The Night of the Generals - Preamble

The attached story, also published in 'Airforce', the magazine of the RCAF Association (Vol 44 No3) of the Night of the Generals was recalled and written by then Major Chris Shelley who was attached posted from 408 Squadron to 89 Rotary Wing Aviation Unit (RWAU) in Honduras.

89 RWAU was formed from an amalgamation of aircrew from 10 Tactical Aviation Group but was primarily based on aircrew and support staff from 427 Squadron, and in a similar manner its CO, Lieutenant Colonel Rick Findley was attached posted from Commanding 427 Squadron to take command of 89 RWAU. Chris gives full credit to the organization of the dinner to Captain Todd O'Malley and to reservist Captain Gary Flath for his flying abilities as well.

Not specifically mentioned in the article but attending the dinner were the following originally from 427 Squadron: Major Peter Abbott (SAMEO), Captain Bert Bolderheil, Captain Bruce Carnegie, Captain Yves Grenier, Captain Claude Hurley, Captain Mike Wolter, and Lieutenant Ted Orlowski. Other Canadian officers present but not specifically mentioned were Major Jean-Marc Comtois (Flt Surgeon from Cold Lake), Major Claude Guerin, Captain Ghyslain Bergeron, Captain Rob Boulanger, Captain Francois Boutin, Captain Bill Callahan, Captain Luc Lacasse, Captain Russ Mann (LogO), Captain Steve Robertson, Captain Mike Rode, Captain Ian Searle and Lieutenant Christian Drouin (from 430 but much later became a CO of 427), as well as a number of Canadian Miltiary Observers. As an aside, there were two six-month rotations for 89 RWAU. The second rotation was commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Dave Lowdon, who in a previous tour had been on 427 Squadron both as a Huey Flight Commander and then Deputy Commanding Officer.

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The Night of the Generals

by Major Chris Shelley

29 June 1990 found me hard at work, hunched over my desk in the house that served as offices for 89 (Cdn) Rotary Wing Aviation Unit (RWAU). Located near the squadron ramp at Toncontin International Airport, Tegucigalpa, Honduras, the "villa" (as we styled it) had replaced a ramshackle collection of closets and desks at the Flying Club that had been our headquarters. As Helicopter Flight Commander, responsible for four CH139 Jet Rangers and four CH135 Twin Huey helicopters, I flew as much as possible, but the buck stopped with me on most issues so I spent more time than I liked seated in the cockpit of the mahogany bomber.

So, it was with some relief that I heard Captain Gary Flath shuffle up to my door. At 54, Gary was the oldest and most experienced pilot in the flight, current as captain on both the Jet Ranger and the Twin Huey, but with a long pedigree as a CF-100 navigator, army pilot, SAR pilot on Labradors and many years as a civilian helicopter pilot. More than that, we shared a house in a Tegucigalpa suburb and were good friends. "Hey, boss, I just wanted to let you know how today's mission went." "Sure, Gary, grab a seat." Today's mission had not been just any flight. Canada Day was approaching, hence the visit from Brigadier-General Lou Cuppens, Commander of 10 Tactical Air Group (10 TAG) and the boss of our commanding officer, Lieutenant-Colonel Rick Findlay. Not only that, but BGen Cuppens was merely a herald for the arrival of the big cheese, Lieutenant-General Huddleston, Deputy Chief of the Defence Staff. For this Canada Day was not going to be just any Canada Day, it was to be the occasion for a formal parade, the presentation of UN medals and a mess dinner. Everyone was striving to take care of not only the normal business of resupplying UN Verification Centres (VCs) and ferrying UN Military Observers (UNMOs) and staffers around, but giving a Cook's tour of the operation to the VIPs while trying to keep them out of the CO's hair. If you want a general to be ferried around without incident, you picked a reliable pilot like Gary Flath to do it.

"Everything went fine, boss," said Gary. "Just one thing, when we landed at Los Trojes, we were a bit close to a pole. It was a tight landing zone, after all. General Cuppens pointed out that we were closer than 10 feet from the obstacle. I apologized, promised to be more careful next time and thanked him for pointing that out."

