A must read about Keith... Posted by Tammi McAllister "I believe this was written by Mike "... Loved reading this.

 Operation Eagles Beak and …

The legend of Keith Coppen … because we all need to remember our heroes and tell their stories.

(Things known to have been said by Keith Coppen on various occasions.)

‘Don’t worry, I don’t think we’re going to die this time.’

‘Hang on tight and wait for the noise to stop. When it does, run like hell.’

‘You know what foreplay is? This is not going to be anything like that.’

‘That Hyacinth looked just like an island.’

‘If we can fish it out and dry it off, I’ll be able to fly it again.’

‘There is not much to a chopper when you sweep the pieces into a pile like that … Hell, I could fit it in the boot of my car.’

‘I don’t think anyone has ever tail ended a bakkie with a chopper before … but someone had to do it just once … It was inevitable considering how low we fly.’

‘If you have an over-revving turbine and an under-revving rotor something important between the two has stopped working and both are now trying their damndest to kill you’

‘What? there is a piece of landing gear in the chubby hole … did you put it there or did I? What the heck, keep it as a souvenir.’

‘Handling multiple life threatening events at the same time is called extreme multi-tasking … And I am extremely good at multitasking… Better than anyone else I know.’

‘We have more Alo’s flying today than what we bought in the first place. This upsets the natural balance of things. Its like having a home with a bunch of bastard children of uncertain parentage running around. You love them dearly but you don’t want to talk about them too much. Unfortunately the natural balance needs to be restored and I am the one that fate has seen fit to assign that task. That said, I do believe in a sporting chance and only when one tries to take me out will I fight it to the ground and kill it. I have however also drowned one or two before they had a chance to try.’ (Keith commenting on the practice of building up extra Alouettes out of spares and wrecks bought from abroad during the sanction busting years.)

With all those bandages you must be a chopper pilot ‘Yes’

Then you must be Keith Coppen

‘Yes’

Then you must be looking for a job

‘Yes’

Can you start immediately?

‘Yes’

(Conversation between John Brooker and Keith Coppen)

‘The reason why there are so few choppers left is because Keith Coppen flew all the ones that aren’t here.’

(Keith Coppen’s commanding officer.)

　

　

I met Keith Coppen at a forward base in the bush. The thing about being a radio technician in the SAAF is that once the radios are up and working, they are working and then there is not much else for you to do. And, at a busy ops base, someone with nothing to do is soon given something to do.

‘Can you shoot?’ an officer asks me. I nod. Being proficient on all the weapons is almost compulsory but there is also a certain fun factor in letting rip with an Uzzi or a browning or 50 cal on the range. So, yes, I had fired a number of weapons.

Get over to that chopper over there … his engineer has been injured and he needs a gunner.

Running over to the chopper, I get in and put on the headset.

‘I have been temporarily assigned to fly with you.’ I say ‘We are all here on temporary assignment kid, hell, life is a temporary assignment’

‘Can you fire that thing?’ he says indicating the 303 browning sub machine gun. I nod. We lift off and soon we are headed on into the hot zone.

The primary purpose of the chopper is to look after the troep. The chopper takes him into the firefight, it drops him off safely, it brings in ammo, food and water, it provides a high point from which to bring down covering fire, clear the way, and give targeting information back to the troep, and afterwards it takes the troep home, standing, seated or flat on his back. It is a symbiotic relationship but unfortunately, while a chopper can support the troep with covering fire, the troep cannot stop the enemy from shooting into sky when there are no ground targets to pick from. So, while the primary function of the troep is to fire upon the enemy, the function of the enemy is to fire upon the chopper. And, while the troep will do everything in his power to make sure that his supply line remains open, and his lift home remains in perfect working condition, A chopper in the sky will draw fire from every gook on the ground that is able to handle a gun. It is common knowledge that the average lifespan of a gunship gunner in a hot zone in Vietnam was about 20 minutes. I lasted 2 weeks in total and went home safe and sound thanks in no small part to Keith.

It was however Keith that said ‘Don’t shoot a gook in the back when he is running away … cos his mates will all stop and start shooting back. We and the gooks have two things in common … we both want to get back home in one piece …’

‘And the second …’ I asked after a pause.

‘Why to kill each other of course… But that comes second by a fair distance.’

And that was one of the unwritten rules of engagement. You did not shoot people that were fleeing for their lives. That included women and children, old and young, and anyone running away … even if they did have a gun. You did not shoot anyone in the back. You only fired at a valid target, not because you had a clear shot. Buildings in bases, trucks, defensive positions. 'This is work' he told me, 'Not sport.'

