by Steve Reeder
“OK,” Reece replied, without slowing his pace.
De Kock waited until Reece was in position another fifty metres up the gully, nearly back at the road, before he followed. There didn’t seem to be much chance that they would get back to the top of the hill, let alone the buffel, without a major fire-fight; so much depended on Uys and the LMG now.
“I really wish the bloody moon would bugger off!” Reece muttered as De Kock reached his position.
Charlie Cole made it back up the hill above and behind Uys’ position. Looking across at the bushy knoll, he spotted Uys lying prone behind the machine-gun. “Thank God he’s still there,” Cole thought before continuing on, climbing higher. He’d set a defensive position of his own further on. This would give Uys covering fire if he was over-run. He considered the buffel and wondered what his chances were of getting back that far. He wasn’t hopeful.
Eric Uys felt calm as he quietly watched the town below him. He raised his eyes to the heavens and whispered, “This is it, Lord. Please God, let me be strong.” He closed his eyes and added, “Sorry, Pa, I wish I could be there to help with the harvest this year. I hope that you will be proud of me.” Then he opened his eyes again and settled the butt of the LMG into his shoulder. “Here they come,” he said quietly to himself. Taking up the slack on the trigger he fired a burst of devastation into the midst of the platoon-strength group of soldiers who were moving swiftly up the hill, trying to cut off any chance of Reece and Robbie de Kock reaching the crest. Two hundred metres below him seven men felt the full force of that devastation. The others scattered, some turning and fleeing back down the hill, only to die in the second hail of rounds from Uys. Most of the others sought shelter and began to return fire.
“Sounds like Eric is finally awake,” Reece said as the heavy firing of the LMG sounded across the hillside and echoed off the far koppie.
He and De Kock had reached the road. They saw the group of Angolan soldiers off to their right but half way up the hill, making any attempt to retrace their route too dangerous.
“Ja, thank God for that,” De Kock replied. “It looks like the long way around for us.” He pointed to the left, away from the town. “I think that if we can get over that rise and behind those rocks, we’ll be able to get back up the hill without being seen.” He looked to Reece for conformation.
“You’re the boss, Robbie. I wish I knew what was happening in town though. There seemed to be a shit-load more of them than I see up there…truckloads of the bastards.”
“No use worrying about them, Sean. Let’s go.”
De Kock started down the road at a steady pace and Reece followed a moment later. They made no attempt at covering movements anymore; time was more critical now.
From his position on the crest of the hill Cole could see where De Kock and Reece were heading. He also had a good view of battle between Uys and the surviving Angolan soldiers. He could also see a second squad of soldiers gathering on the edge of town. There were four survivors from the first group working their way around Uys’ flank to the left. The distance was over four hundred metres and the R4 was never made to be accurate at the distance. He conserved his ammunition and waited; with luck the four of them would be a lot closer by the time they had a clear field of fire at Uys.
Eric Uys changed ammunition belts; flipping up the lid of the LMG he inserted the second belt and slammed the top shut again. He pulled back the cocking lever and let it go. The first round was chambered. There was movement off to his left but he had no time to worry about that now; seven of the troops below him had dashed and crawled to within sixty metres of him. Any closer and it was going to be a problem. He studied the ground where he thought two of them were and worked out that they would probably roll either left or right for several metres before trying another dash forward. He took a chance and aimed the gun at a spot to the left of where he thought they lay and then waited. Rounds were now slamming into the ground and the bushes around him - the enemy was getting close. A flurry of shots came from the troops out-flanking him. One hit his left thigh. Someone was shooting from above him now, but the firing from his left had dried up. One of the guys had made it. Suddenly, two of the men below were on their feet, coming up off the ground right where Uys thought that they might. The heavy bullets smashed them back again. Silence descended across the valley once more. He took the opportunity to study the ground to his left, eventually spotting a body some fifty metres away. Where were the other three? He moved his hand along his leg and his hand came away bloody. The shock now began to wear off and the searing pain began to set in.