Thank God I had chosen Gary for that trip! Let me explain. When I had fetched up in Honduras in mid-March 1990, the CO had tasked me to write a set of flying orders for the unit. I pointed out that most of what we needed were in 10 TAG Flying Orders (General Cuppens' orders, in other words), whereupon the CO informed me that the unit was not part of 10 TAG, but instead reported directly to the Deputy Chief of the Defence Staff (DCDS). Furthermore, he gave me the following guidance: "Don't make any stupid mistakes, and I won't make up rules that prevent you from getting the job done!" The result was probably the thinnest volume of Flying Orders in air force history! Among the rules NOT in the volume was 10 TAG's "no helicopter shall land closer than 10 feet to an obstacle" rule. A less experienced pilot than Gary might have blithely informed General Cuppens that his rules did not apply in our unit (over which he had a fatherly interest, shall we say), leading to a sharp discussion between General Cuppens and our CO. Gary had chosen the middle way, apologizing for the lapse without arousing the general's ire or curiosity. Well done, Gary!

Not that Gary never made mistakes. On our first operational Twin Huey mission, Gary's crew had misidentified the landing zone at Los Trojes and had landed across the Rio Coco on a baseball diamond in Nicaragua. The Sandinista detachment there had aimed its missiles at the helicopter, but its commander had seen the "Naciones Unidas" painted on the tail boom and held his fire. The helicopter and its cargo had been seized, but Gary had been able to establish their identities as UN personnel, so the aircraft and crew were released, and the cargo was recovered the next day. The bigger mistake had been mine. I had Jet Ranger crews available with more theatre experience and I ought to have assigned one to escort the Twin Hueys on these initial missions until their crews got the feel of the terrain. But I was impetuous and wanted to get on with things, and we were lucky enough to get away with it.

We quickly learned that Central America was not Canada and adapted. Landing zones were often clearings hacked out of the jungle, sometimes on a level spot bulldozed into a hillside. Or they were near villages, where cows roamed at will, and dozens of curious children swarmed the helicopter as it touched down, throwing sticks and rocks for the joy of seeing them zing off into the sky as they struck the swirling rotors. Buzzards with six-foot wing spans contested our dominance of the air, giving way only grudgingly at the last moment before a collision. On the west coast, volcanoes spewed fumes into the air, so that early morning in Managua, Nicaragua was a delightful combination of 37 degrees Celsius, 100 percent humidity and an omnipresent stink of sulphur. Over 100,000 landmines had been laid in Nicaragua, many in unmarked fields. For this reason, we had armoured seats in the cockpit, floor armour and Kevlar blankets in the cabin of the Twin Hueys, and Kevlar blankets in the Jet Rangers. Even refueling could be an adventure. One refueling point consisted of a Nicaraguan bowser stuck in the mud on a hillside. Its engine was defunct, so refueling required us to taxi to a point just downhill of the bowser where we could gravity feed the fuel into our tanks. The rotors were a little closer than 10 feet from the bowser at that point but needs must!

Then there was small arms fire! The unit's main activity for the previous two months had been to assist the UN's demobilization of 20,000 Contra rebels in Honduras, Costa Rica and Nicaragua. This involved moving columns of Contras from their bases in Honduras and Costa Rica to Verification Centres (VCs) in Nicaragua, where they would surrender their weapons and receive civilian clothes and food sufficient to sustain them for two months. The Contras developed the amusing practice of firing off most of their ammunition into the air just prior to entering the VC, often while we were on final approach for landing. The gunfire could not be heard when airborne, but upon shutdown the constant rattle of small arms fire, and the boom-boom of rocket propelled grenades going off made one realize that we had just flown over these yahoos. I became overly fond of my armoured seat as a result, but as luck would have it none of our aircraft was hit while I was in theatre. Two of our contracted civilian helicopters would be hit later, and their crews had nothing more than short-sleeved shirts for protection!

