SADF IX

After the blowing up of the guard tower and guard house, referred to in SADF VII, an enquiry of sorts was held by the SADF, but we denied any knowledge of what went down that night. We had uplifted camp and marched about 7 km east as soon as that tower had fallen, restored camp there, and called in on the radio that we were on our way to investigate what the noise was about! The final statement from the enquiry was that it was probably faulty equipment which the Russians had provided the other side which had caused the incident!

I’m not sure if we realised then what the impact of our plan was to be, but the total devastation was incredible. I had no idea what those claymores could do until that night. That is a piece of equipment that needs to be treated with utmost care and respect.

At times we would be sent out to fetch and sweep in an infantry “stick” (10 guys) that had been out in the bush fro 2 – 3 weeks, and had come across from another camp, either to the east, or the west of us. They would normally spend 2 – 3 days resting in our camp, refresh their supplies and then move back out, to return to their own camp. Sometimes I would meet friends in these sticks, guys who had been to school with me, or had started as apprentices with me, or even just guys I had met in clubs, pubs or disco’s! Then there would be much celebration (as much as can be had in the circumstances) and we would share stories, and they would get to sleep on one of the two extra beds we had in our two tents. (Tents were 6 sleepers; we had 2 tents for the 10 of us). As the guests for the night, they would have to pick up the drinks tab, a bit unfair as usually they would arrive without a cent in their pockets, but there was a facility in place where they could draw their salary / allowance at our camp, and the details would be sent on to their base for update. Handy.

There would be much story telling / swapping, probably even more lying than not, and feedback on news from back home. And the most popular subject was always discussing when we would be going home. At times, some sadness due to news of lost friends / acquaintances.

A dear friend of mine was killed one day while on a rescue mission. He was based with 32 Battalion, a group made up of ex-Swapo and Unita soldiers, as well as top South African soldiers. He was a Lieutenant with them. There had been an attack on a civilian settlement by the “terrorists” and our guys had gone in to assist them (the civilians that is). After pushing back the attackers, it was decided that the remaining civilians would be moved to a location closer to the army camp for their safety. They climbed on to the army trucks and assorted vehicles that had been part of the rescue, and my buddy sacrificed his seat for one of them, and found himself standing on the back of a Buffel (LIU), quite exposed, and as it happens, it was the last vehicle to leave. He collected an AK47 bullet in the back of his skull.

Another guy who had been at school with me, just a year or two ahead was caught up in an ambush. He was the “stick” corporal and quickly took command of the situation and started getting his boys out of there. A hand grenade was thrown between him and to other guys, one of whom was injured, and one was going with my buddy to help the injured one. He threw himself down onto the grenade, and absorbed the whole blast.

R.I.P. my dear, dear friends.

Salagatle!