On The Boats……Up The Creek With The SAS (Part 3: Also known as Eight Men In A Leaky Boat)
February 19, 2015
PICK-UP POINT: WEST OF MAPETA ISLAND
Tony and I had disembarked after deciding sitting on the boat was a bad idea and made us look like two shit-scared school boys.
We had found a position from where we could observe the boat and anyone approaching it. We needed to be careful here as in the poor light, we, or someone else approaching could be mistaken for the enemy with catastrophic consequences. We waited, and then waited some more. I juggled with the idea of letting the BSAP know we were in position but decided against it. We had agreed we would only make comms if we were in trouble.
Somewhere close by a tiger fish broke the surface, crashing back down into the water………a baboon barked in the early darkness, signalling danger. That was all…….nothing else stirred except the mosquitos that had found a new source of fresh blood. I began to think we were in the wrong position and had indeed fucked-up.
The man appeared silently from our right and immediately reassured us that he was one of us and showed no aggression. Without introductions he instructed us to follow him further inland until we arrived at what looked like a typical Rhodesian farm-house with a huge verandah facing the river. We had climbed a bit while following our mysterious stranger and the view from our present position would have been stunning in the daylight………at night all one could see was a black blob of nothingness.
There were about ten of them on the verandah. These were serious looking men. Clean shaven, neat military style hair and in full camouflage uniform. No beards so they were probably not Selous Scouts. I figured they were Rhodesian SAS. AK 47’s leant against the low verandah wall, an RPD and PKM rested lopsided on their bipods on the once highly polished floor.
There were still no introductions and that is the way it stayed. No names and in any case if there were they would have been pseudo. Thats how these men worked. We knew who they were and they knew who we were. That was good enough for me and Tony. There was quite a bit of banter going back and forth and we were drawn into it. I savoured the moment of working with a Unit that I considered probably the best in the world. I was more than a little in awe of these men. And so I should have been.
One of them called us aside and for the first time we were told what our mission was. We were to take the SAS into Zambia by inserting them up the Mulola River by boat. Our old Hercules was about to get her moment of glory…….and perhaps we were too. I was about to take part in my first external operation and who better to do this with than the men who wore the Winged Dagger and Wings On Chest? The job was straightforward enough…….take an SAS callsign up a Zambian creek and drop them off…….then pick them up at the same spot 24 hours later.
We went back onto the verandah where the other Operators were busy preparing a strange brown, round object that had 2 halves to it, like a cake tin and about the same size. Instinctively I knew it was a landmine of some sorts but nothing I had ever seen before. As a Rhodesian Combat Engineer I prided myself on my knowledge of the various mines we may encounter in Rhodesia but this was something else. And this is when I gained immense respect for our “hosts”. They told us what it was and how it worked. It was called a “Rose” mine and had been designed to kill anyone trying to lift it once armed. This anti-vehicle mine had a number of initiation triggers. If my memory serves me correctly it could be set off in five or six different ways , including a light-sensitive switch that would activate when the mine was uncovered. It also had a delayed arming fuse to ensure the person laying the mine was not on a one-way ticket when he pulled the pin. This was highly secret stuff and the last thing I expected was to be invited to help prepare them for the mission. After a quick lesson from one of the Operators Tony and I were only too willing to put the devices together……plastic explosives (lots of it), primers, detonators, ignitors. The last part of the preparation was putting the top and bottom of the mine together…….closing the cake tin and taping it up. All that would be needed now was to find a nice busy road in Zambia, dig a hole, emplace the mine, remove the safety device, and cover everything up.
I really warmed to these guys. Utter professionals from their full camo dress to the way they treated us as equals. Quiet men with nothing to prove. No rank showing and no rank used. Making us tea and even sharing a light meal with us. When they blackened-up they helped us to get it right too while joking among themselves but never taking the piss. I decided that one day I wanted to be like them and do what they do. I never quite made it but came close as dammit.
It was pitch black when we started back down the trail to the boat. The moon glowed behind wispy clouds……stars twinkled in the dark heavens. The Operators wore Bergen back-packs that looked like they weighed a ton and we helped them with some of the other kit they were taking with them. It seemed to me the mines were in the Bergens. Only six of the Operators were going into Zambia. The remainder had stayed behind to act as a rear link.