Reece and De Kock arrived at Cole’s position, dusty and out of breath; the climb up the left side of the hill had been steeper than they had bargained on.
“What’s happening, Charlie?” Reece immediately wanted to know, dropping to the earth beside Cole.
Cole pointed out where he thought the Angolans were. “Uys has nailed several of them and I’m sure I hit two or three who were circling around to the left. Caught them by surprise. You can see one of them down by that thorn tree.”
Reece squinted and finally saw the dead Angolan soldier some three hundred metres away.
“OK,” De Kock said, “We need to get Eric back up the hill and get out of here pretty quickly.”
“The only way that can happen is for us to go further forward and give him covering fire. We’re too far away here,” Cole said.
“You’re right. OK then, Sean and I will work our way down to that clump of rocks - you see them?” Cole nodded. “That’s about thirty metres behind Eric. He can retreat back behind us while we cover him - maybe to that dip over there.” He pointed and again the others nodded. “Then you can both cover Sean and me while we retreat back here. Everyone Ok with that?”
“Sounds like a plan, but I’ll need some more ammo.”
Reece handed him three magazines. “You’d better check that last one, it was Pretorius’ and you know how he always overloaded his magazines. They were always jamming.”
Volleys of gunfire started from the Angolans as soon as the two South Africans started back down the hill. Sean Reece and Robbie de Kock ran crouched over and zigzagged left and right trying not to become an easy target. From behind them Cole fired selectively. Ahead of them Uys was firing short bursts with the big gun. Rounds from the Angolans cracked past De Kock until one of them tugged at his bush-shirt, missing his stomach by the thinnest of margins. Finally Reece dived behind the rocks and De Kock followed seconds later. They both took up positions and sought out the elusive targets.
“Eric!” Reece shouted at Uys who was still thirty metres further down the hill.
Uys turned and looked back at them. He shook his head and waved them away.
“What’s that all about?” Reece asked.
“There’s no time to fuck about, Sean. I’m going down there.”
“You sure that’s a smart move, Robbie?”
“Back at the barn I promised Eric that everything was going to be OK. I promised him that we would all be going home.”
“Good thing that you didn’t tell Pretorius that.”
“Fuck you, Sean. Cover me,” he said and sprang to his feet.
If Uys was surprised when De Kock hit the ground next to him, he didn’t show it. The firing from below stopped as soon as De Kock was under-cover. They could hear the rattle of rifles being reloaded; fresh magazines being inserted. They knew that the Angolans would wait for them to break cover, and then hell would be unleashed again.
“You should not have come, Robbie,” Uys said with a shake of his head.
“I told you that no-one would get left behind, Eric. Now let’s get the hell out of here. Sean and Charlie are covering us. Come on, man, we can make it.”
Uys shook his head. “I can’t, Robbie. I’m hit twice.”
“Then I’ll help you, but I’m not leaving you here.”
“You can’t carry me, Robbie, you are too small. And I can’t run. Besides, I’ve b
een shot in the side,” he pointed at his chest, “and I can hardly breathe.”
De Kock cursed, his voice filled with anguish. “I can’t just leave you here, Eric.”
“You have no choice,” Uys replied. “It’s all right, Robbie. Just go and I will cover you as long as I can shoot.” Uys coughed twice into his hand and showed it to De Kock. There was ample evidence of a lung wound. “You must go,” Uys wheezed, his breathing getting more laboured by the minute.
There didn’t seem to be any reason to waste time. De Kock gripped his friend’s shoulder and squeezed. “I swear to you, Eric, I’ll tell your pa about this.”
Uys nodded but did not reply.
Suddenly De Kock was up again and running up the hill, his leg muscles screaming in protest. Behind him the firing from the Angolans intensified again, answered by Uys’ LMG. Several rounds kicked up dirt alongside and in front of De Kock.
Reece calmly watched him come, holding his fire and not wasting ammunition. Finally De Kock leaped over the rocks besides Reece and lay gasping for air. Reece handed him a water-bottle and waited for hard-breathing corporal to swallow a mouthful.
“Anytime you’re ready, Robbie,” Reece said mildly.
De Kock handed back the water-bottle, scrambled to his feet and was up and running again without answering. Reece laughed, fired twice down the hill and took after him.
“What’s up with Uys?” Cole wanted to know.
“Eric won’t be making it,” De Kock replied. “He’s badly injured. But he’ll cover us as long as he can, so let’s move.” And without another word he turned and walked away, back towards the possible safety of the buffel, hoping that Evans was still there, waiting for them.
Charlie Cole was walking better now. The flesh-wound was scabbing over and the muscle was looser. Keeping up with De Kock and Reece was fairly easy. He counted the rounds in the magazine in the weapon; three rounds left. Both the spare mags were empty. “Anyone got any loose rounds?” he asked.
Reece shook his head. “I’ve only got one full and one half left.”
De Kock gave Cole a single box of loose rounds. “This is all I have left, Charlie, apart from the rounds in the rifle.”
They walked on for three minutes while Cole loaded the loose rounds into two of the magazines. The dusty African bush was eerily quiet around them; even the cicadas were stilled, waiting out this most human of madness.
The sound of gunfire suddenly ceased from behind them; the sudden silence shocking in its meaning. No-one said anything even though they all knew what that meant. Eric Uys was dead and the Angolans would be coming up the hill after them. Reece increased his pace and the other two followed his lead.
“There are several boxes of rounds in the buffel,” Reece ventured, “and of course the Brownings.”
Cole grunted and said nothing. De Kock broke into a gentle jog. The moon shone brightly illuminating the trio, easy targets for enemy rifles.
They hadn’t gone a hundred metres when five shots sounded from in front of them.
“AK47s,” Reece said without breaking stride. “About three hundred metres ahead of us.”
“Right where Evans should be with the buffel,” Cole added.
Two more shots sounded. A sustained reply from a Browning was heard.
“Robbie, you go left and come onto target from thirty metres off and Sean you do the same from the right and maybe we’ll outflank them,” Cole suggested. “Keep your eyes open and call out if you find them before you get to the buffel, OK? Let’s regroup at that big tree there,” he pointed to a larger than normal tree some four hundred metres ahead. “By then we should be within sight of the buffel and know that there is not more of them out-flanking us. OK?”
The other two agreed and they set off at a steady jog, alert to troops ahead or to the side of them. More firing was heard from the front; AK47 rifles. The Browning fired again and there was a scream, cut short by another burst of firing. Several more shots from an AK were heard bouncing off the steel side of the buffel somewhere ahead of Cole.
Cole strode down the middle of the twin tracks, confident that Reece and De Kock protected his flank. From behind there was a distant growling of a diesel engine struggling up the hill a kilometre to the north. Before Cole reached the tree the buffel’s engine roared to life. Cole stopped, momentarily unsure of what was happening. Suddenly the buffel appeared from over the rise two hundred metres ahead and began bouncing over the litter of rocks and bushes towards Cole. Several Angolan troops sprang into view, firing at the advancing vehicle. Reece was firing from the right, and then charging back towards the track. The buffel swerved to the left and hit one of the Angolans, flinging his broken body into the air. Then the armoured vehicle was through the line of troops and racing towards Cole. Reece was involved in a fire-fight off to the right as Cole took cover behind a fallen tree at the side of the track. He fired selected shots at the enemy. The Angolans vanished back into the bush and began to return fire. Evans stamped on the brakes and the buffel skidded to a halt alongside Cole. The dust enveloped the vehicle, choking Cole. Off to the right there was more rifle-fire. De Kock was sprinting in from the left. Charlie Cole climbed swiftly onto the back of the vehicle and manned the rear-facing machine-gun, swinging it to cover where he expected Reece to emerge from. Three Angolans showed themselves, but took cover when the fifty-calibre rounds crashed around them. Sean Reece was running as hard as he could from a clump of rocks fifty metres from the buffel. Cole could hear De Kock firing from the left. Reece arrived and dived behind the armoured troop carrier, covering the ground between him and the town. There was no sign of the advancing Angolans. He clamoured into the buffel and swung the second mounted machine-gun to cover De Kock who was on his knees, seventy metres away firing at a group of thirty to thirty-five troops advancing in short runs towards him.
“Robbie!” Reece screamed, “Come on! I’ve got you covered.”
De Kock looked back, hesitated and after two more shots he was up and running for the safety of the buffel. Reece selected two groups of Angolans and fired long bursts at them before having to exchange ammunition-belts. He looked up again and cried in anguish. De Kock was down; thirty metres short of the vehicle. Reece fired a long angry burst at the Angolans, forcing them back under cover. He jumped down from the buffel and sprinted to where his friend lay bleeding in the dust. Several bullets kicked up dirt around him, and one plucked at the sleeve of his bush-tunic.
“Robbie,” Reece panted, “can you walk?”
De Kock coughed blood and shook his head. Behind him, Reece heard the buffel’s engine roar and turned to see it moving towards him. Cole was coolly firing the other way at any target that presented itself. Reece pulled De Kock into a sitting position and levered the injured man over his shoulder as the buffel drew up between him and the Angolan troops, giving them momentary cover. A spate of rounds clanged off the metal sides but Reece ignored the shooting and, grabbing the top edge of the steel side, he tried to shove De Kock into the back. It was too high and he wasn’t strong enough to do it alone. Danny Evans, seeing the trouble Reece was having, left his driving cab and climbed into the back of the vehicle. He leant over and took hold of De Kock’s bloodied shirt and pulled. More rounds bounced off the metal close to them. Suddenly the injured man was behind the metal amour and inside the vehicle. Evans sprang for the driver’s cab and Reece clamoured into the rear of the buffel. The engine roared and Reece toppled over as Evans set off, spinning wheels churning the dirt in their wake. Charlie Cole was still firing at the troops they were swiftly leaving behind them. Gradually the firing stopped. Reece tried the B52 radio but it was dead: Two bullet-holes had rendered it beyond use. There would be no help from south of the border.
Seven
Charlie Cole sat with his head in his hand, allowing the shock and despair to numb his mind. Robbie de Kock had been his friend from the day they had arrived to start their basic-training. Now his friend’s lifeless body was strapped to the seat
besides Cole, and he was crying for the first time in years.
“Charlie? Are you still with me?” Reece finally asked him.
Cole looked up and nodded. Reece was still manning the forward-pointing Browning machine-gun. There had been no pursuit from the Angolan troops but Reece knew that they would probably be setting up road-blocks by sunrise.
“We’re going to have to stop soon,” Reece said. Danny Evans had been at the wheel for two hours non-stop since they escaped the fire-fight. “Danny’s all over the road, if you can call it that. I think I should take over at the wheel. In fact, I think we should get the buffel under cover and stop for a few hours. Maybe till midday, get some rest, who know?”
“Yeah, you are right,” Cole conceded. “I should have thought of that already. I’m sorry but I’m still a bit shocked.”
He unclipped the seat-belt and, holding onto the overhead roll-bar, he moved up next to Reece. The driver’s armoured cab was on the left side of the vehicle. Cole had to climb over the seats to the left before he could reach down into the cab. He tapped Evans on the head and when the signaller looked up he pointed at a copse of thorn trees, signalling a stop. In the east the sky was growing lighter as the stars vanished behind a widening band of blue.
“He’s dead.”
“What?” Cole was dragging the cammo net over the vehicle and creating an area under the net where they could cook and sleep, but now he stopped and stared back at Reece. “He can’t be. He just drove the buffel in here. He spoke to you a minute ago.”
“I know, but now . . . ”
Cole came across and climbed up next to the driver’s cab. The heavy door was open. He reached inside to check Danny’s pulse.
Suddenly the driver spoke, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m not dead, you arsehole, but I’m in deep shit.”