by Steve Reeder
Army life had come as a revelation to Sean Reece. School days had been long years wasted on low grades, parties, and the type of girls that his mother had warned him about. It wasn’t until he was well into basic training that Reece discovered something about himself. During the harsh training, leadership courses and battle exercises, he had been constantly the stand-out soldier who showed ability, guts and leadership. He had been promoted to lance-corporal by the end of basic training and had been marked down for section-leader as soon as he was posted to an infantry battalion. This meant that he could have got a second stripe. The episode with Major Trott’s wife had put an end to his blue-eyed-boy status within the battalion. Getting himself caught with the Adjutant’s teenage daughter giving him a blow-job in a local steakhouse hadn’t helped either. One of his curses in life was that women couldn’t resist his boyish charm, his unruly dark hair or his grin that could remove panties at fifty metres. The posting to the border with Angola, the combat patrols, and operations against the SWAPO insurgents were oftentimes boring, sometimes dangerous, but he loved his time there. Getting on the current operation deep inside enemy terrain had a bonus; his only regret was that he was required to drive a troop transport vehicle rather than being with the combat troops. He had no idea what this mission was all about, but he knew that it may be the high-point of his two years in uniform. He grinned as he fiddled with the night-sight until the rapidly encroaching darkness became an eerie green landscape. He marvelled at the technology; it was almost like green sunlight had lit the country-side.
Lance Corporal Danny Evans had been fascinated by electronics, something that was still fairly unknown to many people until the late 70s, so being called up to a Signals battalion had been a bonus for both Evans and the army. He loved it, and was very good at it. He could strip and rebuild the B2 radio that he was entrusted with as easily and as assuredly as the technicians who had assembled it, if not better. Although he was slightly built, he was wiry and stronger than he looked, luckily so because the B2 was not a light piece of equipment. Not having anything to do after checking the communications with base, he sat quietly with his bush-hat low over his eyes and thought of nothing but his fiancé back in Durban. They had recently agreed to a wedding date next February. Most nights he would tune the B2 into Radio Good Hope, a South Coast based station near Durban that he knew Susan listened to. He had been tempted on several occasions to transmit a message on the station wave-length to her, knowing that the listeners would probably hear him. The trouble was that he would be swiftly found out, and months in a detention barracks would definitely interfere with the wedding plans that his mother-in-law-to-be was enthusiastically getting involved in. He lifted his hat, ruffled his rusty-red hair, wishing that one of the other signallers had been picked for this trip.
Charles Cole was six foot tall and of medium build with light-brown hair. He was not unattractive to girls, but not wildly handsome like Reece; a fact that bothered Cole not at all. Right now he was bored. He had been staring at the passing countryside through the gun sight, now enhanced by the image-intensifier, for half an hour. He tried to count how many hours he had done this for during the past year. During all that time he’d only been in action twice. Within the next few of weeks he’d be back in Pretoria for a short while before the army would release him into the unstructured world of civilian life. Corporal Cole had no job lined up. His family had no money to send him to university. He saw little in his near future except for jobs that he wouldn’t like that paid so poorly that he would not be able to live the sort of life he believed that he deserved. The option of signing on to the permanent force was looking more enticing all the time. The problem with that idea was that he was English-speaking, and the South African Army was dominated by Afrikaners. His thoughts drifted from the green landscape to the school-girl that he had met while on his last seven-day pass. Her last letter had contained a bomb-shell; she was pregnant and her father was determined that there was going to be a wedding before the baby was born. Cole’s father had been born in Wales so Charles Cole had the option of a British passport, and therefore an option to join the UK army. He’d been giving that a lot of thought lately. He wondered about taking a fifteen year old bride with him.
Eric Uys fingered the trigger of the Browning nervously and thought of little else other than staying alive. His eyes darted from bush to tree…to rocky out-crops, believing that one of them must eventually be hiding enemy fighters. At six feet four inches tall, with a massive frame that could lift bales of hay single-handedly, he made an easy target for anyone with a rifle. He licked his lips and prayed that his nerve would hold until Pretorius took his place in an hour’s time. ‘Please, God, let me get home to the farm,’ he whispered.