And you did not make yourself visible to the enemy. This involved a fair amount of bush hopping and tree clipping, and Keith was very good at that, so much so that he hopped bushes and clipped trees a lot lower and a lot closer than anyone else. The result was that he seldom got shot, the downside was that he had the dubious record of writing off more choppers than anyone else in the SAAF, and the truth of the matter was that he was so good, that they just sent him straight back in again with another chopper (and sometimes another temporary gunner.)

Shooting the browning out of the chopper was most definitely not the same as shooting a browning on the ground. For starters, the recoil had a tendency to push the chopper sideways crabbing it. And secondly because the centre of recoil of the browning was lower than the center of lift of the rotors, the Alo had a tendency to tip over a bit. So, unlike the movies where the rounds hitting the ground move forward with the aircraft, it was just the other way around, One aimed a little high and opened up, and this tilted the chopper a little, bringing the stitches in the ground back towards the chopper.

The bush war did however produce a rather macabre sport … we called it ‘running the dogs’. It was like a marathon. As I said, no-one liked shooting a fleeing terr in the back, so the parabats and 32 batallion and recon command and Koevoet grunts would run them down in relays. If a group of terrs started to run off in a direction, one squad would head off in pursuit while the other took a smoke break.

Then we would pick up the group that were on break and fly them up to the chasers, and they would continue the chase on foot while the first squad would then take a half hour break. The ‘bats using chopper support to leapfrog the chasers forward and would stay on the heels of their quarry, keeping them in sight at a fixed distance. Far enough to not get shot and close enough to keep them in sight. As long as they were running, the ‘grunts kept chasing. The moment they turned they were shot at, the moment they dropped the chopper would rake over them and get them running again. Eventually, they would discard their weapons and everything else to run faster … and the ‘grunts would do the same but for their guns, and ultimately, when they could run no more, they would stand with their hands in the air waiting to be rounded up as choppers circled above with their brownings and 50 cals aimed down at them.

The fastest runners in the were called windhonde (greyhounds), and all the grunt units had a few greyhounds.

‘Cry havoc and let rip the dogs of war’ was a phrase we could identify with.

Ultimately we would always run them down. It was a game from which they could not escape … not while we had a chopper looking down on them. Sometimes 3

– 4 – 5 choppers, And if one turned his weapon on the chopper, well then the browning gave him a copper jacket / tracer mix at 1000 rounds per minute. That always discouraged them from turning to fire on the chopper.

Then, when they had all been rounded up, it was time for interrogation. Right there in the field. Hands behind backs, they would be loaded into a chopper and taken up a couple of hundred feet. Then they would be blindfolded and the questioning began. As the questioning proceeds, the chopper slowly descends to hover just a few feet off the deck.

Then the most junior of the prisoners is dragged to the door and thrown out. There is nothing like hearing your comrade being dragged screaming to the door of the chopper being and thrown out into the void to loosen the tongue of the most radical hard liner. The resistance broken, they would be taken back to base and interrogated in greater detail. Of course, we kept the one that was thrown out separate so as to maintain the credibility of the threat, but it was never necessary to torture anyone for information. You made him think he was at a thousand feet while you hovered just above the ground and then you threw his mate out the door into the sand ten feet below. It always worked.

We got lots of usable information that way. You may recall how terrs used to regularly blow themselves up with their own land and limpet mines. It was not because they were dumb or even because the weapons were substandard. It was because we would obtain the locations of their weapons caches and replace all the mines with zero delay fuses that detonated the instant you armed the beast. It was the best selective targeting technique there was.

A terr would take a limpet mine with a time delay into a quiet little corner out of sight and arm the thing … and it would detonate killing just him instantly. AK 47 rounds would be filled with cortex or other high explosive mixes and AK 47 rifles would blow up in the faces of the terrs using them. A good one was to exactly measure how much powder would be needed to get the bullet to the end of the barrel without it leaving the barrel. On auto, this would re-cock the AK and the next round would go into the round jamming the barrel and make a solid plug, this would overload the reloading mechanism ramming it back into the face of the person firing the weapon.

Anyway, back to operation Eagles beak.

Four of us had taken a C160 Transall down to Windhoek for a long weekend during a few quiet days while others had chosen to just park off and do nothing at the base. Besides, we had to leave some pilots on the base.

Did you ever do anything that took your life off at an abrupt 90 degree turn leaving you wondering what the heck had just happened? This was one of those times.