Even being on the ground could be dicey. Inside the VC, soldiers of the Venezuelan UN battalion would take the surrendered weapons and destroy them. The Contras did not give up their best stuff, and the AK-47s deposited were often hideously rusted and dented. Attempts to clear the weapon could fail to remove a chambered round, so when a Venezuelan soldier applied a cutting torch to the breech the round would cook off and go zinging downrange somewhere in the VC! After experiencing a few of these incidents firsthand, I suggested to a Canadian UNMO that the Venezuelans do their cutting in a sandbagged pit, but he dismissed me by saying that was beyond the planning capabilities of our Venezuelan friends! How many medevac flights resulted from this carelessness, I can only guess. Our own general, BGen Ian Douglas, who was both Canadian force commander and Senior UN Military Observer and our CO, LCol Rick Findlay, kept a close eye on all these aspects of our operations and provided quick and often direct guidance when necessary to keep us on the rails. But, in many respects it was like a dream-time, a helicopter utopia where mission accomplishment was the primary factor in all decisions and the UN was thrilled that we exerted ourselves to the utmost and never curtailed us for the sake of saving a few dollars or to please the bureaucracy at UNHQ, New York. Moreover, Canadian leadership had the confidence give us our head and let us get the job done in a way I have never seen, before or since.

All this to say that the members of 89 RWAU had been busy beavers for April, May and June of 1990 assisting with the demobilization, as had the Canadian UNMOs in the field. It had been an experience of extraordinary intensity and variety, as every day brought crews new challenges and new missions, with taskings that changed on the fly, literally. The Twin Hueys and the Jet Rangers had been stretched to the limits of their capabilities, but we had proven that Canadians know how to get the job done, no matter the obstacles. The mission was shifting into a new, less challenging, phase, and as July approached, we knew that those who had been first on the ground in December and January would be leaving shortly. It was a time to recognize achievement and put what we had done into perspective while planning for the evolution of the mission. In other words, time for a bloody good party!

Tegucigalpa had a lot to offer in 1990. The capital city of Honduras, it had a modern core with a five-star hotel and numerous excellent restaurants. A tasty meal of Argentinian steak and a great Chilean red wine could be had for a few dollars. There were modern burger bars and night clubs, and even a Pizza Hut. The UN allowance paid to the members of 89 RWAU went a long way, so after a challenging day of flying across Central America it was possible to relax with a good dinner in a fine restaurant and then retire for the night in a well-appointed rental house, shared with a few fellow unit members. It was a significant and welcome change from the usual tactical helicopter accommodation of a leaky tent and a field kitchen. Unlike today's deployments, having a drink when off-duty was not a crime, and friendly socializing was encouraged by the chain of command. Work hard and play hard was the order of the day.

Plans came together for the big day. Since multiple generals were on hand, Canada Day would be the occasion for a parade, the presentation of UN campaign medals, speeches, and a mess dinner in one of the local hotels. Canadian UNMOs were flown in from all the various VCs and observation posts, leaving their rice and beans behind for a day of glittering ceremony and a great meal. Except for essential standby crews, all missions had been assigned to our civilian contract partners, Evergreen Helicopters. The Deputy Commanding Officer and Adjutant planned the parade and associated activities, while the organization of the dinner was put into the hands of an enterprising junior officer, Captain Todd O'Malley.

The parade went off very well. BGen Douglas reviewed the troops and took the salute under the watchful eyes of BGen Cuppens and LGen Huddleston. The requisite speeches praised our accomplishments, of which we were rightly proud, and stressed the challenges to come. ONUCA medals were presented, and the men and women of 89 RWAU marched off straight-backed and smiling to the applause of the meager crowd of Canadian and UN political officials and dignitaries. After dismissing my flight, we gathered in front of the flying club, where I noticed a group of our Brazilian and Argentinian contract pilots standing in a group, smiling and making good natured comments. They praised our pretty medals, for which as civilian contractors they did not qualify, despite flying with us daily and facing virtually the same challenges and hazards. But I was ready for this. With a little friendly cajoling from my flight warrant, I got them to line up in a semblance of a formation. Gravely, I walked in front as if to inspect. Stopping by each man, I pinned a Canada Flag pin to his shirt, shook his hand, and planted a kiss on both cheeks followed by a sincere embrace. This generated not a few howls of laughter from the Canadians and lots of broad smiles from our civilian comrades, but I think the gesture was genuinely appreciated. For me, who suffered from considerable shyness, it was an uncharacteristic display of emotion, but the feelings of the day carried me along and I fell into role despite being completely sober.

