On the side of the house I ran into an unforeseen obstacle, a makeshift fence that barred our entry. It took two of us to charge it down, and we literally fell in on the target. I jumped up and engaged the outbuildings, lobbing a stun grenade into the room and adjacent bathroom, but then my MP5 jammed after the first shot. I cocked and engaged again, but once again it had a stoppage. I quickly went down on my knees and changed magazines, cocked and fired into the dust-filled rooms.
By this time everyone had switched to white light on the weapons (by means of a powerful torch mounted below the barrel), as was the drill upon first engagement. I swept the outer room and bathroom with my torch and realised that they were empty, aside from stacks of ANC pamphlets spread out on a table. These I quickly collected in a bag each of us carried for this purpose, and then took up position outside with my teammate.
In the meantime Bill and the rest of the main assault team had followed us round and entered the house through the rear door, having found that the front was too strongly secured for a quick entry. The team encountered minor resistance inside, as there appeared to be only one person guarding the place. The house was cleared in a matter of seconds, and the piles of documents and propaganda material were hastily thrown into the plastic bags. Bill coordinated the setting of 4-kg charges in the house and the outbuildings, and on his command we initiated the timers. In less than two minutes the assault was over and the charges armed. Everyone cleared the house and got into the vehicles outside. We were barely two blocks away when the charges detonated. Twice we passed police vehicles flashing by in the opposite direction, but we reached the RV safely and waited for Diedies and Jo-Jo to arrive.
At the Angwa Street target the team found the street as busy as earlier that night. When they pulled their minibus (one of our hired vehicles) into a parking lot in front of the building, a security guard armed with a knobkierie ordered them away, apparently because the parking was reserved for police vehicles. When Vic told him to move aside, the guard became quite agitated and started shouting and threatening. Vic then produced his AK, which finally convinced the guy that he should rather stand down.
Jo-Jo’s teammates placed the ladder and held it down while he quickly mounted to the second floor. The burglar-proofing posed a minor obstacle, but Jo-Jo managed to get the charges inside and armed the devices through the window. The job was done in less than a minute and the team got away safely. The ladder was left against the building and was on display for the world’s media the next day.
All elements made it safely to the RV and we departed in a convoy towards the pick-up point in the Ngezi Recreational Park, south of Harare. A few kilometres from the city, a car overtook us from behind. The driver, a white man, inspected us as he drove past, then sped ahead and made a U-turn in the road, passing us again on his way back to Harare. We found this curious, but encountered no further obstacles on our route. Twice we stopped to strew the road with caltrops – multi-spiked metal “thorns” that would puncture any vehicle’s tyres and delay a pursuit.
There was a thick fog in the area of our pick-up point, to the extent that we feared the helicopters might not be able to locate our strobes or make a safe landing. We offloaded our gear from the vehicles and prepared an LZ while the drivers wiped the vehicles clean of fingerprints. Finally, at first light we heard the lead pilot calling on the radio, and soon the noise of the aircraft became audible. The fog had lifted slightly and the helicopters were able to land and get us out of there. The cars were left at Ngezi but a call was made to the Avis office in Harare to thank them cordially and inform them where they could find their vehicles.
While the three raids conducted simultaneously in Harare, Gaborone and Lusaka had little tactical impact, the political fallout was huge. South Africa was once again criticised by Western powers and African nations alike for its apartheid policies and its “flagrant acts of war” against its neighbours. The effect the raids had on the ANC was impossible to measure, although I believe that the message was conveyed that the South African Defence Force would strike at its enemies wherever they were hiding.
5
Operation Colosseum
October-November 1986
“In comradeship is danger countered best.”
ON 25 OCTOBER 1986 the whole of 5 Recce converged on Oshivelo, a training area adjacent to the northern tip of the Etosha National Park. It was just across the so-called red line, dividing the farmlands to the south from the operational area to the north. The unit had come together to rehearse for Operation Colosseum – a deep penetration into Angola for a base attack on the headquarters of SWAPO’s Eastern Front. A two-man recce team – José da Costa and I – would be inserted a week before the attack to locate the base and call in the attack force. This was to be our first Small Team deployment together, and both of us were a bit apprehensive, as each of us was unsure what to expect of the other.
José’s huge frame had earned him the nickname “Mr T”, after the character of BA Baracus in the popular 1980s television action series The A-Team. Depending on the big man’s mood, we would call him “Da Costa” or “Mr T”, or simply by his first name. For Operation Colosseum Mr T became my team buddy, as Vic had to catch up on promotional courses, which every operator still had to complete for promotion, and was subsequently moved to another team.
Da Costa was born in Lobito, then a lively coastal town in the Benguela province of Angola, to a white Portuguese father and a mother from one of the local tribes. Before the Angolan civil war the town had been known for its carnival – not unlike that of Rio de Janeiro – which, together with the town’s location and picturesque setting, attracted many tourists. But his blissful childhood was cut short by the civil war; Da Costa was only eighteen when the war split up his family and forced him and his sister to leave the country.
Over the years Da Costa has shared snippets of his life story and how he came to join Special Forces. I was amazed by what he had experienced by the time he was in his early twenties. It was difficult for me to imagine losing your home and your parents and having to flee for your life at such a young age. What happened to him and his family happened to thousands of other Angolan refugees. Their stories have not received as much attention from the South African media as those of former SADF soldiers, yet their experiences are just as much a part of the Border War story.
In early 1976 Da Costa arrived at Buffalo Base in the Western Caprivi with a group of ex-FNLA soldiers, who would later become the formidable fighting force known as 32 Battalion. Their familes were brought from Rundu and established in the kimbo (village) at Buffalo along the banks of the Kavango River. Da Costa’s first opportunity to do specialised work came with the formation of the reconnaissance wing of 32 Battalion. He joined up, and by the end of 1977 had moved to Omauni, the recce wing’s operational base.
By 1981 he had made up his mind to join Special Forces. Since he had experience in small team work at 32 Battalion Recce Group, he wanted to apply his skills in a specialised environment. He was also under some pressure from his colleagues, because some of the 32 Battalion soldiers were already at 5 Recce, so he and three friends started to prepare. The four of them were transferred from 32 Battalion to Phalaborwa in February 1982. In April they did Special Forces selection with a group of 30 soldiers. Da Costa was one of only six who passed, and was soon transferred to 53 Commando.