We had been to a bar or two and we had heard about the disco at the Continental Hotel, so we decided to go and check it out. So, I am sitting at the bar with Keith and this really cute blonde stands next to me Keith and I look at her and I nod a ‘hi’ at her. We introduce each other and soon we are chatting even if it more a case of shouting at each other over the blaring music.

‘What do you do?’ I ask.

‘I an air hostess with Lufthansa, what do you do?’

‘Oh, we take people on tours.’ Says Keith with a knowing smile.

‘That is ‘sehr gut’’ she says, and waves over to anther hottie. ‘Brigitte, Brigitte, Kommen sie hier’

And another 2 join us.

‘These guys are tour operators.’

‘So you girls all air hostesses?’

‘Ja.’

‘Overnighting in Windhoek?’

‘Nein, our aircraft has a technical problem and they are flying some mechanics out to come and fix it.’

‘So, how long you out here for?’

‘They say at least 4 days because the mechanics must first see what the problem is before they can send the parts.’

‘Oh’ says Keith, ‘That’s cool, we are also off for a couple of days.’

‘Das is wunderbar, so you can show us around ja?’

‘Yes, we can most definitely show you around.’

So, she does this exited little up and down jump looking out over the heads of the dancers and shouts out ‘Kapitan, Kapitan, waving at someone on the far side of the room.

‘Come lets go outside where we can talk.’

And so we pull two tables together in the beergarden between the disco and the restaurant, and the four of us, 2 pilots and 2 gunners, and the flight crew of the Lufthansa 747. The Captain leans forward.

‘Magda here tells me you do tours?’

‘Yes’ nods Keith.

‘What will you charge us for a 4 day tour ?’

‘Where do you want to go?

‘What areas do you usually go to?

‘Mostly up north …’

‘North is gut, Maybe Etosha?’

We look at each other

‘Yes, we can do Etosha.’

‘So, what is your charge?’

‘Ahh well we have different rates, depending on what the client can afford.’

Fact of the matter was that having about 8 hotties hanging off every word we said, we would have done the tour for nothing.

‘It does not matter, Lufthansa can pay the bill.’

‘Well, an 5 star bush tour generally works out at about R 1000.00 per person per day.’

‘Ja. That is fine. Can you make the arrangements, I will arrange with the Lufthansa offices tomorrow morning for a cheque. That’s a crew of 16 for 4 days … That’s Sixty Four Thousand rands. Is that fine … The notice is short I know.’

‘No problem. We can handle it.’

And so, after most had left, the four girls stayed behind and we chatted away. Eventually we said our good byes for the night. There was no rush. We had a couple of days on our side … besides, the rules had changed, they were no longer fair game, they were now clients and one does not jump the client … at least not on the first night anyway and definitely not till you have their money.

As we walked out of the hotel and up to the cheaper Thuringer Hof where we were staying, Keith says … ‘Gentlemen, we are now officially in the tourist business.’

‘How the heck are we going to do this?’

‘We are going to handle this like any other military operation. We are going to need comms, logistics, transport, accommodation and oh yes … I almost forgot …’

‘What?’

‘We are going to need a couple of volunteers … and I know just the spot … for this operation … lets use Eagle Base.’

‘You cant take them to Eagle Base.’ Says the other pilot.

‘Yes I can’ says Keith, ‘Twelve German air hostesses and sixty four thousand rands says that I can do anything I want and I assure you, we wont need to bribe anyone … With that much ‘loslyf’ in the bush there will be no shortage of volunteers.’

‘What about the flight crew … The Captain and the engineer and the first officer?’

‘Oh don’t worry, they are all going to have the time of their lives.’

And so, we took the Captain, First officer, Flight engineer, Head steward and 12 air hostesses on an adventure no one would ever forget.

First thing next morning we needed transport. And we needed a name, and we needed letterheads and lots of stuff. While Keith was securing the bux, we went down to Kessler Car Hire and hired 4 brand spanking new Toyota Hilux Double Cabs and then we went to Gorelicks and got Nam to equip us with kit for a Safari of 20 people.

Then we went to Nature Conservation to book accommodation for 30 at Okakeujo Camp in Etosha. Here we hit our first snag. Okakeujo was fully booked. There was no room for us. So, having done all of this, we now are in contact with the chopper base and we tell one of the pilots to get to a landline so that we can brief the guys up north in secret.

By 12h00, The 20 of us were headed up north for Etosha in the four 4x4’s. That in itself was a drive.

It was about that time that the Commanding officer of the squadron put a call through to the camp manager at Okakeujo telling him that we would be conducting pursuit ops in the northern part of the game reserve because we had intel from the locals that some terrs were headed down south around the western part of the pan.

