First Blood…..Sidindi Island (Part 4)
February 18, 2011
There was not a sound as we remained in all-round defence..the smell of AVTUR and dry dust hanging in the air..although early morning the sweat trickled between my hand and the pistol grip on my FN…..running through the worry lines on my palm….partly from heat and partly because I was shit scared at this point. If a landmine had been laid on the road (and the sad looking Bedford RL just 50 meters away was objective evidence there had been) there could be gooks about and the last thing I wanted was to get taken out on my first real mission by a lucky shot from an AK……I can imagine the inscription on my gravestone….here lies FatFox9, Brave Sapper Killed In Action on his first mission without firing a shot. RIP.
Mopani flies….the little fuckers were in my eyes…..when you killed them they let off an atrocious smell that attracted more of their buddies who attacked any orifice they could get into. Anyone who hasn’t snorted Mopani Fly in the morning hasn’t lived.
I was not too sure what I was meant to do at this stage so I just acted clever and copied the 1 Indep infantry boys and continued to look grimly into the bush remembering my training…..look through cover….not at it..shape, shine, silhouette and all the other esses I have forgotten…problem was the bush was so frigging thick and your eyes were so full of Mopanis you couldn’t see through it so what now? I was thirsty…throat dry and the fried eggs and bacon I had for breakfast were repeating in my throat….should have stuck to corn flakes with toast and mixed fruit jam. I wanted to get my water bottle out of the webbing holder on my belt but was too shit scared to move so worked up some saliva in my dry mouth as an interim measure.
The 1 Indep stick leader decided we had stayed under cover long enough and came over to me….saying I could carry on and do what I had to do. Just as I was about to stand up the stick leader hit the ground and told me to stay where I was. Someone was walking up the road that ran down towards the Zambezi River!…..and he was white…..and in full Rhodesian camouflage..long trousers that we called denims and a shirt with the sleeves rolled down fully…in this heat..not shorts and T shirt!
Remember that up to now all we knew was that a vehicle had hit a mine and that I was there to clear 2 kilometres either side of the victim with the infantry providing protection while I was exposed on the road. The vehicle was in front of me and the road which ran north-south, obviously also in front of me. This was now a dangerous time for us…..we had no idea there were any additional troops working in this area let alone friendly forces….a recipe for a blue on blue disaster……change lever to fire.
The person approaching us advanced alone and without fear..his weapon carried easily and in a position that we could see he came in peace and was no threat to us. We relaxed and safety catches went back to “S” with a metalic click….he stopped next to the Bedford and urged us to approach him. He wore the rank of a Staff Sergeant….he also wore the coveted dark blue SAS Wings on his shoulder. And thus next to a sick, sad looking and evil smelling old Bedford troop carrier I met Don Kenny….one of the legends of the Rhodesian War….at least in my eyes he was and I don’t give a shit what anyone else says.
He led us back down the road from the direction he had approached from……..I was soon to learn the real reason why I was there….and to a young Sapper on his first mission it was both a shocking and sad revelation that would have a significant impact on my future career as a professional soldier.
FatFox9 with MMD1 Mine Detector (probably the same one I used at Sidindi)
i
First Blood…..Sidindi Island (Part 3)
November 20, 2010
Still in the gunship.
I was fascinated by a tiny length of wool that had been tied to one of the antennae outside the front of the cockpit perspex bubble…I cannot remember the colour…it fluttered helplessly in the wind stream….I wondered what it was there for?…..some kind of good luck charm for the crew or what? I was later to see these strange pieces of wool on every Alo I flew in and found out that it was an improvised cockpit instrument…..it apparently helped the pilot to confirm that he was flying in a straight line and not crabbing to one side…….what a simple but clever idea. Strange Aerospatiale never thought of this.
We had been flying for about 40 minutes I guess when the chopper lurched to the left and began its descent. I held onto my seat a little tighter. Looking past the gunner I could see a dirt road beneath us and just a quick glimpse of a rather sad looking Bedford RL canted down on one side at the front like a wounded beast with a foreleg missing…..she was however still a proud looking old girl.
The chopper circled the area a few times like a dog looking for a place to sleep before the pilot and gunner were satisfied they had found the spot to put us down and that there were no evil gooks about…….and we began our descent…..all the while the gunner kept a sharp lookout for the enemy as well as any vegetation that might cause the Alo damage on landing. As we neared the ground the down-wash from the blades flattened the grass and sent up a cloud of dust and grass seeds……we picked up our kit (including the MMD 1 dinosaur metal detector) and jumped into the unknown. We all knew what to do…..straight out into all round defence…..FN cocking handles pulled back and released…working parts smoothly picking up a 7,62 x 51mm peacemaker… while the chopper lifted gracefully into the sky and turned back towards home..a gloved thumbs up from the pilot…the sound of the engine slowly fading……leaving silence and a feeling of utter loneliness.