Dinner was next on the schedule - the Night of the Generals! It was held in one of Tegucigalpa's better restaurants and had all the trappings of a traditional mess dinner. Drinks before dinner, background music, even a bagpiper to lead us to our tables. Did I mention drinks? Everyone was in a very sociable, party mood, and the convivial atmosphere had everyone in high spirits. There were many guests from the UN contributing nations, mostly Spanish-speaking countries, and such was the vibe that we all got along splendidly. Sad to say, there had been tensions during the deployment. A sticky situation had developed recently when one of our helicopters had arrived at a post in southern Nicaragua to find the resident UNMOs in a high state of anxiety. A murder had occurred amongst the Contra rebels surrounding the post, and the UNMOs had rescued the likely suspect from almost certain death by locking him inside their hut. However, the unarmed UNMOs feared that a Contra mob would overpower them and seize the prisoner for some rough justice. The arrival of the Canadian helicopter seemed like manna from heaven, an opportunity to transfer the prisoner by air to a VC where armed UN troops could protect him until he could be turned over to the proper authorities. The Columbian Lieutenant-Colonel in charge of the post asked the Canadian pilot to fly the prisoner and escort to the nearest VC and thereby solve their immediate security problem. (Some would claim he ordered him to do so.) But, the pilot refused the task on the basis that such a deviation to his mission was not authorized and would prevent him from returning to our detachment in Managua, Nicaragua, prior to 1800 hours when ATC required all UN aircraft to be on the ground. In his mind this was non-negotiable and beyond his discretion. Tempers were raised and not a few unkind words were exchanged as the helicopter departed without the prisoner. The UNMOs spent an uncomfortable night with their backs to the wall, fearful that prowling Contras would break in and execute their prisoner. In the event, the prisoner was transferred out the next day without incident.

Canadian helicopter pilots were suddenly unpopular with UNMOs in the field! General Quesada, the Spanish general in charge of ONUCA, banged his fist on the table and demanded the offending Canadian pilot be removed from theatre on the next available flight. Brigadier-General Douglas slammed his fist on the table and declared that no Canadian would be sent home before the incident had been thoroughly investigated. Tensions ran high. Then everything changed. During a major Contra demobilization ceremony at San Pedro de Lovago, Nicaragua, two Nicaraguan MI-17 helicopters collided while taxiing for departure. All personnel escaped from the burning wrecks, except one of the pilots. Without hesitation, a Canadian helicopter pilot on the scene raced into the hulk, oblivious to the flames and exploding ammunition, and dragged the stricken pilot to safety. Canadian helicopters and crews on scene coordinated the evacuation of the wounded back to Managua. This heroic act was witnessed by high Nicaraguan dignitaries and UN leadership and was front-page news across Central America. Suddenly, the UN, and by extension, Canadian pilots, were the darlings of the media as the incident seemed to symbolize what the mission was all about: helping to achieve peace and stability in Central America. It would have seemed churlish at this point to send a Canadian pilot home, and so the previous incident was forgotten quickly.

Perhaps not entirely! By happy chance, the Columbian Lieutenant-Colonel and the Canadian pilot in question found themselves seated together at the mess dinner! Had this been deliberate or just an unfortunate oversight? Would the famous volatility of Latin-American emotions collide with the stubbornness of Canadian character to create a scene? Fortunately, the ambience of the night conspired to create a conciliatory mood. The Columbian colonel and the Canadian pilot were seen later in an intense discussion, which culminated in a friendly embrace, smiles and laughter. The magic of the mess dinner had smoothed things over, it would seem.

