We started rehearsing weeks ahead. We sat for hours in the ops room at Rundu studying aerial photographs of the base and surrounding areas. We spent many hours determining routes in and out, identifying hiding places and working out emergency procedures. The base, which consisted of an HQ and three large defensive systems occupied by two battalions, served as the main headquarters and forward airfield for FAPLA forces in the area. Guided by the intelligence officer from Chief of Staff Intelligence (CSI) dedicated to the deployment, we identified complex trench systems surrounding the base and worked out a tricky approach route through them.
As usual, we spent many hours on detailed rehearsals, practising every drill, every possible method of stealthy movement and various immediate-action drills in case things went wrong. By the time we deployed, we were confident that our plan would work. What we did not realise beforehand was that the vegetation surrounding the target was not dense enough to hide a team of eight, and the soft sand of the Angolan savanna would make effective anti-tracking almost impossible.
We infiltrated for five days, taking it slowly in order to leave no tracks and to ensure that we reached our target unobserved. A slight navigational error over a 40-km distance, with no landmarks to plot your position, could lead to disaster. At the time I had not fully mastered the art of multi-legged dead reckoning (DR) navigation, whereby the navigator, in the absence of recognisable terrain features, has to rely completely on maintaining his bearing and judging his distance. I realised too late that navigation should be planned in the same detail as the rest of the deployment.
On the night we finally had to penetrate, I came to the shocking realisation that we were about three kilometres south of the target, and were about to penetrate one of the forward early-warning posts, located in a deserted farmhouse. During the last three days of the infiltration we had rainy, overcast weather and absolutely no way of identifying a landmark to guide us.
We had to admit defeat and return to Rundu to work out a better route to the target. When we deployed again, we approached the target within four days. Using DR, I navigated to the last step, and found the target with relative ease. On the morning of the fourth day, the team was huddled together in a thicket that did not provide enough cover at all – and barely two kilometres from the target. To make matters worse, the hiding place was right next to a well-used pathway, frequented by both soldiers and civilians. We kept a low profile, sweating out the day.
By early evening we were up and about, relieved that we had not been seen and ready to penetrate the base. I established comms to brief the Tac HQ on our intentions, and then the team fell into formation and started the approach to the target area.
On the perimeter we left a two-man team with a radio, Tinus “Putty” van der Merwe and his buddy, to establish the crash RV (the point that would serve as rendezvous in case of emergency) and to guard the kit, while the three recce teams entered the dragon. The six of us stalked between two trench systems, where we could hear soldiers on both sides going about their business, and then made our way towards the centre of the target area. Once on the runway inside the base, we split up, one team going north, one south and my team, the indomitable Chimango Kanyeti and a somewhat self-assured me, moving eastward in the direction of the river.
For the first time in my operational career I had a peculiar experience that would often repeat itself later, but at the time was unique and quite inspiring. As we stalked towards our target, following the route I had painstakingly planned, experiencing the terrain and features as we had seen on the aerial photos, I had the distinct feeling that I had been there before. I experienced an eerie and very real sense of déjà vu. Because we knew every centimetre of the terrain, and because Chimango and I had rehearsed in similar conditions, we both had the feeling that we had done this before, on this exact stretch of earth!
Then I made the dumbest mistake of all. As we moved east, we also approached against the low moon. It was 02:00 and the quarter moon was rising above the treetops, providing just enough light to restrict our vision and cast dark shadows under the cluster of trees we were approaching – the exact position where we expected the enemy to be.
There is no sound as ominous as the cocking of an unfriendly AK-47 in the middle of the night – especially if you are at the wrong end, exposed and not sure where it’s coming from. We were suddenly challenged from the shadows of the line of trees ahead of us. The first to gather his wits was Chimango. As the voice behind the AK-47 demanded to know who we were, Chimango answered in the local vernacular, which, fortunately, he understood. Pretending to be drunk, he mumbled something to the effect that we were on our way to our platoon. That gave us the split-second advantage we needed.
We did not wait for the man behind the voice to make up his mind as to whether we were friendly or not, but just gapped it out of there. This would not be the last time the cocking of an AK-47 in the dead of night would bring an operation to an abrupt end. And I can honestly say that I never grew to like that sound particularly.
Our next challenge was to get the teams together, because by that time we had run out of comms with them. At last we managed to raise the other two teams, one to the north and the other to the south, on the radio and call them back to the crash RV. By that time there was enough commotion around us to wake a sleeping dragon, so no one felt the need to hang around. We moved out along the same route by which we had entered, carefully avoiding the defensive positions where we could now hear the sounds of soldiers awakening and preparing for the day. On the outskirts of the base we met up with Putty, who was still manning the crash RV and guarding our kit.
There was barely an hour of darkness left, and we made good use of it. We ran west, away from the base, and then, in an attempt to deceive the enemy, turned north and started applying various anti-tracking techniques. Eventually we swung west, then turned south, thinning out, changing direction, walking backwards in our tracks and generally behaving frantically. By 09:00 we realised that the FAPLA guys had launched a massive follow-up. Behind us we could hear vehicles closing in, distinctly pushing over vegetation and revving up through the brush. Vehicles were also advancing on the road to our west, probably dropping off teams to cut in on our tracks. To the east, we were cut off by the Cuito River. To the south lay the Cubango (Kavango) River – still to be crossed once we got there.
It was up to me to make the calclass="underline" we either had to compromise the mission by a helicopter pick-up or run the risk of a contact or one of our team members being caught. I opted for the easy ride home. The Puma picked us up about 15 km north of the border, literally grabbing us from under the noses of the follow-up force. It was quite a red-faced affair, as the South African forces were blamed for aggression against the MPLA and I was the one who had to answer for having caused an international incident. The South African government, of course, categorically and vehemently denied involvement and simply passed the blame to UNITA.
At least we didn’t leave any equipment, wounded soldiers or dead bodies behind. That definitely would have won me the gold medal. But one good thing did come of it; I vowed that I would never again do a close-in reconnaissance with a team of eight, or approach the lion’s den against the rising moon.
When the adrenaline started pumping, fear was a constant companion, and, like every young soldier, I had to learn to cope with it. My fellow soldiers used to handle their fears and uncertainties in different ways, often by excessive drinking. Since I didn’t drink, I had to find other ways of letting off steam. Apart from my faith in God, as well as a strong tie with my parents, I developed my own techniques for managing my fear.