First Blood…..Sidindi Island (Part 2)
November 19, 2010
On-board Cyclone 7 Gunship………outbound to Sidindi area
The pilot tested and released the brakes on the Alo gunship and we slowly taxied down the runway at FAF1……I was on the back seat….a simple hard bench that could fold up when the chopper was in the casevac role. On either side of me was an infantryman from 1 Indep. The infantry section or “stick” leader sat in a rearwards facing seat next to the pilot. This seat had an olive green cushion for your arse and the seat was armour-plated all round so that whoever sat in it never had his balls shot off by gooks firing from below.
Another troopie sat in the door opening, a position I was later to claim as my own on many chopper rides. There is something pretty fascinating about sitting in a chopper door when the pilot hits a hard port or starboard roll and you literally hang out the machine but cannot fall…centrifugal force apparently….those of you who have experienced this will know what I am talking about. The door gunner was a serious looking fellow who had a flying helmet on that had wires coming out of it that plugged into sockets on the bulkhead..these were his umbilical cord to the pilot….they spoke constantly without a sound coming our way. The weapon on these gunships was the Belgium made 7,62 MAG (Metrallieur a Gas) mounted as twins on a swivel arrangement giving traverse and elevation movement. There was also an optical sight on these weapons. Ammunition was fed into from two ammo boxes attached to the gun mounting.
This was my first chopper ride and as you all know I am shit scared of heights. My arse was nipping at the thought of the lift off and me just inches from the open door….I didn’t know about the centrifugal force theory at this stage.
I watched the pilot closely…..how he gently pumped his feet on the pedals as we taxied…..and how he flicked mysterious buttons on the rather impressive dashboard that had red and green lights on it. His left hand had been continuously holding what looked like a car handbrake between the seats and as I watched he slowly lifted this device and the chopper left the ground and began to gently gain height….I learned later this handbrake thing was called the “collective” and had something quite important to do with the up and down activity of all choppers. Actually if this device broke the chopper was fucked and all aboard in severe shit.
As we climbed I watched as the runway fell away and the buildings below became smaller and smaller…..the cars on the roads looking like the Dinkies I had played with in the sand as a child…..as the pilot swung the machine to port we headed east…..into the rising sun…..and into my first taste of what this war was all about.
First Blood…..Sidindi Island (Part 1)
October 16, 2010
Probably 1974
Early morning……first light just gone. First call-out just arrived.
My billet was quite a way from the the ops room at 1 Indep and I was running and mumbling as fast as I could to get there. Considering I was loaded down with my rifle, full battle webbing (no chest webbing yet), 1st line ammo, and a mine detector I think I got there in good time. I was not sure what was going on yet but had the feeling something had happened as I was not asked to go through this routine every morning.
I was told to put my kit down and wait for a briefing. The person who was to do the briefing came into the office and I recognised him as one of the extra-marital shaggers. To be honest I had got to know him over the last few weeks and actually he was not a bad sort of chap really…..he respected the Sappers and that was good enough for me.
I was informed that there had been a mine incident in the very early hours of the morning, the result of which was a crippled Bedford RL. I was to be choppered out from Forward Air Field 1 (FAF1), the local Rhodesian Air force base, accompanied by a couple of infantrymen as a protection party. My mission was simple……check the road either side of the casualty for 2 clicks and see if I could find anything else. This had to be done as soon as possible as a recovery vehicle was waiting to get in and take the damaged RL out. They could not move until I gave them the all clear.
Seemed pretty simple enough. Little did I know the tragedy that had been the precursor of the mine incident. I was soon to find out.
The picture below shows a Bedford RL. This is an identical vehicle to the one I was flown out to assist the recovery crews with.
Bedford RL
I Am Not Old
October 16, 2010
I am not old…..I am 55.
You will however notice that from here on I am going to be cautious when quoting dates unless I am fairly sure when something took place and even then I will probably only quote the year. When I do there will always be the caveat that I could be mistaken and I would really appreciate input from individuals noting errors or things I have forgotten. Bear in mind I did not keep a diary, neither do I have access to files or other records to assist me.
In reality why are exact dates important in this context anyway? The simple answer is they are not. The residue of these recollections remains the same whether they are dated or not.