From my vantage point, some distance from the head table, our generals were enjoying themselves. The food was excellent, the wine superb, the music lively and the conversation sparkling. Generals Huddleston, Quesada, Douglas and Cuppens seemed to get along, and the senior UNMOs seated alongside regaled them with thrilling stories of their adventures this far. General Douglas made sure that General Huddleston met all the Canadian UNMOs and impressed upon him the close cooperation between the UNMOs and the UN air support wing. When time came for the toasts, a problem arose. Somehow, the restaurant was unable to provide the port wine necessary for such occasions and a substitute was needed. Tension filled the air as the hotel scrambled to make good. There must have been some Spanish to English translation issues, for the after a short pause the waiters appeared with large tumblers filled to the brim with scotch! However, the mood was such that the absence of port was accepted without question and the scotch adopted with alacrity. We drank the health of the Queen, the UN and numerous heads of states, scotch being refilled as necessary, before finally retiring from the tables into the ante room for a bit of post-dinner socialization. If there were speeches, I don't recall them, but things were starting to get a bit hazy by this point in the evening!

The group broke up into small knots of conversation, and junior officers moved in to engage General Huddleston closely in pointed discussions about the future of the air force. He seemed to enjoy the attention immensely as he held court. I recall that General Quesada left soon after, since no one really wanted to talk with him anyway. General Cuppens, with his long association with the Canadian Army, had attracted the attention of some Canadian UNMOs, who being army officers, wanted to give him their unvarnished opinions on a variety of subjects, as modified by their considerable alcohol consumption. As for me, I hung out on the periphery of several groups, suffering from the triple impediments of shyness, unimportance and relative sobriety, picking up snatches of conversation here and there.

One of these fragments pricked my ears. A drunken UNMO had moved into danger-close range of General Cuppens and was gesturing emphatically. I thought I heard him say, "your helicopters…your pilots," but I was not close enough to pick up the actual threads of his speech. Cuppens was looking at him intently, betraying no emotion other than curiosity. As the man responsible for all the Canadian helicopter crews, I sidled closer into listening range so I could figure out where the UNMO was going with his drunken ramble.

What I heard chilled my blood! "I've got to tell you something, sir, about these guys you sent down here. I've been in the army for a long time and I've never seen anything like it…"

The UNMO wavered a bit, as if resetting his internal gyros prior to an attack, appeared to brush back a tear and continued his tale. General Cuppens leaned in, his face a mask of intense concentration. As I listened closely to his rambling story, the hairs began to stand up on the back of my neck. There he was, out in the boonies of Nicaragua at VC 3. A medevac was required for an injured Contra. It was late in the day and the weather was closing in. The helicopter from Managua was due in a few minutes, but suddenly a terrific rainstorm closed in on the VC, blotting the sun from the sky, turning day into night. No one thought the chopper would get in!

The UNMO took a drunken stagger and literally began to sob with emotion! General Cuppens put a comforting hand on the man's shoulder, saying, "It's ok, please tell me the rest." I noticed his eyes flick briefly towards me, and I realized he had registered my presence in the background, negating any notions of a subtle escape now that what appeared to be an ugly tale was about to emerge into the light. The details of the UNMO's account rattled around in my brain. There was something familiar about them, if I could only put my finger on it…oh, God, I had been the aircraft commander and it had been my crew! But it had been a routine mission, I thought. What the hell was he talking about?

"There was just a solid wall of cloud and water to the west of the VC," he continued. "We thought there was no chance the helicopter would get in before dark, and we'd have to keep the casualty over night. Then, suddenly, the Twin Huey just burst out of the cloud and landed on the pad! I have no idea how he did it, how he got through that storm! It was the best flying I've ever seen! It was incredible!" At that, the UNMO again gave into his emotions and tears flowed freely. General Cuppens patted his shoulder softly, and with a slight smile, asked if he knew who had been the pilot? "I don't know, sir, I don't know if I could pick him out." "Sure, you could. He's bound to be here tonight. Take a good look around and point him out for me."

I stood transfixed with dread. It was as if a cobra had slithered into the room and reared up hissing to fix upon me with its evil gaze. Should the UNMO pick me out, I'd be toast! For General Cuppens was like Jane Austen's Mr. Darcy; his good opinion, once lost, was lost forever! Thanks to Gary's little gaffe on the famil flight and no doubt a few other things that General Cuppens had observed during his short stay with us, (and he was nothing if not observant), he had probably already formed the opinion that we were bunch of cowboys running wild across Central America who needed to be reined in sharply. One flight commander had already been fired this tour; would I be the second? That would be so unfair! Was I about to be consigned to the dustbin of tactical helicopter history? My memory of the flight was that it had been nothing exceptional. How could this UNMO get it so wrong?