Paul Pretorius was thinking of a girl too. His youngest sister had run away from home, probably with that twenty-three year old salesman from an office-equipment supplier. His father was threatening to kill the guy, and his mother was writing a letter everyday begging him to do something. He was counting the days until he demobbed…until he could actually do something. He’d kill the son-of-a-bitch just for upsetting his parents. He stretched his well-developed muscles, wished he had his weights with him, and got ready to take over one of the guns from the huge farmer’s son, Corporal Uys.
Corporal Robbie de Kock made one last sweep of the ground he was covering with the big calibre machine-gun, setting it to safe. He handed over to Corporal Charles Cole and sat back in one of the ten seats in the back of the troop-carrier. The buffel had two sets of five seats, with seatbelts, bolted securely to the metal floor. These seats, which faced left and right, each had small U-shaped spaces in the side armour for the troops to rest and aim their rifles from. De Kock clamped his R4 rifle to the bracket provided and rubbed his eyes.
“You all right, De Kock?” the RSM asked.
The junior NCO nodded. “I’m A-OK thanks, Sargent-Major. It’s just tiring on the eyes.”
The RSM grunted and turned to face forwards again, night-sight binoculars to his eyes.
Robbie de Kock was slightly built with brown hair, brown eyes and no outstanding features. He was not a natural soldier and never pretended to be. He was a very smart young man who had been top of the grades in all the courses and exams he had done with the army. He was also very conscientious and had no doubts that his rank was more about those exam grades than his ability to lead conscript soldiers anywhere. He closed his eyes, letting the gentle rumble of the engine lull him into a shallow sleep.
Colonel Fourie checked his wrist-watch; Seven before midnight and time for a stop. Evans would keep a ten minute radio watch from five to until five past midnight. Reece would need a break, and could probably do with a piss as well. He reached down into the driver’s cab and tapped Reece’s head. When the young driver looked up, Fourie pointed at a group of sparse and thorny trees fifty metres ahead, slightly right of their line of travel.
“Reece, stop under those trees. Time for a break.”
“Will do, Colonel.”
Reece drove slowly and quietly past the area. A hundred metres past he swung right, making a wide half circle until he could stop at the spot his CO had pointed out. They were sixty metres from the twin tracks the buffel had left in the soft sand. This would allow them to watch anyone trailing them so that they could ambush the pursuers as they passed the temporary camp. He idled to a stop but kept the motor running while the soldiers on the back of the buffel scanned the surrounding area. Once the CO was satisfied, Reece pushed the idle lever all the way forward until the engine died. He felt the vehicle rock as the four infantry NCOs debussed. They spread out in an all-round defensive perimeter thirty metres from the buffel. Reece removed the night-sight and dropped it into his lap but stayed where he was until the RSM opened the driver’s cab door.
“OK, Reece?” the RSM asked shortly after.
“Fine, Sargent-Major. Just giving my eyes a chance to adjust again.”
“OK. Evans has some coffee on th
e go, so come get it.”
A moment later Reece sat down besides the Signals Lance-Corporal. Evans passed him a half-drunk tin mug of coffee but said nothing. His ears were covered by the radio-headset. Reece swallowed his half of the hot sweet liquid that could have been tea or coffee, or a combination of them both. Five minutes later, Evans removed the headsets and turned off the radio. The CO looked at him. Evans shook his head. The CO looked satisfied. No news being good news; at least for the moment.
Reece and Evans sat in silence, wrapped up in their own thoughts. First Cole, and then the other three returned from the short perimeter. Evans handed out two large tin mugs of coffee to be shared between them. Uys looked shaken as he drank the liquid quickly and climbed on board the buffel again. Cole and Pretorius exchanged concerned looks.
“I think he’s cracking up,” Cole said.