I will however always remain truthful and accurate in my ramblings as without the characteristics of honesty and integrity this whole effort equals nothing and would be a disrespect to the brave men and women who never went home.
For those of you with the privilege of having historical data at your disposal and photogenic brains, I look forward to your constructive input…….and thank you in advance.
Those who wish to merely gloat and critisise with their brilliance……I suggest you stay away as you may find yourself the subject of a subsequent installment. Remember……I might just know you.
Below is a photo of my best friend Yogi…..gone forever……..the date of her passing is not remembered…..but her love and companionship will never be forgotten.
Yogi
The Quarter Masters Stores……
October 13, 2010
1974……Brady Barracks
Time to find out where we were getting posted to.
Rock and Roll was over and we had all returned to the Squadron HQ at Brady Barracks (alias Headquarters 1 Brigade). The Squadron HQ was a rather dilapidated collection of buildings not too far from the Brigades Warrant Officers and Sergeants Mess, which meant nothing to me but is worth mentioning. Inside the HQ it always smelt of paper and stationery and chemicals used for the Gestetner roneo machine. The ones that had some kind of red waxy paper to type on. This specific machine was hand operated and there was always someone there cranking the big black handle on the side that was the trigger to pick up paper, print, and spew out paper the other side. It only printed on newsprint or at least that’s the quality we got with our precis. In those days this was a very serious piece of kit.
Anyway I am getting side-tracked.
I had been informed that my first posting was going to be to a place called Wankie (yes there were some Wankers there)…..up the Victoria Falls road to an outfit named 1 Independent Company, Rhodesia Regiment (1 Indep Coy RR). I was a little disappointed at first as all my mates or most of them anyway were going to Mukumbura in the North-Eastern border area to lay mines on Cordon Sanitaire. I shouldn’t have worried for two reasons. Firstly I would get more than enough tours to various parts of the Cordon, and secondly it was not too bad at 1 Indep once I got used to arrogant Infantry Officers who had more domestic scandals surrounding them than I care to remember. It was really bad there at one stage and the extramarital shagging that went on in the background was the stuff that legends were made of. Extramarital shagging is fine but not in front of the troops…….and no effort was made to be discrete. One of these people doing the shagging actually had the temerity to call me a dude one day because he had sent me and my crew out as a stop group without the opportunity to get fully prepared…….knobber.
My specific job-title was “Mine-Standby”,a really strange coincidence seeing that 1 Indep was based inside an old mine compound in those days. Wankie was one of the biggest collieries in the world at the time and the army had taken over one of the disused compounds. Dozens of little cottages……better than tents that’s for sure. As the job title implied my mission was to stand-by and wait for a landmine to go off somewhere. I would then be flown out by chopper to sweep the road 2 kilometers either side of whatever or whoever the victim was in case the evil gooks had laid additional mines…..a common tactic.
It was about this time (and before my first deployment) that I realised that our Squadron Quarter Master was a rather nasty piece of work and a tosser to boot. He was a bully who seemed to think that everything in the store belonged to him and that all of the kit belonged on the shelf so he could show it off to the Squadron Commander when he was brown-nosing the boss. There is no place in the field for these possessions of his either. If one of us asked for a replacement first field dressing we were asked for the old one. I could name this individual but I wont. He knows who he is…..an infantry officer, not even a Sapper. And I really hope he reads this because by now he realises that we only saluted his rank and not him. There was actually talk of fragging him amoungst us……hope that woke him up. The other ranks in the stores were OK but he needed shooting. The only time I saw him in the bush was to come and count knives and forks……I jest not with you. Woe betide the Troop Sergeant who was a fork down on his camp inventory when the Major came calling. This was tantamount to treason and equaled the loss of the entire vehicle fleet of the Rhodesian Engineer Corps……including all the Pookies!! I saw his name on an e-mail distribution list the other day so he survived the war staying out the combat zone……brave bugger you have to be to survive in the stores. I think he was impotent too.
Anyway enough slagging off the officers for now……but to be honest some of them really deserve it as you will find out later.
And now it was time to draw my weapon and first-line ammo, pack my kit, and depart on some of the greatest adventures of my life.
A much thinner FatFox9 testing the MMD1...1974 Wankie
Mzingwane Dam Part 2…….Combat Engineer Practical Training Phase
September 24, 2010
It has taken me ages to get back into the blog and my deepest apologies to my loyal followers. I have decided that today I need to clear the training bollocks away and get into the parts of the journey we are on together that will give you a better idea of what it was like to be a Sapper in the Rhodesian and South African Engineer Corps as a fully-fledged Combat Engineer.
