seldom be labelled an outright failure if the stated objective was not in fact reached (as it was in this case), because it very often led to additional operational benefits, such as intelligence gained. The mere presence of South African forces in an area where they had not been expected also had an impact, and often intelligence gained on a “failed” mission would lead to the successful execution of a future operation.
A second key lesson was this: the bigger the force, the greater the chances of being detected. Over the next three years I discovered this to be a fundamental truth.
In 31 Battalion recce wing the norm at the time was to deploy in six-man patrols on reconnaissance missions. Since these jobs were of a tactical nature (as opposed to strategic), and contact with the enemy therefore almost inevitable, the reasoning was that the team should be strong enough to handle itself in a punch-up. During many of those deployments the team used to have a company from 31 Battalion right behind it, not more than a few hundred metres away.
The whole purpose, I discovered, was in fact to find the enemy, get them tied up in a fight so that they wouldn’t run away, and then have the company move in for the kill. It never worked, as the SWAPO detachments always followed the classic Mao Zedong tactics of “running away today to fight another day”. They never got tied up in a firefight unless they had chosen the killing field. They knew the lay of the land and were highly flexible in the bush. Contrary to what we were led to believe – that the SWAPO cadres were scared of the South African forces and chose to run away during any encounter – I learned that they were shrewd tacticians and often fierce fighters, most probably because they were fighting for a cause they were willing to die for.
Incidentally, during my years at 31 Battalion, but especially later during small team operations with Special Forces, several nerve-racking experiences taught me that running away was a valid technique that should be part of your arsenal of tactics, and that it did not necessarily mean defeat. The guerrilla mantra became a way of living, and so we adopted guerrilla tactics for the same reason SWAPO did – to survive! Among the special operations fraternity at Katima Mulilo I became known as a “fast runner”, as in most of my operations hasty not-so-tactical withdrawals were required to save our skins.
After this initial deployment, a series of reconnaissance tasks came our way. Frannie du Toit was an expert and I was lucky to be picked for a number of jobs with him. With his forceful personality and uncanny knack for reconnaissance, he was considered a bit of a maverick. Since he had selected and trained the Bushmen in the early days of the recce wing, he had the choice of some of the best men.
Our first deployment after the initial ambush attempt was a reconnaissance mission to locate a SWAPO forward detachment in the area of Kalabolelwa, also situated along the Zambezi River. Tango Naca and Dumba Katombela, two seasoned members of the recce wing, who formed part of Frannie’s regular team, were picked for the task.
Tango was one of the old-style, fierce Bushman soldiers who seemed to possess a sixth sense that made him almost supernaturally good in the bush. He could read a track like a storybook. He knew the bush intimately, understood the habits of the birds and animals, and had a natural, inbuilt sense for danger. Never while operating with Tango would we encounter enemy or local population without us knowing about them first. On numerous occasions we would locate them before they could become aware of us, allowing us to take evasive action or merge with the undergrowth.
One week before the infiltration we were airlifted to Katima Mulilo for final preparations and briefings. We spent most of our time in the ops room at Katima, planning routes and emergency procedures, and preparing maps for the deployment. We deployed from Mpacha Air Force Base before last light one day late in February 1979.
The Super Frelon dropped us in an omuramba 30 km southwest of our target area. It was a strange feeling, just the four of us in the belly of the huge helicopter, flying into the unknown. The adrenaline was pumping, as I had no idea what to expect. After twenty minutes we reached the landing zone (LZ). As we ran down the ramp into the field of small mopane trees outside, I was half expecting the enemy to be waiting to mow us down, but nothing happened.
The bush was quiet. And hot. And as the sound of the helicopter faded in the distance, an utter loneliness engulfed me – as if I was left alone in a noiseless world.
But I had no time to ponder this feeling, at least not right there. It would become a familiar sensation that I would experience a thousand times over, often in situations much more threatening than this. We waited until after last light to ensure that there was no immediate reaction, and then started moving in the direction of the target.
The operation would last for two weeks, as we had quite a large area to cover. Frannie’s plan was to look immediately for signs of the enemy along the main road curving along the Zambezi River; he reasoned that any sizable force needed to be supplied, and would therefore require some form of logistics. The local population was spread along the Zambezi, while the only road negotiable by vehicle was the one running parallel to the river on its western bank. Once we had located signs of enemy presence, we would turn our focus on them to locate the base.
We circled the area from the north, first moving along the slopes of an omuramba leading east towards the river, then cutting in along the road moving south. After seven days, having covered a 30-km stretch along the river, we still hadn’t found any sign. Either the information was wrong or the base was further south. Frannie called for a pick-up, which was pointedly denied, as we were supposed to deploy for fourteen days.
An argument ensued, as the Tactical HQ (commonly referred to as Tac HQ) demanded to know whether we had actually covered the whole forest area away from the river. The more Frannie tried to explain that it wasn’t necessary, since we had covered all the possible entrances, the more they insisted that we patrol the actual bush.
To me it seemed ridiculous to stay for another seven days if we knew the base wasn’t there. It would make more sense to go back, reassess where the enemy could be and deploy again. Little did I know that this would be only the first of many similar situations. In fact, it was quite common for the bosses at headquarters to think they knew better than the guy on the ground risking his life.
During the two days we waited in the lush green bush for a decision on whether our job was done or not, I had another unique experience with the Bushmen. Tango Naca had kept a close eye on a little bird from the moment we moved into our hide. The bird twittered and darted around us, and then flew off, only to come back after a while and frantically flap its wings. At first I thought Tango was irritated by the little bugger, as it could give our position away.
But then he approached Frannie and whispered something to him, to which Frannie nodded his head and gave him a thumbs up. Tango indicated to me to follow him and Dumba as they set off after the excited bird. After about a kilometre the bird started going mad, circling us and constantly going back to a fallen tree we had passed. Tango’s face lit up and a huge smile spread across his wrinkled features as he formed the word, “Honey!”
The Bushmen had a fire going in no time, and then made a crude smoke generator with green leaves wrapped around a burning branch. While I kept a lookout, the two Bushmen went about with their hunting knives, cutting away at the branches and then digging into the tree trunk that concealed the golden combs of honey.
Finally they managed to pull some of the combs from the tree trunk, stacking them on a large piece of fresh bark that served as a tray. We carried the honey back to the hide, and soon feasted on the pure golden sweetness from the bush. The syrup and large chunks of honey that we could not finish were stored in water bottles and taken back to base the following day – once the Tac HQ had finally agreed to extract us.
My first real contact with an enemy force took place during a deployment just north of the Matabele Plains in southern Zambia. SWAPO had established
