As usual, a lot of time was spent on emergency procedures. We talked endlessly through the contingencies and role-played various scenarios with the Tac HQ. The final kit inspection was done in minute detaiclass="underline" all equipment was unpacked and rechecked for functionality and non-traceability. Batteries were checked and recharged where required; radios and electronic equipment were once again checked and tested to ensure they were both serviceable and “sterile” (the term used for non-traceable).
On the afternoon of the deployment the teams were trooped with two Puma helicopters to Okongwati in Kaokoland. Oom Sarel Visser, 5 Recce chaplain, and Oom Boet accompanied us while Dave manned the radios back at Fort Rev. At Okongwati, in a secluded spot under the trees away from the helicopters, we changed into our ops gear – mostly olive green with some pieces of FAPLA uniform – while the crews refuelled the helicopters. As we waited for last light, Oom Sarel put on his United Church of the Conqueror cassock, read from the Bible and gave us a short message of encouragement before giving communion to the teams. This was a custom unique to Small Teams that not only lifted our spirits but also strengthened the bond between us.
We took off before last light and crossed the Cunene River into Angola while visibility was still good. Vic and I were in the first Puma, with Neves and Da Costa following in the second. While there was still enough light, we kept the doors open and helped the pilots observe the skies for enemy aircraft, but all seemed quiet. When it grew too dark to see, we closed the doors and the pilots switched to night-vision goggles.
The drop-off LZ was about 40 km from the railway line in the rugged desert terrain south of Caraculo, a little settlement on the plain between Namibe and the Serra de Leba pass. We had picked one LZ for both teams, since it would serve as both the main emergency RV and a cache for the reserves. From there the teams would split up to approach their different target areas, the idea being to cover a wider stretch of the line. Each team would plant three charges five kilometres apart. All charges would activate within 30 minutes of priming, but had been set with different time delays so that they would come “alive” at different times over the next six weeks, ready to be detonated by the first diesel-electric unit that passed over them.
The LZ, in a grassy valley between sloping ridges, had been carefully picked. The moon was approaching first quarter and the pilots found the spot easily enough. The landing went off without any glitches. While the second Puma circled the area, Vic and I quickly offloaded the backpacks, water bags and crates of reserves for the cache. Then we kept a lookout while the procedure was repeated with the second helicopter.
Once the helicopters had departed, we moved into a defensive position around the LZ and waited, listening carefully for any sounds that might indicate the presence of enemy or local population. To me, this was always the worst part of any deployment. As the noise of the helicopters faded away to the south and the silence of the night became almost tangible after the rush, I was overwhelmed by a feeling of loneliness. But I kept these thoughts to myself, as there was a lot to do before daylight.
After an hour’s listening, we converged on the pile of reserve equipment and started caching the crates and water bags. It was slow, painstaking work, as we had to dig a separate hole for each item, bury it and camouflage it. Then the exact position was carefully logged by means of a sketch in relation to objects and features in the area. All the time one of us would be positioned on higher ground away from the activity to listen for any sound of approaching enemy.
By first light we had finished. The two teams had moved into separate positions on high ground overlooking the LZ area. Well camouflaged and with good vision on approach routes, we waited out the day, calling in on the VHF every hour to check if the other team was okay. All appeared quiet, and by late afternoon we decided to move out that night. Before last light Neves approached the cache to ensure that it was undisturbed and still properly camouflaged.
Vic and I would take the area west of Caraculo, while Neves and Da Costa would go 20 km further east. I had not expected the going to be as taxing as I experienced it that first night. My backpack weighed in excess of 85 kg, which was more than my own body weight, and it took great effort to get it on my back and to stand up. For a main weapon, I carried the Hungarian AMD-65, a modified version of the Russian AKM assault rifle, while Vic had a silenced weapon, the MP5 SD.[13] It had become standard practice for teams to have a normal (unsilenced) firearm and a silenced weapon as main armament. Each operator would carry a pistol of his own choice as a secondary weapon. I had also taken it upon myself to do the navigation, which I routinely did during subsequent operations, as it was a skill I liked to practise and which I believed I had perfected to a fine art. But on this first deployment it was a challenge to navigate the rugged mountainous terrain while carefully applying patrol tactics and anti-tracking techniques.
By midnight, having covered only two kilometres, we were already bone tired and decided to move into a hide and rest. At first light I went up the mountainside and kept a lookout for the day while Vic stayed with the kit. From my vantage point I could see our route stretching north through the barren countryside. It was very uneven terrain, and I realised that we needed to pick up the pace and at the same time preserve our precious water.
We moved out by late afternoon, utilising the last light of the day to make up for lost time. We had agreed to cover ten kilometres that night, although I knew it was a tall order. But in the valleys among the mountain ridges the going was comparatively easier and we finally settled into a steady pace.
But I was not destined to see my first operation through. In the early hours of the morning, having covered most of our intended stretch for that night, I stepped on a loose rock and badly sprained my ankle – the same one I had injured in the night contact with 53 Commando at Nkongo the year before. I tumbled down the slope with my kit. The moment I managed to disengage myself from the heavy backpack, I realised I was out of the game. Within minutes my ankle was swollen, and no matter how we strapped it up, it wouldn’t fit into my boot. There was no way it would sustain the weight of the kit.
My predicament left us with few options. A helicopter evacuation so close to Caraculo would mean certain compromise, but Vic could not carry all the equipment and finish the job alone. The only solution was for Vic to join the other team while I waited in the area. So it was decided that the other team would move in to our position. We would then rearrange the equipment so that the newly formed three-man team – Neves, Da Costa and Vic – could carry five charges. I would remain in the area until their return.
Fortunately Neves and Da Costa, having made about the same progress as we had, were no further than four kilometres to our east. Through the Tac HQ we arranged for an RV at a prominent feature close to us, and late that afternoon Vic went to meet them and led them to our hide.
I kept enough food and water to last me another seven days and gave the rest to Vic, while I took the HF radio. The team also took one Pick and enough Slurry for one charge from me. Between the three of them they would still be able to place five charges.
13
The Heckler & Koch MP5 9-mm submachine gun is widely used by special operations and specialised law-enforcement units worldwide.