Frikkie
21st Jun 2008, 16:03
Lt. Ola Grinaker
Tracks in the sand
Lt. Ola Grinaker
Tracks in the sand
Ola Grinaker’s right leg stuck out like a dried stick when he sat down in my study on Monday, 8th February 1982. I thought that he had an artificial leg and felt somewhat awkward. It was only towards the end of the interview that I was told of a brush with death that he had had, other than the one described here, in which he was shot up so badly that his leg had turned stiff. It was getting better though, and he was adamant that he would be back as a pilot before the year was out. I believed him and sincerely hope that he is again skimming the tree tops.
It was on 7th September 1978, while patrolling the border in an Alouette, that he spotted tracks in the sand. Having just completed an aircraft recce course, he recognised those tracks as the imprints of enemy infiltrators.
Forewarned is fore-armed, but matters developed too rapidly even for him. Back at base, with an empty tank and no weapons on board, he was asked to do an emergency casevac: three troops had had a skirmish with some 60 of the enemy and one of the troops was lying wounded in the bush.
He had little time. He ordered his flight engineer to refuel and ran to the Qps room for a briefing, where he was told that an aircraft over the scene would guide him in and that the groundtroops would indicate their position through smoke signals.
With four troops on board Grinaker and his flight engineer took off. Some twenty minutes of flying brought them to the scene, but the ground-troops had meanwhile moved away from their wounded mate, leaving him in the “company” of a severely wounded opponent. The wounded man had to be evacuated as soon as possible, whilst his three comrades needed reinforcements for fear of being overpowered by the enemy.
He landed the troops, then rose in search of the wounded man. The aircraft overhead tried to guide him to the spot, but with no success. He returned to the ground-troops, for one of them knew the position of the wounded man. He took the soldier on board and again went hunting for the casualty, flying very low and as fast as possible — one does not fly slowly in the bush.
Suddenly there was a group of the enemy right ahead. He banked sharply to the right and rolled out, losing a lot of speed in the process, and while in this vulnerable position he flew right over a second group of approximately 60 enemy troops, who immediately opened up with everything at their disposal: mortars, RPG’s, 12,7’s, AK-47’s, light machine guns and the lot. Bullets dug into and whined through the chopper. The flight engineer jumped and doubled up over his seat with three bullets through him; the soldier, trying to use his machine gun, got two shots in the back.
Grinaker felt a stinging pain above his eyes, blood starting to blind him; shrapnel had hit him in his hands and breast and for a while he thought that his teeth had been knocked out, too, for there were some funny things in his mouth. With bullets still flying about he flung himself across the centre seat, lying as flat as possible.
He could hardly see and was beginning to lose control of his chopper, for it had been seriously damaged: the fuel tank had been hit and he had no rudders. By pushing the joy-stick into the corner he somehow regained control and flew out of the danger zone. He wanted to land to get himself into some shape again, but that would mean the death of his two wounded mates, who were in need of emergency medical care.
With blood streaming down his face he kept flying, and only then did he realise that he wasn’t shot through the mouth; what he thought had been loose teeth turned out to be shrapnel and perspex. It was also shrapnel that had hit him above the eyes.
As he put his chopper down at the nearest hospital, the engine cut out — he had no more fuel. His mates received the best medical care available and were saved. He himself had got off miraculously. After the episode he went back to his chopper, spanning pieces of string between the entrance and exit holes of the bullets that had gone through the cockpit. Had he been sitting upright instead of lying across the centre seat, five to six of those bullets would have struck him in the head. His seat had also been hit from below, but he was saved by the armoured plating — the only chopper at that stage that had this safety device. Altogether there were more than 50 bullet holes in the fuselage of the chopper. The wounded guy that he was to have evacuated, was taken out by his mates.
At his exceptional private bar in Pretoria, Ola and his friends gather from time to time to chat and reminisce. This is no sit-in spot for an outsider.
