Fatfox9's Blog

Deka Base: Sometime in the mid-1970’s

It started out like like any other morning. Up just after first light, I walked down to the shower block, the fresh fragrance of Colgate Green Apple shampoo, that doubled up as a body wash (it worked really well), already permeating the crisp morning air. There were a few of my Sappers already lathered up and chatting away loudly in their native tongue as they always did. Laughing and taking the piss out of one another, brushing their teeth as a concurrent activity, the added whiff of various toothpaste blends adding to the pleasure of the moment. It smelt like home – and this was my home. I had nowhere else.

Having dried off with a dark green Rhodesian Army towel that we were issued with, I walked back to my billet, and passing the kitchen and serving area, Sinate, our civilian chef on rotation greeted me and asked what he could make for me. He was a good man and well respected within 1 Engineer Squadron, a veteran at many of our bases scattered around the country . A fantastic caterer who could make a banquet out of nothing. My normal breakfast consisted of a couple of fried eggs, bacon, fried tomato and toast – all washed down with coffee drowned in condensed milk. That’s what I ordered and continued on my way.

Belly full and the sun well-up, I put on my chest-webbing, web belt and water bottles. It was time to start moving out to the Kavira Forest, a densely-bushed area, infested with our anti-personnel mines and wag-n-bietjie (wait-a-bit) thorn bushes – a nightmare combination for those with evil intent as well as those of us tasked with maintaining Cordon Sanitaire – the silent sentinel that protected the Rhodesian border areas. Picking up my FN rifle, instinctively checking it was safe, I walked around to the the vehicle pool, the Hippo MPV (see previous post) already quietly idling – my driver waiting patiently for me to give the order to move out. The two 4.5 Mercedes Benz troop carriers, loaded with our spare mines and other minefield paraphernalia, 20 noisy Sappers and our medic, fired up as the drivers hit the start buttons. Diesel exhaust smoke, acrid, and causing some discomfort to the eyes and throat, filled the air. I climbed into the back of the Hippo and walked through the passenger compartment, greeting the Sappers who would travel with me. Settling into the seat next to my driver, I pulled the safety harness over my shoulders and clipped the whole contraption together at the waist belt. Looking at my driver, I gave him the signal to move out, and our little convoy rolled out of our base, past the guardhouse made of teak railway sleepers, and headed off towards the road that would take us to the Kavira Forest. Our A76 radio burst into life as each vehicle checked in to confirm comms – one of the Sappers at the back of my vehicle doing the business.

Magazines clicked as they were attached to weapons and the sound of cocking handles picking up a round in well-oiled working parts punctuated the fact that we had left our safe haven.

There was a hatch directly above my head, and looking up I could see the twin Browning machine guns glinting evilly in the morning sun – ready to deal out death and destruction. Gripping the ridiculous bicycle handle-bar machine gun swivel/trigger system that hung down in front of me, I gave the guns a quick 360 degree spin – they moved smoothly both horizontally and vertically. I had never liked this design and always felt that there must be a better way to fit and operate the guns. I never managed to think of anything though, and apparently neither did anyone else.

We were heading towards the T-junction where we would turn east onto the road that would take us the 50 or so kilometers to our task area – this road was also the main arterial that went to Mlibizi and many other destinations beyond that. I called a stop before we reached the turning-point and switched on the TR48 SSB radio and checked-in with Wankie Engineer HQ based at 4 Indep – this radio check also confirmed that we were mobile and moving to the minefield. I would make another check before minefield maintenance activities commenced to ensure casevac was available if required.

Before moving off I stood up in the tower and cocked the Browning’s – the moving parts sliding back smoothly and locking in place. They were now ready to spew out death at 2,000 rounds per minute between them.

I had decided to remain standing on my seat with my upper body sticking out of the hatch. Warm wind brushed my face as we moved out, and turning around I watched the other two vehicles fall in behind us, the distance between us growing as each vehicle took up a position about 70 meters apart from one another. The reason for this was to stay out of the dust coming from the vehicle ahead of you , and to avoid all vehicles being caught in an enemy killing ground at the same time.