Going downhill in the dark while carrying a lot of kit is not easy and it was a relief when we broke out onto the smooth open sand where the boat was tied up. A million things start to go through your head at this time. Engine reliability, fuel, getting shot at and the lonely trip back that awaited Tony and I. One thing I was not worried about was navigating to the drop-off point in Zambia. We had a bunch of the best navigators in the world with us! Getting back to the old farmhouse on our own was something entirely different!
We started to load the kit onto the boat. This was serious stuff now as we needed to get the trim right or the Hercules would be a bitch to handle and very unstable. We were going to be really heavy on this outward trip and we literally played a balancing act as to where everything and everyone would be located during the journey. The placing of the kit and personnel was the responsibility of the boat commander who was Tony on the drop-off phase. He had complete control of who sat where and there were no arguments, irregardless of rank. This was the rule and everyone knew it. I would position myself next to the motors on the way into Zambia and one of the Operators would sit next to Tony and navigate us in.
I would be the last person to board. Once everyone was where they should be one of the Operators and I shoved the boat out into the channel and jumped onboard. Moving to the back I started the already primed motors and Tony eased us slowly into the darkness………
Please also have a look at my website dedicated to Rhodesian and South African Military Engineers. Please join us on the forums by using the following link:
http://www.sasappers.net/forum/index.php
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© Mark Richard Craig and Fatfox9’s Blog, 2009-2015. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.
On The Boats……Up The Creek With The SAS (Part 2: Also known as Eight Men In A Leaky Boat)
February 14, 2015
ON THE ZAMBEZI RIVER ENROUTE FROM SIBANKWAZI BRITISH SOUTH AFRICA POLICE CAMP TO MAPETA ISLAND
The wind had picked up as we made our way to the RV and the mystery contact man.
Although not dark it was overcast and last light would be upon us quicker than expected. I cursed myself severely for not adding some slack to our travel time. Too late now though as we were about half way there according to our 1:50,000 map. Tony was navigating and sitting right beside me on the hard wooden bench, spray flying at us over the bows of the Hercules, stinging the skin, but in a perverse way also refreshing. It had been a sweltering hot day and the coolness of the oncoming night was welcome.
I had the motors at full throttle and we were well up on the plane. The boat was perfectly trimmed and like this she handled like a thoroughbred, riding the wavelets smoothly as I ensured we ploughed through them at just the right angle. Tony and I were enjoying this, but ever vigilant. It was all too easy to fall into a false state of security on this river. Besides the possibility of gooks taking a shot at us there was the ever-present danger of logs and trees floating down the river. If we hit one of those at speed we were stuffed.
I was scared of the unknown. I’m not afraid to admit it. Still a young Sapper I took comfort in knowing we had been trained by the best instructors we could have wished for, both Infantry and Engineer……….but they cannot teach a man to be courageous, how to be dauntless. That has to come from inside when he is in deadly peril or facing an up close enemy who wants to kill him……only then will he really know the limits of his nerve and mettle. (Note that I did not use the word fearless…….my own opinion is that it is dangerous to be in the company of fearless men).
Tony nudged me and indicated on the map that we were approaching Mapeta Island (Latitude -18.05, Longitude 26.73333). It loomed out of the twilight, huge in its size. There was no mistaking it and I was pleased with the timing. We needed to be careful now as part of Mapeta Island was Zambian territory and there could be gooks present although we had never had trouble from there before.
The light was almost perfect as I throttled back and steered us to port, entering the Islands left side channel. Checking the map Tony made the call and pointed towards land. We were at the spot given to us as the RV. I just hoped we had not fucked-up.
We slipped slowly towards the river bank, the engines just ticking over to give enough headway to steer. Tony was standing on the bows now, doing his best to see and guide me around anything that may damage the boat. The wind was coming from behind us here and the exhaust from the motors blew over us, the acrid smell of the fuel mixture seeming to corrupt the beauty of this part of the great river.
I carefully eased the boat into a cleared area of the river bank I could see. This would make it easier for mooring and disembarking. I killed the two engines as we gently grounded in soft sand……..and then there was nothing.
The silence was almost deafening and anyone who has never experienced this void of any noise will never truly understand what I mean here. The only sound was the pinging of the engines cooling down…….and the gentle lapping of water against the side of the boat.
It was now simply a waiting game……….
Copyright
© Mark Richard Craig and Fatfox9’s Blog, 2009-2015. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.
A Diversion……For A Brother.
February 9, 2015
Forgive the intrusion on my recollections but some things tear at the strings of my heart……this is one of them.