No-one replied, although Reece nodded his agreement, wondering what had happened to the big Afrikaner.
Warrant Officer First Class Le Roux was the RSM of 31-battalion. He was fifty-two years old and he knew that this was as far as he was likely to go in the army. The next step up was Divisional Sergeant-Major, but there were not many of them in the South African army. He had thought of asking to attend Officer’s training course, hoping to become a Captain. But a Captain, while obviously out-ranking Warrant Officer, was still a big step down for an RSM. At his age he’d be a pretty old captain too. No, this was probably his last hurrah before a three-year posting back at some training battalion in South Africa, and then a retirement that he had no wish for, especially with a wife he had no desire to spend time with. The future didn’t look too rosy.
He handed over the night-sight equipment to the CO and sat back, taking a long pull on his water-bottle. The weak taste of Irish whiskey was enough to satisfy him. RSM Le Roux was an Afrikaner through-and-through, and very proud of it. His family had been in Africa since before the British had arrived. In fact his grandfather had fought the British in the Boer War, and died in an unequal battle on the border of Natal. Le Roux knew everything about that battle, and gloried in his grandfather’s last-stand. He knew that the British Commanding Officer had been a Major Reece and that the twenty-one year old currently driving the buffel was a great-grandson of that British Officer. He knew this because the British Major had sought out the Le Roux family after the war to paid his respects to the dead man’s wife and parents, telling the family of how bravely the elder Le Roux had fought and how he had died with honour while trying to defend a position that was already lost to the British forces. The RSM still had the copy of the letter the Major had first sent to his Great-grandmother. Le Roux wondered briefly if he should talk to Reece about it, but then rejected the idea as stupid. Kids didn’t understand things like that anyway. He heard Captain Santos cough from the seat behind him and wondered again what he was doing on this patrol. Why wouldn’t the Colonel tell him everything? Something odd was going on.
The buffel rumbled softly through the dark terrain, heading ever further north, deeper into Angola. Several of the men in the amour-plated vehicle were wondering how long the Angolan army would take to reclaim the ground they had surrendered to the South Africa battalions during the past few weeks. One of the men tried to hide his terror from the others. Eric Uys was near breaking point. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, desperate to be fresh when he relieved one of the others on the machine- gun, but within seconds the images returned, swimming to the surface of his conscious mind. There were blood and body parts everywhere, on his clothes and dripping from his face. He could feel the wetness even now. His eyes flew open and the images were gone again, for the moment.
Dawn was not far off. The sky in the east was tinged with dark blue, and one or two adventurous birds were beginning to fill the air with chirps and tweets. Cole, who was manning the forward-pointing gun, tapped the Colonel on the shoulder and pointed to a clump of trees a hundred metres to the north-east. The CO nodded and leaned over the driver’s cab. He gave swift instructions. Reece followed the same procedures as before, this time circling around to the left before finally nudging his way into the trees and finding a slight depression to stop in. The infantry clamoured down, taking up positions around the vehicle with R4 carbines at the ready until the sun was fully up, before retreating back closer to the others. While they were lying prone thirty metres out, Evans and the RSM covered the buffel with the camouflage net, creating an area under the net to rest up. Evans got the camping gas-cooker out while Reece unrolled his groundsheet. He collapsed into a deep sleep within seconds. The RSM told two of the corporals to stand watch and then detailed a roster for the day. Reece, who was snoring gently, was excluded.
Fourie smiled with satisfaction; he was close now, just twenty-four hours away from it. Close to that meeting, and the fantastic result he expected after weeks of planning. He looked up and caught Santos’ gaze. They both smiled. They both knew what the others did not.
Three
“Driver, stop and kill the engine!” The Colonel hissed, frantically reaching down to get Reece’s attention.