The map below shows the Deka Engineer Base from where we operated from, the intersection (circled in red) where we stopped to make comms with Wankie and cock the Browning’s, and the Gwaai River Bridge. The thin yellow line is the road to the minefield.

These were monotonous journeys, the same as the ones that we took almost every day with no excitement except for the occasional break down or punctured tyre – real adrenalin pumping stuff. It was very easy to be lulled into a sense of false security after months of the same thing, and ones eyes grew very heavy, very fast – the humming of the engine acting as a lullaby. It was important to ensure we all stayed switched on despite the monotony of it all. I shouted down into the passenger compartment to conduct a radio check with all vehicles…….everyone seemed to be awake and in fact there was now someone standing up in each of the following 4.5 turrets too – weapons at the ready.

As we approached the Gwaai River High Level Bridge (18°09’21″S / 27°01’20″E) we needed to slow our vehicles down to avoid throwing personnel and equipment around as there was always a deeply eroded gully between the end of the dirt road and the approach slab to the concrete bridge decking caused by rain and other heavy vehicles. The Hippo gently mounted the bridge deck and slowly began travelling the 200 meters to the other side. The length of this bridge meant that only 2 of our convoy vehicles would be on the bridge at the same time, considering the tactical distancing we kept between us.

As we approached the half-way point I looked down into the north side of the bridge and immediately noticed a number of people walking up the dry river bed right towards us – I ordered the driver to stop and could saw that the individuals in the river bed were heavily weighted down with an assortment of kit, clearly carrying weapons and without a doubt terrorists. I’m not sure who reacted first but I know that I got back down into the vehicle, brought the guns to bear and commenced to open fire on the guys in the river bed…………….at the same time my troops had debussed left of my vehicle and were engaging the enemy with their FNs and a MAG. From my position inside the vehicle I realised then that this whole bicycle handle bar arrangement was a total waste of space. Firstly there was no real control over the direction of fire, and to a large extent the guns shot at wherever they wanted to. I could see dust flying everywhere down in the river bed, however my vision was restricted by the thick armoured glass which was dusty and cracked. Firing from an elevated position also takes skill as its not as straightforward as one would expect as a fired round will hit high when shooting down and up.

Its pretty amazing how fast a person can run when they are being shot at – these guys in the river bed had bomb-shelled at a rapid pace and had run for cover under the bridge! It was now time to get some control and I ordered a cease-fire, getting my troops to keep an eye out on both sides of the bridge for runners. By now more of my Sappers had arrived from the other vehicles and joined the party. Many sets of eyes were now trained downwards on both sides of the bridge – everyone wanted to be the one to get the first kill. There was no movement from below and I was pretty sure the gooks were just waiting for a chance to run for it. It turned eerily quiet – the heat oppressive, not a bird in the sky. Salty sweat ran into eyes, stinging, and blurring vision at the same time. I knew that my troops were waiting for me to make a decision – and I needed to do this fast.

I used this lull to let HQ know we were in contact with a gang of 7-10 terrorists, providing a six-figure grid-reference – HQ would let Fire Force know at FAF 1 (and provide my call-sign), as well as the BSAP camp at Sibankwazi, our nearest Rhodesian security force support asset.

It is important for my readers to understand that time appears to suspend itself during a contact and events fly by – we were now probably only minutes into the contact but many things had taken place in the blink of an eye. Many by instinct, and many by necessity.

I was conscious that we needed to use our troops in such a way that we could sweep the river-bed to force the gooks to gap it from under the bridge – as well as leave a killer group on the bridge to take them out as they broke cover. Sounded simple enough.

I took command of the sweep team and moved them along the bridge, watching for any runners to the left. Nothing moved as I reached the end of bridge deck and moved left and down into the river-bed. This was a high level bridge and believe me it seemed much higher when right next to it. I knew that this was now a very dangerous situation we were in…….moving down a rocky and steep slope with an enemy at close range intent on killing us. The gooks had holed up right next to the bridge pier, so we could not see them from our current position – we needed to move further down and closer to the river bed. Looking up I could see a few of my lads giving us top-cover in case someone gapped to our side – I was conscious we could be hit by friendly as well as gook fire. Not a situation I relished but too late to turn back now. I trusted my lads to do the right thing. The map below shows the bridge the contact area.