I have not done this before but feel the urge to be with this Brother. Please read the words well and if you could see this Brother on his way to the Squadron In The Sky please go and stand by his Son and Daughter as they bid him farewell. After all we will all meet him there one day.
This is an appeal for an old soldier. An Army Commando.
This is Albert “Jim” Howard. Jim was landed on Sword Beach by a Torpedo boat that picked him out the water after his troop ship hit a mine. 250 of the 1000 troops on board were killed and Jim was blown over board by the explosion.
After his unit regrouped they spent most of their time behind German lines doing reconnaissance work and disrupting the enemy. At one point Jim was separated from his unit so rested up the night in a shed. When he woke he found he was in the middle of a German unit, so he sneaked out and jumped into a German truck and drove it back to his own lines.
Jim was sited for an award after he singled handed took out a German machine gun during an ambush but the report was never sent as the officer was killed in action.
Sadly Jim passed away on Feb 1st 2015 at the age of 92. The only family he has is a son and daughter. I’m making this appeal for anyone to come and send this hero off. His funeral is on Feb 20th at 1400 and taking place in the Parish Church in Combe Martin in North Devon.
Can I also ask people to share this post and share the word about this lovely man
On The Boats……Up The River With The SAS (Part 1)
February 7, 2015
DEKA ARMY BASE: LATE AFTERNOON
Conversation between Camp OC and ourselves:
“I want you two wasters to get your boat ready for a night operation. You are to take your boat to this grid reference (him indicating on the map) and wait there for someone to make contact with you. You will need spare fuel tanks, 24 hours rations and full ammo. I cannot tell you anything else but make sure you get there just as last light falls and don’t fuck up on the position I just gave you”
That was it. Short and to the point.
It quickly became time to go. As Tony and I climbed into the back of the Mercedes 25 Troop Carrying Vehicle (TCV) we looked at each other and wondered what the hell this was all about. We didn’t even know who we were supposed to meet and more importantly, what for. The driver fired the Unimog up and with a characteristic torque-induced jerk we were off, easing through the camp entrance, and then turning sharp left onto the road to Sibankwazi. To our boat……..and the Zambezi River.
I had looked at the Ops Room map as the Captain briefed us and taken down the grid reference we were headed for. As far as my memory serves me it was at the position marked SAS pick-up position on the map shown below, near to Mapeta Island:
Tony and I had worked the time and distance calculation to get us to the Rendezvous Point (RV) just as last light was coming on. We were both edgy and rather subdued on the journey down to the boat, each of us respecting one another’s silence. Travelling the Zambezi River during the day was a challenge at the best of times, always having to ensure that we never strayed across the international boundary (Rhodesia/Zambia), which was an invisible line running up and down the river, but not necessarily in the middle. We were now going to be travelling on the water towards dusk and more than likely in darkness if our suspicions were right. Logic told us that no one would want us to meet them with a boat if they were not going to use it. We were spot on!
We had trained to work on the Zambezi River at night and knew that the landmarks that we used for daytime navigation, could also be used at night. We always chose high features that would silhouette easily against the sky or stars for navigation. Simply put we would know what feature to point our bows at and which feature our stern should be pointing at to stay safe. Quite an easy task in daylight but in darkness a mans eyes play games, confusing the mind as to what feature is what, what is true and what is false. Making you doubt your own judgement, possibly leading you into a bad place. No GPS in those days…….maps, compass, eyes and dead reckoning. I loved that kind of navigating though. Seat of the pants stuff and a small victory when you arrived at the right location.
We debussed at Sibankwazi, close to our boat. First on the agenda was to check in with the British South African Police (BSAP) personnel at the camp and let them know we were going out on the water. There was nothing to tell really, just that we were going up river and would stay in comms with them. We took comfort in knowing they would come out and help us if the shit hit the fan. They were good lads and always watched our backs. And they had nice, shiny fast boats with big guns on.
Tony and I finished our preparations, cleaning the inside of the boat, filling fuel tanks (2 per engine), checking our small supply of boat spares, running up the engines (which had no covers), checking radio comms with the police and Deka Base, and checking our personal weapons and kit. I would take us on the outward leg and Tony would bring us back. What happened in between we would share.
The picture below shows Sappers carrying out typical boat preparation activities. This is the exact same type of boat we were using on this mission (Basil Preston):
It was time to move out. I moved the throttles to the start position and made sure the engines were in neutral. Tony pumped the primer balls to get juice into the carbs, wound the starting rope around the first engine and pulled it. The engine fired and I adjusted the throttle to a gentle idle. He started the second engine and we were ready. I let the two engines idle for a minute or two while Tony made sure water was being expelled from the cooling system outlets.