Weather in the late spring and early summer in Honduras and Nicaragua varied little from day to day. Forecasts were almost photocopies of the previous day, as there was little frontal activity and so the effects of diurnal heating and coastal moisture were the main drivers of weather. Each day started hot and clear, with cumulus developing as temperatures increased and there was always the chance of a local shower or even a thunderstorm late in the day, particularly closer to the moister Atlantic coast. Our normal mission profile when detached in Managua was to take off on a supply or liaison mission to one of the five VCs in Nicaragua, and then proceed as ordered by radio throughout the day to pick up other taskings. In this case, we had been diverted out to one of the eastern VCs to pick up a minor medical case and take the individual back to Managua. This had been nothing unusual and there was no justification to take any unusual risks with weather to accomplish it. Nor had I done so! As we approached the VC we had seen the shower developing and watched it sweep across our path. However, at our altitude we were well clear of higher terrain, (there was a bit of a ridge to get over), and we could see the shower was isolated and would pass quickly before we were on final approach. I decide to maintain course and punch through it, and although visibility decreased in the rain, it never fell to where we could not maintain visual contact with the ground. We emerged from the shower just short of the VC, as planned, and turned onto final approach without difficulty. I think it was a trick of the cloud formation, the sun and the precipitation, that produced the dramatic effect of us seeming to explode suddenly from a black and angry deck of roiling cloud and rain. Perhaps the beneficent appearance of a shaft of sunlight as we touched down on the pad added to the impression that we enjoyed the favour of some celestial weather deity? In any case, we had made one hell of an impression upon the resident Canadian UNMO!

The UNMO turned around and scanned the room with blurry eyes. His gaze fell upon me, he paused and pointed a bony finger in my direction. "That's him! That's the pilot, sir!"

Fight or flight? I'm sure the options fleeted quickly through my inebriated brain for a moment, but of course I had no choice but to respond to General Cuppens' beckon to close in for a chat. I stepped up, shook the UNMO's hand and prepared my defence. "I've been hearing a bit of a tale here, Chris," said General Cuppens, laughing. "You seem to have impressed our UNMOs no end with your flying!" I feigned total surprise to be the subject of conversation and recalled with pretended difficulty the day in question. Of course, I downplayed the drama, explained the local weather phenomenon and accepted modestly the fulsome praise of the inebriated UNMO. General Cuppens listened attentively, laughing and grinning at appropriate intervals and I extracted myself from the discussion as soon as decently possible by saluting the great work or our UNMOs in the field and steering the conversation towards the soldier skills of the Venezuelan battalion.

That seemed to do the trick. I slipped away as the UNMO described how the Venezuelan commander had forced one of his troopers to stand at the salute for two hours in the driving rain as a correction for having failed to acknowledge one of his officers. They were damn rigid, those Venezuelans! I grabbed a taxi as soon as gracefully possible. As I left General Huddleston was still actively engaged in discussion with some junior officers and General Cuppens and the CO seemed to be having a quiet word.

General Cuppens was a perceptive man. With the wisdom of experience, I have no doubt but that our CO had already briefed him up on conditions in theatre and those decisions he had taken to both assure our effectiveness and our safe operation. He also knew his officers, their background and their character, and I am sure that he found the UNMO's story which I took to be alarming to be merely amusing and confirmation that our squadron was doing its best to support the operation. If he had any concerns about me, he never voiced them. The Night of the Generals stands in my memory as a cracking good party in the best traditions of the RCAF, and after which no names were taken, and no pack drill awarded. I think of that night often!

Two days later, the generals were gone, and life went back to normal. I received my bill for the mess dinner: $85 U.S. dollars; $4 for food, and $81 for guests and alcohol. My God, but it had been worth every cent!

Thanks to Ken Sorfleet for forwarding this 427 Squadron TacHel related history.