We could smell them we were so close…….fear, sweat, and woodsmoke clinging to clothing. Those who know will recognize my description. Then all hell broke loose as my guys on the bridge opened fire on a target we could not see……the gooks had started to run at pace towards the opposite side of the bridge – we were now in the river bed and they had already vacated the area they were taking cover in. Control was now critical as my sweep team wanted to run after the enemy however they would be moving right into our own gunfire. I called a halt to this idea. By now the gooks had probably put good distance between themselves and the bridge, and we had no kills. I decided not to follow-up and would leave that to the Fire Force and G-Cars who were now very close to where we were and would be given a nice juicy target later in the day. One of pilots called me on VHF and I gave a quick brief – ending with a magnetic bearing which indicated the enemy direction of flight. With a quick thank you and well done…….they disappeared from view…..the sound of their rotor blades fading in the distance. The silence made one feel very alone.

For us it was a disappointment as with the benefit of hind sight there were a number of options open to me besides the tactic I had used to flush the gooks out. I will leave it up to the reader to think of a better way, but in the heat of the moment quick decisions must be made. Perhaps I made the wrong one on the day. Disappointing, yes, but all of my troops would go home – that was also a victory of sorts.

All was not entirely lost though as during a sweep of the contact area and route of flight we found quantities of ammunition, documents, weapons and landmines that the runners had dropped while gapping it. In our own way I would like to believe that my boys and I saved lives that day by removing killing material from the operational area. All of these items would later be handed over to BSAP Special Branch for processing and further distribution as required. That’s the way things worked and I had no problem with that.

The sun was high in the sky as I regrouped my troops at the bridge – it was time to return to Deka Base. There would be no minelaying today, and with luck, the bad guys would be dead before sundown.

I never did find out – but the beers were extra sweet that night.

Copyright

© Mark Richard Craig and Fatfox9’s Blog.  Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.

Being a sergeant and a member of the Regular Rhodesian Army came with certain privileges, even while out in the bush.  The District Commissioners camp where we had established our field HQ had a number of well-maintained buildings within the compound some of which had single rooms for visitors.  Others had larger rooms which were used as dining areas, social areas and communal accommodation.

I was allocated one of the single rooms and was blessed to have a little table with a chair and a decent bed and mattress including a pillow.  A candle and box of Lion matches were neatly placed on the table.  A curtained window allowed views of the high ground we had approached the base from on our return and I could see the road high up above the base where the buses churned up huge dust clouds as they sped on their way.   At the end of the building was a huge veranda where we would sit at night, smoke, drink Castle Lager and generally shoot the shit.  One of the most interesting characteristics of this base was that the floors were highly polished in red by the camp labourers, so shiny and smooth that it was pretty much a challenge to avoid slipping on them when walking.  Many of you will recall the homely smell of Cobra floor polish.  This was then as good as it would get out in the sticks, unless of course you were a member of the Rhodesian Air Force who always seemed to be highly jacked-up when it came to the comforts of life in the bush and had cold beer and running fridges within a few minutes of wheels touching down.  Those guys could organise and there was no doubt about that.

It was late afternoon and I had finished showering and dressed in clean shorts and T-shirt.  Feeling well-relaxed after the long patrol I decided to treat my weapon to a full strip-down and clean.  She was a good weapon and deserved all the care and attention I could give her and on this last patrol she had served me well and never let me down, consistently firing round after round at the gooks that had ambushed us.  I also decided that I would empty all of my six magazines, stripping them right down so that the springs were completely eased and lying on the table for a good dusting-off.  This entire exercise took me about an hour, most of this time taken up cleaning the carbon off of the gas piston…..vinegar nicked from the kitchen done the trick very nicely.  Happy with my efforts I then took a stroll down the slippery passage to the veranda, met up with my mates and settled in for a relaxing evening with many ice-cold beers.  The sun was setting over the African bush and it felt as if I was a tourist in a luxury safari camp on one of those fancy trips, but of course this was not so.  There were some very bad people around, intent on spoiling our fun, and they were closer that night than I thought…..much closer.

