in the relatively safe area of Ngwezi Pools. Our deployment formed part of a much bigger operation conducted by Sector 70 from its headquarters at Katima Mulilo.
Operation Saffraan was launched on 7 March 1979, concurrent with Operation Rekstok into Angola. The operation was partially in retaliation for the SWAPO attack on Katima Mulilo the year before, as well as for the frequent incursions into the eastern parts of the Caprivi at the time. As one of the main actors taking part in the offensive, 31 Battalion was tasked to deploy its companies in a wide-sweeping area operation against SWAPO bases between the Kwando and Zambezi rivers, while the recce teams were to act as cut-off groups north of the Matabele Plains.
With three teams of six each, we formed a fighting patrol of eighteen guys geared up for serious fighting. We knew that there was an elite SWAPO unit called Typhoon rehearsing in that area. Typhoon specialised in deep infiltrations into the farmlands of South West Africa, where they would attack farmsteads and harass local communities.
Our mission was to find elements of this group and hunt them down. We infiltrated by helicopter and, over the following week, did a wide sweep of the bush from where the group allegedly operated. On the third day we started picking up signs of guerrilla activity. Tracks of SWAPO soldiers often led into and out of the local kraals, although we could never pinpoint the guerrillas.
Towards the end of the first week we decided to use our resupply as a ruse to make the enemy believe we had left the area. At a cluster of kraals, in broad daylight and in full view of the population, we started moving south. We left a clear track and made it quite obvious that we were leaving. That afternoon, about ten kilometres further south, we called in the helicopters for a resupply. Afterwards, we meticulously wiped out all signs of our presence. We split up into teams again and decided on an RV where we would meet the following day. Each team then applied anti-tracking techniques and circled back to the predetermined RV.
After stealthily joining up at the RV, we decided to keep a low profile and not make our presence known. We sent out small patrols to locate signs of enemy presence, and were soon rewarded when a team reported fresh tracks going into a kraal complex. We circled the kraal to the opposite side from which the enemy patrol had entered. Frannie then deliberately exposed two of the Bushmen, dressed up in SWAPO attire, to the inhabitants of the kraal, whereafter we pretended to withdraw, and then moved into a thicket not far from the kraal complex.
The SWAPO patrol, not knowing whom they were dealing with so far from the South West African border, took the bait – hook, line and sinker. They aggressively pursued us into the bush. And we were ready. The patrol approached us in line-abreast formation, so by the time Frannie initiated fire we had the nearest ones covered. The one I had in my sights was barely 20 m away. Along with four others he went down under the initial high volume of fire, while the rest started scrambling in all directions.
By now most of the guys in our formation had broken cover and were rushing forward in an uncoordinated fire-and-movement attempt. Halfway through the contact I recall Frannie running forward, shouting at the top of his voice to the Bushmen: “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot. That’s a bicycle!”
Afterwards we had a laugh when we heard what it was all about: The OC Sector 70 at Katima Mulilo had promised the Bushmen a bicycle as a reward for each SWAPO cadre brought back alive. While we didn’t get any bicycles, since none of the enemy was taken alive, we were nonetheless elated about the way the contact had turned out, especially because we had not lost anyone in the firefight.
We set up a temporary base (TB) with proper all-round defensive positions in case of a retaliatory attack. Once we had reported the contact to the Tac HQ, we started collecting evidence. Five SWAPO cadres had been killed, but it was clear from the blood spoor that at least three more were seriously wounded. Since the contact had been too far into enemy country, it was decided not to launch a follow-up due to the lack of dedicated air support.
The Tac HQ also informed us that the intelligence guys wanted all the bodies to be brought out, as they considered the collection of weapons, equipment and documentation, along with the actual faces, fingerprints and personal belongings of the cadres, as critically important. So we set about collecting weapons and kit, and started dragging the bodies to an area that we had prepared as an LZ for pick-up.
Two helicopters were dispatched to airlift the teams and the dead cadres to the operational HQ in the area of Ngwezi Pools. After we had been dropped off for debriefing, the bodies were taken to Katima Mulilo for intelligence processing. Our teams conducted two more recce missions to try to locate SWAPO deployments, but by that time all the enemy bases had been abandoned. Operation Saffraan was called off and the unit returned to Omega.
At the time I didn’t give the piled-up bodies at the LZ much thought. The rush of adrenaline and the physical exertion of collecting the bodies and equipment in the heat of the day didn’t allow much time for reflection. But later on I would often think of the people who died at our hands. How did they end up wasted, far from their loved ones, under the harsh African sun? And would their families ever know where they were and how they had died?
3
Brothers in Arms
FOR A YOUNGSTER of twenty, those years at Omega in the Caprivi were pure bliss. As a second lieutenant leading a reconnaissance team of six, consisting of two whites and four Bushmen, I had just enough freedom to mostly do my own thing without having the responsibilities of a more senior rank. We lived for the day – and for the operations that followed in quick succession.
By this time I had signed up for “short service”, which involved an additional two-year contract to the compulsory two years of national service. It also meant a healthy salary package, considering that I was also earning “danger pay” during the three years I served on the border.
At the time, more than 4 000 Bushmen lived at Omega. Of this number about 800 were soldiers, and the rest consisted of their families. The soldiers were divided into four companies: A Company (composed of Baraquenas, an indigenous tribe from the Cuando-Cubango region), B and C companies (Vasquelas, Bushmen formerly scattered across the southern regions of Angola and northeastern South West Africa) and D Company (a mix of Baraquenas and Vasquelas). Each company had its own HQ in front of its living quarters.
Omega was like a fair-sized town and indeed had to be managed like one, as all the essential services had to be maintained. The school used to have in excess of 300 pupils, who were mostly taught by national servicemen. There were about 250 whites, the majority of whom were single men who lived in prefabricated wooden huts (called “kimbos”) at the centre of the base. Three or four of us used to share a hut. For the married officers, warrant officers and NCOs, there were about fifteen “married quarters”, either wooden houses or caravans.
Daily life at the base revolved around the officers’ bars and messes. We were a close-knit community, and an exceptionally healthy spirit reigned. On Sundays the OC would close the bars and the whole unit went to church, after which the bars would reopen and everyone, married couples included, came together for a magnificent brunch. Occasionally we held concerts, with virtually everyone participating, and performing artists also visited the unit.
The recce wing’s training base, Fort Vreeslik, was built in a secluded spot about 14 km south of Omega where few people ever visited. When not on operations, we spent most of our weekdays there. The base was situated in the pristine and unspoilt bush of the Western Caprivi. The huts were built of poles and thatch that we collected from the bush ourselves.
In the centre was a fairly large “lecture hut”, where classes were presented. Since we built the camp ourselves, there was a sense of ownership among the recce wing guys. Every time we visited Fort Vreeslik, we would add a new hut or do maintenance on the structures. It was our pride
