i got to know it a little bit
too well.
Unarmed, and with a top
speed (going slightly downhill)
of 110 knots, it toted me round
over the Frelimo-infested jungle,
often much lower than I personally  thought necessary.
The Frelimo gunners do not
use tracer. So, as a World War
II pilot, I was painfully aware
that we probably would not
know we were under fire until
we were actually hit.
Copyright; Evening Standard
1965.
Portuguese gunboat patrols Lake Malawi
BELEAGUERED   OUTPOSTS
IN SAVAGE COUNTRY
ARE SUPPLIED BY AIR
By Lord Kilbracken
HPHE first time I flew on patrol in Mozambique was during an extended Frelimo
hunt from advance GHQ at Vila Cabral. We were also lifting badly needed
supplies to the beleaguered garrisons at Maniambo and Nova Coimbra. There
is a company at each outpost—about 200 men— who must rely on air provieion-
when no army cos
ing when no
voys can make it.
I occupied the co-pilot's seat
for my first operational flight
since 1945. The after cockpit
was largely occupied by four
great sides of salted pork,
which smelt to high heaven.
We flew over savage country—densely wooded mountains and impenetrable bush,
the domain of lion and leopard,
Hush fires, deserted native
villages, and never a sniff of
the enemy.
So to Maniamba. I was
glad I didn't know about the
mine, found buried in the airstrip an hour earlier, until
after we had landed there—
and I admit I wasn't over-
happy on take-off.
We left half the pork at
Maniamba and the rest at
Nova Coimbra, a 10-minute
flip northward. Here I saw
locally captured equipment,
including a mounted .50 Russian machine-gun, Chinese
rnor tars, Russian hand grenades, and an ancient American Thompson sub-machine-
gun.
PLASTIC MINES
• We flew at dusk to the naval
bane at Metangula, a fine
natural harbour on the rtfgged
mountainous coast of Lake
Malawi. Brilliantly warm
spring weather, limpid water,
& golden beach—and otack
plastic mines in all the roads.
Here I was to be the guest
of the commander, Lieutenant
Sergio Zllhao. His fleet comprises a 28-ton radar-equipped
gunboat and three landing
craft. The gunboat. Castor,
mounts a 20 mm Oerllkoh and
patrols the hostile shore.
With the landing craft, it
brings men and supplies from
Meponda, the nearest port to
Vila Cabral. However, the
recent mining of the only
road to Mepbnda has made
the supplying of Metangula
problematical.
Sergio told me that he
hopes soon to have three more
gunboats—and he needs them.
But they must come, overland
the whole way from the
Indian Ocean to Meponda, a
long and hazardous journey.
A fifth is being constructed
on  the  Metangula  slipway.
Here I was at the heart of
things. Well-armed Frelimo
with heavy machine-guns and
bazookas were operating within, three miles north and
south of the base. The only
road—from Maniamba — was
heavily mined and impassable.
The Frelimo set up an armed
road block while I was there,
between Metangula and the
Anglican mission at Messumba, only six miles away.
Sergio invited me to sail
aboard the Castor on an
armed patrol next day. Our
task was to seek out gun-
running canoes or Frelimo
positions ashore—and to carry
supplies to Cobue, the only
other  usable   lake  harbour.
Work is in progress on an
air-strip at Cobue, but it is
still in its early stages,
meanwhile it relies solely on
lake-borne provisions.
ttADAR * PING *
We sailed in the late evening with the Oerlikon cannon
manned. Five marines kept a
look out, machine-guns at
the ready, On the starboard
(landward)  side.
As we neared Cobue, when
by chance I was alone at the
radar screen, I saw a clear
" pingM materialise, fine on
our port bow at a range of
two miles. It was a small
"ping" (as a canoe's would
be)   but  quite  definite.
I called Sergio from the
bridge and he at once altered
course towards it. I Wish he
hadn't. The " ping " had been
caused, it quickly transpired,
by a vast swarm of mosquitoes—and this was malaria
country. We turned on to a
reciprocal  course rapidly.
A jeep awaited us at the
pier when #e reached blacked-
out Cobue. It was the only
vehicle there With any petrol,
and it ran out as we arrived
at the officers' mess. We had
fortunately brought replenishment.
UNDER FIRE
The Castor sailed again at
midnight to continue her
patrol. To my subsequent great
regret I stayed ashore to
catch up on some sleep. At
dawn she twice came under
fire, from two Frelimo positions to the northward.
Each time she replied with
her Oerlikon and bazooka. On
the second occasion guerillas
were seen   running  along the
beach. They made an un-
obscured target and at least
one was seen to be killed by
bazooka  fire.
When she sailed for 'base,
the Castor again came under
fire, this Ume from a point
of land only seven miles from
Cobue. Sergio had already
called up the air force from
Vila Cabi'ai, the two Harvards
—half the available striking
force—now  appeared*
From Cobue I could clearly
watch this attack as the silver
Harvards repeatedly dived on
the % enemy position. For
reasons unknown to me they
carried no bombs or rockets,
but ail their machine-guns
were blazing (each had four).
Sergio supported them with
all arms from the Castor until
he had no ammunition left.
Results, however, could not
be observed ift the deep bush
from which the enemy were
operating.
After returning to * rearm,
and for brief rest and refreshment, the Castor sailed once
more on patrol, and this time
I sailed with her. It was early
evening.
Sergio continued his previous tactic for locating the
enemy. I found it original.
It consisted simply in following the coast Within range 6f
their machine-guns, and waiting to be fired at.
FEAJ&L&SS
We sailed with all guns
maimed: the Oerlikon on the
fo'c'sle, a heavy machine-
gun amidships, and four
marines with light machine-
gun* ranged on the landward
side. The bazooka was ready
in Uie stern.
Sergio, with complete nonchalance, fearlessly stood unprotected in the most exposed
position—atop the wheelhouse.
I fully understood, as I admired, his reason for doing
so. It lent courage to me as
it lent courage to his men.
We headed for the same
point on land from which the
Castor had last been fired
upon. Sergio made a pass at
It. But all, was quiet. The
enemy had silently withdrawn
(as is their wont) to the
jungle—unless it was that the
Harvards had done their work
well,
(C) Evening Standard, 19f>5.
Lord Kilbracken, aged 45, is
an author and journalist, who
during the war served in the
Fleet Air Arm, rising to the
rank of lieutenant-commander.