I gave Tony a thumbs up and he slipped the mooring line. I moved both engines to reverse and we began gently edging astern and away from land. Once far enough out I put the engines in forward gear, pushed up the revs and pointed our bows north-west…..into the gathering gloom……we were on our way.
The picture below gives an idea of the Zambezi River at night……..a very dodgy place to be, especially if there was no moon:
Please also have a look at my website dedicated to Rhodesian and South African Military Engineers. Please 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, 2009-2015. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.
Recollections of working the boats on the Zambezi River would not be complete without mention of the abundant wildlife that populated the entire length of our patrol area. Most of the time we did our best to keep a respectable distance from our wild companions but just ever so often our paths were destined to cross.
What follows is an account of one or two of these Close Encounters (not including the Green Mamba in our billet mentioned in a previous post).
Spitting Hippos
We were out on one of our routine patrols from Sibankwazi to Deka Drum. The sun reflecting brightly off of the wind-swept wavelets, spray from the bows stinging our faces. Tony had the con and we were at full-tilt. For all the slagging off I have given the Evinrude outboards the pair of them pushed us along at a fair old pace. Once we got the boat up on the plane and trimmed the load it really was a pleasure to tear up and down the Zambezi. The loud banging and the shock of the hull hitting the crests was something you got used to and there was always plenty of that. One needs to experience it to fully understand.
We had been out for some time and nothing really of note to report when all of a sudden and out of nowhere the mother of all hippos surfaced right in the path of our boat. Tony tried to avoid the creature but we really never had the space and we were going straight for it. That’s when it started spitting all kinds and colours of snot and other mucous substances all over the bows of our boat and therefore by default, all over us too. The hippo was clearly coming up for an air resupply, and of course part of that process is to expel the old smelly, snotty contents of wherever it is they store air. Pretty scary to be honest as we were well into the middle of the river and if we had flipped we would have been in serious shit. Besides hippos the river is riddled with crocodiles, a very scary proposition indeed. What are the chances of being in the path of a hippo coming up to vent and fill its tanks in the vast expanses of the Zambezi River? Probably a million to one but we did it.
Happily we did not hit the hippo and we did not flip the boat so a good day at the office.
The beers were even sweeter at the Deka Drum when we got there later that day.
Here is a typical Spitting Hippo in case you havent seen one. You can clearly see them blowing snot everywhere (panoramio.com) :
Cranky Crocodiles
In the Rhodesian Army we referred to crocodiles as Flat Dogs. The Ndebele term is Ngwenya the Shona is Garwe.
Close-up and personal events with crocodiles are more scary than those with hippos. This is more than likely due to their terrifying appearance. Interesting enough though hippos kill more people than crocodiles but that means nothing when you are cornered by one.
I want to recall two incidents with crocodiles in this post.
The first one concerns Tony and I and a couple of irritable old Flat Dogs on a Zambezi River sand-bank. The whole thing went over who owned the sandbank. The answer is inevitable but the story getting there is worth telling.
This is what a Zambezi River sand-bank looks like:
All along the Zambezi you will find these sandy stretches, either on islands or on the river banks themselves. We called them fishing camps, not because there was any infrastructure on them, but rather because this is where fishermen would fish from. We also used to fish from these beach like expanses of sand, and it was from one of these we had a conversation with some Flat Dogs.
We had pulled the boat up onto the sand bank and had got our fishing rods out. Everything was set for a good days fishing. No beer. That was no-no, but we had some snacks and other bits and pieces with us. After all we were going to cook whatever we caught.
The sun and the tranquility of the setting made it very easy to become immersed in a feeling of euphoria and develop a false sense of security. Our rifles were always next to us but one tended to forget where one was and that was a real danger in more ways than one. The war would seem miles away and the gooks just a distant enemy although we could see Zambia, their launching ground just across the river.
It started as a quiet rustle in the vegetation behind us. I am quite sure we were both dozing to be honest and in this instance our rifles were not that close at hand. In fact they were not at hand at all. The obvious place to leave them was on the boat, out of the sand, and that’s where they were.
The rustling grew in intensity. So much so that it began to get our attention. We no longer concentrated on our fishing gear, but rather on the possibility of an attack from the rear.
