by Steve Reeder
Evans woke the driver at noon the next day, and handed him a plate of food with a mug of coffee. They were again stopped. The camouflage net covering them gave them protection from casual scrutiny, but would not be sufficient to hide anyone from more intense scrutiny.
“Any idea how far we still have to go, Sean?” Evans asked.
“From what the RSM was saying it can’t be more than fifteen to twenty kilometres from here,” Reece replied. “We made up a lot of time along that road last night.”
“Do you know what’s at this place we’re heading for?”
“From what I saw on the RSM’s map, it looked like a farmhouse. Although whether it’s a working farm or not, I couldn’t guess.”
“I’d be surprised if there are any functioning farms left in Angola.”
“I don’t know about that,” Reece said between mouthfuls of coffee, “They must feed the people in the cities somehow.”
Reece handed back the tin plate and stood up. “I’m going to nick some of the RSM’s bog-roll and go leave a personal land-mine for the enemy.”
“Watch where you are walking,” Evans suggested, “Cole did the same thing an hour ago.”
The rest of the day passed without drama and at seventeen-hundred hours the Colonel called a quick meeting. He informed them that they were within twenty kilometres of their target.
Reece shot Evans a told-you-so glance.
“I want to arrive there just before sunrise tomorrow morning,” the Colonel told them, “So we will stay here and rest up until midnight.” He went on to detail a guard rotation and then dismissed the men. As they were leaving he grabbed Santos’ arm. “Santos, come with me for a little walk. I need to talk to you about tomorrow.” They ventured out past Uys who was standing watch from an out-cropping of small boulders forty meters from the buffel. When he was sure that they could not be overheard, he turned to the Captain. “When last did you talk to your uncle?” the Colonel wanted to know.
“Three weeks ago, Colonel. But he has a radio and he will call us on our call-sign if there has been any change. Don’t worry.”
“What if he’s been taken and he can’t call us?”
“Colonel, do you wish me to contact him?” Fourie thought about the risk of doing this. But before he could voice his concerns the captain continued. “My uncle and I have a word that we use if there is trouble, or if one of us is under duress from other people.”
“All right, let’s do that then,” Fourie told him. “Just a quick message to make sure everything is OK.”
“As you wish, Colonel.”
The two officers walked back into the camp and sought out Evans who was fiddling with the radio, trying to find a local music station.
“Corporal Evans,” Fourie said, squatting down besides the signaller, “I want you to tune into the second wave-length, the one you’ve been keeping watch on and give the handset to Captain Santos.”
Danny Evans handed Santos the handset and quickly set the wave-length.
Santos held down the transmit button and said just three word in Portuguese. Then they waited, everyone else looked curiously at them. Santos was about to try again when the radio came to life and a voice said something, again in Portuguese. Santos signalled Evans who cut the connection.
“Everything is fine, Colonel,” Santos said.
Fourie nodded, patted Santos on the back and went in search of his RSM.
Evans and the others exchanged glances and shrugs. It wasn’t their concern; they were just there to carry out orders.
Robbie de Kock helped Evans to make more coffee. It was going to be a long few hours before they moved out again, and who knew what waited for them at the farm?
Four
The farmhouse could be seen in the distance, across the fertile valley. The fields were planted with rows of something short and green, but Fourie had no idea what the crop was and could not have cared less. What did get his attention was the large building he could see on the far side of the farmhouse. It stood alone; perhaps a kilometre past the house and three kilometres from where he and Le Roux lay. They studied the area. There was no movement anywhere. The farmhouse was small but well maintained, which surprised Fourie. He had expected everything in Angola to be as run-down and broken as the villages further south. There was a gravel road that led from the farm’s gate towards the town some fifteen kilometres to the west. The cultivated land extended beyond the gate. To the east the ploughed, and as yet unplanted, fields extended way past the farm buildings.
“This must be the last functioning farm in Angola,” Le Roux commented, sardonically.
The Colonel grunted, but didn’t reply to the comment. Instead he pointed out the far building and said, “Go get the men and work your way around to that building. Get the buffel and the men inside. Then stay out of sight.”
“Where are you going, Colonel?”
“I’m going down to the house to find Santos’s uncle.”
“Shouldn’t you take the Captain with you?”
“No, the farmer is waiting for me. I’m still not sure why he wanted Captain Santos with us . . . must be a family thing.” He lowered the binoculars and rubbed his eyes. He was tired and his eyes were stinging. ‘Let’s face it’, he thought, ‘I’m too old for this’. “Anyway, get going. I’ll see you there later.”
Le Roux nodded and crept back from the edge, stood up and jogged the hundred metres back to the buffel. Reece was leaning against the front of the vehicle, talking quietly to Evans. Cole and Uys were surveying the ground around them from behind the Brownings.
“OK, Reece, let’s go,” the RSM commanded.
Reece and Evans clambered on board, followed by the RSM and the others.
“Where’s the Colonel, Sergeant-Major?” Cole asked.
“The CO will join us later,” Le Roux told the Corporal. “Reece, quietly now,” he pointed to the east, “we will be coming around a half circle to a building over there, but we need to go around the fields. I don’t want any tracks where people are likely to find them.”
Reece nodded, but said nothing. He’d go where the RSM pointed. He hoped there would be a place and time to sleep soon because he was still exhausted. He could barely keep his eyes open.
An hour and a half later, Reece nosed the buffel into the old barn. It was just after noon on the third day. After two nights and most of that morning driving through rough terrain he was completely done in. The RSM ordered him to get some sleep while the others went about hiding their presence on the farm. Cole and Uys rearranged some bales of hay, while Pretorius helped Robbie de Kock with the camouflage net. Before long, Le Roux was satisfied that they could only be spotted by a determined search. He posted two men on watch; one in a clump of bush sixty metres behind the barn, and the other in the loft where he could cover the approach for more than a mile. Evans held the radio watch until five after the hour, then set about making some lunch. Le Roux paced up and down, waiting for the Colonel’s arrival, while Captain Santos sat and brooded, not talking to anyone.
Fourie arrived almost unseen at five o’clock. He had an older man with him. The newcomer was dressed in civilian clothing that had seen better days. He was short and dark, with a beard that was trimmed short. Captain Santos greeted the older man with a hug and a rapid exchange in Portuguese. Finally he stood back and allowed Fourie to introduce the Captain’s uncle to Le Roux. The four of them went into a huddle at the back of the barn, talking quietly with animated gestures from the farmer. Evans watched them, his curiosity growing by the second. After much discussion and a final agreement, followed by a round of handshakes, the four men parted. The two Santos relatives left and walked towards the farmhouse as the sun sank below the low hills.
Fourie called Corporal Cole aside and issued instructions. Everyone was to eat as soon as Evans finished cooking, and then he wanted everyone together for orders.
Reece stumbled out of his sleeping-bag looking more dead than alive just in time to get the last of the
unappetising food. Evans made a comment about zombies and handed Reece a mug of coffee.
“I think that we are about to find out what we are doing here,” Evans said quietly to Reece. “Orders in five minutes.”
“I don’t care so long as no-one asks me to drive that fucking thing again till tomorrow night at the earliest.”
“I think we may be here for a night or two,” Evans said. He looked over to where the two senior men were huddled over a map that was spread out on a hay bale. “I can’t wait to find out what’s going on.”
“There’s no chance they’re going to tell us, mate. You watch, it’ll be need-to-know bullshit and follow orders and leave the thinking to our betters, type of stuff.”
“Maybe,” Evans replied, “But I think we’re about to find out,” he said, as the RSM waved everyone closer.
