The first job came out of the local newspaper. The Commandos needed a
few good men to get their ratings up in the changing South African
Army. The pay per day was more than my combat pay
per month as a conscript years before. The ad had a phone number and I duly called and set up an appointment, at Wits Rifles.
It was very strange to walk into a South African army camp again
after so many years. The interview was conducted by a Major
Carlton-Barber, a
soutpiel, which was a bonus. He wanted to
know why after all these years I thought I was capable of representing
his unit. In for a penny, in for a pound. I told him about my mercenary
activities. Like most conscript or commando soldiers, he had no
particular liking for mercenaries, but considering the men he had, my
experience with weapons was needed badly. There was an Ops coming up and
they did not have even one 81 mm mortar man. They did have a lieutenant
to do the map and co-ordinate work, but that was it. I was in. With an
invitation to come and meet the rest of the unit the following Wednesday
evening, I left my details with the civilian secretary.
Having found my old uniform and spiffed it up a bit, I arrived on
time. The meeting was at the NCO’s (non-commissioned officers) mess. The
SADF has strict rules, copied from the British, about rank structure
and who socialises with whom. Now, I may have attained rank in other
armies, but here I was just a troop. In order to enter the mess one has
to stand in the doorway, slam one’s boot into the ground and shout,
‘Permission to enter the mess, S’major!’ This done, one is granted
permission by the highest ranking NCO and one may approach the bar and
greet the highest ranking officer. What a lot of crap.
Commissioned officers are allowed in NCO messes but not vice versa,
unless the NCOs get special permission. As a troop to be allowed in a
NCO mess is a privilege only allowed in certain units. So there I was, a
sleg troop, minding my own business … but Carlton-Barber had
not kept our interview confidential. As I was on the wagon I ordered a
coke, which caused a general commentary, none of it very pleasant, about
a tough mercenary drinking cold drink. I really did not give a damn, as
most of these “soldiers” had never been operational in their lives, and
could kiss my arse. Later in the evening one sergeant major got
particularly nasty and I thought a fight would break out; he was big,
but pretty drunk. One of the officers ordered him to leave it alone. We
got instructions on the upcoming Ops and an invitation to come for a
drink every Wednesday night.
The deployment day arrived and we set off for South Africa’s Army
Battle School at Lohatla. I had heard of this place, none of what I’d
head was agreeable. It rated up there with other hard-core training
grounds like Letaba Ranch and Die Brug. So far, the drill was a lot more
relaxed than I remembered from the old days, so what the hell. I sat
with the Mortar Lieutenant and got an update of how the Commando units
worked.
We were to be a Motorised Unit using Armoured Troop Carriers, but the
mortar crew would get Ratels that were specially modified for the 81mm
Mortar. Cool … I had never seen a Ratel up close, other than the one at
the old Portuguese Fort in Luanda, and the idea of driving around
instead of humping all that kit sounded good to me.
It was a long bus ride as Lohatla is in the far Northern Cape, an
inhospitable semi-desert part of the country. Snakes, spiders, scorpions
and ostrich abounded. As per usual, we stopped at the HQ to draw kit,
weapons, vehicles and clothes. Moreover, as per usual the store-men,
with thousands of socks on the shelves behind them, hassle to give out
even one pair. I had to explain where my original issue items were and
why what I had was so worn out. Considering my original issue was about
13 years back, no wonder my socks had holes in them. However, having
been through this a few times before, I managed to get what I needed and
two pairs of brand new boots as well. That done, we went to collect our
vehicles.
Overall I was not too impressed with these “weekend” soldiers, but
one man stood out. Without saying a word or doing anything in
particular, he just had a different feel to him. Later on I went to
greet him, and that is how I met the best all-round weapons expert I
have ever known. When we shot our rifles in, he proved his
marksmanship. Each man gets ten bullets and fires them at a designated
target in order to check the weapon and sights. Attie’s target had one
ragged hole in the target’s chin area. The sergeant told him how
useless he was. Attie is extremely polite, and said that all the shots
were in the same hole. This was in Afrikaans, to which the Sergeant
replied: ‘Kak!’ To prove his point and restore his honour, Attie
suggested that after each shot a new target be placed behind the first
one. This organised, he took 10 quick shots. True as shit, every target
had a hole in it, with a slightly jagged hole in the front one.
Since this was Battle School, the emphasis was on schooling. We
attended a lot of lectures and weapons training. The regular army guys
were in their late teens and early twenties, so Attie and I stood out as
old men at the age of thirty-something. It showed when a Colonel gave a
sand model lesson and asked what would we do in such and such a
situation – we both gave the same basic plan but added that we would
take the enemy’s armoured vehicles out with RPG-7s. The Colonel was
reasonably impressed with the plan but said, ‘Kak, boet!’ to the RPG
suggestion.
He informed us that they now had an FT5, and got one of his men to
fetch the thing. It looked like a piece of PVC toilet piping. Off we
went to the big firing range to check this thing out. Attie and I had
never seen one before so the Colonel explained how the sights worked and
how to load the thing. It was a two-man weapon so I loaded it up and
slapped Attie on the shoulder to let him know it was ready. Whoosh! And
bang, there went an old tank in the middle of the range. Everyone,
including Attie, was suitably impressed.
The trip was a good one overall, and as I was still on the wagon,
there were no unpleasant incidents. My skill with the Mortar pipe was
duly noted and I was told I was welcome to visit the NCO mess in future.
*
