After the weekend with Zelda I moved back to the Karos Hotel in Pretoria, where we stayed at reduced rates when the officers’ messes were full. Our rehearsals now became more focused, as we needed to master the technicalities of railway demolitions. Specialists from EMLC taught us the intricacies of working with a mine, code-named Pick, tailor-made for diesel-electric trains. To ensure that the charge would not detonate when an empty carriage was coupled to the front of a train, Pick was designed to activate only once a diesel-electric locomotive passed over it. The device could be programmed to remain in sleep mode for up to three months, and then to arm itself and wait for the approach of a diesel-electric unit. The device had a little antenna that would pick up the electromagnetic field generated by the electric motor (the diesel engine in a diesel-electric unit is primarily there to generate power for the electric motor that drives the train), thus activating the mechanism. It was also fitted with an anti-lifting device that would react to any disturbance of the mine.
The explosives used for trains, code-named Slurry, consisted of an RDX base washed out of PE4, then mixed with nitro-methane to form liquid explosives. Aluminium powder was added for incendiary effect. The advantage of Slurry, which we carried in thickly sealed plastic bags, was that it could be poured into a hole made in the ballast of the train tracks. It would trickle down into the open spaces and fill all the cavities among the ballast. When exposed to air Slurry would eventually settle and slowly turn into a solid. The complete charge, Pick and Slurry, would be positioned to derail the train and cause maximum damage to the diesel-electric unit.
Various other devices, some extremely advanced for their time, were invented by EMLC and tailor-made for operations. Working on a similar basis as Pick, a device called Shovel was designed for vehicles, while the charge accompanying it was Hydra, a robust explosive that could be formed into all kinds of shapes – even resembling elephant dung strewn on the road surface! Another device I would get to know intimately was the mechanism used for demolishing aircraft, called Tiller, and its specially designed charge, Havoc, consisting of the explosive Torpex based on a solid aluminium plate for incendiary effect.
We visited train shunting yards and various stretches of track to get a grasp of the new challenge. It was important for us to understand the impact explosives had when placed in different positions on the track. I learned that, due to its sheer weight, a train could not be derailed simply by an explosion under the belly of a unit or a coach. The rail itself had to be disrupted, while factors such as the curve of the line, the speed of the train and the height of the tracks above ground level had to be taken into account.
By that time we had invented a new technique to prepare the railway site and plant the device: Diedies and Neves had designed a small tent that could be assembled and positioned over the tracks within a few seconds. With the side flaps stuck together with Velcro, the tent was completely light-tight. The operator inside the tent would use a powerful headlamp, allowing him to work fast and effectively and to make sure that, once the hole between the tracks had been filled in and the site covered up, the camouflaging would pass close scrutiny.
One problem was that the top layer of the track ballast, through exposure to the elements, had a different colour and texture from the underlying stones. The operator therefore had to clear the top layer and keep these stones aside to cover the hole again once the job was done. Previously, operators had used night-vision goggles when replacing the ballast, but the unnatural green image created by the goggles often meant that some discolouration would be visible on the surface. Working with white light reduced the risk of poor camouflage, and it certainly boosted the operator’s confidence when connecting and arming the detonating device.
One Saturday night, while I was staying at Zelda’s parents for the weekend, we had a rehearsal on a disused railway line passing through a deserted stretch of land outside Pretoria. Da Costa, Neves, Vic and I spent the Saturday at Special Forces HQ preparing for the night’s work, and departed for the target area as soon as it was dark. Since it was not meant to be a tactical exercise, two of the EMLC technicians joined us to provide technical support and advise us on the placement of the devices.
We got started straight away, but soon realised that digging into the ballast would not be an easy job. Until late that night we worked on various ways to remove the stones and dig into the strata below, testing different types of tools for the job and practising different ways of inserting the devices. At about 02:00 we packed up, satisfied with the night’s work, and started towards the parked vehicles.
We had to cross a dilapidated old fence line and, since my arms were full of equipment, two of the guys held the rusted strands down to help me get across. Then, unexpectedly, a single strand snapped loose and ripped across my face, one of the wire knots tearing open my upper lip, strangely enough on the inside, as I must have had my mouth open at that moment. In an instant blood was spurting all over the place. The operators rushed me to 1 Military Hospital, where the wound was stitched up. A heavy dose of painkillers and antibiotics rounded off the treatment.
I wasn’t a pretty sight when I quietly slipped into Zelda’s folks’ home in the early hours of the morning, but everyone was asleep and I got to bed without anyone noticing. But eventually I had to get up and show my badly swollen face. I had barely slept due to the pain and discomfort. I looked decidedly rotten as I walked into the kitchen, where Zelda, her folks and her brother were having their Sunday-morning breakfast.
Zelda’s mom immediately assumed that I had been involved in a bar brawl – “so typical of the Recces”. There was no way of explaining this one away, having disappeared from their home on a Saturday and returned at some ungodly hour with a face apparently smashed to a pulp. To this day they believe I told them a tall tale. It took much explaining just to convince Zelda, but eventually she accepted Vic’s version, as she adored and trusted him. She gave me a hard time for causing damage to my pretty little face.
We now moved to a phase of detailed planning for the deployment, spending many hours on the execution of the deployment, and on routes towards the target areas and the actual points on the line we wanted to attack. As usual, we meticulously worked out and rehearsed emergency procedures for every possible contingency. At the Joint Aerial Reconnaissance and Intelligence Centre (JARIC) at Waterkloof Air Force Base, bent over maps and aerial photos of southwestern Angola, we worked out the details of every leg, emergency RVs and escape routes.
JARIC had state-of-the-art facilities, and for the first time I had the amazing experience of “riding” the stereoscopes. Enlarged stereo pairs of photos covering the target area were laid out under a massive stereoscope. The operator would get into a seat and steer the scope across the photo sets, which would allow him to fly virtually over a landscape that would “jump” out at him in 3D. The experience was so realistic that I became nauseous after a few minutes’ “flying” in the machine.
Then the day arrived on which I, as the mission commander, had to do the in-house ops briefing for the deployment. While I was mentally and physically exceptionally well prepared for the mission, presenting our plan seemed like an insurmountable hurdle. I couldn’t imagine selling my story convincingly to General Joep Joubert, then GOC Special Forces, and all his staff officers. In those days the mission commander would normally do the “in-house” ops briefing to the GOC, followed by a briefing to the Chief of the Defence Force the next day, given that the mission had been approved at Special Forces level.