He also suggested that he discretely move some of the visitors on to Halali and Namutoni camps so as to reduce the possible risk to tourists. Not taking any chances, they emptied the camp and redirected the tourists as requested. He also told the camp manager at Okakeujo that he should not be concerned if he picked up chopper activity in the area.

Word had circulated in very limited but influential circles, and a ‘special ops’ team with equipment headed out to Eagle Base to set it up for ops. Then the Frelon lifted off again and headed south on its mission. So, now Okakeujo is in lockdown, and the special ops team is setting up a temporary base at Eagles Beak. Problem is that with the western entrance to Etosha locked down, we would have a problem getting our tour up into Etosha. Problems were however something we had become good at overcoming.

What most people that have traveled into Etosha do not know is that about 300 meters short of Ombika gate there is a turn off to the left, and about a kilometer down the road there is a bush strip. This strip was used by the SAAF as a base of operations when doing follow up operations against terrs trying to infiltrate through Etosha. Ombika gate is closed, but Ombika strip was not and it virtually right up against the fence at Etosha. So, we drove in and parked on the apron next to the runway.

‘Not to worry, this does sometimes happen and we have made arrangements.’

We called in ‘air support’ and it was not long before a Super Frelon was landing next to us. We drove the first Toyota Double Cab into the back of the Frelon and it was a very short hop to cover the 20 Km from Ombika Strip to Okakeujo strip and within about half an hour we had airlifted our entire tour operation into Okakejo. At this time we were joined by four other Alouette gunships, who did a spectacular shootup of Okakeujo before landing.

We were met by the Okakeujo camp manager. Keith told him that we would be supporting the troops on the ground but we needed some accommodation for our pilots and ground crews. No, probelemo sez he, Okakeujo is empty and we can have the entire resort to ourselves for free, seeing as we are doing such a wonderful job in keeping the resort and the reserve and its personell safe.

We booked our tour into the best bungalows. Restaurants were open, and the best of the best was laid on for everyone. The Lufthansa air crew had the run of the place but for a few chopper air crews in the far side bungalows that were busy with counter insurgency ops and some guards that had been posted at the gates, but it was cool, we did know them.

The Lufthansa Pilot was impressed. When he had heard that Okakejo was full he had visions of sleeping on stretchers in mosquito infested tents, but he never expected us to have the clout to empty a resort just for them, and airlifting the tour into a closed game reserve was something he could never have envisioned in his wildest dreams, but the ultimate cherry on top was letting the flight crew fly shotgun in the co-pilots seat of the Super Frelon on the four successive airlift trips, which was a win-win for the co-pilot who was in the back chatting up the air hostesses. Heck, after the first trip, the co-pilot shepherded the first officer straight into his seat saying ‘Hey, we are both co-pilots, come and sit in my office for a bit.’

That night we hung out in the restaurant and the pool and the bar, and at the waterhole that Okakeujo is built around.

Next morning we headed off for a game drive in the four Toyota’s. We had a huge advantage in that we had two Alouettes, one with the squadron commanding officer and the 747 Pilot on board, and I don’t remember who was in the other, but they were game spotting for us and we had some prime game viewing opportunities, even driving off road a short distance to a pride of lions around a kill.

That afternoon after another slap op meal, Keith tells the tour that we will be leaving Okakeujo for our private bush camp in the north of Etosha. And that the helicopter guys have offered to escort us there. The OC says that he has a special treat for everyone, and have a once-in-a-life-time experience. Well everyone was as keen as mustard weren’t they. Air hostesses become air hostesses because they like flying and a holiday with a bunch of bush pilots that had laid on an impromptu airshow was more of a holiday than they could ever have imagined.

So, after lunch we gave the camp manager his camp back again and departed for Eagle Base. Eagle base was at the tip of a piece of land shaped like an Eagle in flight. The camp itself was at the tip of the beak, hence the name of the operation, Eagle Beak. Our ground support ‘special ops’ team consisting of chefs and barmen had been flown in the previous day to set up camp and that afternoon some flew up to Eagle base and some of us drove the 4x4’s up. By late afternoon, we are all in Eagle Base and we have a steadily growing little air force squadron. Word has gotten out about the fly in, and we now have a second Super Frelon and two Pumas. Word is that there is an unofficial contest at Eagle Base to find out who is the best bush pilot on the border.

We would be joined by more ships the next day.

But, that afternoon is taken up with hanging out in the bar and catching a few winks. After a spectacular sunset and sundowners, there is a big fire, but, on specific orders, there is no sign of chow.

