No Fear

by Steve Devereux

  For a town that had been on its own and out on such a limb, its people — and it was not for the first time I had experienced this in Mozambique — seemed quite matter-of-fact about their predicament. They were surprisingly organised, too. Eugene earned some brownie points off us, as he had sorted out a nice clean, well-secured villa for our stay, large enough for each team member to have his own room. It had hot and cold water, furniture, plus our own dedicated cook and two militia men to stand guard. Eugene had even fixed up a field telephone which ran down to his own villa, which doubled up as his operations centre, so that in the event of an attack we would — hopefully — get some kind of prior warning.

  After sorting out the troops and driving around to familiarise ourselves with the towns layout, I decided it was time to get cleaned up, sort my weapons out, have a good scratch around and a pick of the nose, roll out the green maggot (sleeping bag) and get some shut eye. I was totally knackered. The journey up would have been stressful enough in peace-time, let alone during a war. But my idea of turning in early that night was not to be. We had been invited to a local bar for 'drinks' with Eugene and a few of the town's dignitaries. The invitation came through on the phone, as crisp a line as any British Telecom connection. Dress was to be civvies, but with guns carried if preferred. An unusual option if in normal circumstances, but then, Dodge City had fuck all on this place. I packed my pistol plus two mags. The rest of the team did the same.

  Needless to say, there was no electricity at night. Come to think of it, there was no electricity during the day, either! So all the unloading of food, fuel and the rest of the supplies was done in relative darkness. The only sources of light were portable lanterns powered by petrol generators, which were only turned on during an emergency, as a rule. Fortunately tonight was deemed, if not an emergency, at least essential. Indeed, it was essential to have a quick unloading operation, getting all the kit off the wagons and into storage.

  The petrol, which was stored in huge underground tanks, was at a premium. Everything that had a value was secretly cached. The shelves of every shop I peered in were empty. In fact, the locals did have stores, but they weren't kept in obvious places. The first time Renamo came in, they only slightly trashed the supplies they could not carry with them. After that, all surviving stores were taken away and secretly cached. It was just luck that Renamo attacked merely as a small force and stayed just for a couple of hours, otherwise Gurué would have been short of essential supplies and wouldn't have been able to hold out for as long as it did.

  There was probably some tactical reasoning behind Renamo's actions. Perhaps they saw Gurué as a soft target and realised that they could enter the town at their own discretion. So trashing their only source for a resup for miles around, especially food supplies, wouldn't have been, in the long term, the most sensible of tactics. Their most recent incursion, and their longest occupation, had been just a couple of weeks back, when they stayed for three days. This was enough time for them to find many of the cache sites, so when we arrived the town was down to its last bean.

  We took two Land Rovers down to the RV at a bar called Bar Café Café. Our 20mm cannon had been off-loaded earlier, so Jimmy whizzed around the town, driving more casually than before. The roads were in good nick, large pot-holes appearing only now and then. Probably the lack of any form of transport using them in the last 20 or so years was one reason for their good state of repair. Many of the holes had been made by AP mines scattered by Renamo and detonated by the locals, more times than not by a child.

  When we pulled up outside, Bar Café Café looked dead, but a faint glow could be seen through one of the curtains. It was a two-storey mid-terrace set-up, a single door with a window either side of it. The top two windows each had a balcony and once had had French-style shutters either side of them. These were long since gone, probably cut up for firewood. The brick had been painted in pastel green while the windows and door were a puce sort of colour, faded through years of neglect.

  Then the door opened and we were beckoned in surreptitiously, as if it was some illegal drinking and gambling joint. Inside were about ten locals, men and women, and, of course, Eugene, holding court at the bar with a couple of pretty young girls. It was a large place, to the left was half-a-dozen odd tables and chairs, and to the right was a small bar. At the back was a dancefloor arrangement flanked by doors: one toilet and one exit, I presumed. The room was lit by candles and the whole place had an eerie, sinister feel about it. I reckoned in its day it had probably been the 'in place', but tonight it smelt musty and used. More importantly, I noticed that the bar had no drinks, in fact, there was no sign of alcohol. Some invitation!

  Beer eventually arrived, but it was the stock we had brought up for our own consumption — Jimmy had to go back and get it from our villa. That night we drank our entire stock of beer for four days between the lot of us. It worked out about three bottles apiece. It was just as well Jimmy didn't bring the team's emergency rations of two bottles of Johnny Walker as well. The night was a sober one, but I have never liked drinking with a loaded piece on me at the best of times.

  Two days later an Old Antanov flown by good old Uri brought in supplies. If there was a beer resup on board, we didn't get to hear about it, since unloading was carried out by Eugene's men alone. We didn't even know there was an aircraft due in until we heard the unmistakable drone of its engines one morning.

  On the outskirts of the town lay six tea-refining factories (called Upees — the word doesn't seem to have a specific meaning — and numbered 1 to 6), of which only two, Upee 4 and Upee 6, hadn't been sabotaged beyond repair by Renamo up to that time. These refineries, each covering about half the size of a soccer field, stood a single storey high. Very roughly covered in corrugated sheeting, they reminded me of very large Nissen huts. They were fitted out with pretty basic threshing machinery powered by electricity; each refinery had its own back-up generator should the primary generator fail, which happened more often than not.