“Right,” Colonel Fourie said, “as you have probably worked out already, we are on the farm belonging to Mr Santos, who is the uncle of the Captain. He has sent all of his workers away for four days. There is no-one else here at the moment, so you don’t need to worry about them. We will be staying here, undercover naturally, tonight and tomorrow. The RSM and I, along with Captain Santos, will be meeting with members of the Angolan opposition party tomorrow near the town of Luene, which is roughly eighteen kilometres to the east of here.” He paused and waited for any reaction or questions. When there were none he continued. “We will be leaving here at 05h00 tomorrow on foot, and expect to be back by 18h30. We will take one of the A53 radios with us, and will be using the call-sign Blackwood. Evans will maintain radio watch on this wave-length,” he handed a slip of paper to the Lance Corporal. “Evans, you will use the call-sign Tiger’s Eye. I don’t expect to break radio silence though.” He paused again and looking around caught Robbie de Kock’s eye. “Corporal de Kock will be in command while we are gone. Your orders for the day are straight-forward, stay still, stay quiet, and do nothing but rest. Reece, you are exempt guard duty. I want you fresh for tomorrow night. I expect to be leaving here at 19h30, so make sure everything is packed up and ready to roll, OK?”
Everyone agreed that they understood. Fourie rolled up the map, dismissed the men, and then he and Le Roux retreated to the back of the barn to continue discussing the up-coming meeting. Cole thought that the RSM looked a bit unhappy at what he had just been told.
Reece sat back down next to Evans. “I told you we’d get treated like mushrooms.”
“Mushrooms?” Evans asked, frowning.
“Yeah, kept in the dark and fed shit.”
Evans grinned at him. “Do you believe all that about meeting someone from the opposition party?”
“Not a bit.”
“Why not?”
“The only opposition party in Angola is UNITA, and they are at war with the government. They can also be found very easily by our guys on the border. Hell, we are their only allies, and in fact we supply them with most of their arms and ammunition.”
Evans nodded. “Yes, my thoughts exactly. So what are they up to?”
“More to the point is the question of whether we are all here officially, or whether this is some private mission of the Colonel’s.”
“Surely that can’t be. He’d never get away with it. The generals must know where we are, otherwise I’d be picking up a lot of panic on the radio from Pretoria.”
“Yeah well, ours is not to reason why, I guess,” Reece said, emptying the last of the coffee down his throat.
“It’s the second part of that quote I worry about,” Evans said. “’Ours is but to do and die’, I believe it goes.”
Robbie de Kock dropped to his knees at Evans’ side. “Danny, I’ve got you on watch from ten till midnight so you can do that midnight radio watch, OK?”
“Fine by me, Robbie, but I don’t need to do the radio watch anymore.”
“Really? Why not?”
Evans shrugged. “I don’t know. But it wasn’t our guys I was keeping a watch for anyway.”
“Who was it for then?” De Kock asked, mystified. “Are you not keeping comms with Battalion HQ?”
“Nope. We haven’t had any word from them, or to them, since I checked the comms outside the camp.”
De Kock left, shaking his head.
“That kind of adds to the mystery, doesn’t it?” Reece commented.
De Kock woke Charlie Cole in time for the eight o’clock watch, then moved out to relieve Pretorius from his position behind the barn. Cole headed up to the loft to take over from Uys and found Reece already there. “Have you come do my stint for me, Sean?”
“Yeah, you wish. No, I just fancied a look around,” Reece replied.
Uys backed away from the observation spot and hurried off without speaking.
“Does he look OK to you, Charlie?” Reece asked with a frown.
“He looks like he’s about to crack, if you ask me.”
“The RSM should never have brought him on the little jaunt.”
“It was nothing to do with the RSM. Pretorius picked us, including Evans. Only you were excluded. Can’t think why the Colonel wanted you in particular,” Cole grinned to show he was just kidding.
“I guess he wanted the best of the best,” Reece returned the grin, and then became serious again. “What happened to Uys? Has he always been like this?”
