had served on board the battleship HMS Royal Sovereign on Arctic convoy runs, shipping vital supplies to the Soviet port of Murmansk in Russia. His service with the RN also took him to South Africa where, in Simonstown—then a British naval base—Leslie Thomas Ellis met and married Ruby Sophia Hyams. ‘My mother’s side was very Afrikaans—they were Vissers—while my grandfather’s name was Hyams’, recalls Neall.

  The move to Bulawayo brought many changes, including a number of different homes in the city. As Neall recalls: ‘My parents encouraged us to be pretty independent … we were strictly disciplined and my mother used to thrash us with a wooden coat hanger, but it would always break, so it wasn’t too bad!’

  There were two large dams, not far from home, where the kids would fish: ‘Mom was petrified whenever we went near either of them, having already lost one son to drowning. However, we were taught to swim at a very young age—something like three or four.�
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  In one of the family homes, at Hillside, on the side of a kopje at the back of the house, the youngsters played their games in the nooks and crannies of the rocks and they would sometimes encounter cobras or other bush creatures that had ventured in from the wild.

  We never thought too much about it—the snakes would give us a wide berth if they sensed our approach and we would duck away if we saw them—got spat at by a Cape cobra a few times, though.

  At the time, Dad was very friendly with a man named Alan Boyle, an Australian, and both men were what you’d call ‘party animals’. They would go up north into Africa, driving or chartering a light aircraft, the idea being to make recordings of traditional African music which Dad loved. It was all the kind of antiquated reel-to-reel stuff that you never see today, bulky, testy old machines.

  Neall believes that his father’s interest in this aspect of ‘Black Culture’ was the start of old man’s Eric Gallo’s specialisation in traditional African music, for which the company later became known. More important to the Ellis children at the time, their father would return from his trips with lovely ebony masks and other African carvings, curios and a huge variety of native trivia on which tourists today spend good money. Neall recalls: ‘One morning I went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. There was a candy box and inside, one great big lump of elephant shit!’

  Growing up, young Neall remembers lots of weekends when the family and their friends went up into the Matopos Hills on picnics. Rhodes lies there, watching over the country once named for him, under a brass plate set into granite over his grave on the summit of one of the gomos.1

  Meanwhile, the kids would play games, such as kennietjie. This game would start with a groove being dug in the ground. Then one of the youngsters would take a twig and lay it across the groove, before flicking it with a stick and someone else had to catch it. These were the kind of pastimes that children of the original Pioneer Column must have played of an evening after they had unhaltered—or as we liked to say, outspanned— their oxen following a long day’s trek. Neall recounts: