DIARY OF A SOLDIER

Rhodesian Bush War

MICHAEL MOSELEY
 DIARY OF A SOLDIER
Rhodesian Bush War

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reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced,

stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any

means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or

otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright

owner of this book.

Published by

Michael Moseley 2021

Greyton, Western Cape, South Africa
mmoseley600@gmail.com
ISBN : 978-1-920380-52-6

Cover Design and Layout

Christian Jaggers (OneDesign)
cjaggersone@gmail.com

Printed 2021
Printed and bound by ShumaniRSA
 Dedicated to all my comrades in arms

To those I served with in 1 Troop, 1 Commando, 1st Battalion,

Rhodesian Light Infantry. I can pay no greater compliment than to
repeat the words of Jesus in John 15:13 “Greater love has no one than
this, that he lay down his life for his friends.” Time and again you
showed me this love and I will always be filled with gratitude, humility
and pride that you gave me, and your comrades, this love
without regard for your own safety.

Also to Keith Matthee

Thank you for the support and guidance. Without your encouragement,
this book would not have seen the light of day.

And finally, to my wife Janey, and children Mark and Emma

Words will never adequately capture the gratitude I have for Janey,
Mark and Emma and their unconditional love and support through the
years. You loved me when I was unlovable and helped me move from
the darkness into the light.

Proceeds from the sale of this book will go to the Rhodesian Light
Infantry Regimental Association to be used exclusively for the help and
support of members of the Battalion and their families who
may be in need.
Author’s note

This diary is published as it was written, some 46 years ago. The notes
for it were penned at the end of long days in the bush. I purposefully
have decided not to use a proof reader or an editor - neither to sanitise
it, besides what I highlight in the last paragraph of my Postscript. This
includes leaving spelling, punctuation, format, army terminology and
the like, as it was originally written by me.
Foreword

I met Mike and Jane some 6 or so years ago. Mike’s battle with cancer
started soon thereafter. Physically in the 6 years he has become a
shadow of what he was when I first met him. For much of this period,
he and Jane have been part of a Bible study Fellowship group, which
meets weekly in Ros and my home.

Mike is a charming man and excellent with words. At the same time, to
an attentive listener and observer, one soon realises that beneath the
charming words is a man painfully aware of his own shortcomings and
still wrestling with past experiences in his life.

I am reminded of St Paul’s struggle, so powerfully recorded in his letter

to the Romans. “For I know that nothing good dwells in me… . For I have
the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out. For I do
not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep on doing.”

Mike, like St Paul, does indeed delight in the law of Jesus Christ, but has
a deep insight and knowledge of his own failures practically to live out
that law of Jesus.

During these past 6 years, once again along with St Paul, in different
ways, Mike cried out: “O wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me
from this body of death?”

I have been privileged during this period to observe in Mike the growing
reality of St Paul’s answer to his own struggles: “ I thank God – through
Jesus Christ our Lord! So then with my mind I myself serve the law of
God, but with the flesh the law of sin. There is therefore now no condem-
nation to those who are in Christ Jesus, we do not walk according to the
flesh, but according to the Spirit. For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ
Jesus has made me free from the law of sin and death.”

And along with this in the midst of his incredibly brave struggle with the
debilitating, and at times humiliating, effects of his cancer, has been an
increasing sense in him that this world is not home. As GK Chesterton
put it, Mike increasingly has come “to feel homesick at home”, and is
ready to go home when the Lord calls him. This without abandoning his
fight against his cancer, for the sake of Jane, Emma, Mark, Susan and
his 2 grandchildren, Daniel and Natalie (and his goshawk!).

Written soon after the events portrayed in this book, the irony is not lost
on me that at more or less the same time I had just made a very public
confession that as a student I had worked for BOSS, a powerful institu-
tion in the apartheid state. Like Mike, I was only in my early 20s at the
time. Both products of a similar ideology and time, but taking different
paths thereafter. And here I am writing a Foreword for a book about a
war I did not support, and yet filled with admiration and awe at the
bravery of Mike and his comrades in that war. As I reflect on that bravery,
and Mike’s bravery these past 6 years, it is clear that although he has
fundamentally changed in many ways, clearly apparent from his Post-
script, when it comes to bravery Mike the man has remained the same.

The publication of this book is part of Mike’s unfinished business with his
Lord, and the people involved on all sides in the “Rhodesian Bush War”. It
was partly for this reason that I encouraged Mike to leave his account as
is, including those parts about which he now is deeply ashamed.

As I said at the beginning, Mike is excellent with words. The words of this
book were written by a 24-year-old, some 46 or so years ago. The reader
will see he was already good with words at 24!
When Mike asked if I would be prepared to read it, in effect I read it at
one sitting and immediately put pressure on him to get it published.
As I read it, I kept thinking of one of my favourite war books, Deneys
Reitz’s “Commando”.

However, there was a brutal honesty in Mike’s writing about the

darkness of that war, not readily seen in Reitz’s writing. It called to mind
the final words of Kurtz just before he dies in Joseph Conrad’s “Heart of
Darkness” - “The horror! The horror!”, which speaks not only of the
horror of European colonialism, but also of the horror of the brutality of
Africa itself.

It has been a privilege to be involved in this project of Mike, and indeed

in the lives of Mike and Jane. For me, the really Good News is that it has
been part of a redemptive process for Mike.

Keith Matthee SC

Greyton

2021
Contents

1. Officer Training Course - Gwelo 1

2. First deployment into the Operational Area 5

3. Fireforce Mount Darwin. Op Hurricane 23

4. Ruya River contact with 4 Troop assaulting 37

5. Selous Scouts and Madziwa contact 43

6. Divamombe Contact 49

7. Deployment in Observation Post (OP) 59

8. Madziwa contact and the capture of “Mabonzo” 65

9. Rusambo Mission and carnage in Mozambique 87

10. The death of Trooper Mike Aves 111

11. Karanda Mission Contact and Mike Aves Funeral 125

12. Miami deployment. Colin “Hutch” Welch,

Cpl Kungayi and Pvt John 135
13. Ceasefire that never was 145
14. Final bush trip 151
15. Postscript - May, 2021 155
Chapter 1

Officer Training Course - Gwelo

The unusual, unreal life began on that beautiful morning and it continued,
unabated for five months. The transition from civilian to Military was hard,
and it was supposed to be.

The army system allows itself to grant to some recruits, the opportunity
to become officers and the individuals chosen are sent to the School of
Infantry where they are schooled, in detail, on all matters military, with
the end result that some individuals may emerge with the rank of
second lieutenant. Of the initial group of three hundred and fifty recruits,
the field was narrowed down to twelve.

“Exelby, Eager…… Kuhn…..” the sergeant began reading out the names
and faces mirrored the feelings of joy and defeat. The group assembled
and we were ordered onto a three ton Bedford, which left in the hot
afternoon of the fifth day, travelling along the road towards Gwelo,
where we arrived a couple of hours later.

The training drove bodies to the limit and memories of women, drinks in
bars and Saturday afternoon cricket became no more than dreams.
From the civilian, a military emerged, fit, strong, and above all, proud.
The five months drew to a close in the beautiful month of March. Trained
but untried soldiers stood proud and erect and learnt of their fate, their
postings and began to think for the hundredth time of the future and of
death which was part of the future.

Daily reports told of contacts, of death and victory against an uncompro-

mising and vicious communist trained army.

1
I waited for the call that would send me into our course officer’s office.

“Moseley” a voice boomed.

“Colour” I bellowed back, coming to attention; and then I began to march

towards the office, halted outside and stood easy, waiting for the call to
enter.

“Come in, Moseley”, Capt. McDonald ordered, and I entered, halted in

front of the desk and saluted.

“Sit down”

“Thank you, Sir”

“Moseley, please accept my congratulations, you have been appointed

an officer in this country’s army and your posting is to the 1st Battalion
of the Rhodesian Light Infantry.” He extended his hand and I shook it.

“Thank you very much, Sir.”

“Report to Battalion Headquarters, and see Captain Dace, on the 29th,

which is in four days. Good Luck”.

“Thank you, Sir.”

2
The interview was over, the course was over, and the games were over.
That night followed a party that allowed for farewells to be said – at
three o’ clock in the morning, after terrorizing the new recruits and after
the odd drunken tearful farewell, we retired to bed, to wait for the dawn,
and another day and another life, some of us hoping that dawn and
tomorrow would never come, others just hoping that they would live to
see the dawn following. Dawn came and we began to pack up and drift
our various ways to take up our various futures in the vast expanse of
the Rhodesian bush.

I arrived in Salisbury again, different, I realised, from the person that

had left it a mere five months ago.

3
The Rhodesian Light Infantry, an all-white, regular unit based in
Salisbury, is one of the most feared fighting units in Africa; dedicated,
tough soldiers who had been combat trained from the time of the first
incursions into Rhodesia in 1966. There was not much that they could
be taught about their jobs – their reputation had reached right into
Tanzania, the heart of Communist influenced Central Africa, and the
Rhodesian Prime Minister had once been moved to label them “The
Incredible R.L.I.” in a dedication to their defense of Rhodesia.

I reported for duty at eight o’clock in the morning. By ten o’clock I had
felt the pride and power of the R.L.I. when I donned the Tartan green
beret and the green and white stable belt.

“Report to Base Group at seven thirty tomorrow, Mike; there is a truck

going out to Mount Darwin which I want you to get on. As I told you, your
posting is One Commando, who is at present deployed. You will be flown
out to join them. As for the rest, the day is yours now.”

“Thank you, Sir”, I said, saluting Captain Colin Dace, and leaving. I waited
for the dawn, turning over in my mind visions of the life to come, visions
which I could not complete – for who could imagine the unimaginable?

4
Chapter 2

First deployment into the Operational Area

At seven thirty precisely, the truck left the R.L.I. Barracks, headed
through Salisbury and out, through the beautiful Mazoe valley and on
into Bindura. At Bindura we swung left onto the road that the signpost
said led to Mount Darwin. The beautiful farming area and the Shashi
Pass gave way to the barren, overgrazed tribal areas. The tar gave way
to the dirt road and in the clouds of dust, military vehicles flashed past.
Madziwa, a little village, bristled with Police and Army. Still we
continued north; a trooper on the truck pointed out the buckled fender
of a car to me. The fender was wedged about twenty foot up in a tree.
Two African men had died there, he explained, after hitting a landmine.

“######” I muttered to myself and tried not to betray the turning of my

stomach.

Finally the towering shape of Mount Darwin came into view. Dust caked
faces and burned nostrils and throats.

“Not far now, Sir” the trooper offered.

“Thanks” I replied, genuinely relieved.

After another quarter of an hour and the truck pulled up outside a

corrugated village, from which the Rhodesian and R.L.I. flags flew
proudly in the warm April morning.

“This is the R.L.I. JOC, Sir”

“Thanks very much” I said, unloading my F.N. rifle.

5
 Weight 4.0–4.45 kg (8.8–9.8 lb)
Length 1,090 mm (43 in)
Barrel length 533 mm (21 in)
Cartridge 7.62x51mm NATO
Action Gas-operated, tilting breechblock
Rate of fire 650 rounds/min
Muzzle velocity 823 m/s (2,700 ft/s)
Effective range 600 meters
Feed system 20 or 30-round detachable box magazine
Sights Aperture rear sight, hooded post front sight

I made my way towards a room which carried the sign “Orderly Room”.

As I entered the Corporal rose to attention.

“Good morning, Sir” he said.

“Good morning, Corporal, could you tell me where I could find the Duty
Office, please?”

“In the Ops room, Sir, just around the corner, first left.”

6
“Thank you, Corporal”, I said and followed his directions until I came to
the Operations Room. At a radio set sat a plumpish looking Captain, who
was busy reading a book.

“Excuse me, Sir?” I said, getting his attention.

“Yes?” the captain replied.

“Sir, my name is Mike Moseley. I’ve just come from Salisbury – Captain
Dace said I should see you.”

“Oh, Mike, of course, I’m Captain Jackson, we have been expecting you.
Come, let’s go across to the Officer’s Mess and I’ll introduce you around.“

We walked across to the Mess where four officers and three Air Force
pilots sat, drinking tea.

“Gentleman, I would like you to meet Mike Moseley, he is the new One
Commando subaltern; Mike, Colonel Southey, Captain Armstrong, Nigel
Theron. The Blue jobs are Ray Houghton and Denzil White. How about
some tea?”

“Thank you, Sir.”

I drank my tea and listened to the chatter amongst the other officers
present, all healthy suntanned men whose faces betrayed nothing of
their experiences or feelings.

After tea I was taken to Captain Armstrong, who briefed me on my

duties as an Officer in the Rhodesian Light Infantry and then gave me
my deployment orders.

“Mike, Colonel Southey is flying out One Commando this evening and
I want you to get out there with him. I will speak to Major Lockley, your
OC, and tell him you are coming out. Lunch is at about one; see you then”
he said, and then phoned through to the Operations Room.

7
“Alan, have you met Mike Moseley…….good, well I’m going to send him
through to you for an intelligence briefing.” Captain Armstrong put down
the field telephone and turned to me.

“Mike, I want you to go through to the Ops room – Alan our Intelligence
Officer will give you a full briefing.”

“Thank you, Sir” I said, saluted and left.

Alan and I spoke at depth and length, maps were shown to me, incidents
indexed and marked. Suddenly the war was real, out there, and I was to
be part of it.

Time went slowly but eventually time came for uplift. I made my way
down to the helipad and the Alloette III, painted the camouflage colours
of the Rhodesian Air force. I carried my F.N. and all my worldly belong-
ings stuffed into my military duffel bag. Colonel Southey and Roger
Owen arrived. The tech began the routine check on the helicopter as it
began to whine; the whine grew louder and louder and then the huge
blades began to turn, slowly at first, then gathering momentum until
the whole helicopter began to shake. Roger eased the stick back and
the helicopter began its vertical ascent, up it climbed and then it dipped
its nose and headed out over Mount Darwin and then North West for
Chikomo School and 1 Commando. I felt exhilarated but apprehensive
at one time. The tech sat behind his MAG and we watched the ground
slip below us, passing over the little thatched huts of the tribesmen,
over the little streams that patch worked the countryside. Roger began
to slow down and to my left I caught sight of the school, with the
1 Commando base just south of it over the stream.

A number of three ton Bedford’s, tents and petrol bowsers could be

seen in strategic positions around the central Operations room.

8
A camouflaged tent stood out against the cleared bush around the
camp. Armed soldiers stood and gazed up at the helicopter, brown
tanned and strong. Roger turned the helicopter around and began an
inclined descent, hovered about ten feet off the ground and then gently
eased the helicopter down and switched off. As I climbed out I became
aware of the tall athletic figure of Major Dick Lockley. He snapped to
attention and saluted Colonel Southey who returned the salute in a
less formal manner.

“Dick, I have brought out your new subaltern – Mike Moseley”. I saluted
and Major Lockley responded coolly – a feature of the R.L.I. personnel
that I was to learn and cherish as time progressed.

“Pleased to have you with us, Mike” was all he said and then he turned
to Colonel Southey –

“Would you like some tea, Sir?”

“Thank you, but first I would like to see where your boys are”

“Certainly, Sir” said Major Lockley and we made our way to the Ops tent.
Radios cracked with terse voices sending over them from the depths of
God only knew. I began to feel fear then, a fear which would remain with
me for a long, long time. The fear of being out in the rough country with
only a radio uniting me with civilization and with men under me, for
whom I would be responsible.

Major Lockley began to point to the huge map on the wall and snatches
of his conversation broke through my bursting mind.

“Pete Hean located an old resting place here, for about 4-10 terrs……….
Corporal Gallagher has moved up here…… Sgt.MacNeilage is moving up
into the escarpment along this track here.”

9
I suddenly began to feel the pride and humility of belonging to and wear-
ing the colours of Africa’s greatest fighting unit. The camp exuded pro-
fessionalism, with soldiers snapping to attention, saluting and each
man knew what his job was. My first impressions of 1 Commando lasted
throughout my service with them and remains to this day, as a feeling of
intense pride and joy.

Tea over, Colonel Southey left and as the helicopter headed away from
a beautiful Rhodesian sunset, and back to Mount Darwin, I was left in
the tent which served as the senior ranks mess, with Major Lockley.
Outside, the msasa trees rustled under the gentle hand of a balmy
evening breeze that brought the smell, dainty and delicate, of the
Rhodesian bush, to our nostrils.

“Mike, I am giving you charge of 1 Troop which is now under the

command of Sgt. Pete MacNeilage, a brilliant soldier who I know will
help you and teach you just about all there is to know about soldiering.
Don’t be afraid to turn to him for advice. You had better expect to meet
a little hostility to begin with because these boys do not really like
National Servicemen. Once you have asserted yourself however, you
will find them to be loyal and a very good bunch indeed”.

“Thank you Sir”, was all I said in reply because I could not explain to
Major Lockley just what was going through my head at that stage.

I just wanted to go home; I wanted to be in Salisbury, out of the

situations which I knew I would have to cope with in times to come. I just
wanted to be in the Ambassador Hotel, getting thoroughly pissed
again; I just wanted to go to rugby at the Police ground on Saturdays
- I certainly did not want to die at that point in time and I knew that I
stood a good chance of dying. It was that evening that I met

10
1 Commando C.S.M. (Sgt.Major Jeff Liversedge), a wonderful, kindly
man who I subsequently grew to love and admire for his gentleness
and deep understanding of the soldier.

1 Commando troops had been dropped on the Mozambique border and

had swept the Valley, in search of terrorist camps in the dense humid
valley floor. A radio relay station had been placed high on the escarp-
ment to relay messages from the troops below, back to base. As the
troops were now in the escarpment, the requirement for a relay station
fell away and a helicopter was summoned to take the relay down. I was
to go out with the helicopter and would then be met by troops from
1 troop and escorted back to base to assume control of my troops. The
helicopter arrived from Mount Darwin and me, clad in the R.L.I. battle
dress of short pants, takkies, webbing including five magazines for the
F.N. and a further bandolier of 150 rounds, two water bottles: two
kidney pouches filled with four days rations and my F.N. rifle, climbed
aboard. The helicopter lifted vertically, turned north and then gathered
speed as we sped forward at an airspeed of 60 knots, gaining height all
the time. The cool air whipped around my legs as I gazed out the open
sides of the helicopter at the rugged country below. The green foliage
of msasa trees, the long elephant grass, the beautiful gomos and the
little clusters of huts made out of mud and thatched with grass.

I wished the ride would never end for the beauty was indescribable.
Better was yet to come as I gazed out the front, past the pilot’s head,
and saw a huge mountain range ahead. The airspeed slowed as we
began to climb up, up; the mountain appeared desperately close in
front of us, and still we climbed. Suddenly, and without warning we
were at what appeared to be the top of the world and a breathtaking
panorama, greater than anything I had seen before lay before me.

11
12
We were on the edge of the escarpment and below, thousands of feet
below, lay the valley floor, a dense mat of trees and Jesse bush.

The Zambezi River, far into Mozambique could be seen shimmering in

the very far distance.

The rugged mountains which formed the Zambian/Mozambique border

were clearly visible. Such a sight that I know I will carry it to my grave
with me. The flat, flat Valley floor stretching as far as the eye could see.
I consider it a unique privilege to have seen such a sight and it instilled
in me a love for that country, Rhodesia, which no man or politician would
ever do.

Another sight I will not ever forget is seeing Cpl. Fourie standing under
a moss-covered tree. My sight told me that I was looking at a soldier. His
R.N. held loosely over his shoulder, tanned with strong muscled legs
and worn old Super-Pro’s, unshaven and nasty.

I climbed out of the helicopter and ran below the spinning blade. The
flight sergeant unloaded the rations for one troop. The relay team were
aboard and the helicopter lifted slowly and then turned south and
headed back to Chikomo School. Suddenly all became quiet and still
and beautiful. I became aware of the eyes on me of Cpl. Fourie and
three troopers, and sensed the hostilities they felt and of which Major
Lockley had warned me.

“Good afternoon, Sir” Cpl. Fourie greeted me in his heavy drawl.

“Good afternoon “I said, all overwhelmed and overcome, not bothering

to request his name, not really caring about his name. I just wanted
Salisbury.

The troopers began loading the ration packs into the packs on their
backs and when they were finished, Cpl Fourie turned to me.

13
“Shall we go, Sir, I will lead the way.”

“Let’s go”, I replied, not quite expecting the pace with which he took off.
Not only did he take off at that pace but it lasted for the full 20 minutes it
took us to cover the journey back to base. The most beautiful countryside
was lost on me as we travelled across fresh green grass, bubbling
streams, under ancient gnarled trees that humbled mankind and must
have been affronted that we passed amongst them with weapons of war.

Suddenly I was startled by a sharp whistle emitted by Cpl.Fourie. Another

mellow whistle replied and in that second I found myself in a camp of
hard, tanned and strong soldiers. The hair or skin on my back rose,
crawled and somersaulted as I realized that I had seen heard or smelt
nothing and in that second I thanked God that these were not the
terrorists, people of whom I had read so much.

Cpl. Fourie led me over to beneath a huge tree, under which sat the Sgt.
whom I had heard so much about. Peter MacNeilage, a man I would
soon learn to love and admire, more possibly than any other I had met
up until that stage.

He rose as we approached, a shortish balding man with a great walrus

moustache. .

“Good Afternoon, Sir” he greeted me, with an air of indifference.

“Sgt. Mac”, I nodded and grinned, more out of the “Dr. LIVINGSTONE
I presume” routine than anything else. I became immediately aware of
eyes of unshaven, seasoned soldiers watching me, almost certainly
suspiciously, mostly hostile.

We sat down in the shade of a great tree, beside the radio, in the long
grass overlooking a track up from the valley floor. A M.A.G. lay in front of
us, belts of lethal rounds lying idly beside it with a trooper sitting

14
watching and waiting. The radio crackled lightly on a very low volume.
Sgt. Mac excused himself and lifted up the handset of the A63 radio.

“Hello One, this is 11”

“One, Go” the faint reply from the Chikomo School Commando base
came back. “Roger, advise Sunray One that Sunray 11 is now at our loc”

“Roger copied”

“11, Roger out”.

“Sir, would you like to meet the guys?”.Sgt. Mac questioned.

“Sure” Sgt. Mac, I replied, wishing for nothing less because of the quiet
confidence him, and the others I had met unnerved me greatly.
We moved through the thick undergrowth and the picture of young
unshaven faces stuck and then moved across my mind.

“Cpl. Van Niekerk, L/Cpl. Smit, L/Cpl Lourens, TPR. Cowley, Tpr. Du Preez,
Tpr. Van As, Tpr. Housten-Brown, Tpr. Paynter, Tpr. Aves”. Names, plenty
of them, but really nothing more. By the time we had passed through
all of them the evening light could be plainly seen through the tangled
undergrowth.

“Cowley, tell the guys to hit up a graze and brew” Sgt. Mac addressed
himself to the radio operator.

“Sure, Sarge”, he replied, and noiselessly disappeared into the thick

undergrowth. Small gas stoves could be heard burning quietly in the
bush as meals were prepared. I heard a slight metallic clang and was
surprised by the suddenness of Sgt. Mac’s response. He swung around
and whispered urgently,

“Cpl. Lourens, bring that man to me”

15
“Sarge,” he replied and in a minute a trooper returned.

“What the fuck was that for”? Sarge Mac questioned him.

“Sorry, Sarge, my mess tin ……..”

“Your mess tin fuck all -take two”, Sarge Mac replied, referring to two
extra guard duties.

The matter was closed there as Cpl. Fourie noted the name and two extra
guard duties lay before him for that night. That was Tpr. Bob Paynter,
whom I was later to discover, was the troop joker.

Dinner was over before sunset; dinner having comprised of mixed

vegetables, corned beef, a salt tablet and an anti-malarial Camoquin.

I was able to sit and watch a Rhodesian sunset from where it should be
watched – in the middle of the rough, beautiful bush, where only
animals and terrorists moved, with us behind them, looking for them.
The sunset, however, took away all thoughts of terrorists. The green
elephant grass, sighed in a gentle warm evening. Birds headed up into
the trees to their roosting spot from where they stood guard and watched
over the beautiful countryside. To the West the grassy slopes rose high
and wooded, almost as though reaching for the golden sunset. Night
came slowly and stars hung in a depthless black sky, close and bright
but I dared not reach out for them.

Beetles and frogs raised a symphony beside the stream 10 yards away.

The radio crackled with terse phrases.

“One four, checking in for 2300”

“One copied”

R.L.I. procedure was that every half hour on the hour, all troops would
check in on radio in order that Commando base immediately would be

16
alerted of anything amiss.

I was hit with the idea that out there, miles away, men lay quietly. F.N.’s
beside them, waiting and watching to shed death or know death.
Terrorists were still a far cry and a nebulous “thing” that I was yet to find.

Two days passed, the routine not changing, the feelings growing for both
men and country

“0ne one, this is one”, the radio crackled beside me. Sgt. Mac handed the
receiver to me.

“11 go’, I replied.

“One, roger and move to shackle X-ray, Juliet, November, Whiskey, Alpha,
Zulu”

“Roger copied” I replied, as Cowley began to decode the message into

grid figure –

I took the grid reference and plotted it on my map. It gave me a hill about
6,000 meters south West.

“One, this is 11 Roger, copied that, we will move in figure one five”

“One, roger move into Oscar Papa at that loc”

“11 copied”

Oscar Papa (Observation Post) was where one posted sentries with
binoculars and watched for any terrorist or suspicious movement.

Everything had to be done with the utmost secrecy.

Sgt. Mac got the word passed around and immediately a rustle came
around me as the packing up began.

Kidney pouches and magazine pouches were clipped down, kidney

pouches adjusted, water bottles filled and rubbish buried in neat holes

17
in the ground dug with Pangas. In 15 minutes shapes began to emerge
through the bush, fully dressed in webbing and weapons slung over
right shoulders and held by the base of the butt. I shuddered for I saw
the efficiency of a drilled polished machine, and I felt then a loneliness
that I would often feel – the loneliness of an officer.

Cpl Fourie and Cpl. Van Niekerk came to me with their maps in hand and
I gave them the grid references. They plotted it quickly and nodded.
The only words which passed were my own. Quietly we moved into the
thick bush, three parallel lines, I in front and in the middle.

Cpl. Van Niekerk and Cpl.Fourie moved off into the bush about 50 yards
to the right and left of my column and on we went, noting each little
stream, hill and gully, plotting on the map the whole time the changing
positions. I took time to watch the R.L.I. soldier on patrol. They walked
easily and quietly, brown bare legs and Super Pro takkies making no
sound. Their eyes swung in a trained motion through the heavy bush.
I felt exhilarated and proud. They had soldiers written all over them.

Finally the msasa wooded hill loomed out in front of us and we began
the climb up through the trees, amongst the rocks and onto the peak.
The idea behind an O.P. – Observation Post – is that movement can be
detected on the surrounding low-lying countryside.

As Sgt. Mac and I began our recce around the hill, he began to tell me
what type of things one watched for and those words remained with me
for a long time and always stood me in good stead. The African in the
Kandeya Tribal Trust Land – the Makorekore tribe – was seen by us as
slovenly, cowardly, lazy and a dirty tribe by comparison with the
Ndebele. In the tribal system, men always walk in front of women to
protect them in the event of there being any danger along the bush

18
paths. To see a woman or piccannin leading is a signal of something
strange – to see women leaving the secluded villages with food is very
unusual as each family has a hut which serves as a “dining room”.
To see the naked herd boys driving cattle over hills in an attempt to see
if there is any Security Force O.P’s up them, flags disguised as washing,
drums at night, freshly swept village surrounds, large meals being
cooked for a small family. All these are signs, which may constitute a
terrorist presence and must attract and hold attention.

O.P. work properly done is incredibly tiring for the concentration

required of it. We settled into a small saddle and immediately posted
two O.P’s, one on each of the peaks, each man doing an hour with a pair
of binoculars. The rest set up bivvies and then methodically and metic-
ulously cleaned their F.N.’s or M.A.G.’S and then, to my astonishment,
began to clean and oil each individual round.

So the next three days passed, talk of contacts and captures fired my
mind but their contents will not be repeated. I recall most of the time,
sitting beside the radio, listening to other troops on the radio, particularly
around 1500 hours when each call sign (i.e. Troop or part thereof) sent in
their sitrep (situation reports) for the past 24 hours. The concise terms
and the contents told of a frightening degree of professionalism.
Frightening to a 12 month soldier such as I.

On the third day we received an all station call on the radio.

“This is one – all call signs to return to J.O.C. at Shackle X-ray Yankee
Golf Romeo unshackle hours.”

“11 copied” I replied, after decoding it to read 1500 hours. The N.C.O.’s
passed the word around and the spirit rose as the men began to think of
mail, showers, beers and fresh food. By 1200 hours they were packed

19
and waiting, talking idly of girl friends, wives and others that they would
shortly be seeing.

I allowed myself to be persuaded into leaving at 1300 hours to cover a

distance which at best would only require an hour’s walk, with full
packs, through the dense clinging bush (about 4,000 meters). That may
appear fast to anyone who has not encountered the fitness, stamina and
strength of the R.L.I. soldier.

I won’t dwell too long on the actual return to base. The inter-troop
bantering, joking and comradeship were infectious. Everyone showered,
shaved and then that night a braai (a whole ox) was held and, apart from
the base guards, many soldiers drank themselves to near paralytic
states and then collapsed under the stars and slept.

This was the first chance I had to meet other subalterns. I met Lt. Peter
Hean and Lt. Dave Scott-Donelan, O/C’s of 3 and 2 troops respectively.
Peter Hean, 6’ 3”, dark haired and immediately very friendly. Dave
Scott-Donelan, older than Pete and also a tremendously friendly person
at first meeting.

At 0500 the next morning, when the sun was just washed with the faint
colours of morning, the One Commando convoy broke and left, headed
for Salisbury and ten days Rest and Recuperation (R and R.) The
weather was bitterly cold as we passed through the village of Dotito,
the convoy of 3-ton Bedford’s churning up the dust, and hearts high at
the prospect of getting home again. On through the R.L.I. J.O.C. at
Mount Darwin, still the dust and now the sun shone down out of a clear
sky; through the Madziwa Tribal Trust Land, the Shashi Pass and into
Bindura, where Brigade J .O.C. is situated. Through Bindura and past
the beautiful fertile Mazoe Valley and finally Marlborough,.a Northern

20
Salisbury Suburb. Into R.L.I. Barracks and then the ten days began;
rifle cleaning, kit changes, lectures, rifle shoots, 2 days off, and then
the preparations for re-deployment began with an intelligence briefing
by Major Lockley.

Finally on the eve of departure, the vehicles parked in front of One

Commando Barracks, Pete and I got horribly drunk and then retired to
bed, awoke at 0400 and by 0430 I, together with my troop were on
the road through the quiet suburbs of Salisbury. All still sleeping, and
headed for Bindura and Mount Darwin where we were to act as the
JOC Reserve, a new rapid deployment concept that had been pioneered
by major Southey of the RLI.

21
22
Chapter 3

Fireforce Mount Darwin. Op Hurricane

The idea was that a Commando would be permanently based on an

open area beside the helipad and would be used whenever terrorists
were sighted, performed an act of terrorism or there was any other type
of action likely to be terrorist inspired.

One spent a month there, eating fresh rations, having a canteen, the odd
film shows: generally a ball, one might say. I thought so, until the first
Fire Force deployment arrived.

By this time, Passi, (2nd Lt. Rich Passports) had returned to One
Commando after a three month course. 6’6” tall, a fine person, gentle

and kind, humorous and always full of fun. He and I were destined to
come very close together and I would grow to treasure his friendship
more than anything else that I had been able to cherish in the line of
human relationship, up until that time.

23
One Commando arrived at about 0900 and immediately 4 Troop (Passi’s
troop) was placed on I.S. (Immediate Stand-by). This required the troop
to be packed with 4 days rations, and ready to leave within one minute
on the six helicopters that stood nearby. Each day the troop on I.S. was
rotated and for the other troops, lectures, PT and other exercises were
devised to keep the soldiering mind occupied.

Bivvies were thrown up and the troops were given arcs of fire, they
sandbagged areas and settled in. All this time 4 troops kit lay neatly
arranged, ready for men to climb into it at any minute. The I.S. troops’
duties ran from 0600 to 0600 the next morning. “A holiday”, I thought to
myself happily as the first night dawned and I settled down with a Lion
Lager. The idea stuck with me through the 0600 P.T session, that
consisted of exercises with F.N.’s and MAG machine guns, followed by a
4-5 mile run. Breakfast at 0830 and then suddenly at about 0900 the
field telephones linking J.O.C. Mount Darwin with the Reserve buzzed.
Major Lockley answered, jotted down figures on a pad and then grabbed
the loud hailer and shouted, “Two troop, standby, Mr. Scott-Donelan,
report to the Ops Room.” “######” I thought to myself and then, for the
first time, it dawned on me what was happening, how everything
changed in the blink of an eye, and I realised that all the fun and bullshit
had disappeared into the beautiful clear day. I saw Passi running to the
Ops room and joined him, reaching there in time to hear Major Lockley
say …..”So that’s the story, Dave, they were there three hours ago……..
four sticks……….get going and good luck.”

Dave left and Major Lockley turned to me

“You are on I.S. now, get your kit down together, Mike.”

Suddenly, it was all over. I saw helicopter blades turning and troops
begin to climb aboard. The flight technicians climbed in behind the
24
M.A.G.’s mounted on the left side of the helicopters. The blades whirled
and four helicopters lifted into the air, formed into a line and headed
north towards Chitsi Gomo.

“Mac”, I said, dropping formalities, “we’re on I.S. now, get the guys to get
their kit down.”

25
“Roger, Sir”, he replied, calmly. I became aware of my men, Paul van As,
Mike Aves, “Dup” du Preez, Cpl’s Fourie and van Niekerk, all of them
drifting down with their kit.

Dave was put on the ground and the message came back through the
relay station.

“One, this is one eight.”

“One go”, Major Lockley was holding the handset.

“One eight roger, message from one two, Sunray says that he is on the
ground and is busy interrogating locals November Tango Romeo at this
time.” (November Tango Romeo – N.T.R. – nothing to report).

“One copied, tell Sunray one two to get a move on.”

“One eight copied, out to you…….. One two, one two, this is one eight……….
a pause while Dave acknowledged in words we could not hear.

“One eight, from Sunray one, get a move on……” again a pause and then,
“One eight, message passed”

Then began the wait which lasted about 15 minutes. We sat transfixed
by scenes unfolding in our imaginations as we tried to visualize the
realities occurring on the ground. And then the crackle of the radio
startled us out of the dark world of thought.

“One two this is one eight, go” – a long pause and then

“One two, one eight copied, out to you, one this is one eight”

“One go” Major Lockley replied

“One eight, message from one two, ready to copy”

“One go”, Major Lockley replied abruptly, beginning to get annoyed.

Passi and I grinned for we both had tasted the bitter end of his temper,
and, he had been rather touchy that day.
26
“One eight, roger, Sunray one two reports that interrogations reveal a
presence of 4 Alpha Mike Alphas (A.M.A. – African Male Adult) this
morning, all armed with Alpha Kilos (A.K. – Assault RIFLE - Russian or
Chinese.) They were asking directions to the kraal at Shackle X-ray
Yankee Alpha Juliet Yankee Zulu unshackle. Tracks have been located
and call sign one two is on follow up, message ends, did you copy?”

“One copied, tell Sunray one two to send loc stats (position report) every
figures one five minutes” Major Lockley commanded.

As the message was transmitted from the top of Mount Darwin, Passi
and I left.

“Passi, what do you think?” I asked.

“Useless, Mike, those bastards will be in Mozambique by now and their

tracks will be lost because these fucking locals will wipe them out.”

I nodded, taking his word for something I knew nothing about. The day
dragged on, and all the time I kept going back to check on Dave’s
progress, fascinated by the thought of men hunting men, following him
by his own footprints.

Then while sitting in my tent under a marula tree the call came.

“Mr. Moseley, report to Ops room, one troop standby”. I let the words sink
in and in so doing felt fear for the first time – “I don’t want to go, ######,
I’m only doing this because I have to.” The sound of running outside
jolted me; I grabbed my notepad, maps, clipped on my webbing, grabbed
my rifle and ran to the Ops room.

“What took you so long?” Major Lockley accused and then right into the
matter.

“R.L.I. O.P. at grid 614031 report seeing group of nine suspicious males,
get four sticks and get down to the helipad, good luck” and that was
27
that. I plotted the positions on my map, passed them on to Sgt. Mac, Cpl
Fourie & Cpl. Van Niekerk and then we ran down to the helicopters.
Having been told to climb aboard Dave Rowe’s helicopter, I made my
way over to him, and my three men climbed aboard with me. I clipped
on the spare headset, as I had been taught to do, and was just in time to
hear pre-take off instructions from Dave.

I glanced out of the open side of the helicopters, onto the green country-
side, little mud thatched villages passed beneath us, the wind whipped
around my bare legs. I glanced at the tense, unsmiling faces of my men,
fingers resting on trigger guards. “Shit, they never told us that it would
be like this when we were training” I thought to myself. My first call out
and I was scared. The sound in my headphones woke me.

“This is Leader; we are over the area now: we’ll climb left and see if we
can pick up anything, if we can’t then follow me down.”

“One copied……two copied….three copied….” The other pilots reported.

The pursuit revealed nothing and Dave began a deep straight descent,
the other helicopters fanned out behind. Dave held the helicopter steady
about five feet above the ploughed field and we jumped out. As I hit
ground, I heard the sound of rifles being cocked. I went to ground and
then turned to see the three helicopters in unison lift, turn south and
begin to climb rapidly. The sound was deafening one minute and gone
the next. Sgt. Mac. came running over to me and questioned

“Sir, what was the call sign of that O.P.”

“Three one” I replied, grabbing my radio handset.

“Three one, this is 11, did you see where we were put down I questioned?

“11, three one, copied. The nine bodies are about five hundred North
East of your present loc.”

28
“Roger copied.” I replied. The other sticks had also heard and they were
already running to the North east in a long extended line. The sight of
bare legged soldiers running through the five foot elephant grass
frightened me. At that moment I came to understand the meaning of
“determination to close and kill”. In a couple of minutes we broke into
the open and ran right into a group of six youths with “budzas” over
their shoulders. At that minute the radio crackled,

“One, one, this is three one, you are with that group now.”

“For fuck’s sake” men exploded around me as we stopped and stood

staring at locals who had been returning from work in the fields, with
“budzas” which had misled the O.P into thinking that they were weapons.

Sgt. Mac spoke quietly into the radio

29
“Three one, 11 alpha, why don’t you guys use your eyes?” There was no
reply and I remember standing around there, with a loaded F.N. thinking
how funny it was. Helicopters, loaded weapons and all that was found
was a group of peasant locals simply returning from tending their
wretched fields.

“One eight this is 11, we have made contact with the group and they are
locals, advise one”

One eight, out to you, one, one eight……’ the message went across the
beautiful countryside.

“One, this is one eight, from Sunray, he wants you to stay in the area and
then move into an Oscar Papa tonight.”

11 copied, out” I replied, as Mac came across to me.

“Sir, I suggest we let the guys take an hour for lunch, then make a big
noise as we move out.”

“Right, Mac” I replied and then said,

“We’ll head for that thicket and unsaddle there.”

We moved into the bushes beside the road and as the men went into an
all round defense position under the control of the Corporals. Mac and
I settled down beneath a tree.

“Sir, those bastards are all quids in with the terrs. I suggest that we move
out along the main road in the early afternoon, make a hell of a noise and
then quietly slip into this river here” he said, pointing to the map.

“What’s gained?” I queried.

“We want these locals to tell any makandangas (African word for
terrorist) that the ma-soldiers have moved out”, he replied.

“Okay, fine, Mac thanks” and we began to make lunch out of the rat packs.

30
We sat down in a typical meal of corned beef, baked beans, and a cup of
tea. Each empty tin was punctured so as to render them useless for any
purpose whatsoever. In the meantime Tpr’s Mike Aves and Paul van As
began digging a hole in the ground with their pangas. The troops litter
was placed into the hole which was then covered up with soil and
trodden hard. A final cigarette and then the call went out –

“C’mon, saddle up and move out”. Camouflaged bodies rose above the
scrub bush land with F.N’s and M.A.G.’s to hand, webbing deftly being
clipped up and adjusted to settle with familiarity onto strong backs.

The treble one formation fanned out, myself in the road and a column
each side of me in the bush. The idea was to make a noise and that was
done by way of the normal banter which was beginning to loosen as the
men came to know me better. The good natured mockery brought to my
mind just how high the morale was in one troop, and they had good

31
cause to feel important for one troop held the highest kill rate of any sub
unit in the entire Rhodesian Army!

I was always amazed at the way my men carried F.N.’s over their right
shoulders, horizontal to the ground with their fingers lightly holding the
butt plate. I never really understood it, until I saw a weapon come from
that position into the firing position, in what was only a fraction of a
second. That is, however, part of another story.

We continued along the road, the sun shining down onto our backs,
sweat began to roll freely, the banter continued as we crossed meter
after meter of dusty ground. We passed numerous locals in our
apparent sloppiness, which fitted in with our plan.

We were approaching the little river-bed, earmarked by Mac as a likely

spot for an O.P. Hand signs told all that the point was near now where
we would move off into the bush. Thank the Lord; there were no locals
visible as we broke from the cover of the bush, making certain not to
stand on bare soil thereby leaving the telltale Super-Pro footprint in the
soil, which would have been a danger sign to the spoor conscious
terrorist, and his local sympathisers. We headed West through the bush,
from the road, I spotted a rocky outcrop and we headed into its leafy
midst and settled down amongst the rocks, certainly invisible to the
average eye. Mac and I plotted our position and then the Corporals got
the men down, dominating all the entrances to the little kopje. Mac and
I made a tour of the area and saw to the South a little half naked
piccanin tending some cattle on the banks of the stream. “Keep an eye
on him and tell the Boss if you think he has seen us,” Mac told Cpl Smit,
who nodded in reply. The sun was beginning to set and heavy thunder
clouds began blossoming rapidly to our South but we dared not erect
protective bivvies for fear of compromising our position, and, after send-

32
ing through our sitrep to One Commando, we settled down to wait for
night. The Government had proclaimed a dawn to dusk curfew in the
operational areas and the locals were well aware of its existence. Natu-
rally therefore, voices at night could be regarded suspicious.

At about 2000 hours Mac suddenly froze and reached over to me,
indicating his ears. Then I heard it too. The sound of voices some
distance away, African voices in a still, threatening night. The other men
had heard it too for I saw them all move quietly into position with their
rifles pointing out into the night. The voices grew louder, the closer they
came. I felt my stomach turn. Mac sat beside me, rigid and alert.

The voices passed us East to West, and as they drifted off into the night
I turned to look into Mac’s fierce eyes.

“Those, Sir, are the first terrs you’ve heard, I know that for sure.”
He whispered.

“How many, Mac, I hear about three”, I replied.

“Five, Sir” – I didn’t argue. I will never forget the sound that night, of the
laughter and joking African voices, men who had probably been trained
in Tanzania and then marched through Mozambique or maybe had left
from Chifombo in Zambia, marching through Mozambique and now they
were here, 200 meters to my North. I grabbed the radio

“One this is 11”

“One go”

“11, fetch Sunray”

“One roger, wait…….One, Sunray, speaks, go”

I heard Major Lockley’s voice come through the handset of the radio.
He sounded excited.

33
“This is 11, Sunray speaks, we have just heard voices of figures 5 Alpha
Mike Alpha’s walking past our loc figures 200 north, roger so far.”

“Go on”, Major Lockley’s voice was now excited.

“Sunray minor certain that this is a terr presence, over”

“Roger, good, I want you to try and locate them, find out where they are”

“One, one copied, out”

######, now I had to walk around in a black, stormy night looking for
black stormy communist trained and armed terrs. Mac was already
saddling up.

“Mac, you, I and three others please”

“Roger, Sir, Mike, Dup, Paul, let’s go, quick minimum webbing.”

Within 2 minutes we slipped quietly out into the night, onto the path and
West, in the direction which the terrorists had taken. I felt the chill of real
fear as we walked along the path and I fought to control the fear that
around each corner we might run into the 7.62mm intermediate rounds
of the terrorist AK47 automatic rifles as they waited in ambush.

Essentially a “listening patrol” we moved quietly along a narrow dusty

path, with 6’ elephant grass and scrub bush hemming us in and hiding
God knew what from sight. I froze rigid in my tracks, so much so that
Mike Aves bumped into me. The reason was the eerie sound of African
drums, wooden barrels with ox hide covered over them. They are used
for ceremonial occasions, and also for, it was believed, but never proved,
passing messages from kraal to kraal about the presence of security
forces. Volume is obtained by beating the ox hide with a bare hand and
the sound in the still of an African night is like no other for sheer chilling,
frightening quality.

34
The sound came from the top of the ridge we were ascending, due
north. After chatting to Mac, it was agreed that we would move closer
to try and obtain some idea of what was going on because by then we
had heard voices. We crept on, taking about an hour to cover the
approximate 1,000 meters to the outside of the kraal. One dared not
approach too close for fear of the dogs, always to be found in a kraal,
who would betray your presence. We went to ground in a maize patch
about 100 yards from the village comprising about five or six huts.
The drums ceased and voices could be clearly heard. I recognised the
brazen voice we had heard earlier that evening, and for the first time
felt the exhilaration of true excitement.We lay there side by side for
about an hour until the noise had died down, and then we retraced our
steps back to the base camp. By this time, vicious bolts of lightning were
beginning and thunder rolled heavily across the barren, restless,
war-racked Rhodesian bush.

I reported back to Major Lockley and while I was waiting his orders the
storm broke, a heavy deluge that thundered down, splashed us from the
rocks beside us. Pools of water began to form amongst the rocks
and we were all drenched within seconds. At the height of the storm the
radio crackled noisily.

“11, this is one,” Major Lockley was on set.

“11 go”

“One roger. We are going to put in an airstrike at shackle Alpha Yankee

Zulu Alpha, Roger”

“11 copied”

“One, roger, I want you to take your call sign in from the East, to be fig-
ures 200 yards from strike area when the strike goes in. That is all, good
luck, out;”
35
36
Chapter 4

Ruya River contact with 4 Troop assaulting.

Mac and I sat in the pouring rain, marking decoding and planning the
operation on our maps. The airstrike was to be at 0530, Passi, O/C call sign
14 would assault and Dave, call sign 12, would drop off at 0200 to walk in
to the Ruya River. We would have to move North for about 2000 meters and
then out due East for a further 2000 meters. Mac and I decided that
the country would afford little or no cover so we decided to move
at 0400 to be in position by 0530, which was first light.

The troops were suitably briefed under leaden bleak skies, and slept not
a wink the entire night, even although the rain stopped at midnight.
At about 0300 stars began to break out and about 0330 I heard the faint
whispers of the guard waking up the troops around me. They cursed
quietly, hungry, cold and very wet. They immediately began packing up
and at 0415 we moved out. I remember it so vividly because it was real.
We trudged through the Jesse bush that tore at skin and clothes, shed
cold water on sodden bodies. I estimated our 2000 yards to be up and
began to move to magnetic East on my compass.

It was still dark at 0400 when we went down into position about 200
yards North East of the village which could not be dimly seen. The troop
swung out into a long extended line, without prompting from me,
and I became aware of the nervous tenseness, the quick sideways
glances and the click of safety catches moving into the fire positions.

In a couple of moments I heard the drone of the Provost aircraft and

then the radio beside me crackled. I shivered in fright.

37
“11 and 12 this is Echo 4 airborne now, how do you read?”

“11 read you fives” I replied

“12 read you fives” Dave’s voice came faintly in reply.

“Roger, Yellow section one getting airborne now, I will be striking with
front gun and SNEB rockets from over call sign 11. Yellow section will be
right behind and will put the troops down immediately after my strike.
When I give the word, 11, I want you to mark your FLOT (Front Line of
own troops) position with a flare”

“11 copied”

The drone increased in fury as the helicopters, moving slower than the
Provost came screaming just above the ground. We all waited – eyes
burning in search of movement.

“11, Echo 4,… mark now”

I fired the pencil flare which lit up bright red in the brightening dawn.

“Seen, ….striking now” the calm voice of the Provost pilot came through.
I looked up to see him approaching out of the East in his dive. The engine
pitch rose as he inclined the plane earthwards, and then the savage
chatter of the wing-mounted Browning machine guns followed by the
flash from the pods under his wings as 16 SNEB high explosive rockets
screamed down. The noise shook the very ground and dust and smoke
erupted around the village, and specifically on a hut to the East which
Mac and I had indicated the night before. The Provost climbed, turned
right and then the voice came quietly over the radio

“11 Echo 4, how was that strike?”

“Spot on”, I called back.

38
“Roger, no movement down there. Yellow section is going to put troops
down now.” With that 4 helicopters with 4 men aboard each flew over us
in perfect formation and began to descend. The noise of the huge blades
thrashing the air was incredible. Still no fire though. The troops were on
the ground and the helicopters began to lift, in perfect formation when
the call came excitedly over the radio.

“All call signs, this is Echo 4, there are 4 terrs breaking north – am
striking now.” No sooner were the words out of his mouth than I heard
the savage chatter of machine guns from the North. He climbed and
began his circuit when suddenly the radio burst into life again.

“Contact, contact, contact, this is 14 all stations minimize traffic”. (This

term was used to indicate to all call signs that they should not use the
radio unless absolutely vital.) Passi was in contact.

“Come, let’s go” Mac shouted and the bush came alive with my troops
running towards the contact area. I took some time to get going – since
when did you just run around when there were terrorists around?

“14 Alpha, 14, get over here quickly, 500 East of your location”

“14 alpha, roger”

The machine guns chattered and the high pitched chatter of the AK47’s
was clearly discernable. Everyone seemed to know what to do and
where to do it. There was a sound of heavy fire coming from the North
as Passi and his men ran into more terrorist fire. The helicopters
continued circling below the Provost. We reached the strike area just
as Dave reached it, he having swept up from the Ruya River. We then
turned north and began the sweep up towards Passi. The fire was still
continuing, about 500 meters ahead of us. Just then Passi came onto
the radio.

39
“We have killed 2; the rest headed North West towards the river”

Immediately we swung North West and the whole line of about 30 men
broke into a trot. Perfect formation, in the early morning light – soldiers
with M.A.G.’s and F.N.’s trotted through the bush, rifles held at the hip.
Orders were superfluous – not that I could ever have opened my mouth
at that stage.

The bush grew thicker as we headed towards the Ruya River.

Nothing. Dave turned to me,

“Mike, you go north East – I’ll go across the river and cut for tracks”

“Okay Dave” I said. The men were breathing heavily now and the
excitement had made them super alert – for which I thanked God. We
formed into extended line and began to sweep North East at a brisk
walk. As we came out of the bush a ploughed field and hill lay before
us. I almost had a bowel movement as Tpr. Terry Kotze, the machine
gunner, started “ripping it” next to me. About 400 meters ahead a black
figure could be seen running and stumbling pathetically up the
hillside, in the muddy ploughed field.

“Echo 4, this is 11, a terr running North over ploughed field….”

“11 Echo 4 seen, mark position quickly” the pilot shouted.

I let fly with a flare. He did not bother to reply as he struck east to West
in front of us. The vicious chatter of .303 Browning machine guns filled
the air as the lonely figure stumbled before our eyes and fell.

My troop began to run. I caught sight of another troop cutting across

from the East, heading for the same person. We arrived shortly after
Passi had. By the time we arrived, a Medic was already giving first aid to
the wounded terrorist. Blood oozed from his shattered thigh. Sweat

40
oozed from his brow. I stood transfixed at the first sight of bullet wounds.
Red dark blood oozed from a gaping wound and soon discoloured the
field dressing. Not once did the terrorist moan or cry. I smelt the blood
in the early morning on an empty stomach and felt ill. Passi called up a
helicopter which soon arrived to take the captive away back to Mount
Darwin.

The sweep carried us to the position of Passi’s contact where I met a

sight that will live with me as long as brutality forms part of our Western
civilization. The details of the cause I learnt from Cpl van der Zandt.

Passi had been put down by helicopter and swept North in search of the
terrorists seen by Echo 4.Cpl. Van der Zandt had immediately come
under fire and had killed a terrorist as he broke cover and ran.

As the men fought their way through the clinging Jesse bush, a terrorist
leader had hidden in a bush about 2 paces to the West of Cpl. Van der
Zandt. The bush was incredibly thick and the sweep had missed the
terrorist. As they were about 4 paces past the hidden terrorist, he had
sprung up and fired at Cpl. Van der Zandt from behind. The burst,
estimated at about 15 rounds, fired from the AK47 automatic had been
high, but had removed Cpl. Van’s hat. He had sprung round and fired two
shots from the hip, while still under heavy fire. One of his rounds had hit
the terrorist in the left eye and had shattered his face into the most
nightmarish grotesque mask that I had ever seen.

The troops, on seeing the crumpled figure lying in the jesse, had
nicknamed him “Smiler”, something I considered beastly and callous
until I was able to share in their reactions to death and brutality.

The sweep and counter sweeps continued until 1000 with the final toll
at 2 dead, 2 wounded and captured and 3 escaped.

41
Trucks were sent out to pick us up and we returned to Mount Darwin
about 2 hours later, together with certain locals who had been guilty of
feeding and housing terrorists. We dropped them off at the Police
Station, to the tender mercies of the Special Branch. (S.B) Security
Branch Police.

Back at base we bathed, collected new ammunition, cleaned our

weapons and were then called to assembly before Major Lockley, to
receive a dressing down for the fact that 3 had escaped the cordon.

Thus ended my first contact, and I had yet to fire my F.N. in anger.
Looking at what I saw, I was not so sure that I wanted to, but I certainly
knew that I did not want to be shot either, so the quandary I found myself
in was fairly intense!

42
Chapter 5

Selous Scouts and Madziwa contact

The Selous Scouts, with whom I was to have contact a few days later,
were the brainchild of Major Ron Reid-Daly. The idea was that a regular
Rhodesian troop or section commander would be put in charge of black
troops and captured terrorists who would then be armed and dressed
as terrorists. Their role would be one of reconnaissance, and attempting
to locate a terrorist presence, whereupon the R.L.I. or R.A.R would be
called in to do the actual fighting. They were highly effective in the
unconventional theatre of war.

In the early days of their existence they would be infiltrated into a

particular geographical area, the boundaries of which were clearly
defined features like roads, rivers hills etc. This area would then be
classified as a Frozen Area and no “security” forces could enter the
area. The reasons for this were obvious: the Scouts dressed and armed
as a resident group of terrs with captured and turned terrs in their
midst, would be mistaken for a real group of terrs and would be
engaged by security forces. On a few occasions we did do a mock Fire
Force raid on a supposed sighting to try and build up the cover for the
group. I became personal friends with many of the Scouts (Sgt. Mac
finally joined them), and I know their modus operandi well so I speak
from experience. I must also state that they NEVER committed ANY act
of atrocity and they were under orders not to do so. I know that the
individuals I knew followed this directive without question. The terror-
ists grew wise to their operations and they would instruct their sym-
pathisers, when feeding terrorists, to offer them, for example, beans

43
with food. Terrorists would know not to take beans but the Scouts would
not; with the result that they would be compromised. The offending vege-
table would be changed from time to time by the terrorists. This was the
type of problem experienced by the Scouts.

A couple of days passed with no indication of the existence of any war

and I began to like soldiering; healthy 5 mile runs every morning, volley
ball for the rest of the day. Beers in the evening – but alas. At 2100 hours
a call came through and we were summoned into the Ops room.

“Selous Scouts have located a terrorist camp in the Madziwa Tribe Trust
Land, it is believed to be Mabonzo’s camp.” Major Lockley briefed us.
Mabonzo was a legendary terrorist who stood 6’6” tall and for years had
committed acts of terrorism and had escaped the close attention of the
security forces.

“Selous Scouts will approach the camp tonight and place an orange
parachute panel due north about 500 meters from the camp. We will
strike at first light tomorrow with an airstrike, and c/s 13 assaulting”.

“Mike, you will go into Western stops and Dave, you will go into Southern
and Eastern stops”. Major Lockley instructed. Then followed the military
timings etc.

Troops were briefed under a clear sky with the bitter cold of frost sitting
heavily on each one of us. We climbed into bed a lot more pensive that
night and at 05h00 rose to a frosty, bitterly cold morning, still dark. The
hot coffee and sandwiches did little to warm the feeling of a cold rifle in
my hand. The stars still shone out of a slowly graying sky. The grass
froze under an early morning Highveld frost. The coffee burnt but I don’t
recall ever tasting it.

44
“Come on, one troop” I called out and figures emerged out of the dark to
stand quietly around me. By this time my affinity had grown towards
these men, and I began to feel the officer’s paternal instinct towards
them. “Good luck guys and stay well. Now let’s get down to the airfield”,
I said. The troop broke into groups of 4 and headed down to the helipad
behind me. No-one spoke, probably because Mabonzo meant trouble
and deserved respect – he was a soldier and brave after all.

We were waiting on the helipad amongst the eight helicopters for

about ten minutes before the sound of voices from the pilots and their
technicians were heard. They arrived at their respective aircraft and
immediately began the pre-flight checks. Within 5 minutes the sound
of helicopters warming up filled the air. First the high pitched whine,
then the engagement of the rotors, and then the throaty roar, followed
by the informed, pre-planned lift off.The provost, armed with SNEB,
FRANTAN and front gun had already taken off and was circling, waiting
for the helicopters to form up. No-one saw him because it was dark, but
I later learnt that Major Lockley stood beside the airstrip and pushed a
thumbs up sign towards the flashing red light of each separate helicop-
ter which lifted off. The night air was bitterly cold and as the helicopter
rose it become still colder. The air screamed through the open sides
of the helicopter and my fingers locked in frozen stillness around an
equally cold rifle. The eight helicopters lined up into formation and
headed south.

The flight to Madziwa took 25 minutes in the most freezing weather I had
ever experienced. The pilot signaled that we were approaching the
contact area. He need not have worried because at that moment I saw
the Provost flash overhead and begin his Frantan strike. The Frantan

45
(Napalm) burst into vivid orange on the dark earth. Dawn was breaking and
I recall thinking that the operation had been timed to a tee. Suddenly red
tracer began flying up towards the helicopter from the terrorists below.Not
so funny, when you can see ribbons of orange rushing around you.
I wanted to get down onto mother earth but I was to learn more about
the R.A.F. (Rhodesian Air Force) in those moments. The intensity of red
and green tracer increased but the formation held rigidly, never moving.
Until the word came from the squadron leader to break formation and
drop off the troops. Dave Rowe (Flight Lt.) swung west and began to
descend. I grew to hate this time because the helicopter slowed to
a motionless form and would be a sitting duck for a machine gunner
or a R.P.G. 7 rocket. Dave held steady above the ground, about 5 ft. off.
My F.N. was cocked by the time I hit ground. I swore at him; he just
grinned and shouted

“Next time pay your correct fare”. Jokes at times like those I did not
need, but smiled, patted him on the shoulder and jumped down onto the
still cold wet grass.

46
Within seconds all my men were out and ready. The helicopter lifted and
swung South West over the trees leaving us in deathly silence about
100m west of a small stream. There was quite heavy mist but I made
out an ant-hill in thick vegetation; with a good view down the valley.

“Into that bush” I shouted and began to run. The others followed. Just
over the ridge-line to the East an almighty chatter rent the air as the
Provost strafed the heavy bush. We reached the thicket and took up stop
group positions and waited. The strafing continued and the radio began
to crackle with voices of men I knew, talking in clear, unhurried, exact
tones.

“13 Alpha” 13 move up, you’re dropping back”

“13 Bravo, 13 that good, keep your eye on me” Pete Hean spoke as they
swept.

“11 this is 13; we have captured one terry…” so calm I thought and was
trying to imagine the scene when suddenly Mike Aves shouted, “Over
there, Sir” he called, pointing North. “Dup” du Preez blasted a belt of 50
rounds through his M.A.G. at a fleeting black figure. I had only time to get
off a couple of shots. No Sgt. Mac to help me this time.

“Let’s go” I shouted and left, running through the vlei grasses towards
the place where the figure had run north. I called a helicopter overhead
but it was unable to locate any trace of the figure. A very frustrating
contact with the R.A.F. strike having been 200m off target, thick bush
hampering the search and too long a lead time for the terrorists. The net
score for that day was one killed and one captured, although reports
were received of a terrorist entering a village carrying another terrorist.
Nothing to indicate was a result of the Madziwa contact, and the legend
of Mabonzo lived on.

47
We searched the bush until bodies ached and cried out for relief.
The tension of pushing through bush where one cannot see further than
a couple of yards, SAPs one, and it was with relief that I heard the call
over the radio to regroup at a rendezvous and prepare for cyclone
(helicopter) uplift and return to Mount Darwin.

We returned home at 1300 hours and stood down for the rest of the day.
Days followed one after one another with breaks of tension surging
flights to reported sightings, landmines, murders, abductions – but no
trace of the terrorists, until one day things went berserk.

48
Chapter 6

Divamombe Contact

The normal field telephone jarred supreme reflexes into action. Major
Lockley’s face became grave and Passi and I knew that things were
going on, things on a large scale.

He finished and then turned to no one in particular with a look of

soldiers’ excitement about him. “Get the whole Commando stood by” he
ordered and then turned to Passi

“Passi, I am going over to J.O.C. for a briefing, make sure the men are
ready”.

“Roger, Sir” Passi replied. I noticed that it was 1100 hours, the sun was
already hot and no wind blew away the voice from the loud hailer

“One Commando, stand by, One Commando, standby”

The faces of the troopers and N.C.O.’s that passed the window showed
that they had registered the magnitude of the call out. People ran to
bivvies and the click of sliding parts on weapons was deafening, as
soldiers readied weapons and put in drops of oil and graphite grease.
Webbing was checked, and where necessary, secured. There was
very little talk. Soon after 1200 hours Major Lockley drove back and
immediately called in all officers and senior N.C.O.’S for a briefing.

“Men, Dale Collett, Selous Scouts, is at present watching a gathering of

terrorists. Apparently the meeting is designed as a de-brief on latest
developments and all groups of terrorists throughout the Chaminuka
sector of op hurricane are represented at the meeting, which is due to
get underway at about 1400 hours. We are going to put in a 12 helicopter

49
airborne assault with 2 Provosts in attendance. Hunters are on standby
in Salisbury should they be required. I will go into details later, but here
is the broad outline………….

“Dave, you will go in for the assault. The rest of you will be dropped off
in stop groups at these points.” Major Lockley pointed at the map.

The briefing lasted for an hour. Just as it ended and we walked outside,
I caught sight of 4 helicopters skimming over the trees. They banked
over the camp, climbed and then slowly nestled down on the jammed
helipad. About 10 minutes later, 2 more helicopters arrived from Mtoko
and they immediately began to refuel as the pilots went for their briefing.

Four 3-ton Bedford’s were parked in line and we boarded them as

instructed in the briefing. I was about to climb on when I felt a strong
grip on my shoulder and I turned to see Passi, his face tense, standing
next to me.

“Take care punk, it’s gonna be rough out there”. I don’t think I answered,
but I remember nodding.

We made our way down to the airfield and debussed along the length
of the airfield, shortly afterwards the 2 heavily armed Provosts began
revving their engines, and then sped along the airfield, past us, and
climbed slowly into the air. The dust from their whirling propellers
settled in my dry throat and stuck to my sweating face. I think that if
I were ever going to turn tail and run, it would have been then, but the
incredible sound and sight of 12 helicopters lifting out of Mount Darwin
and then swinging North froze me into rocklike fascination and
immobility. The sight of those helicopters gave me a feeling of
invincibility, both as an individual and as a Rhodesian. It was not the
number so much, as the precision and aggression of the entire
movement.
50
Peter Booth brought his helicopter down, gave me the thumbs up and
myself plus three others ran under the swirling blades, through the dust
that lashed my bare legs. I climbed aboard, gave Pete the “all aboard”
sign and he nodded. The front tipped earthwards; the helicopter gathered
momentum and the ground rushed past about 10” below. Suddenly we
began to climb out of the dust and fury into the clear blue afternoon sun.
The sight of the formations of helicopters exhilarated me beyond
description. Four tightly packed groups of war material.

It was a 25 minute flight which, to me, felt like a flight into eternity. Pete
signaled that we were getting closer. I noticed that the helicopters
carrying Passi had broken formation and from the look on Pete’s face,
realized that they were in contact. We began to lose height over a huge
row of villages and I caught sight of astonished faces looking up at us.
A minute later, through the Perspex cover of the ceiling I saw the
2 Provosts in a stoop, like two enormous eagles; they flashed past the
front of Dave’s group of helicopters and the ground burst into brilliant
orange after them as the first one, then another frantan bomb exploded.
Suddenly I heard the bursting crackle of hundreds of rounds whistling
past us. That was all I needed, I didn’t particularly envy the idea of being
airborne at a time like that. The technician began to spray the bush with
automatic fire. I could see nothing. In front, Dave was already on the
ground. I turned around to find our formation had also broken and then
suddenly realized that we were over Rudziwa School and losing
altitude. Pete held the helicopter steady about 5’ off the ground, and we
bailed out and immediately took cover.

I turned on the radio and sent the men into position about 20m apart
along a narrow ditch.

51
“Yellow leader, there is a large group down here, I am engaging them”.”

“Bravo 4, roger I have you visual, am going to strike west East so give me
clearance.”

“Yellow leader, roger, you are clear to strike now.”

The Provost thundered in with its front guns flashing angry orange
flame.

“There’s a couple dead down there”, came the cool voice of Yellow Leader.
The Provost began to turn for the next strike as the radio crackled.

“13 this is 19, sweep north towards this contact area.”

“13 roger, moving now.” I knew that meant the fearless jog through
dangerous bush, with determination to close and kill. The helicopters
and the Provost filled the air with the thundering, screaming sound of
machine gun fire. The odd dull explosion told of grenade explosions and
the radio crackled as call signs 13 and 33 (who had just been airlifted in)
began to report bodies and contacts. That was one hell of a scrap. To the
West, another Provost had located a group breaking out and had
engaged them, killing 4.

The fighting continued through the heavy bush for the rest of the
afternoon and as dusk began to settle in, cold and clear, we were
ordered to place ambushes along the Northern and Eastern tracks with
the other call signs completing the circle around the battered area.

We ate a cold meal of bully beef and baked beans (with variation), made
a “brew” (cup of tea) and then, after cleaning and oiling rifles and ma-
chine guns, sat down patiently for night to fall. My call sign, together
with Cpl. Van Niekerk, eight men in all, moved off into the still clear night
to a pre-decided ambush position. The cold came with the night and by

52
the time we reached the ambush position, which was a track crossing
the river, it was really cold. We pushed our way into the thick bush and I
set up the M.A.G. position. Guard duties were drawn up which entailed
2 men on duty every hour. From 20h00 until 08h00, a period of 12 hours,
one would, if lucky, have only 6 hours sleep. I say, “If lucky”, intentionally
because no sooner had we settled into position than C/S 12 (Dave
Scott-Donelan) sprung their ambush. Heavy machine gun fired flares
and grenades shattered the night’s peace.

Not long after the initial ambush had been sprung the world erupted
again and the crack of hundreds of F.N. and M.A.G. rounds burst over our
heads on their vicious route East. Icarus flares again lit up the sky and
bush under the eerie flare light. The fire died as soon as it had begun,
and then the radio crackled beside me.

“18 this is 14, our ambush has been sprung, suspect one terr killed”,
Passi’s voice came over coolly.

“18, roger, copied”

The night passed with further eruptions from both Dave Scott-Donelan
and Passi while we remained quiet and cold. Frost formed on the cold
barrel of rifles and machine guns. It was bitterly cold and sleeping bags
brought nothing in the way of warmth.

The pale pink of dawn began to form behind us when I heard the dull
increasing drone of an Air force Dakota. The flashing navigation and
collision lights shone brightly in the early morning sky. What followed
I will never forget and was almost as spine chilling, as the second time
I heard it. It is known as a “sky shout”. The Dakota circles the area while a
huge speaker plays out a message. The message it contained was the
voice, tired and frightened, of a captured terrorist. He gave his name, told

53
the fate of his capture and exhorted others still in the contact area to
surrender. At the same time, thousands of pamphlets rained down from
the Dakota; printed in English and Shona, they advised terrorists how to
surrender. It was frightening and the voice, completely unnerving in the
early light of morning: indescribable. Pamphlets rained down and landed
in trees, floated down the river and lay on the long, silent elephant grass.

Time for a quick brew and then we began a sweep of the area; in
extended line we combed thickets, waiting for someone or something to
move in the bush.

At about 1100 hours an all stations call came over the radio, ordering us
to return to Rudziwa School. We immediately turned north East and
began to move in.

Rudziwa School was about 5,000 meters away and we reached it in

about an hour. Major Lockley and Captain Armstrong were there to greet
us, and immediately all the troops had arrived, Major Lockley, called us
in for a briefing.

He told us that all the bodies of dead terrorists would be uplifted and
dropped at the school. The Internal Affairs in the interim were rounding
up the locals. They were to be made to file past the array of bodies and
were then addressed by Mr. Jim Latham, the District Commissioner.

Sure enough, as he spoke, the first R.A.F. Alloette III helicopter arrived
with its cargo net full of bodies. Then followed a further 2 helicopters,
also bringing in bodies. It was the task of the soldiers to “arrange” the
bodies in one long line and they accomplished this with a minimum of
vomiting. I had yet to see as gruesome a sight as 18 bodies, mutilated by
rocket, machine gun and rifle fire, laid out under the warm Rhodesian
sun. It took a couple of hours before the locals were rounded up and

54
then in a long line of about 200 they filed past the grotesque sight.
On occasions, the odd woman began to sob as she saw either her lover,
family member, friend or acquaintance laid out in the savage manner.
Once the parade past was completed the locals were ordered to sit and
then Jim Latham, fluent in Shona, spoke to them in their own language,
telling them of the dangers and fate of those assisting terrorists.
The whole episode revolted me and I felt sick to the core, but it appeared
to have the desired effect on the locals. I cannot go into the merits or
de-merits of this day because I knew very little of the attitude, etc. of the
locals, but as a supposed civilized man, the episode revolted me.

At the conclusion of this party, I along with Dave Scott-Donalen, was

instructed to take myself and my weary soldiers and begin another sweep
through the area – a sweep and counter sweep and counter-counter
sweep that was to last for 2 days and nights, with nothing to show from
it save festering sores caused by thorns and branches across legs and
faces. Tired, sweaty, smelling and bearded, we were finally recalled and
a study of the map later revealed that we had covered about 50,000
meters (30 miles) in those 2 days. Not far, I know, but when one thinks of
the bush, at times as impregnable as a brick wall, the weight of packs
and the super alertness, it was indeed the most taxing in mental terms
(certainly not in physical terms) that I had ever come across. I together
with my men, returned to base at a very low ebb after Divamombe
contact – still without a “kill” to our credit.

The bush trip began now to draw to a close, a good bush trip but also
a frustrating bush trip. It achieved for me, however, the chance to under-
stand, talk to and work closely with my men. After about 2 months
I eventually began to feel that I had been accepted and this meant a
great deal to me.

55
The trip eventually reached its final day and we began to break camp,
clean up and prepare for the return to Salisbury. The excitement was
infectious and that night, as we slept beneath a clear starry night, no
tentage up, I felt the very real thrill at the prospect of returning again
to Salisbury – comfortable beds, sheets, and all the other things I had
previously taken for granted.

0600 and the call went up over the still, quiet camp.

“One commando, fall in”. No one needed any prompting and in very quick
time, everyone had fallen in. The Commando left at intervals of 2 hours
and was as follows:

1st phase – 1 troop in 2 3-ton Bedford’s and the Canteen Bedford

2nd phase – 2 and 3 troops in 2 Bedford’s each plus the C.Q.M.S. vehicle

3rd phase – 4 troop, Commando HQ and the C.S.M. with his ammunition
vehicle.

It was about 0630 when we rolled out of the J.O.C. Mount Darwin,
through the outskirts of town and along the dusty road towards Bindura.
A beautiful morning with a blood red sun rising slowly above the
undulating Rhodesian bush, through Madziwa and still south. The sun
shone down now but the troops sat intently, trained eyes scanning the
silent bush; finally Shashi Pass and the tar road. We unloaded weapons
and the men began to relax. I turned back to see oranges pelted from my
truck to the back truck. Laughter, the first I had heard, reached my ears
and I warmed to these wonderful soldiers.

Through Bindura we met the lead vehicles of 2 Commando, heading to

relieve the remnants of 1 Commando.

57
“Fuck you, 2 Commando, we will look after your women for you” and
numerous other obscenities followed the glum, tense faces as they
passed us heading North.

We arrived in Salisbury at about 1100 hours to the thumbs up and

waves of the civilian population. Whistles thundered from the backs of
trucks at shapely lady folk walking along the streets. We turned into
R.L.I. Cranbourne barracks, off loaded and began weapon cleaning;
ammunition counts, handing in of stores. Slowly the other troops began
to arrive and 1 Commando Base became a hive of activity. At 1645, W.O.
11 Jeff Liversedge ordered the Commando to fall in and Major Lockley
addressed them briefly.

To the laughter of the troops, he warned of fighting with civilians, drink

and women and then he thanked and congratulated them for their
efforts of the just ended bush trip. The Commando was fallen out and
Passi and I headed for the Officer’s Mess. I had grown to like him a great
deal and by the end of that night, we were firm friends, albeit under
drunken circumstances, and had re-arranged the rose garden by
tearing them up and planting them face down again with the odd beer
as lubrication – they never grew, and our fine total of $20.00 was paid
the next morning. That 10day R and R (Rest and Recuperation!!) was one
long drunken party that included target practice in the Officer’s Mess:
targets being various fire extinguishers and weapon being a
.44 Magnum with live rounds. Fines rose and by the time we came to
prepare for re-deployment, I couldn’t wait to get out again – that is until
0300 in mid May dawned and I rose with a heavy head to go to breakfast
and then back onto the Bedford’s.

58
Chapter 7

Deployment in Observation Post (OP)

By 0430 we headed out of a sleeping, quiet Salisbury in the direction of

Mount Darwin, and further north into the foothills of the Mavuradonha
Mountains where we arrived at about midday. We began to set up camp.
That same evening, we had our deployment orders and at 2000 hours
the trucks left camp with my and Dave Scott-Donalen’s troops. We
dropped off in groups of five in a river bed from the moving vehicles,
under a clear cold night sky and began a night walking various O.P.
positions, which we arrived at about 0300 hours after a hard long walk
through rough, thick bush, cutting faces on thorns and branches, falling
into holes but pressing on with 10 days provisions on our backs. On our
arrival, I placed Mike Aves on guard duty until 0400 and then we bedded
down in the undergrowth. I recall not being able to sleep that night,
a mere 24 hours after having been in happy peaceful Salisbury with
women smells, soft beds and drinks. Now I lay with an F.N. next to me,
suddenly hyper alert to the slight night sounds. I recall longing for peace,
loathing the fear I lived in. Mike Aves sat beneath a tree, a lonely figure
silhouetted against a clear, starry night, his F.N.’s heavy barrel lying
across his lap. I wondered what thoughts were going through his head,
and in trying to imagine, dozed off to sleep.

I could have only slept for about 2 hours because when I awoke the sky
was already pale with an orange sun rising over the hill behind me to
the North East. In the daylight I was able to ensure that our position in
the undergrowth was undetectable from below, and then I did a quick
circuit to check out the lie of the land around our vantage point. Finding

59
it particularly suitable, I posted an O.P. out and woke up the rest of the
men who, after a couple of curses, rose and began to make a brew.

The specific details that followed are not of any particular importance
but some observations of the type of unrecognized hardship one goes
through are the following……..

We were stuck on that hill for a period of 21 days and in a covert

situation like that, one dare not move around freely during the daylight
hours. So through the hot stinking days we sat, hour after hour watching
the surrounding countryside for signs of terrorist presence. Mopani flies
settled on food and faces. There was no relief for 3 weeks with nothing
to do. At night, we would go out to a stream about 1 kilometer away to
collect water and then night after night, hour after hour, sit on guard
duty under a black starlit Rhodesian sky with the symphony of night
sounds driving one slowly mad. The radio babbled day and night, short
terse military messages. We maintained our sanity by carving an
enormous penis out of a msasa log. The penis was later strapped to
the front of our truck as we drove back through the streets of
Salisbury weeks later. The looks we received were a film of enormous
amusement.

I hated that time more than any other I had known, but at least it gave
me a great chance to understand and talk to my men. They too grew to
men and I came to love them as only an officer can his men. I knew that
we had established a relationship which would endure on mutual
respect and friendship and this pleased me.

60
Events during this time were:

1. Being woken by the guard on duty, Tpr. “Dup” du Preez, who urged me
to listen. I listened and what I heard gave my stomach an indescrib-
able turn. It was the sound of powerful African voices raised in the
harsh “chimurenga” (liberation) war song. Voices drifting out of a
black, black night that even stilled the night sounds. We advised base
and the next morning the R.A.R. moved in, had a brief skirmish with
no casualties, lost the terrorists and then began to track them on a
follow-up operation, the most taxing and dangerous of all counter-in-
surgency conventional maneuvers, in my opinion.

2. re-supplies that entailed a 12 kilometer round route to collect, at

night, from a supply drop off.

3. A sighting of terrorists moving a long distance away. Cpl. Pete White

made contact but lost them. We followed up but at the time contact
was initiated; we were too far away to be of assistance.

The weeks dragged by, no bath, no brushing of teeth and only ration
packs to live off under the fierce sun. To say that I was emotionally and
physically exhausted during these times, would be a grave understate-
ment. I passed my time by talking (always in whispers) and writing
poetry. Occasionally I would watch an eagle soaring through clear blue
skies on invisible thermals. By the time the three weeks were up, and
the other call signs began to arrive to R.V. with us, I was elated. Just to
see new bearded dirty faces was like a breath of fresh air. The morale
in 1 Troop was very high and the joking amongst the troops always
amused me. Rough men with hearts as big as the country they had
patrolled. As they entered the O.P. each man nodded to me muttering a
quiet “Sir” in greeting.

61
Stu Taylor, my 2IC, as Mac had now left 1 Troop on long leave, and Gary
O’Driscoll came across to me and we sat chatting idly about most things
and yet really nothing; 1100 hours came quickly, time to go.

“Saddle up and move out”, I called, as packs, webbing and rifles were
readied. I looked around, collected my F.N., had a quick look to ensure
the area was tidy and then led the troops out of the O.P., exhilarated to
be moving again on patrol with my men.

The joking and laughter died away and the alert animal tension again
filled us.

We reached our pick up point, went into a position of all round defense
and waited 30 minutes for the Bedford’s to arrive to pick us up. We
returned to 1 Commando Base, washed under water heated over huge
log fires, ate a huge fresh lunch, got thoroughly drunk that night,
collected fresh supplies, cleaned weapons and kit the next morning,
slept that afternoon, and that night we were back on the truck heading
for a fresh drop-off and a week of patrolling into the foothills of the
escarpment. We walked for a couple of hours that night and then based
up together for the rest of the night. The next morning Stu Taylor, Gary
O’Driscoll and I cleared queries about our respective areas, said
farewell as we broke again into groups of 5 and we began to work our
way through the beautiful unspoilt bush in search of suspected terrorist
bases/resting places. The bush in the Escarpment is thick, jungle thick,
the gradients sometimes required all fours with weapons and webbing
catching in the undergrowth, sweat causing excruciating chaffing and
mosquitoes biting mercilessly. I often wished that the powers that be,
give that country to the terrorists. It was rough and very, very beautiful,
in most parts probably unpioneered by human beings. We walked and

62
walked, day after day, ambushing the odd animal tracks night after
night. My legs were cut and septic in places from the savage rock and
bushes and we found nothing. After five days we began to quarter the
ground back again, heading for the last pick-up of the bush trip. Map
reading was done by instinct, because the ferrous qualities of the rocks
gave totally ludicrous compass readings.

After a week of that, we were back together again. Back to Base, a

shower, braai and a lot to drink and at 0600 the next morning back on
the road to Salisbury, and ten days again which naturally flew past.
The day before we were due to re-deploy, we received an intelligence
briefing from Major Lockley. That day also gave me the chance to meet
a certain Cpl. Colin “Hutch” Welch, who had been on 3 months leave.
He was my troop medic but in effect he was a great deal more.
A cultured highly intelligent person with an unequalled sense of humour
and wit. I took to him immediately and we had, in the space of 48 hours,
achieved a great deal of mutual respect and friendship that superseded
military rank structures.

63
64
Chapter 8

Madziwa contact and the capture of “Mabonzo”

We were again to be deployed into J.O.C. reserve and at 0400 the next
morning; we again left on the now familiar route North – Mazoe, Bindura
and finally Mount Darwin. We moved again into the same familiar
positions and began the same routine of standby and call outs. The
entire 4 week bush trip was hectic but without a single kill. 1 Troop
became restless, waiting and looking for action. I did not share the same
enthusiasm but secretly began to long for the blooding I knew had to
come. We were called out on 2 occasions to deal with attacks on farms
late at night which entailed trips at breakneck speed to lonely farms and
then arriving, only to find the terrorists had gone, like cowardly dogs,
into the night. Tracks were followed until they were lost due to locals
either eradicating them or driving cattle along the tracks obliterating all
hope of following them.

The bush trip also involved various helicopter uplifts to the scenes of
murders committed by terrorists on locals, simple tribesmen. The
murders were brutal in the extreme; hands tied behind his back, a
headman was shot at pointblank range from the back, through the head;
a teacher bayoneted and clubbed to a pulpy messy death; a middle aged
woman who had her lip cut off with a bayonet for supposedly talking to
the soldiers. These were the sights I saw in rapid succession and the
stench of death haunted me, day in and day out. The brutality filled me
with a compassionate hate and loathing for terrorists and all they stood
for, and I realized then that I would kill them, the same way one would
kill a rat, without too much inward conscience. I also became conscious

65
of an extreme hardening in my views of African nationalism and the
humanity of the African nationalists. In my mind, democracy along the
lines of the Westminster system was not viable and it did not surprise
me that dictatorships prevailed in Africa, as it was evident that only the
most brutal and the most inhumane achieved ascendency. Respect was
enforced, not earned.

Hutch and I spoke a great deal about Rhodesia, terrorists and life that
trip, and we found consensus on the matter of terrorism – we loathed it.
Up until the second last day of that bush trip i.e. 13th August,
1 Commando had not recorded a single kill. The last day, 14th August
dawned cold and clear, a beautiful winter morning. People were already
beginning to pack up the non-essentials in preparation for the journey
home and we were having a cup of coffee when the field telephone rang.
Major Lockley answered it “Roger, sir, copied” he said into the hand
piece, and then called me.

“Mike stand your troop by and get your stick commanders in here.”
The call went out and one troop, with inbred discipline, assembled
immediately. Hutch and Cpl. George High ran over to the ops room, and
Major Lockley briefed us.

“R.A.R. Op has sighted 16 terrorists here and has them under observation,
take your men to the helipad immediately and good luck, men.”

We noted down the details with a skepticism born of a frustrating bush

trip, and climbed into the helicopters. I into Mike Litson’s helicopter, Hutch
into Ray Houghton’s and George High into Dave Marais’s helicopter.
Graham Thorne was flying the “K car”; a helicopter mounted with a 20mm
cannon.

66
We lifted up and headed south into the Madziwa. By the time (about 15
minutes) we were overhead the area of the sighting, the R.A.R. could
give us no indication as to the whereabouts of the terrorists – “here we
go again” I thought to myself. Graham Thorne decided to drop us anyway
and we circled a suitable landing area and then began the descent.
My mind was certainly not entirely alert while I watched Ray Houghton
descending to my right.

We were about 10 feet off the ground and I was just preparing to get ready
to jump out when it happened. I saw a flash of brilliant orange come from
Ray’s helicopter and then immediately came a vicious, thunderous crash
that rocked Mike’s helicopter. Ray’s helicopter burst into flames and I saw
people running out of the flames. Mike gave full throttle and pulled the
helicopter up savagely. Just then I spotted 2 people break cover and run.
Mike’s technician spotted them too and he began to fire his M.A.G.
The tracer hummed around the sprinting black bodies and then the one
crumpled. He went down, followed shortly after by the other.

“My men, my men, are they okay?” I shouted at Mike. “Put me down now!”

“Fuck off” he shouted back.

67
“Put me down, for fuck’s sake” I pleaded.

“We’re going in now”, he called back and I froze with fear as we

approached the ground close to Ray’s burning helicopter. Mike held the
helicopter firm and steady even as the crescendo of rifle fire rattled
around our ears. I didn’t wait for him to tell me to deplane but jumped
from about ten feet out. My other men were also falling from the sky.
George too was leaving his helicopter behind us. The high pitched sound
of A.K. rounds and the heavier crash of F.N and M.A.G. filled the air. I ran
over to the still flaming helicopter and then I heard the shout

“Yena-lo ishe” – it was Hutch and I saw the other 3 of my men lying on
the ground, laying down heavy fire. A great spiritual peace grabbed me
and strength filled my body.

“Hutch, you fucking dog” I smiled at him.

“Sir, we are going to kill nasty terrs today” he replied.

Suddenly, inexplicably, everything came before me, in peace and

beautiful stillness, oblivious of the savage chatter of rifle fire. I felt all
eyes on me as my men suddenly looked for something, a lead, a word,
and a direction.

“Move out, 1 Troop, let’s go” I shouted and suddenly they awoke. They
needed no directions and we set off to where we had seen the 2 men go
down under the helicopter fire. We reached there in a minute, the one
was dead and the other had his leg shattered. I grabbed him and turned
him onto his back as Hutch put a heavy boot into his side. The terrorist,
later identified as Mabonzo, one of the most notorious of all terrorist
leaders, hit Hutch with his open hand, hatred burning in his fierce black
eyes. As he moved to hit Hutch, I just saw rifle barrels swing up and how
he did not collect a bullet I will never know. He lived, and I am sure that

68
the only reason he survived was due to the discipline and
professionalism of the R.L.I. soldiers. I called up Mike Litson, told him to
come and collect the terrorist, left Chris Vermaak and Mike Aves to
guard them and then headed back over the vlei to the area where
sustained fire was coming from. In extended line the men of the RLI
sprinted over the open vlei straight into the terrorist fire.

This was where I learnt, saw and shared the notorious R.L.I. assault and
the practical meaning of a determination to close and kill. The concept,
so easily taught in the lecture halls at the school of infantry in Gwelo,
took on a new and awesome meaning when witnessed in practice. The
men just ran in a disciplined line, staying with the slower M.A.G. gunners,
straight into the terrorist fire screaming obscenities at the terrorists.

“You’re gonna die, bastards” they chanted and then gave blood curdling
screams. At intervals they stood, fired 2 well aimed rounds into the thick
rocky ridge and then continued.

Graham called me to say that R.A.R. were approaching from the North
had come under fire and one man had died (Major Addams). Still we ran
into the thick heavy bush, linked up with the R.A.R. and began to sweep
west along the ridge. Heavy machine-gun fire tore bark off trees around
our heads and chipped rocks.

Ray Faarsen put a burst of fire into the thicket and as we assaulted
directly into the thicket, Hutch called me

“Sir, we’ve got one here.”

I ran over to him to see the terrorist lying on the ground, blood gushing
from a fatal head shot.

The fire from the R.P.D and AK 7, 62 intermediate weapons still rent the
air. We continued our advance through the thick, heavy undergrowth.

69
I could not see a single terrorist but fired into the thickets from whence
came the fire. Ray Faarsen and Terry Kotze, both M.A.G. gunners,
showered the bushes with heavy accurate raking fire. Progress became
slow and dangerous.

I split the group into 2, Hutch taking the one and me the other. For a
fearful minute, I began to feel that we had run out of impetus as we
slowed down to a mere crawl under heavy fire. It was then that Hutch
contacted me to say that he too was in contact. I called up Graham Thorn
on the radio.

“Hotel 7, this is 11, we are in contact, and I will indicate my position.

Terrs about 20 years due West”

“Okay, Mike, copied that, indicate position….. NOW!”

I threw out a phosphorous grenade which exploded in a burst of white

showers and smoke. Immediately I heard the thunder above and the
magnificent R.A.F. pouring bursts of 20mm high explosives into the ridge.

“Lift fire, Graham” I shouted as we began our assault. I recall hearing

Hutch shouting as he too began his assault to my North.

The deadly accurate fire had given us the chance to begin the assault
whilst the terrorists were disorganized; men scrambled up the rocky
ledges and the fire of terrorists’ weapons again filled my ears, but we
were moving again and just being with the fearless R.L.I. and R.A.R filled
me with an invincible strength. It was in that spirit, amongst the
shouting and fire that I saw the first terrorist, indeed person, killed at
close quarter. Ray Faarsen got him with a burst of machine gun fire that
crashed his body against a rock, prior to throwing him to the ground.
The world went wild as we located terrorists and fierce close quarter

70
(about 5 yards) fire fights ensued. Disciplined, well aimed shots from the
R.L.I. and R.A.R. soldiers against the then panicky terrorist fire. I blooded
myself with an instinctive double tap from the hip, as a terrorist rose to
my left in an attempt to break out. We were through the position with
1 terrorist dead and 4 wounded and captured.

All hell was breaking loose to my North as Hutch completed his assault.

“Sir, 1 dead, 1 captured” was all he said.

“Good going, Hutch, there’s more here” I said lamely, as if Hutch could
not hear the fire.

I posted a guard over the dead and captured and we loaded fresh
magazines and then began the sweep. I was tired. My body cried out in
exhaustion and my mind was super sensitive to every sound.

Hutch again came under fire, helicopters swooped overhead, and

Provosts droned in the clear blue sky. The radios were quiet as the fight
continued.

“Terr breaking north, indicate Northern troop point, this is Foxtrot 4”

“Marking North now” said Hutch as he threw out a phosphorus grenade,

before he began his assault again.

“Roger, seen, I’m going in East to West 100 yards North with Frantan and
Front Gun” the cool voice came over the radio. The engine pitch rose,
grew louder and then the rattle of the front gun rent the air followed by
the dull burst of Frantan, followed by the flash of orange flame and the
pall of black smoke.

“One burning there, Mike” the nonchalant voice came across.

“Good going, Steve, will get there just now”, I replied.

71
We swept on, the fire fight to our north dying slowly when suddenly we
came under heavy close range fire.

Instantly the dreaded cry came across from the North.

“Medic, medic”, Dup du Preez screamed. Housten-Brown, who was next

to me, began to run over. Housten-Brown, young and almost angelic in
appearance, was the one troop medic

“Take cover and rev that patch” I shouted, following Housten-Brown. My

men immediately dropped to ground as fire raked across their heads
and chipped rocks around Housten-Brown and me.

Housten-Brown dived down next to the still form of an R.A.R. private.

Dup lay beside him, holding his hand and firing single handedly into the
thicket. In that mad world, I felt myself touched and moved almost to
tears by the sight of a white hand gently holding a black sweaty hand
whilst firing cavalier fashion with his right hand. This was Rhodesia and
what it was all about. Housten-Brown threw off his medic pack, hauled
out a phial of morphine, tore open a packet containing a syringe, filled
it with morphine, injected into the arm, stuck a plaster onto Private
Davidson’s forehead and wrote on it the date and treatment while
I called to John Blythe-Wood. The red blood began to colour the
Rhodesian camouflage.

“This is 11, we are in contact, but I need a casevac, we have a badly

wounded soldier here”

“Okay, Mike, I think I have you visual, is there an open space North East
of you about 20 yards” John queried. I turned and realized that John did
indeed have me visual.

“Affirmative John”, I replied.

72
“Roger, I’m coming in now”

“John, we are in contact, there are fucking terrs here”

“So what?” he replied and for the millionth time that day, I thanked God
for the service of this air force, surely second to none. John landed,
threw out a stretcher and then climbed steeply and turned east. H.B.,
Dup and I ran back with the stretcher. The fire fight continued and an
enormous explosion nearly stopped my heart. The percussion battered
my ears leaving me almost totally deaf. We rolled Private Davidson onto
the stretcher as John began his descent again. We reached the clearing
as he landed and fed the stretcher into the helicopter with the help of
the technician. John, tight-lipped and tense, gave me the “thumbs up”
and lifted his helicopter up.

I heard John call up Graham in the k-car.

“Hotel 7, Yankee 7, I’m heading for Bindura with wounded soldier’’

“Roger, John: clear the area” Graham responded

As I returned another phosphorous grenade exploded and the terrorist

73
fire stopped momentarily. Suddenly blood-curdling screams emanated
from the bush as the phosphorus began to burn mercilessly into human
flesh. Sensing what had happened I shouted, “Let’s go” and bodies rose
from behind rocks and began the seemingly endless assault. The terrorists
had broken in panic and as they rose, they were gunned down. Fire still
poured out of the rocks but a heavy burst of fire soon quietened that.
The bush had been set on fire by the phosphorous and tracer rounds,
reducing visibility to almost nil. The heat from the fire was intense as we
assaulted through, the flames burnt the hairs on our legs. Soon the heat
became unbearable. A wounded terrorist was mercifully killed by a
double tap from H.B. before we were forced to leave the area.

I counted 3 bodies as I ran through the position, and as I reached the

windward side of the flames, I saw the incredible sight of big strong Tpr.
Du Preez running heavily, dragging a jolting, bumping body over the
rocks and out of the flames.

“Sir, I’ve got one bastard here who says he “sarrendas”.

Helicopters and Provosts flashed low overhead, rounds exploded as

flames devoured the bodies of those killed in the final assault. We had
assaulted the length of the ridge and were now at the outskirts of an
open field. My body was incredibly tired and I looked at my watch 1200
hours, We had been fighting for 2.5 hours. Apart from the exploding
rounds and the helicopters, there was nothing.

“Graham, Mike here, we have assaulted the ridge now. Did you see
anything breaking out?”

“Negative, Mike, give me a quick body count because the R.A.R. O.P
confirm that only 17 terrs were present.”

74
“Roger, Graham, out to you, all call signs 11, how many bodies have you
there” I called to the various guards I had placed over dead and
wounded terrorists.

“11 Alpha, 3 dead, 2 captured, out”

“11 Bravo, 1 dead, 1 wounded, out”

“11 Charlie, 1 dead, 4 wounded, out”

75
We had 3 dead, 1 captured. I radioed Graham

“Hotel 7, Sunray 11 speaks, total count 8 dead, 8 wounded and captured,

total of 16”

“Roger, Mike, that means 1 got away. Let’s start loading bodies onto
cyclone as we haven’t got much fuel left now. We will collect yours first,
then 11 Alpha, 11 Charlie and 11 Bravo.”

“Copied, Graham, all call signs 11 move your bodies to a suitable Lima
Zulu and await cyclone uplift, then sweep back to area where cyclone
went down, we are missing 1 terr so keep your eyes open.”

A helicopter loaded the 3 burnt bodies into the cargo net, placed the
trussed up terrorist on the floor and then headed North for Mount Darwin.
The same procedure was followed with the other call signs. We then
began to make our way back to the place where Ray Houghton’s helicopter
went down. There we were re-united with Hutch and as I went round
congratulating my men, I noticed Pete D’Acre and Graham Brown with
blood dried on their heads. Their stories told of the viciousness of the
fight. Brown had a bullet graze his scalp and Pete D’Acre had a piece of
shrapnel graze his forehead when the helicopter went down.

Suddenly I felt tired and my body began to shake involuntarily – probably

the effects of shock. I have never again felt the feelings that flowed
through me, feelings of fear, exhilaration, and above all, pride. Pride to be
associated with the “Incredible R.L.I.” The radio crackled and brought me
out of my daydream.

“11, this is 18, from Sunray 1, trucks are waiting to uplift you at Shackle
X-ray, Yankee, Yankee, Mike, Golf, Yankee.”

“11 copied” I replied, as I got Mike Aves to work it out for me on the map.

76
It required a walk of some 2,000 meters which we covered shortly. As I
finally sat down on the truck, I looked at my watch – 1400 hours.

The escorts aboard the trucks were exultant.

“Congratulations, Sir, you got Mabonzo”. It was 17 year old Tpr. Wilkinson.

“Thanks, Wilky”, I replied as the trucks moved out. I recall gazing back
over the now peaceful plain and into the rocky outcrop fading in the
distance. The death and viciousness made me shiver. I turned
sideways and watched the strained, tired, alert men holding rifles
ready and scanning the bush. No-one spoke, they just watched and
waited, probably for the tension to drain out.

About 40 minutes later we reached J.O.C. Mount Darwin and as we

turned into the camp, we were surrounded by smiling faces, back
slapping and laughter. I felt I had something to say to my men and told
them to fall in around my bivvy. They were now alive again, not boasting,
not dramatic, just their cheerful selves again.

“Wilkinson, a crate of Lion in my name, please”

The crate rolled up outside the bivvy as the men stood around.

“Guys, I just want to thank you and tell you that I learnt today what a
privilege it is to be in the R.L.I. and more so, to be in charge of all you
shits: thanks men.”

‘Ishe, here, down down for the ou’s of 1 troop” the irrepressible Hutch
handed me a beer. I downed it to the singing of my men and I felt great,
greater than I had any right to.

There followed a quick shower and as I emerged I was requested to

report to the Operations Rooms. I dressed quickly and walked into the
Operations Room to be greeted by Lieutenant Colonel David Parker, the

77
Sandhurst trained commanding officer of the Rhodesian Light Infantry
battalion. I went to attention and he approached with his huge hand
extended.

“Congratulations, Mike, please take me around to your men”.

We did the rounds as he greeted each one and finally he turned to me.

“Mike, the press is flying in tonight, please come across to J.O.C. with
Major Lockley. Well done again, we are proud of you and your men.”

He turned and walked off.

At 1900 hours Major Lockley and I walked over to J.O.C. in the chilling
night, holding my F.N. loosely as we trod the dusty road. As we walked
into the Operations Room, I became aware of numerous people, Graham
Thorne amongst them.

I went over to thank him for his wonderful assistance and while I was
chatting to him, Colonel Parker briefed us to refrain from any mention of
Ray’s helicopter going down. He then called the group to order and
Graham Thorne, a Special Branch Officer, Major Lockley and I, were
photographed and questioned by Rhodesian and South African press
men. It was then that I first became aware of the seedier side of
journalism as one of the journalists from the Cape Times, whose name
escaped me, tried to extract some privileged information when he had
managed to draw me away from the group.

Once that was over the Adjutant, Captain Armstrong and Passi, proceeded
to get me horribly drunk. When finally Passi and I left, we were thoroughly
intoxicated and as we were entering 1 Commando Base, in the early hours
of the morning, we were challenged by the guard.

“Halt, who goes there?”

78
“Fuck off”, Passi growled. There was a rustle of webbing as an F.N. was
brought into the aim position. It was then that we identified ourselves,
post haste!

1 Troop had been given the honour of leaving first and at 0400 hours,
after a mere 2 hours sleep, I was woken. I recall feeling like dying and
the cold jolting dusty early morning drive did nothing to help me. One
look at my men in the early morning light told me that my men were no
better. The drive back was sheer hell as we jolted and bumped back to
Bindura and then on to Salisbury.

The news of the contact had broken in Salisbury that morning, and as
we “rolled into town” we were greeted with hoots, thumbs-up and
cheers. Not one of us was particularly receptive to anything at that
stage.

The following morning the paper carried the story as headline news and
that same morning Major Lockley received a telex from the Ministry of
Defense, congratulating 1 Troop, which I read out to the men that
evening in the barrack room. My acceptance with 1 Troop was now
complete and the bonds uniting us were growing from strength to
strength. I was happy and I had grown to love and care for my men in a
manner that only a soldier could know.

That 10 day vac consisted of a particularly drunken period with my very

dear friend Passi and me performing antics more becoming of a circus,
than officers in the elite R.L.I.

That R&R was again another exercise in debauchery. One of the most
difficult things that I found during my time in the army were strange
contradictions that we were compelled to put our minds and bodies
through. For weeks we lived on huge surges of adrenalin invariably

79
facing death, and dealing in death on a minute by minute, hour by hour
or day by day basis, and then after a few hours in a Bedford we were
dumped back into a totally peaceful ordered civilian environment. More
than once, this absolute dichotomy played havoc with my brain and it
was little surprise to me that soldiers caused such chaos on their return
to the normality of civilian life.

EXTRACTS FROM THE FRONT PAGE OF THE “RHODESIA HERALD”

DATED FRIDAY AUGUST 16th, 1974

“CLASSIC EXAMPLE OF CO-OPERATION“

SOLDIERS TELL OF BORDER TRIUMPH

Red-eyed and weary, but flushed with victory, members of the security
forces were still celebrating yesterday after Wednesday’s contact which
left eight “hard core” terrorists dead.

The dust had barely settled after the battle “somewhere between Bindu-
ra and Mount Darwin”, when a group of journalists was flown in by the
Rhodesian Air Force.

For the first time, and in line with new Government policy, reporters were
able to get actual accounts of the battle from the soldiers involved.

The chain of events leading to the killing of the terrorists started early
Wednesday morning when a group of terrorists were reported to the
operation command centre.

80
Within 20 minutes, helicopters, each carrying a “stick” of crack
anti-terrorist veterans, were on their way.

A flight-lieutenant piloting one of the helicopters described how he cir-

cled the area in which the terrorists were sighted, but they had apparent-
ly gone to ground.

“I decided then to drop the R.L.I. chaps and as we came in, terrorists hid-
ing in the surrounding rugged country opened up on us”, the flight lieu-
tenant said.

“The way those R.L.I. chaps took off after those terrorists without
worrying about their own safety would do any army in the world proud”
he said.

With the troops in hot pursuit of the terrorists, who had scattered in the
face of fierce retaliatory fire, the flight-lieutenant and the pilots of the
other helicopters turned to informing the troops where the pockets of the
enemy were hidden.

“A lot of the success must be due to the excellent co-operation between

the pilots and the men on the ground”, the flight-lieutenants said.

A lieutenant who was controlling the battle on the ground described how
effectively the black and white troops worked together during the ensu-
ing one and a half hours.

“The action moved back and forwards over an area of one kilometer
square”, the lieutenant said.

“During this time the men were mingling together and helping support
each other in every conceivable way”, he said.

“It was a classic example of co-operation between the fighting forces on

the ground and those in the air.”

81
The battle continued to rage with the terrorists, after engaging in a
stand-up fight at first, becoming more intent on escape.

The attempts of some were thwarted, however, with the arrival of the
fixed wing aircraft called in to bomb and strafe the enemy position.

In the confusion of battle it was impossible to gauge the success of the ‘hit’.

But when the dust had settled eight terrorists were dead.

The one security force death was that of Major Ernest C Addams who was
hit by rifle fire.

Yesterday morning the visiting group of journalists was shown the bodies
of the dead terrorists.

At the time of their deaths they had been wearing a variety of clothing,
some civilian and some military.

The label on one combat jacket taken off a member of the group showed
that it had been made in China.

A Special Branch Officer said at a briefing the terrorists were armed with
R.P.G. rocket launchers, R.P.D. machine-guns and A.K. automatic rifles.

“They put up a good fight” the Special Branch Officer said, “but if we meet
these chaps face to face as we did in this instance, we will beat them ev-
ery time.”

Iana adds that the authorities plan to show the bodies of the terrorists to
tribal leaders to demonstrate security force successes against men who
have terrorized local people laid land-mines on roads and occasionally
engaged security forces.

82
83
84
SIX TERROR KILLINGS

Terrorists have killed six Africans in the north-east of Rhodesia during

the past few weeks, a Government spokesman confirmed yesterday.

The spokesman said several African-owned vehicles and an R.M.S. truck

have also been damaged by landmines and the occupants injured.

In one incident two African teachers were killed when the vehicle in which
they were traveling struck a landmine. Two of the six children traveling
with them were seriously injured.

In another landmine incident, said the spokesman, the African driver of a

Government truck was killed.

Two African farmers were murdered by terrorists and their livestock and
property were destroyed. The terrorists also stole a large sum of money.

The spokesman said two of the six terrorists killed by security forces
earlier this week had murdered and African man with an axe the previous
day. Other crimes have also been attributed to this gang.

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86
Chapter 9

Rusambo Mission and carnage in Mozambique

The next bush trip found us located away in the north east of the country
and we were based around the Rusambo mission. The bush trip consisted
of long arduous patrols in a very physically hostile environment that
I found particularly draining. It was during this time that I saw for myself,
the joke that was the SAP (South African police). They had been sent to
Rhodesia to support the Rhodesian forces in the fight against terrorism.
The facts were that the (South) African National Congress, through its
military wing Umkonto we Sizwe, were hand in glove with the Zanla and
Zipra forces and were using Rhodesia as a conduit into South Africa.
These South African police teams were beyond a joke. We marveled at the
modernity and quality of their equipment, but when it came down to their
discipline and professionalism, the comparison abruptly ended. I recall
watching SAP vehicle convoys pass us. On board the M series Bedford the
police were lounging around and one was swigging straight out of what
looked like a bottle of brandy. I saw no weapon being manned, and if one
compared that to the RLI convoys that bristled with weapons and soldiers
intently scanning the bush with finger on the trigger guards, the
comparison was startling.

For the record it must be noted that Paul, my brother, was also in the army
with a National Service unit, and he too was stationed at Rusambo, but I
was never able to meet him. I learnt on the radio from base that he had
been slightly injured in a landmine blast, and was sickened. I longed to
meet him again as I had not seen him in excess of 2 years. 1 Commando
killed 3 only that bush trip. I had nothing to do with it. Sgt. Eddie Edwards

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got them in the early hours of the morning. It was a frustrating bush trip
filled with many miles of patrolling and nothing to show. That is until an
external operation suddenly materialised.

The supposed right to hot pursuit is a very contentious point, but I was
involved in two attacks on terrorist bases in Mozambique, together with
Passi and Pete Hean. These were attacks on established terrorist camps
and were always very, very fierce fights. In assaulting camps of 300 plus
terrorists, dug in and with heavy machine guns, 12.5mm machine guns
and 122mm rockets, it can be imagined just what was involved.

With Rhodesia’s spectacular attacks into Mozambique and Zambia,

being openly reported by Lt. Gen. Peter Walls, it is possibly in order for
me to describe in wide terms the one large attack I was part of.

After the fall of Mozambique, following a coup in Portugal in April 1974,

Samora Machel met Lt.Col. David Parker at Mukumbura at Machel’s
request. (He wanted to speak to the leader of the “white ghosts in shorts”).
He stated that, if the R.L.I. left Frelimo alone, then Frelimo would not
engage Rhodesian soldiers. All well and good. Not long after this, reports
came through of a large camp being established on the Calaque
River. S.A.S. men were individually parachuted into Mozambique,
sometimes right near the Tanzanian border and they identified terrorist
routes, camps, etc. These S.A.S. men went in knowing that if they were in
trouble there would be no assistance. Their work, particularly that of
Lieut. Chris Schulenberg S.C.R., was an inspiration and a testimony to
the ultimate heights of mental and physical courage, as they spent
months plotting terrorist routes and camps, deep inside hostile territory.

Through their magnificent work the camp, which was nicknamed “Little
Moscow”, was located and set up for the attack. At about 0600 on 24th

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 Cpt. Chris Schulenburg

September 1974, while we were at Rusambo, all call signs received

orders to regroup immediately. The H.Q. troops broke camp and as we
were picked up, we headed straight for Mount Darwin where we were
briefed at about 1000 by Lt.Col. Dave Parker. The briefing was thorough,
precise and immaculate. “Little Moscow “covered some 6 sq. kms, was
well defended with trenches etc and had weapons such as 122mm
rockets, 12.5mm heavy machine-guns and numerous 82mm mortars.
The camp was estimated to house about 600 people, of whom 500 were
terrorists, the rest being the camp followers and their children. Early
morning parade was held daily at 0600 and the strike was to take place
at 0545 on 26th September 1974. The strike was to be done by 4
Hunters and “A” Troop S.A.S. was to be parachuted into Northern stop
grounds with 1 Commando being placed in a semi-circle, East to South
to West. We would drive north and S.A.S. would take out any terrs

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breaking north. The plans were that we would be flown to Mukumbura
that evening; spend the night and the next day there. The following night
we would be dropped off along the border and then we would walk in to
be in position by 0545.

We were given the rest of the day off which was spent firstly cleaning
weapons, checking kit, and then writing letters. Everyone wrote letters
and I too wrote. The feeling I can’t explain, a feeling that you just have to
write to someone, a morbid feeling really because one wrote of love, of
hope and of the future, not war. I checked my maps time and time again;
I worked out compass bearings time and time again. I walked miles
around Mount Darwin, I drank endless Cokes. I was scared. I had been in
one attack into Mozambique – that was real war, it was savage, and this
would be worse.

3 R.A.F. Dakotas arrived at about 1600 and just before 1700 1 Troop
lifted off for Mukumbura. We landed and the Commando regrouped.
That night we had a meal of huge T-bone steaks, flown from Salisbury
with the Dakotas. We had a couple of beers each and I spent the rest of
the night with my men, not talking much, just saying the odd thing as we
lay beneath the stars, drawing strength from each other. The men were
tense and scared. None of us slept that night. The next day we prepared.
We checked kit for the hundredth time, placed toilet paper around metal
items to stop them making a noise and then we waited. My stomach was
tight and I felt ill. At 1600 hours Major Lockley called the Commando
together and he wished us all good luck. One Troop was on the far
eastern side, the Three Troop, Five Troop, Two Troop and finally, Four
Troop on the West. The result being that we had to leave first as we had
the furthest distance to cover to reach our drop off point. One and Three

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Troops left together in 2 Bedford’s. Just as I was about to climb aboard,
I felt a strong hand on my shoulder. I turned to see Passi standing there.
He held out his hand and I recall his words,

“Go well, old friend.” I shook his hand. I could not talk and I climbed
aboard.

We reached our drop off at 1730, I checked in with the relay and then we
melted into the bush to wait for 1900 hours and the march in. After
taking readings and more readings with my compass and plotting them
on the map, I ordered the men to have a brew. We brewed, filled up
water bottles and then waited on the banks of the Mukumbura. As dusk
fell and the stars came out slowly, the sky darkened and so did my mood.
At precisely 1900 the radio crackled.

“All call signs one, this is 18, message from Sunray, ready to copy over.”

“11 go”, I replied. 12, 13, 14 and 15 replied after me. All the voices were
tense and quiet.

“Roger from one, now is Hotel hour, move out and good luck, out.”

I looked at the luminous hand of my compass, selected a star to march

on, looked at the eerie shape of the Escarpment, whistled quietly to my
men, crossed the Mukumbura and entered Mozambique on a mission of
death and destruction. My final image being of the Coq dÓr in Salisbury,
full of happy people, then to my relief my mind went ice cold and I knew
I was ready.

We marched through the night, we cut our legs open on Jesse, and we
fell down invisible holes. I marched 15 minutes on each star so as not to
lose the correct bearing. We looked good on the compass and were
moving well and quietly. By 0400 I estimated that we were close to our

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objective and I signaled to Hutch and Gary O’Driscoll to move out 2,000
meters East and West respectively of my position. I shook hands, bade
them farewell and they moved off quietly. Only then did I settle down with
my men. My legs were caked with blood from dozens of cuts; my feet
were sore and my body tired beyond speech. We dared not smoke, we
dared not speak, we dared not have a brew, and we just sat and waited.

At 0500 I turned on my radio and called quietly to Hutch and Gary. They
confirmed they were in position. I ordered them to move forward the
final 1,000 meters that I hoped would place us in position, about 2,000
meters South east of the camp. As we began to move our aching bodies
out in the brightening light, I smelt smoke. My men had smelt it too –
a faint smell of smoke.

Not a sound, just the smell of smoke. Dawn began to break and we found
ourselves in thick Jesse bush; a track, huge and well worn about the
size of a road, ran East/West in front of us. Not a bird sounded; the trees
were shredded, probably for firewood. Mike Aves and I covered the men
as they ran across the road and took cover. Once across, we followed,
wiping our tracks with a branch each. I could now make out the odd low
hill feature, with a large conical hill about 5,000 meters east. On looking
at my map I realized we were about 2,000 meters too far West and
immediately ordered Hutch and Gary to move East as fast as possible,
without attracting attention. My call sign swung East at a fast trot. It was
about 0510. I knew the camp was close because we were crossing
numerous tracks and the bush was sparse from hundreds of feet
treading it into a dust. I did not bother with erasing tracks now. To my
North West I could now hear dogs bark, the odd clatter of tin came
across to us, but nothing to indicate the presence of 600 people. More

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and more noise was now coming from the camp, we were moving fast
now, the men were alert and nervous, eyes plying the bush, fingers
lightly on triggers, we were breathing heavily and my chest constricted
with nervousness. My radio was crackling as messages shot back and
forth to Col. Parker, in an aircraft above.

“11 loc stat”, he ordered.

“About 500 South, 700 West of designated point” I replied.

“That’s fine, go to ground, out to you, one two loc stat…..”

We went to ground and waited. It was exactly 0530. The S.A.S. Dakotas
would be about over Mount Darwin now, the four Hunters probably
around Bindura. Loc stats finished and I heard the slow drone of aircraft.
I then prayed something I had never done before. I prayed for my men
and myself. By now I was just about out of my mind.

The drone grew louder as the Hunter leader came over the air, talking to
Col. Parker.

“This is Red Leader, we are at 30,000 feet over your loc this time, will be
moving in to attack position in figures five. Confirm everything OK.”

“Ready” Col. Parker replied.

The Dakotas shot overhead and the mushrooms of parachutes billowed

out behind them, almost directly above us. Still not a sound and then to
the West the first crackle of rifle fire. At this second the radio crackled.

“All call signs, this is Red Leader, we’re coming in now”, a pause, “######”,
there’s hundreds down there”.

First the vicious crackle as the rockets left their pods, then the thunder-
ous roar as one magnificent Hunter pulled up and shot skywards,
followed seconds later by another and another and yet another.

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The ground shook. The S.A.S. were down, the noise rose as the battle
began. Fires were beginning and the dust was thick in the sky.

The order came through “All call signs one assault now.”

We got up; into extended line and began running North, the Hunters
circled above, like guardian angels. Fire fights were erupting now as we
went through a river. A crowd of women were running around scream-
ing in terror, we left them. Hutch collected four terrs who were breaking
east. Suddenly a large group of about 20 came running towards us like

94
cattle. Too late they saw us as we went to ground and laid down a
savage withering fire that tore into them and cut them down. They broke
in terror and we collected a few more. No time to stop as we vaulted
over a mass of bodies strewn where they had fallen. Suddenly, just north
of us, mortars began landing. Heavy mortars. I didn’t have to radio
through because a Hunter had picked up the base plate and was already
striking. Mercifully the whistle and thunderous crunch of mortars
stopped. It seemed the whole world had come apart as we ran North
through the wooded countryside. All around us the heavy chatter of
machine guns, rifles and rockets, the scream of Hunters and the
thunderous crash of their strikes.

The radios were quiet as troops assaulted. Passi had had to move a
trooper back to the predetermined Medical Aid Post but so far no
fatalities. The helicopters were now in the area. We were running and
collecting groups of terrorists, sometimes singly, sometimes in bands.
Then we heard it, the fearsome, terrifying scream and the incredible
crash of the 122mm rockets. The explosion literally shook the ground.
The rockets were directed into the camp to our North West. Messages
flew up to the Hunters as more rockets crashed down. By now the entire
area was thick in dust and smoke and the Hunters could not locate the
launch site of the rockets. Fortunately, the S.A.S. Northern line had
picked out a spot about 2km north of them and they had set off to get it.

By this time we were at the edge of the camp and could make out the
rows of huts. Long, thatched rooms without sides. I almost fell into the
trenches and Mike Aves saved my life as he gunned down a terrorist
almost directly under me. There was fire all around and we simply shot
what we saw. Phosphorus grenades exploded in the trenches and
fragmentation grenades caved in the walls as they too spread havoc

95
along the trenches. As terrorists climbed out, they were gunned down.
The action for us was hotting up now. Terrorists began to come into view
from the West, through the dust. We went to ground and at about 20
yards opened up, killing all 6 immediately. The entire area was opening
up now and the earth was clean and baked, there was no cover. Rounds
traveled around us, the rockets still crashed into the camp North of us.

We came under fire from behind a tall grain silo. A 42 Zulu rocketed into
the silo and tore a large hole in it. The terrorists still held their ground.
We killed one as he came around the side with a loaded R.P.G. 7. Another
Zulu and the terrorists broke, firing AK47’s over their shoulders; they
went down under accurate double-taps from my call sign. By now
our bodies were aching, crying in agony for rest, but we drove on.
It transpired that most terrorists had fled North and the S.A.S. were
having a hell of a job containing them and also saving themselves from
being trampled to death. So the Hunters were coming in with cannons,
flying out in the sun in the East, parallel to the S.A.S. line, but about 200
yards South. This momentarily stopped the terrorists and turned them
south, back towards us.

We went to ground and for about 20 minutes had one of the fiercest fire
fights I had ever experienced, because the terrorists now knew they
were trapped. How many we killed it was impossible to say but I know
that I put down 8. Our ammunition was getting low now; of the 8
magazines I carried, I was down to 2. I got Paul van As to withdraw and
we threw back to him empty magazines each and our bandoliers of 150
rounds. He began to pump the rounds into the magazines. My rifle
barrel was scorching hot and I had already had 2 stoppages so I now
turned the gas setting to 1. This of course caused the rifle to kick like a
mule and my already aching shoulder was now really taking a

96
hammering. All around me was the sound of ferocious gun-fire – it was
getting hot and my ears were ,buzzing from the rifle fire. By now the
122mm rockets had stopped as 2 S.A.S. men wiped out the terrorist
position. “Little Moscow” was burning, and the terrorists were getting
one hell of a thumping.

By the time Paul van As had refilled the magazines, the terrorists had
broken east – we did not follow them because I knew that Hutch would
get them. All I did was warn him on the radio and then we started the
assault again, through the huts that obviously served as barrack rooms,
huts crammed with kit bags, cooking pots, abandoned rifles, radio and
the odd bicycle. “Dup” du Preez on the M.A.G. took out a terrorist sniper
up a tree but the action for us was slowing.

To the North and near West fierce gunfights were still in progress and
suddenly to the East the heavy bark of the F.N.’s and the M.A.G.’s came
into action. Hutch had located the group that broke away from us. Pete
Hean was moving into the centre of the camp to my West and he was
having a real fight in a series of door to door battles through the H.Q.
buildings. Sgt. Eddie had located an underground hospital and he was
mopping up around it. Passi and Dave had had a very quiet run in. We
were getting close to the S.A.S. so I reported this to Col. Parker and went
to ground on his instructions. As we lay there, tired, sweating and super
alert, I began to shake. I pressed my body hard into the ground, but still
I shook. I looked at my men, tired, alert and no one spoke. The strain on
their faces was incredible.

“Re-load magazines by alternate people”, I ordered.

Immediately, almost mechanically, they obeyed. The radio was crackling

with voices now, all reporting successful operations, all reporting a lack
of enemy presence. Sporadic gun fire still broke out East to West.
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I was ordered to regroup with call signs 15 at the hospital whilst the
other call signs were to move into the centre of the camp. Our move
entailed covering a distance of about 3,000 meters. I decided to move
South and then West so as not to walk into my other call sign under Gary
O’Driscoll. There were still sporadic fire fights going on over the whole
area. I radioed Sgt. Eddie to tell him we were approaching him from the
East, when we were about 1,000 meters out. While I was on the radio we
came under heavy fire from the South. By now I cared not if I died, I was
so tired and so strung up that it would have been a relief; however, my
training brought reaction instinctively. I swung round to find my men
already running into extended line. Rounds were crashing into the
ground, tearing down branches off the trees and cracking overhead.

I identified a thicket on an anthill and Dup gave it a burst with the M.A.G.
The fire stopped momentarily. That was the position and we began our
running assault, firing into the thicket. The fire was lessening now and
when we were about 20 yards off a terrorist broke cover and died. A final
heavy burst from Dup and we were into the anthill. Two terrorists lay
dead; one slumped over this R.P.D. and the other with his AK47 next to
him. A slight rustle and four R.L.I .F.N.’s went into action immediately
with the hip fired double tap. There was a crash in the bushes and
I pushed through the growth until I found a black body lying face down
with a stick grenade clutched in his hand. We cleared the anthill and
I recall thinking to myself that I just didn’t care anymore about life.
So much death and such danger over the past five hours. I had lost all
fear and I had no interest in life, it had been seen to be so cheap and
I really didn’t value mine at all. But I valued my men’s lives and I just
hoped that it would be me to go if anyone had to. Before we left Rhodesia,
I had appointed Mike Aves to take over my stick in the event of me being
taken out.
98
We were moving again, heading for the hospital, super alert, fighting off
tiredness brought on by nervous strain. We reached the hospital shortly
and I was absolutely amazed. Nothing could be seen from the ground
level – it looked just like the rest of the camp, except for the well
worn path down into the entrance. Logs supported the structure.
The passages were about 6’wide and about 5’high. The passage led
straight into the theatre, a room about 10’ by 12’. This room opened up
right to ground level. Huge logs had been placed over the top and ground
compacted over it and then grass planted. A large surgical light,
powered by a petrol driven Honda generator looked down on a wooden
table. Another room of equal size housed half a dozen stretchers and
yet another room housed the generator. The operating theatre was full
of East German, WHO, United Kingdom and Christian Organisation
medical equipment and drugs.

We took the medical supplies and Honda generator outside and then
waited for Police Special Branch to photograph the entire area. The
Engineers then moved in and after a series of tremendous explosions,
the hospital became a hole in the ground.

There were still the odd sounds of fighting to the North and some huge
explosions as the Engineers began blowing grain silos, and the H.Q.
buildings. Helicopters moved overhead and the “K” car blasted odd
pockets of terrorists; the fight was over now – we were alive. I dared not
relax nor could I let the men relax, for a counter attack once one had lost
concentration could be disastrous. I hustled the men, mine and Sgt.
Eddie’s into all-round defense and then, in their two’s, the one man
made tea whilst the other kept look-out. The rigid, fierce tension
remained, the radio crackled terse messages, and the explosions still

99
came from the North. Special Branch Police teams were moving through
the debris collecting important documents and looking for records of
terrorist strengths, movements, etc. They photographed the bodies lying
around the devastated area, the odd woman and child lay dead, killed in
the initial strike or perhaps as they broke cover in the confusion of the
assault. The hyper alert and instinctive reactions of highly keyed up
soldiers could not differentiate between male and female in the split
second when cover is broken and the trigger pulled. No doubt to the
world press it is the easiest thing in the world, but to us soldiers it is
impossible, particularly when one may even shoot at unseen targets
in a thicket. Women and their children in a camp must take the
consequences. They were never deliberately shot but some did die.

At about 1230 the 2 Hunters who had come into the area to take over
from the other 4 Hunters that had returned to base, received instructions
to clear the area and in spectacular fashion they came in low over the
camp, performed a victory roll and then rocketed skywards and headed
for Salisbury.

We held the perimeter of the camp as the police worked through the
camp. By about 1500 hours their work was finished and we were all
instructed to regroup with our call signs in the Eastern-most location.
I had a distance of some 4,000 meters to go and began moving
immediately with my men. All along the route back, the way was littered
with bodies, clustered together in death or singly in attempted escape
until death caught them. Flies buzzed around gaping wounds, the bodies
began to bloat in the heat, and vacant eyes stared at us from almost
every clump of trees. The smell of dust and death was heavy. We picked
up Gary O’Driscoll and then kept moving east. Gary’s men, like mine,
were wide-eyed and quiet, not a word had been spoken. We crossed the

100
point where we had killed the group of six. They lay there in death with
only flies and yellow billed kites to mourn them. It was like walking
through some terrible nightmare – the deathly quiet, with the grisly
sight of dead bodies in their grotesque forms of death. I felt myself
thinking that I would go insane, but then we were with Hutch and who
can go insane with a man like that around?

As we approached him, Hutch burst into song and the rest of the men
joined him. The song they sang, “We are the men who wear the Green
Beret”- the R.L.I. marching song. I joined in the song but had to stop as
I began choking on the words – tension, relief and pride.

“I’ve got some tea here, Ishe” Hutch held my shoulder.

“Thanks, Hutch” I replied. First I went to every one of my men,

congratulated them, shared the odd joke with them, and shared a
cigarette with them. They were exhausted and the strain on their faces

101
was indescribable. A mess tin banging against a rock brought
lightening reactions, the tension surges up and then drains away until the
next time and then the incredible alertness again. I think that at that time,
I must have been as close to a nervous explosion as I had ever been.

Finally I sat down with Hutch – we did not talk, we just drank tea and
puffed on a sweaty, soggy cigarette – my rifle lay with its butt between
my legs and the barrel over my shoulder. Hutch sat next to me against
a tree.

The men around us merged into the undergrowth in a large semi circle.
We were waiting for further orders. We were told to stand-by for an all
stations call at 1700. At 1700 I anticipated that we would be told to await
cyclone uplift to return to Rhodesia. The hour dawned and the message
came.

“All call signs 1 this is 18, message from 1. You are to move into ambush
tonight on all major tracks leading into and out of the camp. You are to
send loc stats of proposed ambush sites soonest. You are to check in
every hour on the half hour. Sunray sends congratulations on good job.
Did you copy?”

“11 copied” I said mechanically. Surely they weren’t going to leave us in

the death and destruction of this place for any longer. Instinctively
I looked at the Escarpment in Rhodesia and swore to myself.

I plotted 2 ambush positions, one Hutch and one myself, and located
them in such a way.that we might be able to help each other if needed.

We sat down to a meal and I sent a water party to refill all our water
bottles. The camp was deathly quiet now as the helicopters had left with
the police and the engineers. The Hunters were home and the Dakotas

102
were at Mount Darwin. It was terrible to hear the bark and yap of wild
dogs – a smell of death, burning and dust hung heavy over us, little
surprise that we had hardly eaten.

My body was incredibly tired and tense, my eyes burnt, my shoulder was
sore and my legs ached. The wide-eyed, strained faces of my men made
me sad but there was nothing that I could do, save whispering words of
encouragement. They did not want to talk, nor did I.

Just prior to last light I cleaned my rifle, checked it, oiled it, checked my
ammunition, went through the drill with Hutch for moving into ambush
and then waited for dark. Hutch and I split up and by 1900 I was in
ambush. Hutch phoned through to advise that he was also. It was a hot
cloudless night, quiet save for the insane bickering of the wild dogs as
they tore away at human flesh. None of us slept that night. At about
2100 I heard ambushes being sprung to our West, the sky lit up with
flares, suddenly we heard movement along our path and a group of 5
men walked into the killing ground. Four of them died, one got away.
I recall wondering why it was that all the ambushes were sprung within
an hour of each other, and then nothing more. I suddenly went cold when
I realized what had happened. The terrs had regrouped during the night
and had tried to move back to into the camp along various routes. Those
that had not been killed now knew where the ambush points were.

I called up Hutch to tell him of my thoughts. He agreed with me, and

added a dangerous new dimension to the situation by advising that one
of the men they had killed in an ambush was in a Frelimo uniform. Had
Frelimo sent in re-enforcements’?

I passed this information through to Commando Base. It was about

2300. Before the Commando Base could radio back instructions I heard

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the sharp crack, the high pitched whistle and the heavy explosion.
The 82mm mortars were getting into action, and I had been right;
because now about 5 tubes were laying down erratic but accurate fire
across our front, but about 100-200 yards north of us. The odd shell
came in very close and we could hear the shrapnel tearing through the
trees as the mortar “sky burst” as it detonated on the upper branches of
a tree. At the height of the bombardment there were about 8 tubes
laying down fire, the noise was indescribable and incredibly fearsome.
We just lay there and waited for the split second when one would hear
the detonation in the trees above us, before we were shredded by
shrapnel – we waited a long time as the fire continued sporadically for
4 hours. By 0330 the firing had stopped, probably to give the terrs time
to move out before first light and our counter-attack.

That was a night I never want to relive again. Not one of us slept a wink
and I blessed dawn; as it began to break slowly, I called Hutch in to join
me and when he arrived we had a brew and awaited instructions from
base. We were tired and under immense strain due to tension. Hutch
and I tried to keep the men’s spirits high but, like us, they were not
receptive at that time to a relaxation of pressure. The mortar fire had
come from the hill feature about 1,000 meters North, North East of my
ambush position and as a result I was instructed to sweep the area.

I briefed my men and their look echoed my feelings “Why us, for ######
sake?” We saddled up and at about 0700 were on the move, in extended
line, sweeping towards the hill feature that was clearly visible. We
reached the foot of it without problem and as we were moving up it, the
fun began. The terrorists knowing that we would come left a few men
behind in an ambush position. They were armed with 2 R.P.D.’s and half
a dozen AK47’s and were situated along a rocky ridge about 20 yards

104
above us. We were in a mess now and my right flank had been pinned
down in open ground. I could not see where the fire was coming from,
but guessed it was the ridge. We laid down heavy fire across the ridge.
Hutch was able to move the right flank back into the tree-line. I could
see that an assault was out of the question. Meanwhile the R.P.D.’s were
raking the bush around us and showering us with rock and bark. I called
up the S.A.S callsign who was to the north of us, where they had spent
the night in ambush. I got hold of Sgt. “Red” Wilson and explained my
position to him. He said that he’d heard the firing and was already
moving. I briefed him on the situation and he said that “we’ll be coming
round the mountain when we come”. He was crazy this one, like most of
the S.A.S. soldiers. He would be approaching from the West, and, as.
I was th least pinned down, I decided to move back and then round to the
East to cut off any that broke out when the S.A.S. assaulted.

Under some heavy fire, I, Paul van As, Mike Aves and “Dup” du Preez
extricated ourselves and then sprinted around to the Eastern side of the
ridgeline. We got there just in time to hear the S.A.S. getting stuck in.
They had caught this group with their pants down and the terrorists had
been routed. I caught sight of one terrorist coming down the hill, his
R.P.D. still had its bipod open and down. They caught on a bush and as
he stopped to disentangle himself, I fired. He collapsed into the bush on
top of his machine-gun. Red Wilson had taken care of 5, which meant
that at least 2 had escaped – we did not worry about them. I made my
way to the ridgeline and there, to my astonishment, I found that 4 of
those killed were in Frelimo battle dress. Red was sitting on a rock,
smoking a cigarette.

“Slotted these zoots, boss”, he said to me. I grinned,

“Sure did, thanks, Sgt. Red”

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The ambush site was a prime one and we were lucky that we had not
lost a man. Hutch had joined me and together we located the position
where the base-plates had been – in all, 10 different base-plates. We
also located 5 unprimed mortar bombs. The site had been well cleared
and concealed and had obviously been part of the camp defenses. Hutch
located the tracks of about 40, but we did not go after them, they would
be well away by now. I radioed a report back to base and was told to
wait. We sat down and I looked out over the vast expanse of the camp –
the trees in the centre in splinters from the Hunters’ strike 24 hours ago
– the HQ buildings were blackened and crumpled through the Engineers
‘efforts. Here and there lay the odd body of dead terrorists. It was
already getting hot now, and the flies buzzed around us. The smell of
blood was sickening, but we were used to it. We had slept, eaten, drunk
and walked with it for 26 hours now. It was beautiful up there with the
vast expanse of shrub-land below and the huge Rhodesian Escarpment
to the South. For the first time I began to relax, and my body began to
shake gently. I suddenly felt incredibly tired.

“18, this is 11, what are we waiting for?” I asked.

“11 this is 18 there is an all call sign message from ‘Sunray” the relay
station replied.

Sure enough the message came. We were instructed to wait for S.A.S. to
move South and then to burn the camp down – once this was completed
we were to make our way back to Rhodesia, to be picked up at our drop
off points. Of all the luck, I was instructed to stay on the hill and keep an
eye on the surrounding area. The relief of going back pumped fresh blood
through our bodies, and I felt good again. The men began to talk and joke
again and lightness now replaced the tension-charged alertness.

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We watched the S.A.S. moving through the camp to meet up with the
R.L.I. and then the pall of grey smoke, followed by another and another,
then one could see the flames and finally a 6km front of flames ate
slowly at the camp – rounds, mortars and rockets exploded in the blaze.
I told the men to prepare to move out and then went into the bushes to
commune with nature. When I got back Mike Aves had a message for me
from Passi.

“Sir, Mr. Passi says, confirm you and he are going to have a few drinks
tonight “, was I – hell. After congratulating my men, I moved out and
headed back to the Escarpment – not once did I look back. The past
30 hours were hours that I never wanted to repeat – never wanted to
remember, but knew that I would never forget them.

J.O.C. Mount Darwin supplied a spotter plane as top cover to ensure that
we weren’t caught unaware in our retreat.

At 1700 we crossed the Mukumbura River, back in Rhodesia.

The trucks were already there and we jumped up and headed back to
Mukumbura – the men were happy and I felt so good. That night, apart
from those posted to guard duties, One Commando along with the S.A.S.,
got horribly drunk, a mere 200 yards from the Mozambique border.

Early the next morning, an entire Commando hung over, headed back
for Rusambo to complete the bush trip and then finally, after 5 weeks,
return to Salisbury again for another 12 days

R&R which, like all those before, came and went in haze of drink and
parties followed by shooting drill on the Cleveland rifle range, abseiling
courses and other military preparation. Before long it was time to again
turn our attention back to the north eastern bush of Rhodesia. I recall
the day because it was the day before my birthday. We pulled out of

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Salisbury in the early hours of a warm October morning headed for fire
force duty in Mount Darwin

Having just missed my brother on the previous bush trip to Rusambo, it

was with great joy that I learnt, while we were on our J.O.C. Reserve
(Fire Forces) standby that his unit was in town, on their way back to
Bulawayo. I was on I.S. but that did not deter me and along with Cpl. Stu
Taylor and a radio, I went down to the Mount Darwin Club. It was full of
soldiers, none of whom I recognized, so I realized that this must be
Paul’s unit. I ordered a drink and then began to look for Paul – suddenly
I caught sight of him, bigger and stronger than I was – my excitement
and feeling of joy after the past years was indescribable. I walked up
behind him and punched him on the back – he half choked on the beer
he was drinking and he spun round.

After a minute’s hesitation he recognized me and from then on it turned

into a nightmarish night. Paul, Stu and I got very drunk and then I took
Paul home in a Land Rover. His company was camped beside the airfield
and so, after dropping Paul, I decided to try and get the Land Rover to
take off. Stu and I, went to the furthest end of the runway and I put the
accelerator to the floor. We never did make the take-off, but we did skid
out off the runway, careered along the road leading to and from the
airport, drifted into the main Mount Darwin/Bindura road, and, while still
going sideways along the dirt, we hit the start of the tar. The Land Rover
flipped onto its roof and Stu and I climbed, unhurt, out of the windows.
We could do nothing with the Land Rover so we left it there and walked
back to camp.

I immediately went to report the episode to Major Lockley, who

exploded when he realized how drunk I was. He confined me to camp
and threatened all manner of disciplinary action. With my ears still

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buzzing, I went to bed, only to be woken at about 0400 am by the radio
watch and was told to report to the Ops room. My head throbbed, my
ears burnt and my stomach turned. Major Lockley looked at me when
I walked in.

“You had better pull yourself together”, he said fiercely. I nodded, not
daring to open my mouth.

One of the R.L.I. O.P.’s had heard Chimurenga songs from a village just
north of Chitsi Gomo and they had been instructed to move around the
North of the village. We were then in three helicopters, to be put down
and assault from the South. We would leave at 0600 from the airfield.

It was now 0430 and I knew that I’d never sleep so, in the cold, I went out
to the Canteen and waited under a clear sky for dawn. Cpl. Bell was
already preparing breakfast for my men and soon he was feeding me
cups of coffee and I began to come alive again, but ###### – how my
head ached…..

At 0500 I woke my men and briefed them. At 0530 we ate a quick break-
fast and by 0600 were on the runway. I looked out at the camp on the
Eastern side of the airstrip and swore at Paul, as I imagined him warm
and asleep. The whine of the helicopters rose in volume as they lifted off
from the Helipad cleared the electric cables and then dropped down in
formation on the runway. The “K” car climbed above and to the front of
them. The smell of the jet fuel from the exhausts and the thundering of
the rotors almost split my head. Dave Rowe was flying me and as
I climbed in and clipped on the spare headset, he switched over to the
inter- aircraft communication and briefly said,

“You forgot to give enough flap last night – I’ll teach you how to fly
sometime” and then he turned back to the general channel.

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“Yellow leader lifting now….Yellow One lifting…..Yellow Two lifting”
I looked down at Paul’s camp and wished Paul well and a safe end to his
National Service. The radio crackled again.

“Leader, this is Yellow Two, that Land Rover back there, hit a mine?” and
then the chuckle. That was Dave Paxton.

I smiled to myself – this was one that I was not going to live down. The
idle chatter ceased as contact was made with the call sign on the ground.
They advised that they had seen nothing and so we were put to ground
after one wide orbit. I formed my men into extended line and then we
began the jog through wooded rolling countryside towards the R.L.I.
stop group. My head ached, but I was alert and very grateful for that
small mercy!

The “K” car collected one terr who tried to make a break up a ravine and
the R.L.I. stop group got one more, but it soon became clear that the
group had fled. We checked out the rough countryside, entered the thick
ravines, cleared the rocky outcrops, and sweated until about 1200 hours
when it was left to the R.L.I. group to interrogate the locals and
commence follow up. We had to walk about 3,000 meters to the road
and await vehicle uplift and return to base. I took the walk very, very
slowly with the result that by the time we reached the road, the vehicles
were waiting. We climbed aboard and headed back to Mount Darwin – a
quick debrief with Major Lockley and I climbed into my stretcher and
went into a dead sleep.

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Chapter 10

The death of Trooper Mike Aves

The idea for this bush trip was that we would go into J.O.C. Reserve, but
only 2 troops at a time would be on standby while the other 2 troops
were deployed. On the night of the 21st October, 1 Troop was dropped off
and we walked in to the O.P. positions. In the early hours of my 23rd
birthday we bedded down and, with my familiar old F.N. beside me,
I settled down; Mike Aves, Housten-Brown Bester and myself, ready
again for the hardships of yet another bush trip.

Hardship was the mildest of statements because in October Rhodesia

is hell. The heat was incredible and the Mopani flies were everywhere.
As one breathed a dozen little ant-sized Mopani flies went into your
throat, they crawled up noses and generally pestered the hell out of
one. The heat made you sweat like hell and eventually shirts became
like cardboard and began to chaff skin, causing sores. The heat made
one thirsty and day after day a red hot sun burnt down out of a blue sky.
We had to dig for water and inevitably it stank, but you either drank it
or went berserk from parched throats. We all suffered from diarrhea.

The Rhodesian October brought with it the hot, dusty wind that caked
faces, already sweaty, with mud. We then began patrolling in search of a
group of terrorists who had murdered a tribesman. Day after day we
combed the hot hellish countryside looking for this group. Hutch and
I had linked up to patrol whilst Stu Taylor remained in O.P. to look out for
anything we may flush.

We would patrol all day and then under the cover of darkness into
ambush along some lonely track leading through the dry Rhodesian

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veldt. Two people were on guard behind the 2 M.A.G.’S every minute of
the night. When the Eastern sky began to colour and a warm breeze
began to bend the elephant grass and rattle the leaves, we would be
woken up, have a “brew”, saddle up and then move into formation.
Through the primitive villages, questioning and looking, sweating and
swearing as we quartered the area.

The evening of 28th October, I sent through the Sitrep with the normal
“November, Tango, Romeo” (N.T.R. or Nothing to Report). We had a meal
and then under the starry night moved into ambush over a path.

The machine-guns were placed, guard duty arranged, and then we

settled in for the night. I lay behind the M.A.G. from 2200 to 2300 hours.
It was a still, hot night with the quietness only broken by the odd dog
bark at a village to our North.

I drifted off to sleep immediately I was relieved, and the next thing
I remembered was waking up in absolute and complete fear.

The 2 M.A.G.’s were roaring with fire spurting angrily from the barrels,
tracer mowed the bush, the sound of F.N.’s already came into play as
sleeping men burst into instantaneous action. Hutch threw out a light
grenade in time for us to catch sight of bodies on the ground. Motionless,
machine-gun and rifle fire raked the bodies. No-one spoke, not a word
was uttered. I heard a wailing sound, agonized, coming from the grass in
front of me and M.A.G. fire tore into the bush. The muttering stopped.

Slowly, those who had stood up began to drop quietly down. I heard the
sound of magazines being changed, and changed my own. All was quiet
except for the heavy breathing of the men.

No-one dared to talk or move for fear that one of those caught in the
ambush might be armed and still alive. Then the most hideous smell

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I have ever smelt drifted across to me and washed away the smell of
cordite. One of those out there had been hit in the stomach and the smell
of human flesh and innards assailed us. My stomach heaved and
someone began to vomit. I looked at my watch, 0230.

By the time first light dawned I felt thoroughly sick as did all the others.
The sky began to colour slowly as birds began to wing their way above
us. The slightest of breezes ruffled the trees. The moment I dreaded
had arrived.

“Okay, guys, let go take a look see what we got last night”. The men rose
quietly and I heard the sound of safety catches click into the fire
position. “Dup” du Preez covered us with a M.A.G. as we slowly moved
forward, in extended line.

“One terr here, Sir, dead” Dudley Wiles called out.

“Okay, I’ve got another dead here, keep moving.”

Two more dead terrorists were located. I radioed up base via the relay
station.

“18 this is 11, tell Sunray I have four terrs here and we request cyclone
uplift”

“18 roger out to 11, …… hello 1 this is 18……”

“Disco, take 4 guys and do a 360, see if you can locate tracks of any more
that got away.”

“Roger, Sir”, Cpl. Gary O’Driscoll rounded up 4 men and headed out to
complete a circle, with a radius of about 1,000 meters, in an attempt to
locate spoor of any that might have escaped.

I thought that the Madziwa contact and the Mozambique raids had
blooded me on the sight and violence of war death; I thought that the

113
sight of bayoneted bodies, mutilated bodies and all the savagery I had
seen, had immunized me against death. I was so very wrong.

We began to hack down trees and move the bodies in a suitable landing
zone for the helicopter. It is the duty and is incumbent on officers of the
R.L.I. to do everything if not more, than the troops they command; and
the power of delegation has to be used with great discretion in the
operational area; in order to maintain a happy relationship and avoid
any prejudice. The words “don’t expect your men to do anything you
won’t do” were always my guidelines and it was with this principle that
led me into helping my men drag the bodies to the landing zone.

The violence, the smell, the rigid bodies and above all the ghastly
wounds shattered me. As I dragged one of the bodies, with Mike Aves,

114
his innards spilled out and I pushed them back with my takkie.
The glassy blank eyes stared at me and the agonized twisted face grinned
hideously at me. A gaping, open neck wound completed the most
macabre sight I had ever seen. I felt the vomit rising in my throat but held
it down. My stomach heaved and heaved and heaved and I felt horribly ill.

Eventually we had the bodies together, waited 15 minutes for the

helicopter which touched down gently and switched off. Out climbed
Major Lockley, smelling strongly of that beautiful thing, soap. I stood to
attention as he approached and he greeted me with a smile.

“Hello, Mike, well done; any got away?”

“Cpl, O’Driscoll is cutting for tracks now, Sir.”

“Fine, if he finds anything get after it, otherwise go back into O.P.”

“Roger, Sir”.

“Right, show me where you got these 4.”

I led him to the ambush position, showed him where the bodies had lain,
showed him the bullet marks on the trees opposite, all around chest
height. He just nodded and then turned back to the helicopter.

Dick Paxton sat behind the controls, waited until Major Lockley was
seated and then started the motor. The technician plugged his headset
in and stood beside the helicopter.

The engine began to scream and the smell of jet fuel was overpowering
on an empty stomach. Slowly the rotors began to spin. Gently at first
and then faster, throwing up dust and grass. The technician climbed
aboard as the helicopter, like a pure-bred stallion began to shudder.
Dick eased the stick back and the helicopter began to lift slowly, taking
up the slack of the cargo net. Finally it lifted off its terrible cargo.

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Major Lockley waved from about 20’above us; Dick grinned and gave us
a “thumbs up” sign. I saluted; the helicopter tipped forward and headed
south, the cargo net swinging below it. Suddenly all was quiet again and
I grinned as I saw everyone just looking around, as if suddenly lost.

“Come on, let’s hit a brew, and well done, you guys”, I said, and they all
came to life. Happy and joking again. Little gas stoves burnt, water boiled
and morale rose.

Disco reported that he had not located tracks and I told him to return.
He got back in about half an hour and while he was having a brew Hutch
and I sat down and decided on where we would go into O.P. About an
hour later we began to patrol again, and walked aimlessly around until
night when we split up and headed for our pre-determined O.P.
positions. I reached mine in the early hours of the morning, a little hill
above a village.

There we spent the next day, night and day and then received movement
orders. We were to be uplifted by vehicles on the night of 31st October.
I ordered all my call signs to regroup at my location on the afternoon of
the 31st, and when we were all together we made a brew while the men
talked and joked amongst themselves, shared the odd tin of Vienna
sausages and we all looked forward to a hot shower and beer and the mail.

October 31st, 1974 at 1930 hours two trucks came lumbering out of a
river bed to collect us and return us to Mount Darwin after a week’s
patrolling, O.P. and ambushes. The weather had been foul, hot as hell
with no shade, diarrhea was prevalent because water was scarce and
the water we drank was filthy – we had to dig for it – anything up to eight
feet in dusty river beds.

At about 1600 hours we had begun to patrol north, all fifteen of us tired
and stinking. I remember turning around to look at the patrol formation
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and the faces struck me, unshaven, caked with mud (formed by the
mingling of sweat and dust) and all deeply tanned from the merciless
sun’s rays. “These are my men” I said to myself, like a proud mother hen,
and I felt good to be going back. I would buy them a crate of beer and
after a hot shower we would settle down and read our mail while we
drank. Yes, I was happy then, happy as only a soldier can be.

I pushed my men hard; I wanted to reach the Nyariri River before last light
so that we could make ourselves a brew. At about 1730 we reached the
Nyariri River and I put my men into all round defense and signaled that
they could have a brew. The Nyariri is a beautiful river and I remember
sitting watching the last vestiges of the beautiful October sunset, listening
to the doves on the river banks. I felt the nostalgia only a soldier does and
just wanted to weep, simply to release something huge inside me. I dreamt
about my future and I just wanted a girl; I remember thinking how much
I’d love to be married and always have a girl beside me.

Michael Aves was certainly my favourite trooper. He was my radio

operator at the time and was thus always with me; he made me a cup of
tea. We sat alone, thinking and talking about marriage. He asked me if
I would give him permission to marry (as is military procedure) and I joked
with him about interviewing his bride to be. He was a gentle person and
deeply religious.

We were close to our pick-up point and at about 1815 hours we began to
move to the road. We reached it about an hour later under the cover of
darkness. It was a beautiful, warm, balmy night, so much so that back in
Salisbury a million miles away, it would have been romantic.

Michael, Stuart Taylor (my second in command) and Colin Welch (my
medic) joined me on the side of the road. The rest of the men under Gary

117
O’Driscoll (my junior Corporal) were placed into an all round to secure
our pick-up point.

Stu Taylor turned to me and remarked on the moon – it was full moon
– and laughingly said,

“A red moon, someone’s going to die tonight”. We all laughed and

I remember replying that it wouldn’t be through the terrorist effort
because it took more than a terr to kill a R.L.I. soldier. A beautiful night and
soon we heard and then saw the lights of the vehicles. I loved these
pick-ups because of the friendly banter that went on. Three troop had
already been picked up and as the vehicles stopped the mockery began.

“Your mother, Mac”

“What’s wrong with my mother?”

“She still owes me change from the last time in the “burg”. It was Paul
van As.

“Fuck you, you mother fucker” came the Three troop reply.

“One troop fuck nannies”, another three troop man added.

“Fuck you, who has killed the most terrs?” Paul van As replied. We killed
four terrorists in a night ambush on the 28th. I didn’t sleep that night, the
stink from a stomach shot is terrible, one of my men vomited continu-
ously until morning – you dare not move in case one is alive or wounded.

“Come on, you punks, on the front truck” I shouted to my men.

We climbed on the vehicle which had turned around and then began our
journey back to Mount Darwin. The normal joking began about how
much mail was waiting, and from who it would be.

Michael Aves sat right at the back of the truck. I sat next to him. On the
left of me was Dave Lambert, Stu Taylor, and then Gary O’Driscoll.

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Directly behind me facing to the left was Colin Welch. I was talking to
him when it all happened. The Three troop vehicle was about 50 yards
behind us.

We were moving very slowly out of a river bed. For a split second no-one
knew what was happening and then the thunderous noise shocked my
mind into reality. By this time the green and red tracer was winging in
towards us. It was quite unreal.

“Fuck me, we’re being ambushed, debus left” I screamed.

I heard Dave scream.

“I’ve been hit, Sir, I’ve been hit”

Immediately Gary O’Driscoll began screaming, he was lying over a

bench, his chest was on fire.

“Stu, Mike, Dudley, stay on the truck and rev that ridgeline.”

The bullets were flying fast and furious amongst us and I saw the tracer,
green and red, ripping between debussing men.

I reached Gary and beat the flames out with my hands. He had been hit
in the chest, but the bullet had hit his F.N. magazine, igniting the powder
in one of the rounds. He was alright. His little finger had been shot off.
Lambert had lost his index finger. All this in the space of the initial 45
seconds. My men were already returning heavy fire. Three troop were
also returning fire.

I joined Michael and Stu, fired a few rounds until all the men were off the
truck. If possible, the fire seemed heavier then, the sound was
deafening; the screams of the injured, the whine of the bullets striking
the vehicle, the crack of bullets as they passed us – all these things
struck my mind.

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“Let’s get the fuck out of here”, I shouted. Stu, Michael and I turned as
one to jump off. Suddenly I felt a bang on my head. My hat flew off and
then, a split second later Michael flew forward and crashed against the
far side of the truck. I jumped down next to him.

“I’m going to die, Sir, I’m so sore, Sir, please Sir, I don’t want to die”, he
was crying. I saw the blood discolouring his shirt.

“Colin get up here”, I shouted, and within seconds Colin Welch was
beside me. He looked down at the figure of Michael and the pool of blood,
black under the moonlight. He knelt down beside Michael, and then rose
again, tears running down his cheeks.

“He’s dead, Sir”, was all he said.

Stu Taylor had started pumping rifle grenades into the ridgeline – the
explosions sounded terrible. The minutes passed. Colin had run the
hundred yards down to Three Troop to attend to the seriously wounded
Jan Buys. Suddenly the terrorist fire stopped and incredible quiet fell on
the area. Darkness fell heavily all around us. From the truck the sobbing
of the two wounded was unnerving.

From the left, I heard a shout

“Maiwe, maiwe, surrender, surrender”.

I knew they were locals, and shouted out

“Come out, buya”

Figures began to move down from behind a rock. The moonlight showed
them to be unarmed, a man, women and children. Thought of Michael
crossed my mind, Gary and Dave continued to sob. Colin fought to save
Jan’s life. I raised my rifle to my shoulder. My men, silent and still,
watched.

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At about seventy yards, I had the chest squarely in my sights. I pulled off
a quick double tap. My rifle drove angrily into my shoulder. I saw the
man spin and then collapse. I turned and began to walk down towards
where Jan Buys lay. My tears fell onto the dusty, thirsty road.

Jan Buys was critically wounded and the radio was stuffed. I suddenly
felt desperately tired. The nearest communication point was Dotito,
a little police camp about 10 miles away in the middle of the African
bush. There was nothing for it. I shouted to Ian MacFarlane, o/c 3 troop.

“Ian, I’m going for help”.

Stu Taylor, Mac, Dave Lambert and I climbed onto the truck on which lay
the body of Mike Aves. We headed along the dirt road and without lights,
at break-neck speed. I was convinced we would hit a landmine and the
30 minute drive was agony, but finally we arrived at Dotito and I burst
into the Police Station. A Special Branch Officer came over to me and
I explained the position to him. He led me to the radio on the Police
network, and I called up Mount Darwin Police, instructed them to call
Crusader Sunray of call sign 1. In 15 minutes Major Lockley came onto
the air. The police net was not subject to the same rigid security as the
Army, so I did not worry about the security aspect.

“Sir, Moseley here, we have been ambushed, Aves has been killed and
there are 4 injured, Buys critical. We must have cyclone uplift. The location
is 745315.”

“Okay, Mike”

“Sir, we have Aves’ body here together with one other injured”.

“Okay, fine, stay by the radio.” He sounded tired and tense and my heart
cried out for him. Five minutes later another voice came over the radio.

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“4 cyclone 7 leaving now, be there in 20 minutes”.

“Okay, thanks”, I replied and then went outside.

“Stu, get someone to wrap Mike Aves’ body, please.” Mac was sitting on
the truck looking down at Mike’s body. Tears glistened under the
moonlight. I jumped up beside him.

“Okay, Mac” I whispered and led him away.

“Why Mike, Sir”, he was crying now. I wish I could have answered him.

I heard the helicopters passing to the East, heading north and I prayed
to God that Jan was alive. One helicopter was soon heading back.
On board was a doctor and Jan Buys. Then another helicopter headed
past. On board were Gary O’Driscoll and Cpl. Van Niekerk. The third
helicopter landed beneath the light of the Bedford trucks at Dotito, and
uplifted Dave Lambert. About 20 minutes later the 4th helicopter landed
in Dotito and switched off. Out climbed Major Lockley, a tired and sad
man. He walked over to me and laid a hand on my shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Mike” he said. I just nodded and I felt tears welling up
inside me.

“Stu, help me to get Mike onto the helicopter” I called and between us, we
carried Mike’s body to the helicopter and laid it gently on the floor.
His eyes were closed and I felt a peace in the bloodstained face. Gentle
Mike Aves. I stood there as the helicopter lifted up and tears rolled
uncontrolled down my cheeks as Mike began his last helicopter ride.
I had seen him for the last time and I knew a part of me had died with him.

None of us slept that night – I lay transfixed and bitter, trying to find
reasons, reasons for things that had no answer. Eventually I went
outside and sat down with the black police guard and we talked about

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the rains, when would they come, where did he live. We talked about
everything except the war – the reason why he was on guard and the
reason why Mike Aves had died.

In the early hours of the morning, an Army recovery vehicle drove past
and about 40 minutes later it returned with one of the trucks, bullet-
ridden, in tow. The other truck, although bullet-ridden, could move, and
the men climbed aboard it.

I looked at the drawn, indescribably sad faces of my men and the men
of 3 troop. No-one spoke on the drive back to Mount Darwin. We arrived
there; drove past J.O.C. and the R.L.I. flag at half mast, into a depressing
subdued 1 Commando Base.

Quietly, the men got off the trucks and headed for the newly constructed
barrack rooms, and then they filtered off to the showers. Not a soul
spoke.

“Hutch” I intercepted him.

“Ishe?” he turned tired eyes towards me.

“Is Jan Buys going to live” I asked.

“I’m fucked if I know, but I doubt it, Sir, he got tanked bad.”

I nodded and then turned to him.

“Okay, thanks Hutch, go and shower.”

I then had to go for a full de-brief at J.O.C. on the incident and was flown
out to the site again that afternoon by helicopter to obtain full on-the-
spot details, and to give comments.

At about 1700 hours I returned to J.O.C. to shower, and hopefully to

sleep, for I had not slept for 36 hours. After a shower I got stuck into a

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beer with my men. Paul van As and Dup du Preez, both close friends of
Mike’s took it badly and as grief is a private thing, I won’t go into their
feelings – suffice to say that I had Paul in my room until 2300 hours that
night, trying to explain the inexplicable to him.

(Jan Bys did not die, but his injuries prevented him from returning to
action.)

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Chapter 11

Karanda Mission Contact and Mike Aves Funeral.

Major Lockley wisely placed us on immediate standby. The next day and
a mere 34 hours after that ghastly ambush, the call went out

“One troop fall in”

I ran to the Ops room, secretly praying that we would not have to fight
for I felt that my nerve had broken.

Major Lockley must have sensed my mood because his tone was stern
and severe.

“6 terrs seen in this river bed near Karanda Mission. Take 3 of your
sticks and get to the helipad. “I will be airborne as well”. He turned to me
to indicate that the matter was closed.

I felt sick with fear as I ran outside to brief my men. They stared at me
with strange questioning eyes – “Why us for ###### sake!?” their looks
said. I shared their feelings but also knew the reason why we were going.

The briefing was over and we ran to the helipad. Due to the attitudes
and feelings of my men, I decided to take Paul van As with me. The
helicopter lifted off and I gazed around at my men. They were tense and
sat rigidly in their seats. We crossed the Ruya River and then turned
North, North East and within about 7 minutes the red and white
buildings of Karanda Mission came into sight.

Our pilot indicated that we were over the area of the sighting and began
to circle lower and lower, scanning the bush. Rocky outcrops passed
beneath us, covered in thick riverine bush. A mere 30 meters from the

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river, the primitive cultivated lands ran in ragged patches, up the side of
the gently sloping valley.

We were leading the left hand circuit. I was sweating and hoping like hell
that nothing was down there. The rigid wide-eyed alertness of my men
told me that they too shared this feeling. Suddenly (everything in this
bloody war was sudden) the machine gun on the helicopter burst into
fire. I caught sight of red tracers screaming into the rocks. The pilot
banked hard left to hold the aim for the tech. Big Ray Faarsen cocked his
M.A.G. and he began blasting into the thicket as well, from about 40’ up.
His face grimaced due to the pain of the red hot shells dropping into his
lap, and burning his bare legs causing instantaneous blisters. He never
let up. I caught sight of a black man running wildly trying to escape the
hail from above. Eventually he crawled under a rock, out of fire. The pilot
indicated that we were going down and as we landed on the ploughed
field, we came under fire. We bailed out and the helicopter lifted.
The terrorist fire followed the helicopter momentarily, giving us time to
group and begin the assault into an unseen enemy.

Suddenly I heard the terrible crack as the rounds headed to and

then passed us, a little high. Four of us assaulted 50 meters through
thickening scrub as the fire lessened. We had still not seen a thing, and
it was scary standing there feeling so vulnerable, because I knew that
the terrorists had us visual and we could see nothing – still we kept
running, not daring to stop. Then I swung north hoping to cause the
terrorists to break cover in fear. It did not work.

Hutch was already in contact to my South West. Momentarily, all went

quiet and then again the fire broke out, this time from behind us. We had
assaulted passed the terrorist position and were now in desperate

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danger and my entire body went ice cold. The bastards still had us visu-
al and they were firing into our backs. Trees began to splinter as A.K. 47
rounds tore into them.

“Turn round, and let’s get back” I shouted.

The fire was now accurate and a plume of sand shot up about 5 ft. in
front of me. Ray Faarsen put a heavy burst in the direction from which
the fire came. Mercifully, the fire stopped for a couple of seconds and we
regained impetus.

“Sir, I’m under heavy fire and have got bogged down”. It was Hutch. I had
already heard the heavy fire and it was heavy, heavy fire – an R.P.D.
machine gun for sure.

“Okay, Hutch, I’m closing in on your loc from the North, watch for us”.

We had yet to see a terrorist but under heavy fire from Ray Faarsen, and
the three of us were able to keep moving, about 500 meters, and we
knew we were close to Hutch because I could hear him shouting. As we
reached a little stream we came under terrifying fire, so much so, and
so accurately, that we went straight to ground. My nerves were stretched
and I felt them breaking. I just wanted to lie on the ground, dusty and hot
as it was, until it was over. I do not know what made me stand up and
carry on but we did; the fire was very, very heavy. Another 50 meters
and I called out

“Get down”.

The men dropped immediately and I heard magazines being changed

for the second time in about 2 minutes. We had been down on ground for
about 10 minutes and it was my second last magazine.

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What had stopped me was a river, and the sight of Hutch kneeling
behind a tree about 20 meters to my South East.

“Hutch,” I called on the radio.

“Go”, he replied breathless.

“I’ve got your visual, am about 20 meters to your North West. Where are
these fucking terrs?”

“40 meters to my West” he called, “across the river in the thicket;

can you see it?”

“Roger, seen Hutch, give us cover, we’re coming over”

“Negative, we’re low on ammo and you won’t make it; I will assault
across the river, so give me cover.”

“Copied, Hutch, tell us when” I replied, indicating the position to my men.

They nodded.

An assault through a river bed into an enemy position was something

that was not just done, but Hutch was going to do it and I had agreed to
it – may Heaven help me if anyone gets hit, I recall thinking to myself.

“Starting assault now” Hutch called as he rose from behind a tree.

“Rev the terrs” I shouted and Ray’s M.A.G. began to roar. I saw Hutch and
Dudley Wiles go into the river as we raked the terrorist position. It was
as though the end of the world had come with the savage withering fire
from my call sign together with the fire coming from Hutch and his men.

“Lift fire” I shouted as Hutch reached the other side. The thicket erupted
and we sat with baited breath awaiting news. The radio crackled shortly,

“We’ve got 5 dead here” Hutch said, laughing. Relief filled my veins and
I jumped up, scrambled down the river bank and ran into the thicket to

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find Hutch and his men gazing, ever alert, into the surrounding bush –
there was still one unaccounted for.

The voice of Major Lockley from the helicopter came into the thicket via
our 2 radios.

“We saw one north along the river bed, check it out.”

“Roger copied” I replied.

“Hutch, yours or mine?” I smiled at him.

“Mine” he grinned, and took 2 men with him. We began to disarm and
check all the terrorists whilst Faarsen stood guard. About 2 minutes
later my radio cracked loudly and Major Lockley’s voice came through
hysterically,

“Welch is going to murder him, 11 alpha stop, 11 alpha come in, 11 get
someone over there”

What the fuck is going on, I thought.

“11 alpha stop, I repeat stop” Major Lockley shouted.

There was quiet and then again

“11 alpha, get him back to your Sunray and prepare him for uplift.”

About 2 minutes later and Hutch emerged leading a tall, strong terrorist,
whose eyes were enormous and his nose was bleeding.

“What the fuck was going on, Hutch”

“I fucked him up when we found him in a hole in the river bed and was
going to stick him with his own fucking bayonet when that tit up there
saw us from the helicopter”

I didn’t need to know what had driven Hutch to commit such an act
because Mike Aves was still foremost in our minds. I looked at the

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terrorist and he grinned smugly at what, I’m sure, he saw was the
weakness of the white man. I swung my F.N. butt into his chest and he
collapsed.

“Take him away” I ordered, and we removed the mutilated bodies of the
dead terrorists together with the one captive to a landing zone, where
the dead were placed in a cargo net and the captive, strapped up, thrown
on the floor of the helicopter. The helicopter lifted and turned south, out
of sight.

By this time call sign 11 Bravo, which had been in a stop group position
to the South joined us and we waited for helicopters to uplift us and
return us to Base.

At about 1200 hours the helicopters arrived and we climbed aboard and
lifted over the contact area which, an hour ago, had been the scene of a
vicious gun battle.

I enjoyed the helicopter ride home, over the sleepy countryside and
finally into Mount Darwin. I recall watching the faces of my men as they
made their way to their barracks – not jovial and joking, but tense and
stone-faced – very quiet. I think that Major Lockley sensed it too, for he
obtained permission for the entire one troop to return to Salisbury on
Monday for the funeral of Mike Aves.

I called the men together and told them the news. Immediately tension
drained and a moderate lightness returned. I then realized that all they
wanted was to be present when Mike made his final move. They had
fought, joked, drunk with him and now they wanted to say goodbye.

At first light on Monday our 2 trucks headed out of Mount Darwin back
along the familiar road to Bindura, Mazoe and into Salisbury. That

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afternoon, under the supervision of R.S.M. Springer they were drilled on
the procedure and requirements of pallbearers. The funeral was at 1100
at the Warren Hills crematorium. It moved me to find that on the night of
Monday not one of the men got drunk or went drinking – they visited
wives, girlfriends and parents or they went to a movie – they did not drink.

My batman polished my Sam Brown belt, “pips” and boots and pressed
the ceremonial greens. At 0930 I dressed; black ankle length boots,
green longs and tapered jacket, I put on the glistening Sam Brown belt
and Tartan green beret, buckled my sword on, strapped the black
mourning arm-band just above the left elbow, put on the kid skin black
leather gloves, and went outside to wait for Major Swardt, R.L.I. Second
in Command, who was taking me out to the cemetery. He arrived
shortly and I climbed into his car and we headed out to Warren Hills.
We arrived at about 1030 hours and I stood under a tree watching
grief-stricken people arrive in black dresses and clothes, or other
somber colours.

At about 1050 a black Mercedes with Mr. and Mrs. Aves and Col. Wood
(the Army Chaplain) arrived. I could have cried when I saw the haggard,
pale, puffy faces of Mr. and Mrs. Aves – so incredibly sad. Their car was
followed by an army F.250 drawing behind it a gun carriage upon which
rested the coffin of Trooper Michael Aves. The coffin was draped with
the Rhodesian green and white flag, atop of which laid Mike Aves’
ceremonial R.L.I. belt and his R.L.I. beret, the badge glinting defiantly in
the morning sunlight.

Hutch led the pall-bearers as they gently lifted the coffin to their
shoulders. The Rhodesian Corp of Signals band, their instruments
draped in black, began Chopin’s death march; and in slow march the

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pall-bearers headed between an avenue of proud, strong 1 Troop and
other R.L.I. soldiers, their F.N. weapons in the reverse arms positions,
barrels pointing to the ground. Major Swardt (representing Col. Parker)
led the officers behind the coffin at a slow march, to the haunting tune
of Chopin’s death march.

The coffin entered the little crematorium and was placed at the top of
the aisle with the pall-bearers taking up positions beside it, their heads
bowed.

I sat in the second row to the right of the aisle. Col. Wood conducted the
short, simple ceremony. A bugler played the Last Post as men and
women cried softly in the packed crematorium and then two by two the
officers marched up, halted at the foot of the coffin, and saluted.
An S.A.S. Captain, Tony Lee, and I moved up together and as I brought
my arm up in salute I caught sight of Ray Faarsen’s face distraught with
grief. We turned and marched out of the crematorium.

A beautiful, hot, still day.

At 1300 the entire 1 Troop gathered in the Coq d’Or. Lunch time drinkers
stood aside as the men from the R.L.I. walked quietly in. I took out $40
and placed it on the counter and turned towards the men.

“Let’s go” I said, and soon the beers were flowing and the noise began to
rise in the traditional “wake”. We drank to get drunk, no other purpose
and while we drank we spoke not of war or death or Mike (save for the
first toast). Lonely men drinking and knowing that in 12 hours, we would
be fighting again; just hoping that we would live through it…..but that
was tomorrow, and our concern was today – the here and now.

The noise was rising and the language deteriorating badly but I couldn’t
care. A neatly dressed man about my age approached.

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“Are you in charge of them?”, he said, pointing at my men with a sour
look on his face. I nodded, but said nothing.

“Their manners aren’t very good” he continued. Stupid arse I thought to

myself, why must he do this – he was committing suicide now because
the noise suddenly dropped threateningly. I knew what was coming and
only hoped he did. He didn’t.

“There are ladies here…..” he never finished. With lighting reflexes big
genial Dup du Preez acted. He hit him in the abdomen with incredible
force and the man crumbled. As he hit the ground, a boot flew into his
stomach.

Suddenly someone grabbed Dup by the neck.

“I’m a policeman….”he too never finished as Hutch hit him full on the
side of the face. The policeman dropped to the ground. Someone should
have told him the R.L.I. hated the smug B.S.A. Police.

The situation was electric and now the bar was absolutely quiet. The
policeman climbed groggily to his feet. I decided to intervene; gripping
him by his shirt, I said

“Take your friend and fuck off before you get yourself in hospital”.

The policeman stared wide-eyed at me and then bent down and began
to revive his friend.

The drinking lasted until late into the afternoon before changing venue
to the nightclub, La Boheme. At about 0100 Hutch returned me to the
Officer’s mess where I collapsed into a drunken stupor.

My alarm jarred me into a state of semi-consciousness at about 0600.

I could not face breakfast so dressed and headed straight towards the
R.L.I. 1 Commando base where I found my men dressed and ready
(almost!)
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“One troop, shun” Hutch called out and the men dragged themselves to
a form of attention. Hutch saluted and I returned it.

“Carry on, you shits” I replied, grinning at the ragged-looking,

bloodshot-eyed faces. By 0700 we boarded the 2 3-ton Bedford’s and
just as we were about to leave Hutch came across from the second
truck and handed me 2 carry-packs of beer.

“Put you right, Sir” he grinned.

As soon as we had passed through Salisbury I dished them out amongst

the men and they did help. Bindura and then on to Mount Darwin, the
same dusty, bumpy, bloody road – I already knew it’s every bend and
feature. We reached J.O.C. again at about midday and the men returned
to their barrack room to prepare and ready their kit. There was a
general mellow and contented feeling amongst the men, and I was
pleased and grateful to Major Lockley for allowing us to return for
the funeral.

We were given the rest of the day off to get everything ready and to rest
and at 0600 the following morning were placed again on immediate
standby as Fire Force, Mount Darwin. So the days passed. We were
called out twice at night, both times when terrorists attacked
farmhouses. The driving along the dusty roads at 0100 in the morning
placed incredible strain on all of us, the ambush still foremost in
our minds.

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Chapter 12

Miami deployment. Colin “Hutch” Welch, Cpl Kungayi and

Pvt John

Soon the 5 weeks were over and we returned again to Salisbury for
10 drunken days and then back on the road again in the last week of
November, 1974 – heading this time for Miami near Karoi. There had
been a new ZIPRA terrorist incursion into this area by a group of about
40 under a leader whose code name ‘nom de guerre’, was Mrewa. They
had infiltrated the area along the Angwa River and were somewhere in
that incredibly rugged and beautiful European farming area. We were
based in a tobacco barn on a farm about 5 km from the J.O.C. on
another farm. Based at the J.O.C. was B Coy. 1 R.A.R. and we were
to integrate with them in these operations. 1 Troop was deployed
immediately, and I took 8, 1 Troop men together with 8 R.A.R. men from
B. Coy, amongst whom was a certain Cpl. Kangayi, a man I was to grow
to love and respect, about 30 years old, reserved, quiet and a soldier to
his core – a wonderful, wonderful man.

We were dropped off and for a week our job was to scour the rugged,
rough and unbelievably steep, wild country with forested rivers leading
into the Angwa. So thick was it that the greater part of the day was spent
without sight of sunlight in places. The rains had started and it rained
non-stop day and night. Streams became torrents and every single
thing from food to weapons got soaked day after day. We patrolled thick
country, river after river for about a week and the entire group was
exhausted from the impossible country side – no sign of terrorists.
Just mountains, waist high grass, raging water, snakes and buck.

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Communications were murder and even the reliable A.63 radio battled
to help us. Late one afternoon the faint message came through.

“Move immediately to Shackle Yankee Golf Hotel Romeo Whiskey, you

are to be there by Shackle Zulu Golf Foxtrot on Yankee unshackle, did
you copy?”

“18, this is 11 copied” I replied and began to plot and uncode. What I saw
almost brought me to tears. We had to make our way about 30,000
meters through this godforsaken country by 1600 hours the following
day, 3rd November 1974. We took a tea break at about 1600 hours and
then at 1700 hours headed South, South East. The problem was that all
the rivers ran into the Angwa in parallel ravines – all running West to
East, so we had to cross rivers, climb mountains, cross rivers and climb
again for 20,000 meters. At about 1830, in the pouring rain, I called a
halt atop a mountain and we climbed into soaking sleeping bags for the
fifth successive wet, cold sleepless night. The grey massive storm
clouds began to break up in the early morning and at first light, when we
left the beautiful rugged mountain top, it was clear. The going was
however, slow and sweaty as we trudged, swam and fought our way
through the country. At about 1300 we broke out of the mountain area
and there we collapsed, had a hurried lunch and then forced our tired
– no, exhausted – bodies along the final 10,000 meters. We reached the
duly appointed place at 1530 and as grateful men began making brews
I checked in by radio.

“18 this is 11; we have reached our Romeo Victor”

“18 Roger, from 1, you are awaiting cyclone visit from a Victor India Papa
(V.I.P.).”

“11 copied”. I was rather mystified by that message but only had about
half an hour to wait.
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A VIP – I chose a good L.Z. and placed a guard around it and then waited.
At about 15:55 the sound of the helicopter reached my ears, a minute
later it appeared low over a hill to the West.

“Cyclone 7, this is 11, I have you visual, go left”

“Oscar 7, roger copied” the helicopter turned to pilots left and headed
due east.

“Roger Oscar 7, go left 90 degrees” I instructed and the pilot swung

round. It was now coming directly at us.

“Oscar 7 this is 11, you are approaching us now from the South……. You
are overhead…….now! I have secured the field you saw just before you
reached the village. Suggest you put down there.”

“Roger, this is Oscar 7, copied”

The helicopter banked steeply and then descended onto the open area.
The pilot switched off and the blades slowed. The tech got out, followed
by the pilot who turned out to be Dick Paxton and then out climbed Major
Lockley, followed by Lt. Gen. Peter Walls, the dynamic, powerful
Commander in Chief of Rhodesia’s Armed Forces.

He strode briskly towards us. I saluted and he returned the compliment

rigidly and then said to me

“Hello, Mike, call your men in.”

I got on the radio and instructed them to close in on me at the double.

They arrived shortly and then Gen. Walls spoke, in the quiet, convincing
manner that was his.

“Men, I bring you a message from our Prime Minister, Ian Smith.
The message is that there are big political moves afoot and you are
instructed to kill and harass the enemy at every opportunity. There is to

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be no relaxation; day and night we are to search and kill. You will hear
shortly the reason for this. I will speak to all R.L.I. and R.A.R. forces. The
S.A.S. has been briefed and is waiting at Mato Pools in the Valley to drop
in on any contact. Good Luck.”

He saluted and then turned on his heels and headed for the helicopter.
Major Lockley gave me plans for the next 2 days which involved
patrolling by day and ambushing by night, and then he too headed for
the helicopter which lifted and headed for the next troop placement.

We made a quick brew and then I called Cpl. Kangayi and Cpl. O’Driscoll
to me.

We planned ambushes for that night and then called on the men to
saddle up. I headed off first, moving to my ambush position, wondering
all the time at what was going on. I could not decide and certainly would
never have guessed.

We ambushed that night, patrolled north that day, ambushed that night
and patrolled the following morning without incident. At about 1400
hours my radio crackled

“All call signs 11 message from 1”

“11 go….11 Alpha go….. 11 Bravo go….” Cpl. Kangayi and Cpl. O’Driscoll
followed me.

“This is 18, from Sunray 1, regroup at Shackle Golf Whiskey Oscar Alpha
Oscar Alpha by Zulu Yankee Golf Golf unshackle today for uplift by
vehicle….. roger?”

“11 copied….11 Alpha copied……11 Bravo copied”

I plotted the position which was a river on a track. We had to regroup by

1500 hours and immediately after plotting it on my map we headed for

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the R.V. and pick-up. I had the furthest walk and by the time I reached the
R.V. at 1510 the other 2 call signs were already on the trucks. About an
hour later we arrived back at the farm and I went to see Major Lockley.
I was told that we were to act as fire-force for a couple of days, having
been deployed for over a week. It was then 6th December 1974. I passed
the details onto my men, and then showered and shaved.

It was a pleasure eating a hot meal that night and sleeping in a dry,
warm sleeping bag. The following morning I felt great. Major Lockley
advised that the entire operational area was quiet, even although
the entire area had been systematically flooded with troops from
Salisbury’s Territorial Force units.

The hot morning of the 7th December 1974 went slowly by, as we played
volley ball to keep interest in life itself alive. 1200 hours and we broke
for lunch when suddenly Dave Jobson, a radio operator came running
out “Sir, standby and Major Lockley wants you” he called, wide-eyed.

“One troop, standby – Hutch organize it” I called out and ran to the
improvised Ops room.

“What took you so long?” Major Lockley accused. I didn’t reply.

“Roger Owen has come under fire from a group of about 40 terrs, must
be Mrewa’s group, while dropping Selous Scouts. Denzel White had his
chopper shot up, get across to the open field with 3 sticks and prepare
for uplift. This is the location where it happened” he said, pointing to a
map on the wall.

I took down the reference, briefed Hutch and Cpl. O’Driscoll and then ran
to the airstrip. I took one look at the helicopter as it approached and
began to have serious doubts. Roger’s chopper had 4 bullet holes
through the Perspex cover! Denzil White, flying the other helicopter, had

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an even more serious problem. His helicopter had been so badly
damaged and control of the craft was so difficult that he was forced to
make a hard landing on the farmer’s airstrip, in what was yet another
remarkable feat of flying.

I climbed in and knew that trouble was just a minute or two ahead. There
was only one other helicopter available so my stick and Hutch’s flew
into the air and headed South East to take on 40 terrs. Hutch had a
combat cap that he had had for the past five years. In his haste he had
forgotten it. As he remembered it, he said to me

“Ishe, nothing hamba mushe today!” – Prophetic words indeed.

After about 10 minutes flight, Roger indicated that we were over the con-
tact area and that we were going in. He chose an open patch in thick bush
and we bailed out. Hutch followed shortly. After a quick consultation
I ordered Hutch to take the right bank of the stream and I took the left.
We were going to sweep South West. The sweep began and about
5 minutes later all hell broke loose. A heavy, heavy burst of automatic fire
filled the air. The fire seemed to last for minutes. I knew that none of the
fire was directed at us and grabbed the radio.

“11 Alpha, this is 11…..” nothing. Again I called, and then a third time.
No reply. Suddenly another burst came screaming out of a rocky
outcrop. Having located the source I moved in on the thick rocky outcrop
whilst my other 3 men swept around the West end of it. After the rains
the growth was heavy and lush and visibility was almost zero. Somehow
I knew that it would be I who located the terrorists and I felt my senses
pleasingly alert. I reached the face of a huge rock that pointed
heavenwards and began to move along it very quietly. Suddenly the
ground dropped away and as my eyes followed the contour I caught
sight of a real live terrorist in an enclave, a R.P.D. on bipod set up and his
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eyes and an A.K. pointing at me. For what seemed an age, but what was
in reality probably a fraction of a second, we stared at each other.
His eyes were wide, his mouth open and his A.K. moving up.

Instinctively, I fired a double tap from the hip as the barrel of his A.K.
began to flash and dance before me. His face exploded a mere 5 feet
from me as I felt a searing pain in my left side, but I was not ready to
stop now. I put another 5 rounds into the still, crumpled body and heard
the heavy sound of F.N. fire the other side of the outcrop. I advanced on
the still body and turned it over with my foot. The face was shot away
and the body punctured by several bullet holes. The only reason he was
dead and I alive was because I was R.L.I. trained.

I searched him quickly and found a series on the thoughts etc. of Mao
Tse-tung, a tape recorder and a personal diary. My mind stuck on Hutch
– where was he? HB came running around the rocky outcrop.

“We got one here, Sir” he said.

“Okay, HB, but where is Hutch?” I replied. Suddenly I noticed the R.P.D.
and I followed the line it was facing. The line brought me to the
crumpled bodies lying on the far bank. I began running over and HB
followed. The first I found was Hutch lying in agony next to the body of
the dead Private John of R.A.R. His shirt was covered in dark blood and
his face distorted in an agony of pain. HB began to administer first aid
as I called for a helicopter and began looking for Cpl. Kangayi and
Tpr. Murdoch. I found the body of Cpl. Kangayi, raked with bullets, lying
pathetically broken on the damp ground. Tpr. Murdoch, thank God, was
unharmed. 2 dead and one badly wounded.

Mike Litson brought his helicopter in under the trees and we loaded
Hutch onto the floor of the helicopter. Shortly another helicopter arrived
and we placed the bodies of the two R.A.R. men on board.
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I was unaware of the injury to my side. The terrorist group had broken
up and we began sweeping the area, trying to flush them out. Shortly we
located one injured terrorist, his leg shattered by a bullet. I walked up to
him and put a hard boot into his middle. He tried to hit me with his open
hand, shouting “White pig!”

He made a very bad mistake in doing that because I lost my temper then
and leant down and crunched my fist into his face with untold rage.
On about the third punch, HB and Murdoch pulled me away, for they
realized that I would kill the bastard.

Dave Scott-Donelan was on the ground now and the area was being
flooded with troops. The captured terrorist was taken away by helicopter
and we began to sweep east, quickly, trying to maintain the impetus.
Major Lockley was in fixed wing aircraft and he was in charge of the troop
movements.

The sound of contact to the North East came rattling across and it was
killed by the drone of 2 Dakota aircraft. Suddenly I saw mushrooms
forming below the planes. The S.A.S. was parachuting into contact. The
helpless bodies could be seen dangling in their harnesses when the
distinctive chatter of heavy automatic fire came over the countryside.
The terrorists were engaging the S.A.S. as they drifted down. This was a
real tough group. Mortars sounded as the S.A.S. landed. They were sure
getting a hot reception. Then I heard the bark of F.N. rifles and knew that
the terrorists had missed their opportunity, they were now going to get
stomped. The R.A.F. began strafing and rocketing the terrorist positions.
The fight continued as we continued our sweep.

Sgt. Edwards located a further 3 who, after a brief fire fight, were killed,
without any Security Force casualties. The sweeping continued back

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and forth for the entire afternoon, whilst the S.A.S. battle raged and then
slowly died, in a series of running contacts.

Night fell quickly and I led my men into an ambush position on the side
of a hill overlooking a well-used track. For the second time in as many
months, I had to contend with the melancholy spirit of men who had lost
either dead or wounded friends. I grieved for my good and loyal friend,
Hutch, and that gentle wonderful Cpl. Kangayi. We had been notified that
Hutch would live but that was somehow not enough. That night my side
stiffened and began throbbing painfully. In the early hours of the
morning it became very sore, my body was racked by fevers and I felt
my mind begin to drift. As time passed, it took longer and longer for my
mind to stabilize and I knew then that something was wrong.

It was with relief that we received instructions to prepare for helicopter

uplift. What followed is not clear in my mind. I recall the helicopter uplift,
I recall Cpl. Eden, the Commando Medic attending to me, I recall the
flight to Sinoia in a fixed wing private aircraft and then finally recall
being in a bed with real sheets, in Sinoia Hospital.

In what had been a minor shrapnel injury, which had been cleaned and
cleared, I was right as rain, if a little stiff, by the night of 9th December.

I saw Hutch, who had been incredibly lucky in his injury and who, apart
from pain, was fine and beginning to give the nurses a hilarious time.

On my return to base the following day by aircraft I was advised that we

would be departing the following day for Mushumbi Pools in the
Zambezi Valley. We were instructed to base up by 1900 hours on 11th
December 1974 and to ensure that we tuned in to a radio. We were to be
briefed on our arrival at Mushumbi Pools.

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Chapter 13

Ceasefire that never was

I won’t go into too much great a detail over the trip – suffice it to say that
we left at lunch that day, based up at a mine just before the descent into
the Valley. Also based there were a company of the S.A.P, ridiculous and
hopeless soldiers when viewed against the R.L.I.

Ian Smith announced that a cease-fire had become effective immediately

and that all acts of war were to cease. This tied in with Gen. Wall’s visit and
I suppose we should have been euphoric – the S.A.P. were. I had all my
men sitting around and they turned to me at the conclusion of the broad-
cast.

“Until we are told otherwise, we will kill terrs”, was all I said and they
grinned. They, like me, did not believe for one minute that the war was
over..Rhodesian politics just were not that simple.

At first light, we boarded our 2 trucks and headed for the Escarpment en
route for Mushumbi Pools..The drive was through the most beautiful
country I had ever seen in my entire little life..First, the beautiful
Chewore reserve which borders on Zambia and then on the valley floor
with its lush, jungle vegetation..The entire route was covered on
overgrown tracks which had probably never been used since 1972 – at
times one battled to follow the overgrown track..Animals were in
abundance and birds scattered at their probably first sight of white
men..We were plagued by intermittent showers which left the clay roads
slippery. We got stuck about half a dozen times and had to push the
Bedford’s out.

My side began to ache again and it was not until about 1500 when we

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eventually reached Mushumbi Pools, to be greeted by Major Lockley.
Our camp was situated on the banks of the Hunyani River which, at that
point, is a very large river made doubly so by the incessant heavy rains
that fed the tributaries up in the escarpment. I was exhausted and sore
when we arrived but the war stops for no-one and no sooner had we
unpacked than Major Lockley called me.

“Mike, your stick and one other must prepare to go out this evening. We
will drop you on the Mozambique border..In terms of the cease-fire you
are not to engage terrorists unless you are in danger or they fire first. Go
and get ready now..You will go by chopper at about 1630.”

I briefed my men and told them the terms of the cease-fire. They just
grinned and I too grinned because we all knew that the best terrorist
was the dead terrorist and we had not forgotten Mike Aves, Cpl. Kangayi,
Pvt. John and Hutch – politics was not our job and we cared not a hoot
for it or its spokesmen. We had no intention of sitting around waiting for
incoming fire before we reacted.

We were duly airlifted into the jungle that evening..I immediately

became unnerved on the Mozambique border because the primitive
villages were all deserted. Bicycles, beds etc. lay in the huts but no-one
was there..It was as though they had just vanished.. It was desperately
quiet – no birds, no animals, and no people – just the lazy, brown Angwa
river, running into Mozambique.

It was known that there was a terrorist camp at the confluence of the
Angwa and Hunyani Rivers and it was presumed that terrorists, leaving
Rhodesia, would follow these rivers..We were in charge of the Angwa
and a T.F. company in charge of the Hunyani..For a couple of days we sat
in ambush along a track leading beside the Western bank of the river.

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Sometimes it rained, sometimes it shone but our routine remained the
same – day in and day out we lay in ambush. Nothing showed up..After
3 days we were told to patrol North, interrogating the local inhabitants
who were to be found on the banks of the river furthest North.

We patrolled over the next 4 days, at times having to swim swollen

tributaries, at times talking to simple tribesmen, at times ambushing
paths. My side ached like crazy and HB kept me supplied with Propon
tablets. Finally we reached the RV point and waited to be collected by
truck and returned to Mushumbi Pools, where the rest of the
Commando had arrived..It was then 19th December 1974.

The following day, after re-supply, we were taken by motor boat along
the Hunyani River again to the Mozambique border where we were
dropped off, and for the following 2 days, we patrolled back again. We
were due to arrive back the following morning and were just settling
down in the heavy rain, for the night, when the radio crackled. A T.F.

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vehicle had hit a landmine and two of the occupants were seriously
injured. Under no circumstances should a helicopter have taken off in
that weather. It was pitch black and pouring with rain.

What I now have to say is all hearsay, but comes from the highest
authorities and I will guarantee its validity and correctness. That wonder-
ful character Lt. Dave Marias of the S.A.A.F. was asked if he could fly out
to collect the injured man. He walked outside and said no, and then
promptly turned to his tech and told him that they were going anyway. It
was suicidal – to say the least. Dave climbed into his helicopter and lifted
vertically for 100’. He then switched on the one single useless landing
light and in a stormy black night with low cloud, wind and rain, he dropped
to a level where the little beam of light could pick out the tops of the huge,
uneven trees, and he headed cross country on his mercy mission. I believe
that not many people thought he would make it. He did, thanks to his
incredible airmanship and immense personal courage. After picking up
the wounded soldiers he returned by the same means and eventually
returned to base.

A quick examination of the injured men, Cpl. Parker and L/Cpl. Povey,
showed that they were critical and a request for casevac was radioed
to J.O.C. Mount Darwin, again not expecting a reply in the affirmative
because this would require a flight over the cloud shrouded Escarpment
in the pitch black and pouring rain. The flight was approved and Brian
Murdoch, together with a medic, took off in a single engine Trojan,
setting course for the grassy runway in the middle of the jungle at
Mushumbi Pools. How he made it again no-one knew, but he made it and
after landing on the atrocious runway under the lights of 3 vehicles, in
the pouring rain, Brian had a quick cup of coffee while the patients were
loaded aboard and the medic began administering first aid.

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Three trucks were ordered to be placed – one at each end of the runway
and one in the middle with their lights on to illuminate the airstrip. The
police vehicle was instructed to go to the far Eastern end of the runway.
The policeman, fearing that he might get stuck, did not make it right to
the end..Brian commenced his take-off and was suddenly confronted by
the police vehicle..He pulled up hard but a wheel caught the crash bar
on the Land Rover.

Brian radioed back to say that his instruments appeared to have

suffered as a result of the knock and he did not think that he could land.
He completed a circuit and then advised that he was heading for
Salisbury anyway. No sooner had he finished his transmission than
there was a tremendous crash and then quiet, deathly quiet. He had
gone down..Cpl O’Driscoll and his men were mobilized and together
with Major Lockley, spent the rest of the night, in the rain, searching for
the aircraft, without any success. It was only later the following morning
that a helicopter flown by Denzel White located the aircraft. It had hit a
tree and crashed into a river.

When we arrived back we were immediately sent to the scene, by which

time the bodies had been removed, or at least parts of the bodies had
been removed. The bodies had been mutilated and torn to shreds with the
most ghastly injuries imaginable. I thank ###### that I had not seen the
scene or had to remove the bodies. Cpl. O’Driscoll had to remove the
bodies and he together with my other men were scarred by what they saw.

Well, it’s a war, and the next day we were again on the Angwa River,
patrolling back from the Mozambique border.

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Chapter 14

Final bush trip

It was raining non-stop during this period, pelting, driving rain which
then became a light drizzle. We had to swim swollen rivers. I think that
period must have been one of the loneliest times of my life, and I felt
desperately unhappy. Christmas 1974 found us still moving, wet and
cold with none of the traditional festivities. After calling up my men on
the radio to wish them all a Peaceful Christmas, we began patrolling
again. That Christmas afternoon we received a report of a landmineex-
plosion and headed for the location. On arriving there we were met by
yet another hideous sight. Bits and pieces of tractor and trailer, a human
leg here, a limb there, part of a head elsewhere and a bit of skull lodged
about 20’up in a tree. We were only able to put together roughly 3 bodies
(if anything, I have here underplayed the devastation) and while awaiting
a police team to arrive we were able to locate the tracks of a group of
above 30 in the soft, muddy ground.

Upon the arrival of the police, we set off. The ludicrous position of 4 R.L.I.
soldiers after 30 nasty animals. Later that evening the tracks split and
I decided to base up there on the tracks, for the night. At first light on
26th December, we were again on the tracks, and for that entire day
remained close on the tracks. On 27th December, the tracks indicated
that the groups had joined again and there were 30 or so again. By late
that evening, we had reached the international Rhodesia/Mozambique
border and radioed base for permission to enter Mozambique on hot
pursuit. The justification being that there could be no doubt that this
group had committed an act of war in laying of the landmine. Having

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noticed that the tracks were headed for Mozambique, I re-grouped my
entire call sign in anticipation of going into Mozambique. The last thing
I wanted was to enter hostile Mozambique with only 4 men. At about
midnight confirmation to enter was received, and at first light, fully alert,
we entered another country in search of 30 murderers.

Trackers advised that the terrorists had slowed down, obviously not
expecting to be pursued and we were closing rapidly. Contact was just
around the corner and I let my men rest. They all oiled weapons and
checked kit, without a word; alert and ready we continued through the
dense bush. Suddenly my radio crackled.

“11, this is 18. urgently indicate your status and position in clear”

“This is 11, estimate position at Grid 342271 over.” We were about 6,000
meters inside Mozambique and very close to our quarry.

“18 roger, 11 you are advised to withdraw from hostile territory

immediately, repeat immediately. No cyclone support will be afforded
you under any circumstances so avoid contact in your withdrawal.
Did you copy?”

“18 this is 11, of course I fucking copied” I replied, annoyed (as were
my men) at having to forsake a good contact for what was purely a
politically motivated decision.

“We are retiring at this time”, I added and turned around with many a
longing look at the bush to our North East where terrorists had taken
cover in the belief that they were safe.

Once back in Rhodesia, I was advised to make my way to the bridge over
the Angwa River at Mato Pools, a map distance of 22,000 meters to be
ready for pick-up by vehicle the following morning. The bush trip was
closed and we were heading back to Salisbury.

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Emotion welled up inside me, for this was to be my last bush trip.
I looked at my men that night; the strong sunburn faced offered me
affection and loyalty. I did not sleep that night but rather tried to
communicate with God, if such existed – I doubted it after what I had
seen over the past years..I just wanted to tell God to look after those most
wonderful men, protect them and save them as they had saved me and
cared for me..I truly loved them and I knew I would take their memories
with me wherever my life might lead me..They had restored my faith in
the human animal and had taught me a great, great deal about life.

The rain, which had held off for the past couple of days, closed in again,
in the early hours of the morning..We ate a soggy breakfast, drank a
scalding cup of tea before we left and reached the police position on the
banks of the Angwa River..There we waited, were joined by Dave
Scott-Donelan and his troop and finally the trucks arrived at about 0900
on 29th December 1974. We reached base at around lunch-time,
showered and began to pack up kit. That night we had a now traditional
braai and got heavily drunk.

Early next morning we set out on the long road to Salisbury, reaching it
at about 2000 hours on 30th December 1974..At 1400 hours on 31st
December 1974 we were released for 2 weeks.

After handing in all my kit, I left Rhodesia for Johannesburg. This was
15th January 1975.

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Chapter 15

8 March 2021 Postscript

It is now a little over 46 years since I boarded a SAA flight from Salisbury
to Johannesburg after completing my military service with the Rhodesian
Light Infantry.

I recall so clearly the hopes and aspirations that accompanied me, as

I set out to build a new life away from the horrors and brutality of the
bush war. What I never really understood at the time, was the fact that
the demons from the war years travelled with me and would impact my
life for many years to come.

Looking back, I was extremely naïve to think that I could swap my

camouflage clothing and my FN rifle for a suit and briefcase. Gone were
the strict discipline and unwavering loyalty of my men and I found
myself adrift in Cape Town, amongst people who could never imagine
the baggage that I brought with me. In addition, I had met and moved to
Cape Town with my soon to be wife, Jane Allan (who too was struggling
with immense personal tragedy at this time), and we set out to build a
new shared future together.

Assailed by the feeling that I was alone in the world, dragging around
so much baggage, haunted by constant nightmares and flashbacks,
I unwittingly had pressed the self-destruct button as my life spun out of
control. I sought solace in alcohol as I struggled to acclimatise to civilian
life and in the process all but destroyed my relationship with Jane.

In the following few years Jane and I were blessed with 2 wonderful
children, Mark and Emma. How they grew up with the morality, ethics,
humility and compassion that they carry with them to this day, was

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largely due to the parenting skills of Jane, as I continued to struggle with
the after effects of the war which I medicated with alcohol.

The years were a struggle of holding down responsible, stressful jobs in

the corporate world, car accidents, deep depression resulting in two
suicide attempts and selfish “sabbaticals” from the family.

The effects of the war notwithstanding, at each step of the way I take full
moral responsibility for the intentional and selfish decisions I took in my
life. I was not simply a victim. I could, and should, have taken many
different decisions.

Just when it appeared that my life was about to implode, two life
changing decisions by me were taken, that would set the stage for the
most profound change of all.

The first decision involved finding AA and finally breaking the hold of
alcohol over my life.

The second decision was agreeing to go to counselling with David

Wilkinson at the Rosebank Union church in Johannesburg. David had
trained in America on an innovative approach to treating PTSD,
which was pioneered to assist Vietnam War Veterans overcome the
psychological effects of war. Finally, I was able to process the effects of
a savage war. The sense of liberation is today almost impossible to
describe. However one interesting side effect of this transformation
was that I was filled with a feeling of the meaninglessness of life.
Having stopped drinking and having laid to rest the horrors of the past,
the question I was faced with was “What Now? How was I to bring
meaning and purpose to my life? How could I repay my debt to my
family and society?”

My search for meaning inevitably led me to find a source of power and

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comfort outside the confines of human limitations. I gradually came to
understand and believe that only God could fill this emptiness in my
soul. The breakthrough for me came through the wonderful teachings of
Martin Morrison in Johannesburg, who brought me an understanding of
grace, forgiveness, humility, redemption and peace for broken people
like myself.

These last 6 years these foundations have been expanded and built on
under the teachings of Keith and Ros Matthee, John and Ruth Reader
and many wonderful Christian friends, most notably Steve and Rosey
Wiseman, Rich and Jenny Biggs, Neil and Hazel Fraser and Stephan and
Alida Bothma amongst others.

The unconditional love and support I have received from Jane, Mark and
Emma defies my understanding and gives me the strength and the will
to deal with each day, knowing that I no longer have the loyalty of my
army men to protect me, but I have something infinitely more powerful:
the love of Christ and of family.

I could never have dealt with the diagnosis in 2016 of Multiple Myeloma
cancer (a cancer for which there is no cure and which will be terminal in
time), without the power of the Holy Spirit and the love and support of
family and Christian brothers and sisters. I am filled now with an
amazing peace, as I confront what will probably be the hardest and
most brutal battle that I will be called on to fight in this lifetime.

In closing, the reader may be confused by the “######” within the text
of the diary. 46 years ago, it would have been common for me to use the
Lord’s name in vain, but since coming into a relationship with God I find
it blasphemous and totally unacceptable ever again to use the name
of Jesus Christ in any form, other than with a sense of awe, gratitude
and reverence.
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 Myself, Cpl. Pete White, President du Pont,
Cpl. Colin Welch, Maj. Dick Lockley

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 Myself Tpr. Burusso L.Cpl. O’Driscoll

Myself Tpr du Preez Cpl. High Houston-Brown

Tpr van As Tpr. Brown

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 TprD’Acre Myself Cpl. Taylor Cpl High

04:30 Coffee before airlift to Madziwa TTL – August 1974

Tpr. Du Preez Cpl. Wiggill Cpl. Van Niekerk

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 Back: Cpl Lourens, Cpl Smit, Myself, Cpl Welch, Cpl Van Niekerk
Middle: Tprs. Mc Donald, Cowley, Houston-Brown, Brown, Van As
Front: Tprs. Burusso, Aves, du Preez

Tpr. Cowley

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