“You haven’t heard the story?” Cole asked. Reece shook his head. “Of course you’re not with 52-Batalion, are you?” Cole said. “You see, Uys, myself, De Kock and Pretorius are all with 52-Battalion and ended up on this operation because the guys at 31 needed more section-leaders, so we got seconded. Danny Evans is one of 31-battalion’s signallers. Anyway, back to Uys. Eric and his section were on patrol, this is maybe four months back, and their tasked patrol area included that big township that sprang up when that French company started building the roads.” Cole stopped for a sip of water. Reece nodded. He knew the place well. It was rumoured that if you were brave enough to go into the township you could get anything from hard drugs to a Portuguese speaking whore. There was a slim chance you could bump into a SWAPO terrorist looking for the same thing there. “Well,” continued Cole, “They were on the edge of the township when they heard a scream…a woman’s scream, from a shack close by. One of Eric’s men – Barnard, foolishly rushed into the place, probably with visions of being a hero. Anyway, moments later Uys hears this shouting from the guy, and he sounds like he’s panicking, you know?” Reece nodded. “So Eric enters the shack to find that this guy had stood on a mine - one of those that go bang when you step off the pressure switch, you know what I mean?” Once again Reece nodded, he knew them well: that particular anti-personal mine would arm when the pressure is released and spring into the air before exploding. Reece had seen it happen once before. This had obviously been a trap. “The guy is now shitting himself, so Eric yells for his 2IC to radio for help, but decides that he must do something in the meantime. Anyway, this guy is losing it, crying and going on, and while Eric is trying to get his bayonet between the guy’s foot and the trigger – to stop it arming itself when - Barnard totally loses it and tries to run. Eric tried to stop him because obviously the mine would explode and the guy ends up falling onto the mine, but not before Eric hears the click of the arming mechanism. Eric realises that it going to explode so he rolls away and out the door just as the thing goes off and bits of this guy end up everywhere including all over Eric. Anyway, now he has nightmares and gets the shakes, and I think he’s going off his rocker.”
“He should have been send back home to see a shrink,” Reece said.
“Yeah, I agree, but Eric didn’t want to go and that prick we have as CO at 52-Bat thinks Eric just needed to ‘get back on the horse’, quote unquote. He pretty much forced Eric to come with us on this op.”
They sat in silence for a while, each busy with his own thoughts, although what they were thinking was much the same. Eric Uys might just get them killed before this mission was over.
Captain Santos arri
ved back at the barn just after four the following morning to find both the Colonel and the RSM waiting for him. Evans was up and had just made a large tin mug of coffee. He offered it to the captain who took a swallow and handed it back with thanks.
“Ready?” the Colonel asked.
“Yes, Colonel. My uncle has confirmed the meeting with his contact, and they will be waiting for us.”
“Just the two of them?” the RSM wanted to know.
Santos nodded. “Just the two of them.”
The Colonel checked his R4 rifle and webbing. He strode from the barn, leading the others down the gravelled road towards the gate. The RSM had the radio on his back. Corporal de Kock watched them from the loft and thought that the day was going to be a long one and probably the most dangerous so far.
Five
“Where’s Danny?” De Kock asked Cole.
“Taking a piss. I’m watching the radio for him.”
“Has there been any radio traffic?”
“Bugger all, mate.”
Cole offered De Kock the remainder of an energy bar that he had been nibbling on. Robbie de Kock finished it in two bites. It had been a long day and he’d had eaten nothing since breakfast.
“Better wake Sean up in a half an hour or so,” De Kock suggested. “We need to be ready to leave by four just in case Fourie gets back early and wants a quick start.”
Cole was about to reply when the radio suddenly burst into life with sounds of screaming and gun-fire. “Tiger’s eye, tiger’s eye,” someone was shouting. “Blackwood call - ” The transmission was cut off abruptly. All around the barn the men were standing up and arming themselves, checking weapons and magazines. Reece and Pretorius rushed over.
“What the - ” Reece began.
Cole shut him up with the wave of his hand. They stood waiting in dread for the next contact. Cole picked up the handset and fingered the transmit button, hesitating. The radio link was suddenly open again. The A53 Fourie had taken with him was transmitting, but they could only hear a confusion of shouts and screams in the background, along with three single gunshots until a weak voice said, “They’re dead, there were too many . . . ” the voice faded away. The link was broken again.