Something or someone was coming at us out of the bushes behind us. Now we had two choices…….make a run for the boat and get our weapons and make a stand, or make a run for the boat and get the hell out of there. There would not be time for either…….this (or something similar) is what came at us from the undergrowth at high-speed (Wildlife pictures online):
Now anyone who has not found themselves between a crocodile and its natural habitat, namely water, hasn’t lived fully. It is a sure cure for constipation and will usually result in passing a number of stools in quick succession.
We were riveted to the spot with this big fellow Flat Dog staring us down. Jagged teeth peeping evilly out the sides of his mouth, his huge body rising and falling with each breath he took. He eyed us with those sinister yellow orbs that are so characteristic of Crocodylus niloticus.
And so the water behind us full of Flat Dogs muckers or to stay on solid ground with a Flat Dog in front of us. That was our choice. We decided to stay on terra firma and try to slowly get to the boat. As it was it was not necessary as the wily old Flat Dog was apparently as shit-scared of us as we were of him and he decided to take a detour around us and slink away under the waters of the Zambezi. What was really creepy was that there was a second Flat Dog ready to support the one we could see………he came screaming out the bush just after his mucker disappeared beneath the water.
A lucky day all round. No harm done but some hard lessons learnt to be sure.
This post is getting longer than I wanted it to be so going to sign of here and continue in the next one.
Please also have a look at my website dedicated to Rhodesian and South African Military Engineers. 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, 2009-2015. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.
Festive Greetings
December 25, 2014
I would like to take this opportunity to wish all of my loyal followers and visitors, a Very Happy Christmas and a Wonderful New Year filled with happiness, love and success.
Thanks to all of you for continuing to encourage me to endure my journey. There are new people joining us daily. Without you I would not be as enthusiastic as I am to keep going.
I will soon be uploading the next post which is entitled Spitting Hippos, Cranky Crocodiles and Fighting Tigers. Watch out for it.
Join me there!!!
Best regards,
Mark
On The Boats……Spinning Flywheels and Dodgy Sergeants
December 17, 2014
I received this personal account from Neil Potter…….another veteran of the Rhodesian Engineer Boats!
Neil takes up the post from here:
I had the dubious honour of falling over and between a pair of those Evinrudes, running without the covers on, after just pull starting both. The idiot at the controls, a 2 Indep. NS Sargeant fresh out of Hooters, decided that it would be funny if he gave both motors full throttle when I asked him to give the port motor more revs (via the warm up lever as I had instructed him beforehand as that motor always stalled). I had both legs badly cut up by the flywheels, a hundred plus stitches later, and friction burns around the wounds. What really irked me was a few years later I pulled my file in the orderly room in Kariba and read his statement to the effect that I had caused the accident by pull starting the motors in gear! He even had one of his troopies verify that by making another statement to that effect, even though that individual was not even on the boat with the others going out on patrol.
One of the drawbacks of not having a crew member with you I guess, but I’d enjoy a conversation with that idiot if I could only remember his name.
Now that’s just the sort of thing that can happen when you have idiots at the controls. Good to know Neil got out of it in one piece though and a big thanks to him for the recollection.
For those of you that don’t know what an outboard motor flywheel look like, here is a picture for illustration:
The flywheel is the big round black thing on top and when the engine is running it spins at very high revolutions. Imagine two of those spinning side by side and like Neil, falling onto them because some asshole opened the throttles………..and our flywheels were a lot less smooth than this one. We had all sorts of jagged bits sticking out to bite us.
More on outboard motors, flywheels, shear-pins and other animals in the next post.
Please also have a look at my website dedicated to Rhodesian and South African Military Engineers. 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, 2009-2014. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.
On The Boats…………(Part 1)
December 6, 2014
I watched the snake slither along the wooden rafter of the hut, its black tongue flicking ahead, feeling the way. Lying on my bed and looking up at the bright green reptile I wondered what my escape plan was. It was the first time a mamba had come into our billet but I always knew our luck would run out one day. We were after all in the middle of the bush, working out of Deka Army Base and snakes were quite commonplace. I didn’t like snakes then and I don’t like snakes now. Just one of those things. Anything else I can handle.
