SADF VI

One day the Sergeant Major approached us for assistance in the camp. Every 4 months or so, the mortar guys would shoot away their stock, and replenish with fresh ammo. This got rid of the old stuff, and gave then some target practice and training. However, this time they had noticed that some of the mortars had been leaking, and so they were a bit scared to move them.

We did an inspection, and saw that we could move most. We carried them, one at a time out of the camp site to large hole in the ground (I think that was where they got the sand for building the walls around the camp originally. We packed them on top of each other, put half a kilo plastic on top, and set it off with an electronic detonator. There were 4 bombs we could not move, and these we had to explode inside the camp.

At first the Sgt. Major didn't want us to, but on explanation of the “secure” methods we would use, he agreed. We put about 100 grams of plastic on each one, interlinked with electronic detonators so as to explode simultaneously, packed a few sandbags on top, and let it rip. Damn, there was such a big hole they had to truck in two loads of sand to fill it before they could rebuild the mortar pit!

The uniforms we were supplied, “browns”, were not the most comfortable when new, material was a bit rough, but with wear and tear, use, and washing they did fade, and soften. Pride was if you could get hold of a pair of recce's boots. (http://www.recce.co.za/)

Much softer than the standard military issue. Also our bush hats were almost a trade mark. Each guy had, over time, manipulated his into the shape he preferred, and hand stitched their name on the band, and some, like me, even the year of conscription. Sewing was so easy after you had been doing it for yourself for a few months.

A bonus was getting your hands on new woollen socks. Now there was a treat, and much bartering went on when the post / ration truck arrived if the driver happened to have brought a couple of pairs along for sale!!

One of the funnier pastimes for us Sappers was minor booby traps. We’d take the powder out of bullets; wrap it in some paper, or tin foil. Using a thread from “goldilocks” (steel wool) for a “fuse” connected to a long piece of electric cable (2 core rip cord type stuff) and finally to a switched battery. The “bomb” would be planted inside the “go cart” (a pet name for those field toilets we had up north) and we would wait for someone to go and sit down. Just as you could hear they were comfortable, we would close the contact, and “boom” arse would be peppered with sand, and or any other foul product residing underneath that lid! We even managed to set some up so that when the lid was lifted, a contact would make and crap would come flying up out of the depths of the bog!

Much laughter, sometimes too much, resulting in the culprits easily being identified, and as such being chased around the camp by some seriously pissed off Infantry guy!

Once, after a similar prank, the Sgt Major decided we needed to be taught a lesson.He made us line up in threes ( 9 of us, 3x3) and drilled us up and down a 5 meter stretch for about 30 minutes, on the double, in the blazing Namibian sun. When the first guy looked like falling over exhausted I called a halt, and upturning my R1 rifle, planted it barrel first into the soft sand!
http://www.saaaca.org.za/links/SIG/fal/fal.htm

SACRILEGE! This was unheard off. That’s like your wife, the thing that will keep you alive!!

He was red, blue, and scarlet with rage. So much so I thought he was having a stroke, or better still cardiac arrest! As soon as he got his voice back he dismissed the rest of the group, and demanded I remain. Calling me to attention he looked as if he was about to sentence me to either hanging, or death by firing squad. I realised that I was in some serious crap, and called on the only thing I thought would get me out of this position. “What the fuck do you think you are doing?” he roared. “Sgt. Major, contrary to what you may think, we have been instructed that no one may cause any member of the SADF to be punished by drilling in conditions which could be adverse to their health, whilst in a war zone."

"As we are on the border, I thought it appropriate when I saw my fellow Sapper stumbling to bring this punishment to an end. I didn't think I could have got your attention in any other way!” (All of this relayed in fluent Afrikaans!) He just stared at me, and then, being unsure of what regulation I may have been referring to, he dismissed me with an instruction to present my cleaned rifle at his tent in 30 minutes. And I was out of there!!!

Salagatle!