Cheers
Frikkie
History collector of our once PROUD South African Forces.
Tracks in the sand
Lt. Ola Grinaker
Tracks in the sand
Ola Grinaker’s right leg stuck out like a dried stick when he sat down in my study on Monday, 8th February 1982. I thought that he had an artificial leg and felt somewhat awkward. It was only towards the end of the interview that I was told of a brush with death that he had had, other than the one described here, in which he was shot up so badly that his leg had turned stiff. It was getting better though, and he was adamant that he would be back as a pilot before the year was out. I believed him and sincerely hope that he is again skimming the tree tops.
It was on 7th September 1978, while patrolling the border in an Alouette, that he spotted tracks in the sand. Having just completed an aircraft recce course, he recognised those tracks as the imprints of enemy infiltrators.
Forewarned is fore-armed, but matters developed too rapidly even for him. Back at base, with an empty tank and no weapons on board, he was asked to do an emergency casevac: three troops had had a skirmish with some 60 of the enemy and one of the troops was lying wounded in the bush.
He had little time. He ordered his flight engineer to refuel and ran to the Qps room for a briefing, where he was told that an aircraft over the scene would guide him in and that the groundtroops would indicate their position through smoke signals.
With four troops on board Grinaker and his flight engineer took off. Some twenty minutes of flying brought them to the scene, but the ground-troops had meanwhile moved away from their wounded mate, leaving him in the “company” of a severely wounded opponent. The wounded man had to be evacuated as soon as possible, whilst his three comrades needed reinforcements for fear of being overpowered by the enemy.
He landed the troops, then rose in search of the wounded man. The aircraft overhead tried to guide him to the spot, but with no success. He returned to the ground-troops, for one of them knew the position of the wounded man. He took the soldier on board and again went hunting for the casualty, flying very low and as fast as possible — one does not fly slowly in the bush.
Suddenly there was a group of the enemy right ahead. He banked sharply to the right and rolled out, losing a lot of speed in the process, and while in this vulnerable position he flew right over a second group of approximately 60 enemy troops, who immediately opened up with everything at their disposal: mortars, RPG’s, 12,7’s, AK-47’s, light machine guns and the lot. Bullets dug into and whined through the chopper. The flight engineer jumped and doubled up over his seat with three bullets through him; the soldier, trying to use his machine gun, got two shots in the back.
Grinaker felt a stinging pain above his eyes, blood starting to blind him; shrapnel had hit him in his hands and breast and for a while he thought that his teeth had been knocked out, too, for there were some funny things in his mouth. With bullets still flying about he flung himself across the centre seat, lying as flat as possible.
He could hardly see and was beginning to lose control of his chopper, for it had been seriously damaged: the fuel tank had been hit and he had no rudders. By pushing the joy-stick into the corner he somehow regained control and flew out of the danger zone. He wanted to land to get himself into some shape again, but that would mean the death of his two wounded mates, who were in need of emergency medical care.
With blood streaming down his face he kept flying, and only then did he realise that he wasn’t shot through the mouth; what he thought had been loose teeth turned out to be shrapnel and perspex. It was also shrapnel that had hit him above the eyes.
As he put his chopper down at the nearest hospital, the engine cut out — he had no more fuel. His mates received the best medical care available and were saved. He himself had got off miraculously. After the episode he went back to his chopper, spanning pieces of string between the entrance and exit holes of the bullets that had gone through the cockpit. Had he been sitting upright instead of lying across the centre seat, five to six of those bullets would have struck him in the head. His seat had also been hit from below, but he was saved by the armoured plating — the only chopper at that stage that had this safety device. Altogether there were more than 50 bullet holes in the fuselage of the chopper. The wounded guy that he was to have evacuated, was taken out by his mates.
At his exceptional private bar in Pretoria, Ola and his friends gather from time to time to chat and reminisce. This is no sit-in spot for an outsider.
Cheers
Frikkie
History collector of our once PROUD South African Forces.