  Come first light the following morning, before half of the troops could be stood down, all of us conducted a search to clear these two working factories before anything else would be attempted. If there was one thing sure to happen during our short stay, it would be a contact staged by Renamo, if not directly at us, then at an innocent local, just to let us know that they were watching and waiting for us on our return journey. This was in the forefront of our minds. Unfortunately it was beginning to become obvious that the force did not seem to think the way we did. Discipline had begun to break down almost as soon as we entered Gurué. Drivers of the wagons had been carrying liquid gold, and they knew it — petrol. Fuel started to go missing, and other vital supplies for the town — and, of course, more importantly for us, for the journey home — also 'got misplaced'.

  The troops might have liked to stay out here but we sure as hell didn't. So our major problem was containing the alarming fuel wastage. To make matters worse, a couple of fights started amongst the force, put down to the illegal siphoning off and selling of fuel. Officers and men alike had been trading, and the disciplined force we had trained so hard was now turning into a rabble. Something had to be done about this — fighting Renamo was not fundamentally a problem, serious though it was, but fighting between our own troops was wholly unacceptable. What's more, we felt responsible, since we had trained them.

  The trouble was that these men had not really been let loose for over three months. Now they saw an opportunity to make a bit of money or to get something to make their existence a little more bearable, so I could see how easy it was for them to fuck around. I didn't agree with it, but I could understand it. A few were reprimanded, but this didn't help matters because one of the officers had been a main mover in the fuel details. Eventually it was decided that all the vehicles were to be driven out to the two Upees, leaving only the two BRTs in the town. Of course, our Land Rovers were driven out of town as well, and we made sure that we had enough fuel to cover any eventuality if the shit
should hit the fan.

  Jimmy and I opted to cover Upee 6, the more isolated of the two, with 30 troops. Whereas the other Upees were near to the town and had four or more entry and exit points via roads, plus many options to 'bug out' should an attacking Renamo force overrun it, Upee 6 was the furthest from the town, in the hills with only one dirt track leading up to it, and offered very limited 'bug out' routes. Furthermore, because of its location, it had become the most frequently attacked.

  Upee 4 had 30 more troops under their own command. Josh and Brad would arrange that the local militia set up defensive positions around the town and acted as a roving patrol between all three positions, should Renamo decide to attack the town instead.

  We were in constant radio communications with both locations and established a daily routine. During the day we would leave a skeleton guard-force at the two Upees to oversee the loading of the tea, whilst the rest of us carried out mobile patrols of the area, split between lying up in town for rest. At night all of us would man the positions and await possible attack.

  Jimmy and I would place our troops in a typical British defensive position. The troops had dug their own trenches and were given their arcs of fire; trenches positioned so that these interlocked, thus covering all the ground around Upee 6. We also had the 20mm cannon mounted on the Land Rover which was located between Jimmy and myself.

  The first night passed without incident. One problem was that half the troops either fell asleep whilst on stag or, worse, they vanished to go shagging in town, not returning until the morning. Another was that most of them now had civilian clothes under their uniforms, so that at the first sign of trouble they could strip off their uniforms and run off into the bush as civilians. This was very worrying.

  So, come day two, we briefed one of the officers and the interpreter, who were loyal to the cause, to get a grip of their men and prevent a repeat performance. During that day, however, the fuel problem started up again. The force commander rounded up two of the ringleaders and had them publicly flogged. This seemed to do the trick. By the third night, Jimmy and I had our full complement of troops back in their relevant trenches, but nothing would stop them from falling asleep. It proved essential to creep round in the dead of night making sure that the troops were staying quiet and 'on guard'.

  It was at around four in the morning of this particular day that we heard small arms fire coming from the direction of Upee 4. Crucially, the radio went dead for some time after the initial shots. That meant we didn't know whether Upee 4 was being attacked for real, or whether the troops there were shooting at 'ghosts'. Our answer came an hour later, when we came under attack.

  A stream of tracer came towards us from out of the bush, pinging off the highest points, the metal structures of the factory, and ripping through its corrugated tin sides. Sparks of light, caused by incoming rounds impacting and then ricocheting off those metal elements, showered all around us. Fortunately the attackers were firing way too high, and undeterred we returned fire back into the bush. Now the whole place erupted with the sound of small arms and RPG7 rounds exploding everywhere. My AKM was performing well and I fired off a couple of bursts to a position where I had seen the unmistakable muzzle-flash of an AK47. Next moment I switched my fire to a position some ten feet to the left, let rip with a few more rounds, then immediately switched back to the first position. Because we were in a semi-static position, every time I put a burst into the bush I got back down and came up firing from a different position.

  This tactic normally works well when you have quite a lot of open cover to move around in. You can fire, go to ground, move maybe ten feet, then fire again. It prevents your head getting taken off should the enemy have his weapon trained on where you went to ground, waiting for you to rear your ugly head once more. I had only two or three possible positions to choose from, which allowed me to move just a few feet every time I fired. Still, this wasn't too much of a problem because my troops were putting down so much suppressive fire that only Rambo himself would have dared return fire.

  I took stock of my situation, got down into cover and changed mags, and at the same time briefly looked across to make eye contact with Jimmy, who was still firing. Then I glanced further down the line of troops. Many, having left their original fire positions, were now standing up, jumping around, screaming and firing from the hip. It was total chaos. Then the firing began to die down. I could see two of our troops preparing to fire a couple of RPGs, but they looked amateurish and panicky, so I screamed over to them to get a grip. At that moment they fired. An overwhelming whooshing sound filled the whole area. Jimmy and I watched as both rounds were fired almost simultaneously. One hit a tree somewhere in front of us, bounced off and exploded into a huge fireball, causing the bush to erupt and the ground around the point of impact to shudder. The vegetation caught light instantaneously as the high explosives detonated. The other round cut through the bush, narrowly missing some big trees, and exploded with a loud crump about 300 metres away.

  The gun battle lasted for about five minutes, but it took both myself and Jimmy several more minutes after the initial contact to rally the troops into some kind of order and stop them from firing. They'd got out of their trenches, which could have been a very bad move. The whole point of 'digging in' was containment, to hold the ground you were supposed to be defending. By leaving the trench you make a break in the defence position's arcs of fire, thus (in theory) allowing the enemy to break through at a point not covered by fire.

  Renamo had wanted to know what state of alertness we were in, and I think they got the message — our troops certainly knew how to turn bullets into empty cases. The volley of fire put down reminded me, in some ways, of the battle for Goose Green in the Falklands. To be fair, although our troops left their positions, they still fired in the right direction, i.e. away from Jimmy and me and outwards into the bush. Given the circumstances, that was as much as we could really have asked of them.

  After getting a grip on the guys and putting them back down in their trenches, I found that we had no casualties. This was good news, because we had very limited combat medical kits. Two field dressings were all that the troops had been issued with, and I was sure that most had used them for other purposes, such as firelighters or something to bargain with.

  When first light came, Josh and Brad drove out of town to see how we all were. At the same time we put out patrols towards the general direction of the attack. It was at this stage that Upee 4 came back under attack. Josh had been talking to the local militia commander, who reckoned that the Renamo force numbered only about ten, so with that little piece of unconfirmed intelligence, we all got into vehicles and screamed off to Upee 4, leaving just the roving patrols and a static guard at Upee 6. It was a bit of a risk leaving all the trucks with the men, but actually there was nowhere for them to go if they did have any ideas of doing a runner. Their best bet was to remain calm and hope that the local militia's intelligence was good, and that this attacking group was not part of a bigger force. Brad decided that all the team should stick together on this occasion, and I was very glad of that!

  It took us ten minutes to get to Upee 4, where the gun battle was still very much in evidence. It was difficult to work out how much enemy fire was being directed at it because there was so much firepower being unloaded by our troops. It was like a scene out of the film Full Metal Jacket as we disembarked from the Land Rovers and took cover along the side of the track with bullets ripping up the ground all around. It didn't help that the area on both sides of the track was densely overgrown with creepers, the odd tree and those infernal bastard bushes.

  Upee 4 was now 30 metres up ahead. At the time I didn't know if it was our own troops firing at us or the enemy — rounds seemed to be coming from all over the place. It was a mad, uncontrolled contact but it seemed to have done the trick. However, it wasn't until 15 minutes after our arrival, that Josh managed to get the officer at Upee 4 on the radio to tell him to stop firing, causing peace to
fall on us at last.

  Only when the firing stopped did we make our way warily up the track, taking cover behind the Land Rovers and the APC, firing the odd burst into the bush just to make sure no Renamo heroes were still alive.

  Miraculously, our troops had suffered very few injuries at either Upee, the worst being a soldier who had two of his fingers on his left hand shot off. As regards the enemy, our troops recovered three bodies from the bush at Upee 4 and five from Upee 6, and also located a couple of blood trails. The men were ecstatic. So were all the townsfolk of Gurué; once again we were given a heroes' welcome and that evening they threw a big party for us. It was a nice gesture, but my mind was on a possible counter-attack that night and the journey back to Cuamba the following day.

  By mid-morning we were on our way home. The grader had been out very early doing its stuff, and Eugene had ordered part of the militia to stand guard over the cleared track. Now, things had a habit of turning out very strangely on this job. Sometimes things you asked to be done never happened, other times things that you would never have expected to happen, did. This route clearance was an example. We hadn't asked for it to be cleared because it might have come across to Eugene that we were telling him to do his job, and that in turn might have caused him (or one or more personalities under his command) to lose face — never a good thing. Since we would be returning in the near future, we didn't want to piss off the next welcoming party by making any requests now that might be misinterpreted. So the clearing that morning was a pleasant surprise. What lay further down the track, however, was anyone's guess!

  As it happened, the return journey was largely uneventful: no contacts, no flat tyres and no internal dramas between the troops, their officers or us. For my part, I was happy that the villages we had passed through on the outward journey hadn't been visited by Renamo in our absence.