‘Whats for supper?’ we are asked by someone because our tour have become rather used to having everything laid on … and this lot are fairly starved by now. In fact we all are.

‘Tonight’ they are told ‘you are going to experience first hand how we live in the bush …’

‘Hows that?’

‘We are going to hunt down our dinner’

‘But were are in a a game reserve … surely hunting is illeagal?’

‘Yes, but we are going hunting without guns.’

‘But how do you hunt without guns?’

‘We use dogs.’

‘We didn’t see any hunting dogs…’

‘Oh don’t worry, we flew some in for the occasion.’

‘Where?’

‘There … says the OC pointing at 4 recce commandos sitting at the fire.’

‘But those are men?’

‘Yes, but they are also our hunting dogs.’

‘And they are going to hunt for us tonight?’

‘Yes, they are going to hunt for us tonight’

‘And they can catch game on foot without guns?’

‘Yes, it is actually quite something to watch, very few get to see it.’

‘Got in Himmel’ says the Lufthansa Capitan.

‘Yes, those are usually the last words of most of their quarry.’

(Now, if anyone ever were to doubt the strength endurance and speed of our Recon commando unit, the typical time for a hike down the Fish River Canyon is 5 days and 4 nights. The record is logged in the Fish River Canyon’s hikers logbook, by the Recon unit, top to bottom is 37 hours. So, were mere mortals can do it in 5 days of walking (+- 60 hours ) these guys do it at a run through the day, through the night, and into the next day.)

And so, after dusk we head off with 4 Toyotas and 4 ‘windhonde’ I am sitting in front in the passenger seat, Keith is driving, between us is Brigitte, in the back seat are one or two others, and on the bakkie are a few others … Troepe and some other girls. Windhond sits on the roof of the bakkie, feet on the bonet, and with the spotlight. The four bakkies drive next to each other, about 20 meters apart. From his perch on the roof, Windhond guides us. Vertical movement of the spotlight show the way he wants us to go, horizontal sweeps as he looks for reflective eyes, and then a steady spot on a point is a target. Down in front is the signal to stop.

Suddenly Windhond sees a pair of eyes reflecting in the bush and we drive up. Then he shines the light down and we stop and he is off and running. The other Toyotas driving in formation with us also have their Windhonde and ahead of us is a Spring-haas (jackrabbit) which is like Africa’s Kangaroo. It looks just like a kangaroo but stands about half a meter high, and it can move if it sets its mind to it. It is small thin and fast and it clears bush country in a blur of movement, But Windhond is after it and it takes him no more than about 5 minutes to run it down and grab it.

This is too easy, the guys rekon, we need something a bit more challenging and it is not too long before we come across a herd of Springbok, and then it is the chance of the Windhond on one of the other Toyotas and he is running for all he is worth ahead of us in the headlights of the Bakkie. When his pace drops off, he signals us in next to him, and the next commando hits the bush running. You must understand, that this is what they do every day all day long for weeks and months during their tour. And so, the third commando hits the ground running, and then it is our windhond’s turn again and now the springbuck is tiring, and all four commandos close in and then they have him. Its all over. The buck is carried kicking and bleating to the bakkie where it is quickly silenced.

And so yes, before my very eyes, one Recon commando windhond can run down and catch a jackrabbit and it takes four to catch and take down a springbok … with their feet and bare hands. Anthropologists recon we made the big step when we invented weapons, but these guys did not need weapons, they ran the animals down and took them out with their bare hands.

With our score of what was ultimately two jackrabbits an one springbok, we head on back over the flat open savannah to Eagle Base

Brigitte says she wants to handle the spotlight a bit if she may, and Keith says OK, and so she is sitting on the roof between to Windhond and one of the other commando’s, his name was Felix, and the two of them are showing he how to spot game. We are driving at about 30 kilometers an hour, when there is a problem with the lamp, a bit of a loose connection. ‘Shake it’ says Windhond, so Brigitte shakes the lamp and its causes a rapid up down motion of the beam, only 45 degrees to the left, and a rapid up/down means target, and Keith hauls the wheel over to the left and Felix slides off the roof into the knee high grass. Brigitte lets out a squeal as she follows and Windhond with the fingers of his left hand around the door/roof grabs her arm as her legs swing out over the drivers window side of the roof. Keith reaches up and grabs her around behind the knees holding her against the drivers side. Her legs come in through the drivers window, and in one fluid motion she is sitting in Keiths lap as we continue to drive through the grassland. You must understand that once you are used to lugging jerry cans and ammo boxes and 50 cals around, a bit of amateur acrobatics with an air hostess is real easy.

