SADF Part III

The trip to Grootfontein was, well, scary? We flew in what was affectionately referred to as a Flossie, and these planes were very old, well worn favourites. Sitting inside, along the side walls on long benches, with all our kit loaded in back, and held down with netting, you could see the plates moving around the rivets with which the thing had been built 100 years ago!

Overnight in Grootfontein was eerie. We knew we were on the "border", but didn't really have an idea where or how far away the "action" was.We were issued with live ammunition, 6 mags a piece (80 bullets). We were trained in the use of an R1 rifle. To this day I still maintain it is the best weapon ever made for military purposes.

Anyway, the next morning we were loaded onto the back of long trucks and driven north to the zone. Some guys were dropped off in Ondangwa, some in Ojivarongo. Others in other obscure places. Me and my section, 10 of us in all, were taken to Eenhana. We didn't know it then, but this was to be our home for the next 18 months!!!

On the way up, we spotted a PB (plaaslike bevolking - local citizen) walking along the road with a rifle slung over his shoulder. He came within 10 seconds of being blown away by at least 10 over eager Sappers! Luckily the corporal managed to warn us that he was on our side! Seems that a lot of the 'Locals' had sided with the SADF as a means to protect their families and livestock. Many of these guys had been issued with old generation R1's, (FN's), called G3's!! (His lucky day it was!)

Eenhana was, well, in the middle of no where, dusty, dry, hot, surrounded by 3 meter high sand banks, a tent camp. It held 150 Infantry, 30 Horseback soldiers, and 10 Sappers.
We soon set ourselves up in out 2 tents, and established a contact with our immediate neighbours. We were introduced to the Infantry Sargent Major, who was in charge of the whole camp, but we would report in to our officers based in Ondangwa.

There were 4 guard posts, lookout towers about 12 - 15 meters high, placed at the four corners of the camp. There were 4 mortar pits inside the camp, kind of in the middle of each wall, buy 10 - 15 meters back from the wall. There was a central radio / comms. room, adjoining the ops room. A field kitchen, some form of first aid tent, a helipad.... usual bush camp stuff.

We were in camp for exactly 3 hours when I heard the first shot fired! I ran outside to see what the fuck was going on, thinking if I sprinted now I could probably get the pick of the horses, and could be out of here at a fast gallop before anyone even knew I was missing!!!! A soldier, infantry, came running past me in the general direction of the medics tent. His chest, hands and arms were dripping blood! "Oh great" I thought, dumb fuck has shot himself.
In fact, it turned out to be a bit more serious than that. No, it wasn't an enemy attack. This guy who came running past had just come off guard duty, had walked into his tent and found his buddy reading a western. He had pointed his R1 at him, said "Hands up" and pulled the trigger. He had forgotten to unload before coming down the guard tower. The 7.62mm high velocity bullet hit him in the middle of the face, fired from about 3 meters away. His head exploded like a watermelon.

It was fucking frightening. I had run to the tent to see if anyone else, other than the guy who ran past me who I thought had hurt himself, had been hurt, and I saw this mess splattered all over the back of the tent.

There was nothing to do other than turn away and throw up copious amounts of whatever was in my gut at that point in time.I cannot believe that that young man would ever be the same again. I remember he was sent back to South Africa, and I think I remember something around him having lost his head. I wouldn't be surprised.

My introduction to that war was over. I was knee deep in the stuff, and nothing would phase me going forward, and I mean nothing.


Salagtle!