At about midnight, with bellies full of good food and beer it was time to retire for the evening.  We had a Territorial Force Class 2 Warrant Officer with us, and he was the main spanner in the camp.  Although a tough disciplinarian he was always a fair man and I would be fortunate enough to work with him on a number of missions in the future, including the planned partial demolition of the Victoria Falls Bridge (I will be covering this in the fullness of time).  When he said enough was enough there were no arguments and to be fair, we were all knackered and running on fumes.  A good sleep without having to get up for a guard duty would be very welcome.

I returned to my room after making a detour to the kitchen to steal a left-over T-Bone steak and sat on my bed in the soft candlelight, in silence, slowly picking at the wonderfully soft meat and thoroughly enjoying every morsel of it.  Having stripped the bone bare, including an elusive little bit of marrow I disposed of it, wiped my hands, blew out the candle and climbed into my sleeping bag, the smell of cooked meat clinging to my fingers.  Contented and with a soft bed and pillow beneath me for the first time in weeks it was not long before I drifted off into a deep sleep.

The gooks initiated the attack on our base at about 3 in the morning using the high ground with an 84mm Carl Gustav shoulder launched missile……. Some of you may also know it as a bazooka.  The first round detonated on our water tower, a brick construction with a corrugated iron tank at the top, causing the structure to collapse.  At the same time, they opened up with AK’s, PKM’s and RPD’s.  Green tracer was streaking through the camp and sky at a terrific rate and my room seemed to me to be a particular target for them as rounds were hitting the walls all around me, sparks flying.  Once I understood what was happening, I rolled out of the bed onto the floor and leopard crawled to my rifle and grabbed my chest webbing.  All of this time there was all hell breaking loose from along the veranda as my mates returned fire from where we had been partying just hours ago.  I heard the thump of a mortar detonating inside the camp and knew things were now getting more uncomfortable……more and more mortars were dropping however it appears these were not being launched by anyone with any experience as most of them overshot the camp.  It was then that I realised I had no magazine and my FN, nor had I replaced any in my chest webbing pouches after cleaning them.  The room was semi dark, and I could see that I had neatly stacked the 5 magazines on the table, and I inched my way towards them keeping as low as possible.  I reached up and managed to get a hand on the magazine at the bottom of the pile and pulled it out, instantly feeling a hard whack and sharp pain on the top of my head and thought shit I’ve been hit by a lucky shot or ricochet……why in the head and not somewhere else FFS?…….. until I understood that it was all the other magazines tumbling off the table with my head being their first point of impact as they surrendered to gravity.  I had taken the sharp end of one of them on the skull and blood trickled freely down the side my face, blinding me in one eye.  I rammed a magazine on my rifle (thanks to my bleeding head I had all five of them nearby now), chambered a round and moved towards the window, kneeling and keeping low I began to return fire in the direction from where I assumed the gooks were.  I could hear our MAG gunner giving controlled bursts from the veranda and this always warmed a man’s heart in these situations……the great peacemaker was speaking the language of the dead.  I continued to pump rounds up toward the road, my red tracer flashing through the sky as expended cartridge cases tinkled onto the polished floor burning my bare knees………I was pretty sure that my efforts at gook-killing were ineffectual though.  Shooting at night is never easy and upwards even more challenging…..ask anyone who knows their stuff.

Changing magazines and now chock-full of adrenaline I decided to join my mates down the slippery veranda as my room continued to be a hot zone and managed to make my way there without incident as the building covered my movements.  They shit themselves when they saw my face and also thought that I had a serious head-wound when in fact it was merely a deep cut that continued to bleed, as gashes in the head do.  One of the lads grabbed a first-field dressing from a webbing pouch and ripping it out of its plastic wrapper pressed it to my head while I tied it in place.  By now the floor of the veranda was a sea of hot cartridge cases making it even more deadly to walk on barefoot, the MAG endlessly devouring the 7,62 x 51mm rounds being belt-fed into its hungry maw at the side and spewing them out from below at a terrific rate.  We had all positioned ourselves at the low wall facing the road and continued to pump rounds in the direction of the enemy hoping for a lucky strike, doing our best to aim in the direction of where the green tracers were coming from.  In all honesty I think the hillside was the only casualty of our firepower that evening.