So, the next hostess rekons she wants to sit on the roof a bit, and Brigitte still has the spotlight so she is shining the spotlight forward over the bonnet into the grass ahead between the two very sexy legs of the other air hostess now seated on the edge of the roof.

‘Hey look, there’s an Owl up there … straight ahead, about 45 degrees up.’

The 3 on the roof are looking up along the powerful beam of the spotlight. Brigitte is aiming the spotlight up into the sky through the top of the windscreen and the beam is framed by the license and third party disk below, and the panties of the hostess sitting on the roof above.

‘Keep it there.’ He says, ‘I’m sure we will see something soon.’ And we drive on with Brigitte shining the spotlight into her mates crotch, totally unaware of the fact that there never was an Owl and all Keith wanted was a good look. Keith looks over at me with a grin I look back briefly to see the others reactions. There are also big silent grins from the back seat, and in the back, the faces of 4 awestruck troepe are pressed against the back window of the cab.

Windhond had his arm around the girl on the roof, making sure that she was safe and sound, and remained perfectly positioned. The ultimate unwitting accomplice.

‘Keep the light up there … they are actually quite active at night.’ Says Keith.

Neither of the girls clicked to what was actually going on.

Such were the games we played.

We get back to camp.

‘So, what did you guys get?’

‘Two Jackrabits and a Springbok … Saw beaver as well but it was as easy to grab hold of’’

‘I did not see a beaver’ says Brigitte.’

‘Oh there was definitely beaver, two of them’

‘Beavers in the desert, I have never head of such a thing.’ Says the 747 pilot.

‘Oh, its rare, but we were lucky, weren’t we guys.’

‘Oh yes’ we reply, ‘we were very lucky. Such a thing is truly rare.’

Beyond that, it was becoming harder to maintain composure, I leave it to your imagination to fill in the gaps … as to whether beaver was tasty, or hard to catch, or what the best way was to prepare it … The camp was suddenly full of amateur chefs, but the best way, everyone had to concede was to have it wrapped around some puffadder.

By about 9 the catch of the day was grilling away on the coals, while the rest of us were getting steadily slammed with the other catch of the day.

Next morning saw the dawning of the day one which the out of control cover story came together. It was very spontaneous and it was an amazing day. One of the many I will not forget.

The Super Frelon was sent out on a firewood collection sortie and I was one of the pax on board. There was the Pilot, Co-Pilot, Flight Engineer/Loadmaster, 2 ACF troepe and 3-4 others along for the joy-ride

The thing about northern Etosha is that there is not a huge amount of good firewood available. This is because it is mostly grassland with ‘Haak en Steek’ (Umbrella Thorn / Acasia Tortilis) bushes. It is really not tree country. One of the pilots said that he had seen a big dead Camel Thorn (Acasia Erioloba) on the way in. Now, those of you who know the Camel Thorn will also know that it has the nick name ‘Ironwood’ because of its very hard, very dense wood, that is a result of very slow growth over many many years in desert climes. Wood so hard that it burns for days, and wood so hard it is known to take the edge right off any steel tools used to work it. And anyone that knows the Camel Thorn will immediately realize that bringing down a grand daddy that has died of old age is not a challenge to be taken lightly.

I wish you could have been there.

It was Frelon versus Camel Thorn and it would be a hard bitter fight.

We landed next to the tree and we all took a good hard long look at it. The Pilot rekoned that the Frelon had a lifting capability of around 7 tons, and maybe up here at altitude in Etosha maybe it would be more like 5-6 tons but, the tree was old and dry and he had lifted these kinds of loads before and he rekoned he would pull it out of the ground like an old bad tooth, roots and all.

The first thing was to take one of the ACF (Active Citizen Force) troepe and put him in the tree to secure the steel cable noose at the top of the trunk where the branches started to spread out.

Before embarking on his mission, the troep is given very clear instructions.

‘Do not touch the hook when we lower it to you!’ says the pilot. Take the loop of the cable in your hands and throw it over the hook. There is a reason why pilots give such instructions.

The reason in this case is that the big 5 blades of the main rotor make up an even bigger Van Der Graaf static generator that generates quite a few watts of electricity, continually as the rotors are spinning. Some of you with an eye for detail will have noticed in videos featuring chopper rescues, how the chopper pilot always dips the line in the water before dropping it on the person he is about to rescue. This is because he wants to discharge the static on the chopper into the water and not into the person he is trying to rescue. He does not miss the person in the water first time because he is a bad pilot, he misses because he is a good pilot.