Here is a picture of a Green Mamba (greenmambasnake.com)…..a very dodgy visitor indeed:
There were two of us. Both Sappers from 1 Engineer Squadron and attached to the infantry unit at the camp. I think it was 1 Independent Company from Wankie based there most of the time on Border Control operations. Tony Carinus and I were tasked with operating a Hercules Assault Boat within our area of responsibility on the Zambezi River, and our boat was moored with the British South Africa Police (BSAP) boats at the Sibankwazi Police post. We had approximately 60 kilometres of river to patrol which was quite a stretch and we tried to cover this as often as we could.
Our boats were shite-looking and the police boats were all shiny and painted in cute pastel colours with lots of aerials on them so they could listen to Sally Donaldson and Forces Requests on Sundays. Papa5 was a particularly nice police boat that I would have given my left testicle to take onto the river but big John Arkley, the Member-In-Charge of the Sibankwazi BSAP would not allow it. We never had any aerials as we had no one in particular to talk to and the boats were painted a matt dark green, or at least they were green when they were new which must have been in 1945 or earlier.
Here is a picture of one of our boats (Basil Preston):
Please note the warped wooden seats made for extreme anal comfort, and the generally dodgy state of seaworthiness. I must say that this boat at least has engine covers on the twin 40 ponypower Evinrude outboards so is probably a VIP version. A close look at the red fuel tank also indicates it was probably “borrowed” from a civvy fisherman on a long-term basis as ours were a dull drab brown colour. Either that or the QM ran out of camo paint or brushes, or both.
Here is a picture of the area of the Sibankwazi Police Post (www.bsap.org) where we moored up.
Our boat was not allowed under the shelter because there were too many shiny police boats in there. We normally tied up to the left of the shelter near the launching area (see above). Having said that the bobbies were always very good to Tony and I and we had many good piss-ups and braais with them. They were also destined to get me out of some fairly serious shit in the years to come.
Tony and I normally planned our own activities and it seemed in retrospect that the infantry Sunray (OC) at the camp never had much interest in what we got up to all day. Only occasionally would we drop-off or pick-up infantry sticks along the Rhodesian side of the river. This resulted in a lot of tiger fishing, game viewing, stopping off at Msuna Mouth or Deka Drum resorts for beers and a meal, or simply patrolling up and down the river looking for gook crossing points or even better still, some gooks.
This is the Deka Drum area of the Zambezi (Craig Haskins)………
A pretty enjoyable time for me and Tony in general and I have fond memories of my days on the boats. We did however have some dodgy experiences and these will part of the next few posts.
Please also have a look at my website dedicated to Rhodesian and South African Military Engineers. Please 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, 2009-2014. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.
Farewell to Cordon Sanitaire…….for a while
November 9, 2014
The previous posts focussing on laying Cordon Sanitaire took more time and research than I thought they would. These operations were truly the Rhodesian Corps of Engineers own private battle within the Rhodesian Bush War. Thanks to the input of former Rhodesian Sappers (and in some cases, non-Sappers), I think we have managed to bring those challenging days to life once again. As I mentioned in a foregoing post, I feel enriched and privileged to have been part of these operations. It was and still is an honour to have shared the hardships and dangers with that very special Band of Brothers. Mukumbura will never be forgotten.
There will be more on Cordon Sanitaire later but now is not the time. These future posts will fall under the main title of Cordon Sanitaire Phase 2 (Minefield Maintenance). In so many ways this was the biggest challenge we had as a Corps. The dangers faced by maintenance crews were far greater than those faced during the laying of the Cordon which in relation to this blog was Phase 1. Indeed, the majority of Rhodesian Engineer fatalities and serious injuries were a result of minefield maintenance operations. As a Regular Army sergeant I commanded minefield maintenance operations at both the Deka Minefield and the Victoria Falls Encirclement and will discuss both of these at a later stage.
For now it is time to say farewell to Operation Hurricane as we move to the Operation Tangent area (see map below).
The next post will start off with my recollections as a boat operator on the Zambezi River, based at Deka Camp and operating out of Sibankwazi with the British South Africa Police (BSAP).
Interesting times indeed and I hope that you will continue the journey with me.
Please also have a look at my website dedicated to Rhodesian and South African Military Engineers. Please 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, 2009-2014. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.
Cordon Sanitaire: Personal Experiences (3: Basil Preston)
November 2, 2014
The response to my request for personal experiences on Cordon Sanitaire has resulted in a number of submissions from people who clearly want to see our history recorded and celebrated. Long forgotten names are being mentioned, sparking the grey matter into life once again and there is so much to be gained by reading about other people’s experiences on the Cordon. I for one feel enriched by all of this.