And then it was over just as suddenly as it had started.  No tracers, no mortars, no gunfire.  Except for one or two opportunistic singletons from would be Sapper Snipers.  Just the acrid smell of propellant and the beating of one’s heart in the ears.  Shouts of cease fire and calls for the medic rang in the air as signs of camp-life emerged……shadowy figures moving furtively from cover to cover in the gloomy darkness.  Not very clever considering there were some pretty desperate men with fingers on triggers……just looking for a gook that may have infiltrated our lines.

The bad guys were obviously satisfied that they had won the day and had disappeared back into the bush to do what gooks do……hope to fight another day.  Clearly, they decided that to hang around until first light was not an option as the chance of a Fire-Force deployment and follow-up was highly likely.  They sensibly chose to use the cover of darkness to slink off into the night.  I fitted a fresh magazine and made my way out of the building, along the red veranda and into an open area right next to where the downed water-tower lay.  A sea of mud and pools of water lay everywhere among the shattered red bricks.  I wondered if the labourers who shined the red floors would be pissed off with me for traipsing around their pristine surfaces with my muddy feet.

The first person I met was the Sergeant Major, doing his checks on personnel and damage control.  He also called a general stand-to and we all took up our allocated positions around the camp perimeter walls.  We would stay there for the next hour.  All in all, we had done pretty well though, repulsing a fairly well-planned attack from high ground and only suffering one fairly serious injury and the rest minor cuts and scratches.  No CASEVAC required until the morning though and getting away with no fatalities was always a winner.

The entire attack probably lasted 15 minutes although it felt like we had been under fire for hours and as I manned my stand-to position I reflected on lessons I would learn from the previous few hours.  Most importantly never become complacent, and I had.  As a Senior Non-Commissioned Officer this was unforgivable.  Cleaning my weapon and not refilling my chest webbing pouches with magazines was a cardinal sin, the same goes for not having a charged magazine on my weapon at all times.  Secondly, I had allowed myself to be drawn into a false sense of security after the patrol, believing we were inside some kind of fortified medieval castle, impenetrable to attack.  And thirdly……never underestimate the enemy……the guys that attacked us had balls for sure and we would find out later that this was the same group that had ambushed us previously and looking to finish the job.

First light came and normal camp activity slowly got underway.  A CASEVAC was organised for the wounded Sapper who had been hit by shrapnel.  He had been well cared for overnight by our medic and a Cyclone 7 arrived mid-morning to take him to a better-equipped medical facility.  He would be fine and back on his feet within days asking to get back to his mates.

We were aware that our tour in this part of the country was coming to an end and we would soon be replaced by an infantry unit, probably elements of the Rhodesia Regiment.  We got stuck into getting the battle scarred camp sorted, with a replacement for the downed water tower a priority that the District Commissioner got onto straight away using local labour and expertise.  Its amazing the skills that some of the local population living out in the bush have.  Carpenters, bricklayers and general handymen all over the place.

Tactically there was post-attack work to be done too.  I arranged for two mine clearance teams plus protection elements to sweep the road 2 kilometers either side of the gook firing positions to confirm there had been no landmines planted as part of this attack.   Gooks had a nasty habit of planting mines on likely reinforcements/recovery approach routes and we were not going to take a chance on this as the last thing we wanted was for our relief convoy to hit a biscuit-tin.  At the same time, we swept through the gook firing positions looking for evidence of the gang’s strength or any equipment they may have left behind…. being ever alert for booby-traps.  There was nothing of any value to be had though.  No blood spoor either so we can assume not casualties their side which is not surprising.

The drawing below is produced to the best of my recollection………not a masterpiece I know but hope you get the idea.

Stay safe, thanks for dropping by and see you all again soon.

Please also have a look at my website dedicated to Rhodesian and South African Military Engineers.  You can join us on the forums by using the following link:

http://www.sasappers.net/forum/index.php

Copyright

© Mark Richard Craig and Fatfox9’s Blog, 2009-2022.  Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.