And so, the ACF troep is given a pair of leather gloves and a cable and chased up the tree to tie the noose around the trunk, while the pilot takes off and comes in to hover over the tree.

Now, the only way to lift such a load is to position it directly under the centre of lift being the main rotor shaft axle. Seeing as that the floor and the belly of the chopper are in the way, the floor and belly panels of the chopper are easily removed creating an aperture through which the winch cable passes on down to the load. There is also a pyramid shaped heavy duty net which is spanned from the 4 corners of the aperture up to the winch assembly at top centre.

So, we bring the Frelon in over the tree while the pilot puts the Frelon into fixed altitude auto hover. This locks the chopper into a vertical position while the pilot only needs to hold the ship in position over the load and this he does by looking into a mirror and following the loadmasters commands. Back, forward, left, right.

The loadmaster then lowers the ‘penetrator’ a bush extraction hook, into the tree, and typical of ACF troep, holds the noose in one hand and reaches for the hook and a lightning bolt from chopper to troep smacks him right out of the tree onto the ground below.

We land next to the tree and revive the troep. So far it is Tree 1, Frelon extraction team 0.

Time to send the next troep up the tree with even more emphasized instructions not to touch the hook, but to throw the loop of the cable noose over the hook when it is in range. And when the cable is hooked, get out of the tree and make gatskoon out of there.

The first part goes OK, and we get the hook on the noose, and then the troep, jumps out of the tree, twisting his ankle in the fall to the ground and lies there writhing in pain.

Tree 2, Extraction team 0.

Now we are hovering over a tree that we are tied to and we cant fly away and around to come to the aid of the second ACF, and the ACF is directly under the chopper, and under the tree we want to lift out of the ground, and we don’t want to kill him in the process either.

I don’t know if you have ever stood under a chopper and felt the downforce, but I can tell you for the record that under a Frelon at max load there is 13 tons of pressure being blown down to lift the 13 tons of chopper and load up, and you can not stand up in that blast. Strangely enough, when you are directly under, it is as calm as the eye of a hurricane, which it is, but off to the side a bit and the hundred mile per hour wind will blow you away like a rag doll.

So the pilot, tied to the tree, eases off to the side, and he blows the troep out from under the tree. That done, he hovers back over the tree, pushes the throttles home on all three turbines and gives the blades full collective, and then, there is nothing to do but sit and wait for something to happen. As the loadmaster winches the chopper down to the tree, the auto hover gives the blades more and more power to maintain the hover height as set by the radio altimeter.

It is not long and there is suddenly a huge tearing ripping sound and a shudder and it feels like the Super Frelon is coming apart around our ears. But we are still in the hover at full blast pulling on this tree with about 5 tons of lift.

I don’t know if you have ever tried the experiment of tying two cans together with a string and talked into the one while listening with the other to your ear, but you will get the general idea. Now imagine yourself sitting inside the can while the string is being used to tear several tons of tree out of the ground. It is one of the loudest scariest things that one could ever hope to experience. It is not a sudden break. It is a succession of tearing snapping rumbling sounds as the roots of an old tree are ripped from the earth and every single vibration reverberates through the fuselage of the chopper while you sit in the centre of a huge speaker cavity.

But the tree does come out of the ground and we head on back to camp with our precious payload. We radio the camp and the guys on the ground radio back … ‘Good one there Fox two, but, uhh, no one here has an axe … and that thing is going to take a while to cut up with bush knives.’

‘No problem, there Eagle Base, we are equipped to carry and drop a 5 ton paveway bomb, so mark a target on the ground.’

The guys on the ground drive out onto the pan and drive out a big circle and a smaller circle and put a bottle of brandy in the centre. Then they drive cross hairs over the circle and then race back into the base as the chopper climbs to about 10 000 feet. The pilot does his bombing run and on cue, the load master pulls the release shackle and the Camel Thorn tree plummets earthwards. It disappears into the distance and when it hits the ground it detonates like a huge kinetic bomb blasting fragments of tree for hundreds of meters in all directions.

The Lufthansa Kapitan rekons it’s the coolest thing he ever saw. The air hostesses are clapping exitedly. The commandoes are picking up firewood in all directions across the pan.

And that started a sequence of airmanship displays from the chopper pilots as each did his favorite trick to show that he was the best damn chopper pilot that ever was.

The one Frelon pilot brought a Super Frelon in with a case of beers suspended beneath him and put the case of beers on an ammo crate standing on end. The Puma and Alouette guys did some shooting runs, and even I got to put a few rounds into a 44 galon drum out of the side of the Alo. It was simple. Each gunship was given its own drum. The drum with the most holes in it was the winner. We came 5th.