The following is from Basil Preston, a Rhodesian Sapper who I am sure has many more stories to share with us and I really hope that he does. I have slightly redacted Basils submission, however it is mostly exactly the way he sent it to me.
Hi Mark,
My name is Basil Preston army number was 72860 and I became an Engineer after I did my basics at Llewellyn starting 07/06/1972, Intake 132.
I have just read your blog about the Cordon Sanitare (sp) mine-field starting at Mukumbura.
We were the first Engineers to start this field, in either February/March or April 1973, can’t remember the exact date, (but ABBA, the Swedish group had just announced that they were in support of the freedom fighters at that time, we all dropped them from our favourites after this announcement).
We were tasked with the clearing of the bush etc with bulldozers and graders. Our main chap who loved the grader work was Gordon Paterson, who was black by the end of his shift from all the dust and sweat.
We were broken up into 3 groups; clearing party, guarding the workers and the clearance party comprising 3 sappers, who did a 360 around the whole group. Tetse workers were busy with the fencing.
Corporal Gleson was in charge of us, and Corporal Charlie Mcquillan and Sergeant Hitchins/Hutchuns (sp) were there too, but did nothing special as they were imports from the UK who joined the army as regulars and were being bushed trained. These chaps were electricians by trade, but knew nothing much about our conditions or bush. We were about 20 sappers all told, and were looking forward to our demobbing in June. We were due to pass out on the 13/05/1973. Melvin Hein, Tommy Dickinson, Basil Kirby, Mike Travaglini, Gordon Paterson, Gumbie Dixon are just a few names I remember.
We were told that if we saw anyone foreign to our people, we were to first contact base camp to confirm, as they could be Tetse workers.
On our first outing, I was part of the 360 group, comprising Tommy (Dicky) Dickinson, Gumbie Dixon and myself, and we had just collected Marula fruit and were busy eating them when I noticed movement about 400 metres away from us. As I passed a huge palm leaf, the 2 images I saw went to ground. I shouted “ters” and we took cover, made contact with base camp, who told us to wait one, and they would come and assist. (contact via our radio was a laugh, as Dicky’s hand was shaking so much, the coms was interrupted going out, as the hand press-switch was also being pushed on and off as the shakes continued)
We were high on adrenalin and got impatient waiting for back-up, and started to leopard crawl through a dried out mealie field, which was cutting our knees to pieces. We then ran to where we saw the 2 images go down, all the grass was laid flat.
Back-up arrived nearly an hour late, and off we went. By this time, the Cts were back in Mocambique. But we still did a follow up. Crossing our own freshly graded mine field was hectic. Crossing by running across the open one at a time The Sergeant got stuck on the fence as the strain of wire wedged between his back-pack and his back, I ran forward to help the guy,who did not appreciate it as we were now both sitting targets.
Nevertheless, we were the first group of sappers to have a “contact” be it visual only. We were not impressed with the time it took the back-up to arrive and we voiced our views on this.
But to cut a long story short. After weeks doing the same thing, day in and day out, and nightly ambushes along the field, we started to get gut-vol.
On our return from the field one day, Charlie Mcquillan, wanted to put my group on extras as he had found a tin of jam in our bivy area, full of stinkbugs and ants eating the left-overs. One of our group had acquired the tin of jam from the kitchen. We were short on every thing by this time. We lost it and asked him why he was snooping around; and threatened him with his life. Dicky was going to see that he never left the country, as he was “customs” back in civy life, I was a banker and told him that he would never get foreign exchange when he left Rhodesia and Melvin just wanted to hit him with a pick-handle. The rest of the guys just wanted to bury him in our trench. Corporal Gleson saved Charlie that day.
I also went onto doing the Dekka mine-field, and the one at Villers. Did boats in Kariba with Ant White, at the time they were forming the Selous Scouts and served with RAR, 2RR for almost the whole of the continuous period at Malapati and various other RR Companies. Looking back, I had a tough 8 years of army life as a sapper. My son was 3 weeks old when I was called up for the “Continuous” period and was 13 months old when I saw him proper again. All told, the guys I served with were a great bunch indeed. Mick (Chum) Jones was in my intake too. He was killed with Leroy Duberly, Charles Small, Peter Fox and one other during the second Chimoi external. They were with a bunch of RLI all in a Puma which was shot down, all 17 in the chopper were killed.
Thats all for now.
Regards, Basil Preston
Photos of Basil are shown below:
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