Reece let the buffel roll to a stop and quickly killed the engine. In the back the men were suddenly all awake, straining to see or hear what had caused their CO’s call for the emergency stop. Uys, who was manning the forward gun, swung the barrel around to point in the direction that Fourie was staring. The green-lit country-side seemed at first to be nothing but sparse bush and rolling hills, but then Uys made out the road. It was a major well maintained, black-top passing no more than sixty metres from the buffel’s position.
Uys edged the night-sight left, then right, until he saw the convoy of military vehicles. He felt his legs twitch and the trembling in his hands increased. He counted the trucks and the knowledge that there were six troop transport trucks, and an armoured-car, coming their way did nothing to help his terrors. Why didn’t they move back? Uys wanted to know, but deep-down he knew the answer: Movement attracted attention.
Everyone waited. The buffel was in a dip with only the top half showing. It blended into the surrounding ground and therefore stood a good chance of not being seen. The trucks rumbled closer until the men in the buffel could see the troops in the back. Forty to a truck meant two hundred and forty soldiers, plus an armoured-car which had a ninety-millimetre cannon. Uys surreptitiously wiped his brow. He could feel the sweat running down his back even though the night was cool.
The tension in the buffel was near breaking point as the first truck rolled past. Reece sat with his finger on the start-button, ready to fire up the big engine, knowing that fleeing would be their only option if they were spotted. He heard the quiet click as someone eased the safety off his rifle. The trucks began to pass them. The drivers could be seen chatting to co-drivers. Their laughter was clearly heard. The armoured-car suddenly swung it’s machine-gun to the left, almost pointing directly at buffel. Reece was holding his breath. Uys sobbed quietly with fear. With what seemed like infinite and terrifying slowness, the armoured-car drove passed them. Reece let out his breath. No one moved until the convoy finally disappeared from view.
Uys shuddered. Cole sat down heavily, muttering under his breath, “Fucking hell,” he said to no-one in particular.
Fourie and Le Roux climbed down and walked closer to the road, keeping to the low ground where they could duck from sight if need be. They stopped twenty metres from the road where they had a clear view in both directions. Minutes passed before Fourie finally turned to the RSM, “What do you think?”
Le Roux hesitated as Captain Santos came forward and joined them. “Colonel, I think I have an idea,” Santos said. “I know that road well. I was based not far from here with the Portuguese army in ’73. The road turns north not far from here, just a few miles, and we can use it for maybe fifty miles to save time.”
Fourie first reaction was to dismiss the one-time Colonial Army Major as insane. Seeing the colonel’s expression, Santos added, “There is nothing on this road before maybe one hun
dred miles so we won’t bump into anyone.”
“What do you think, RSM?” Fourie asked.
“If we travel along like we belong, then perhaps even being seen by locals will be okay.” The three of them were silent until Le Roux added, “We do need to make up time and it is less suspicious for a vehicle to be travelling on a road at eighty or ninety Kmph than creeping through the bush.”
Santos nodded and Fourie asked, “So we drive with head-lights on and hope anyone who sees us will simply assume that we have a right to be there?”
Again Santos nodded. Fourie agreed.
Reece was very tense. The night-sight equipment was lying on his lap. They were useless with the head-lights on bright. What worried Reece was not only the thought that they were making themselves known to anyone who saw them by recognizing the buffel as a South African army vehicle, but that if they had to make a run for it in the bush it would take several precious seconds to not only get the image-intensifiers on again, but also to get his vision used to driving with them. Those precious seconds lost while he adjusted his sight to the night vision equipment could get them killed, and Reece was very keen to live to be an old man. He checked his watch and calculated that they had travelled roughly fifty kilometres in forty minutes. They had not seen any other vehicles. Reece crossed his fingers that the next forty minutes would be as peaceful.
Thirty minutes later the Colonel ordered Reece back into the bush. They stopped several minutes later while the Colonel consulted with the Captain about their exact location. Reece asked for permission to get out for a quick piss. The CO told him to make it quick. The two officers agreed on a direction and soon they were moving again at a slow pace. As the distance back to the road increased, the tension levels reduced until three of the men fell into an uneasy slumber.