Then it was time to make up a bit of ground because we were lagging behind in the scores, So Keith lands in front of the spectators. And ties a broomstick to the nose wheel of the Alouette. He then takes a coat hanger and throws it out on the ground about 20 meters away. We take off and come around hovering slowly in on to the coat hanger where he presses the broomstick down on the lower horizontal bar lifting the coat hanger up vertically and tumbling it towards us and he inches back letting the coat hanger hook slide onto the broomstick and he lifts it off the ground, slowly hovering forward and handing the coat hanger to his mechanic who then takes the coat hanger off the end of the broom, turns and bows to the applause of the audience.

And so, Keith and another Pilot are now in a draw. A lot of discussion ensues as to what test will be the tie breaker. It is decided. It is time to bite the bullet.

Someone brings two 303 casings and the batons are presented. 2 tent poles are planted with two broomsticks tied over the top of each. The casings are tied to each broomstick. The first pilot to fly out and take the bullet of the end of the broomstick and land and put it on the table in front of the OC, will be crowned bush pilot of the year … but there is a catch, you may only use your teeth to touch the bullet.

So, Keith and the Puma pilot position themselves in the hover beyond the tent poles and they are given the go. Both hover up to the tent pole till the broomstick is next to the window, and then, they hover sideways so that the end of the broomstick comes in through the window of the cockpit and with the 303 casing at the end of the broomstick right in front of Keiths face, he opens his mouth and bites down on the bullet. And holding the bullet in his mouth he hovers back off, the broomstick disappears out of the window.

Keith is the first to land and he spits the 303 casing out onto the ground in front of the OC … and to huge applause is crowned ‘The Best Damned Bush Pilot Ever’. In typical chopper pilot fashion, it is of course an annual award.

And then the party was on. The next day it was all over. So, we packed up our 747 flight crew and cabin crew, and all said their fond farewells to their weekend soul mates and we departed down south for Windhoek again.

That evening we had a final social at the Kalahari sands hotel and they thanked us for giving them such a unique experience that no one would ever be able to experience again and that no amount of money could ever buy anyone ever again. The next day we drove the Lufthansa people out to JG Strijdom airport and saw the 747 take off up and away … never to see any of them ever again.

We divided up the left over cash between ourselves and the next day headed on back up north again. Very soon thereafter I returned from the forward base to Ondangwa and not too long thereafter, I returned to Mobile Radar Unit back at Pietersburg.

Three months later, I was summoned to the Commanding Officers office.

‘Yes Sir Colonel’ I said standing to attention in front of him.

‘Tell me corporal … Does the Air Force pay you too much?’

‘Ahhh no sir, The wage is not excessive.’ I stammered in surprise.

‘Then why have you not cashed a single paycheck in the last three months?’

‘Uhh … but I have been paid I said, mind racing to keep the story straight.’

‘Where.’

‘At Ondangwa’

‘That’s your danger pay, and your living away allowance …’

‘Have you looked at your pay advice slips.’

‘No, sir, I just threw them all into my drawer in my room.’

‘Unopened?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Well go to your room and bring them back here immediately.’

So I ran back to my room, and hauled all the unopened payslips out of the bottom of the drawer and returned to the OC’s office where I opened them in front of him.

‘Right corporal, now you take these cheques to the bank and you cash them immediately so that I can get the SAAF auditor general’s office off my back.’

So, I went up to the parking area and got on my brand shiny new Kawasaki Z900 and raced off to the bank with 4 months un-cashed pay-cheques in my pocket and a fat grin on my face.

Keith Coppen wrote off 12 helicopters.

The thirteenth time he clipped a tree with a tail rotor a few feet off the ground and the chopper landed unbalanced on the edge of a donga which it rolled over and into. The impact combined with the weight of his helmet broke his neck, and other than that there was not a mark on him.

He always did say that he did not like the helmet, ‘It is too heavy, it limits my vision and the bloody thing will be the death of me yet.’ As usual he was right.

He is one of the few that are recalled and spoken about when chopper pilots talk about those that stood head and shoulders above the rest of their ranks.

As far as I am concerned, he was THE best chopper pilot ever! And I remember him fondly and am glad to tell one of his many stories, cos I was his gunner for 1 amazing week and one helluva weekend.

His daughter is now a tour charter pilot and she flies in the very same skies that her father used to. Only now, that part of the world is at peace and lets hope it stays so for a very long time.

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All the best,

Africa Aviation / Afrika Lugvaart