After the ambush described in my previous post, we continued to patrol the general area with a new vigor and attentiveness as we now knew that we were being targeted by the resident gang of gooks.  However, nothing more was seen or heard of them, nor were any tracks or evidence of temporary camps found and we were eventually given the order to return to base.  After a quick map appreciation, we set a course and continued our patrol which would now eventually terminate at the Engineer base camp adjacent to the District Commissioners camp.

Our departure from the patrol area was uneventful and the closer we got to base the more relaxed one became which in itself is a dangerous attitude to take and the patrol commander continuously reminded us to stay alert and not to become complacent.  Fair enough and we all understood that any slip in security now could at the minimum cause casualties, and in a worst-case scenario, fatalities.  Sweaty palms tightened on our FN pistol-grips, eyes scanned more intensely to see through possible cover where gooks could be lurking……shadows playing tricks with our eyes, the cicadas continuously transmitting their high-pitched whining that punished our ears………and when they suddenly went silent the question was always…..why?

It had taken us a day and a bit to arrive at a position where it would be a good idea to let the base know we were getting close to our destination and from which direction we would be approaching from.  The trusty but rather heavy TR48 was set up and due to the short distance between us and the camp, only the whip antenna was required……no unwinding miles of coaxial cable this time.  There was no reason to assume that the guards were expecting us and might shoot first and ask questions later…..that’s fair enough but no reason to needlessly get a lump of lead in your belly.  We quite rightly chose to mitigate this possibility by making it absolutely clear where we were going to approach from, how many of us there were and our estimated time of arrival.

About thirty minutes out we stopped to make a final brew and have a smoke……this would also give the patrol commander a chance to make any final adjustments to course and accurately pinpoint our position to ensure our angle of approach was correct and as reported earlier.  I lay back and enjoyed the cigarette, looking up at the clear blue sky that had the occasional small cloud slowly drifting in whatever wind there was up there, its edges slowly evaporating by the heat.  It was good to be almost there, and it had been a fair old slog from start to end.  I looked forward to a hot shower, cold beer and a decent cooked meal, hopefully one of those famously huge army T-Bone steaks with chips and fresh salads.

The camp was situated beneath a long stretch of very high terrain and on the other side of a very well used dirt road.  I have done my best to illustrate the position from memory in a Visio drawing……..I believe it to be as accurate as possible given this all took place over 40 years ago.  I will release this amazing work of art in the follow-up post to this one as this is where it is needed.

We were almost there now, taking the final few steps to take us to the summit of the high ground mentioned in the previous paragraph….once there we would be in a good position to observe the camp from above and ensure we were seen by the sentries during our approach.  Once we had confirmed our presence we began the slip and slide descent to the road, which was made even more difficult by loose rocks and soft sand.  Much cursing and far too much noise accompanied us all the way down and it was a welcome relief to finally reach the flat surface of the road, despite being covered in dust from a passing bus travelling at the usual needle-off-the-clock speed.  Once safe to do so we crossed the road in single file, the patrol commander waiting patiently on the other side until we all arrived in one piece.

The camp was approached by a long track that stretched from the road to the base main entry point which was manned by one of our Sapper muckers.  As we filed through the gate, the usual derogatory remarks were made in his direction, accusing him of being a REMF and a waste of fresh rations….him firing back that we were shit shots and couldn’t hit a gook even with them running away from us….a fair one indeed.  All good banter and the type one can only find in the military.  There would be much of the same in the bar tonight for sure.

We were back in the main base…….finally.  All the stress of the patrol was quickly forgotten.  It was good to be here with all our mates, and that we could finally relax in the knowledge that we were safe, secure and being protected by the reinforced camp perimeter, sentries and a substantially large military force in presence.

There was, on the face of it, nothing more to worry about………however this was an extremely poor assumption as what was to follow was even more brazen and chilling than the ambush we were caught in a few days ago…..and an event that still haunts me even to this day.

Copyright

© Mark Richard Craig and Fatfox9’s Blog, 2009-2019. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.

Please also have a look at my website dedicated to both the Rhodesian and South African Engineer Corps.  You can join us by using the following link:

http://www.sasappers.net/forum/index.php