Late that afternoon we heard considerable jet aircraft activity in the direction of our target, which made us wonder whether they had been scrambled for a mission.
It was not yet dark when we crawled out of our hiding place and started moving. Time was of the essence – we had to be on target by 01:00. We had set 02:00 as final cut-off to move out, because it would take three hours to get back to the tree line before first light. We had just started moving when we bumped into an old man returning from his fields. Diedies kept his cool and spoke to him in Portuguese, urging him to get back to his house as it was getting late. Luckily he didn’t put up an argument, hurriedly turned his back and started moving back to town.
By midnight we had reached the river just east of the runway. The aerial photography had not told us how deep and marshy it was, and it took more than two hours to cross. At some point during the crossing one of my feet got stuck in the mud and my anti-track cover got left behind. Diedies wasn’t too happy about this, but there was no time for tears. Fortunately, I still had my sheepskin bootees. We were already running late.
After crossing the river, we followed a road that led straight to the runway, and soon bumped into a checkpoint with some guards, complete with a boom gate and a dug-in tank in a defensive firing position. It took us an hour to skirt the position, moving extremely slowly as we did not know if there were any troops lying in trenches.
By 03:00 we reached the eastern end of the runway. It was already an hour past our cut-off time and we hadn’t even seen an aircraft. We decided there and then to get out before daylight. I led the way, and we were still inside the base when the first faint light of day appeared in the east. We covered the last two kilometres to the relative safety of the tree line in broad daylight, praying that we wouldn’t encounter security patrols that early in the morning.
By 06:00 we moved into dense bush and just kept going. Diedies was out of water and we had to share my half-litre. We had been going for thirty-six hours, and it was starting to take its toll. By 09:00 Diedies was severely dehydrated and I was in no position to assist him.
At last we were forced to sit down for a brief rest. As we looked back on our route, Diedies managed to say, through parched lips, “Kosie’tjie, hierdie is kak [This is a load of crap].” “Dit was laaste. Ek kruip nie weer in terr basisse rond nie. Nooit weer nie! [Never again. I’m not going to crawl around terrorist bases ever again].”
I couldn’t agree more, and I told him so. Then we each popped one of the performance-enhancing amphetamines we used to carry for such emergencies, and used the induced energy to cover distance. About four hours later, as the midday heat was at its most intense and the drugs started to wear off, Diedies suddenly stopped. Clearly at the end of his tether, he sat down and called me back.
Finding it almost impossible to speak, my colleague croaked, “I’ve given it some thought. What if we go back tomorrow night? We are now familiar with the target and with the shortest route to it. We know where to cross the river. We know where the guard post is. We can do it.”
I was flabbergasted. He was completely spent, and yet was already making plans to return to the target.
“Just think about it; they don’t know about us,” Diedies maintained. “We have all the advantage we need.”
Such was the nature of the man. Even in the most desperate of situations he could still see an outcome. In his most exhausted moments he would look at a situation with the clearest perspective and force his mind to look beyond his physical suffering.
“Okay,” I finally said, “I’ll think about it, but first let’s find the rest of the guys.”
We both had another amphetamine pill and kept moving. By the time we found the first UNITA guys that afternoon, Diedies was leaning on me for support, barely able to walk. Neves had already moved back, not knowing whether we’d been captured or not, and was happy to see us safe.
The doctor immediately put Diedies on a drip and suggested we each take a Valium to get some decent sleep. Over a hot meal we discussed the prospect of approaching the target again the following night. Neves had, in the meantime, made comms and given the Tac HQ a brief rundown of the situation. I prepared a message on Diedies’ instructions, motivating for a second penetration attempt and outlining the plan.
Before last light we again heard much aircraft activity in the direction of Menongue. It sounded like fighters taking off. I took my Valium and vaguely wondered where all the planes were going before falling into a deep and dreamless sleep.
Diedies and I were up before first light. The drip had clearly revived him, as he was in good spirits and joking: “Is jy bang, Kosie? [Are you scared, Kosie?]”
“I’m never scared,” I chirped, “just careful. After all, I don’t want to carry you out again…”
We decided to leave Neves at the temporary base, where he could maintain radio comms with the Tac HQ and, if necessary, orchestrate a search and rescue rather than sit out in the bush by himself. This time we took an HF radio with us. I discarded the improvised “bomb rucksack” and took a pack with an inner frame for the radio. The charges went in with the radio, along with extra water for both of us. We were off just after first light, and this time I wasted no time in navigating to the best position for us to penetrate.
We did much better on time, and by 20:00 that night we had skirted the marshy river area where we had wasted so much time two nights before.
Diedies took the lead after the river. As adept as I was at map and compass work, he had a knack for memorising a target and working it along the planned penetration route. This time we reached the runway by midnight. We briefly considered finding a hiding place inside the base should we not make it back to safety before first light, but both of us knew how dangerous that would be.
We kept going, maintaining a low profile on the runway. Suddenly I heard a sound behind us and pushed Diedies down firmly. It was the strangest noise, as if a light steel object was being rolled rapidly in our direction. The next moment a dog came trotting past us on the runway, not noticing us even though we were barely three metres away. The noise came from its claws hitting the tarred surface. It ran past us and disappeared, leaving two shaken but very relieved operators on the tarmac.
We reached the hardstand in front of the main terminal building. As there was some light coming from the buildings, I could see quite clearly with the night-vision goggles. But there were no jets. The only two aircraft I could see were a smallish prop job and an Mi-17 transport helicopter, nothing else.
“I see no MiGs,” I said in a whisper.
“What do you mean, no MiGs? We’re not looking in the right place…”
He brought his night vision to his face. No fighter planes. Then it hit us, right there in the dark, on the tarmac, deep in the Angolan war zone. They didn’t put troops under the MiGs to guard them; they actually flew the aircraft out to a safe place every night! That was the jet activity we had heard the two previous nights.
We were devastated to realise that all our efforts were in vain – our mission would be unsuccessful. We approached the transport on the tarmac and saw that it was unserviceable. When I quietly suggested to Diedies that we should plant devices on the two aircraft, he just waved his arms; it would have been futile to give the game away at that point. All that remained was to exfiltrate quietly and rethink the whole operation.
We moved out fast. By now we knew the route well and skirted the hot spots easily. Once out of the target area, I took over and navigated us directly back to the TB. While it was a great relief to be out of danger and to see the friendly faces of our comrades, I felt very down and disappointed.