Umzingwane Dam…..still Octoberish 1974
During the practical phase of our training there are two incidents and activities that really stand out well and for the purpose of this blog those are the only ones I will recall here…..mainly because I cannot think of any others right now.
The picture below shows an aerial view of Umzingwane Dam…….I have added this to illustrate the first recollection I have of the Dam Phase.
- Mzingwane Dam
Our training camp was situated on the Western side of the dam. The dam wall was on the Eastern side. I have labelled these positions for a good reason. They were to cause me much pain. Note also the Swimming Start Position and read on.
We were of course almost finished with our training at this time and we tended to get a little bit out of hand with the instructors…..taking the piss and forgetting who we were and who they were. There was still the them and us……we were after all National Servicemen and only been in the Army a few months. But the line was becoming fuzzy…….
Anyway this particular evening someone had really pissed Little Hitler off and he was going to have his revenge on us. As it got to darkness he and the other instructors doubled us down to the position marked as Swimming Start Point (they drove down in a Land- Rover). Now I must mention here that doubling in the dark over sharp rocks in those horrible brown rubber “sports” shoes they gave us is no easy task and there was more than one of us who took a tumble which resulted in mumbled curses and more insults being thrown at certain peoples mothers and sisters. At this time we did not twig what the plan was but when we got to the waters edge I started to get a bit of an idea. I was not far out. The instructors parked the Land-Rover so that the headlights shone right across the dam towards the wall (on high beam of course)……all Little Hitler said in a cold voice was “swim until you get to the end of the beams and then swim back”. Jock Pollock…..a Scots instructor said he “wanted to see our burning arseholes in the water“….and we were off. It looked fucking miles…..and it was. They got in one of our Zodiacs we had moored up and followed us shouting abuse and mock encouragement at us all the way. I am a strong swimmer and it shagged me completely……I almost got to the wall that night before the instructors called us all back. I was pissed off because I really wanted to get there. I think they were a little worried in case someone drowned. If I remember rightly we all got pissed when we got back to camp…..really late it was.
Another incident worth mentioning was something that could have turned out bad but didn’t. We had been given an opportunity to visit one of the hotels close to the dam as a course completion treat. Needless to say we all got trashed, including the instructors. Luckily Little Hitlers father in law owned the hotel…..I jest not with you. He really looked after us. Anyway on the way back the normal bullshit started in the back of the vehicle…we were all in the back of a Bedford RL. One of the blokes…..and I remember him well……Trevor Robinson was his name (wore glasses), decided he wanted a piss and climbed out the back of the RL and up onto the top canvas…..there were bad results from this and he was severely injured when a thick thorn branch overhanging the road smacked him clean off the top of the vehicle with his dick still in his hand. Needless to say no one in the back saw this until we were quite some way from the incident……we never heard a thing. I cannot remember how we realised he was missing. When we got back to him he was a mess, blood and snot everywhere the poor bugger…..but smiling even with his broken glasses which he wore with an elastic round his neck. He recovered fully but I still don’t know if he got his piss that night. Lucky, lucky. Trevor and I were to become good friends as time wore on.
There was something else but I cannot remember it now so I think this is enough.
Our training was over at last. A long hard pull from June till now but we had our Oxford Blue berets…..that’s all that counted.
We returned to Brady Barracks, and were given a weeks Rock and Roll. On our return we would be part of the National Service Field Troop of 1 Squadron Rhodesian Corps of Engineers (1 RhE).
We were also to learn where each of us was going for their first operational posting.
But I’m saving that for next time…….I undertake not to keep you all waiting so long this time.
This is where the fun starts………………………..
1974…..Octoberish
Once we had finished our theory phase of training it was time to get out into the field and find out exactly what we had taken on board.
Our explosives training was carried out at Khodwayo Bombing Range and this had been completed earlier on. That had been extremely interesting and we had been taught a variety of demolition skills……steel cutting charges, destruction of landmines and other unexploded ordnance, cratering charges using camouflet sets which had a strange device called a “monkey” that weighed a ton, laying out of detonating cord ringmains and electrical ringmains, and most importantly explosive safety regulations.
There was no buggering about at Khodwayo. The training was presented in a professional way and there was no running or stress situations. This was serious stuff and our first exposure to things that would literally blow your head off if not treated with respect. The instructors understood this and adapted their methods of instruction accordingly. All in all one of the best phases of my training and probably the single most important subject I still use to this day in my chosen profession.
After demolition training it was back to Brady Barracks, unload the Bedfords of all the demolition kit, reload them with all sorts of other weird and wonderful Sapper stuff, most of which was bloody heavy and/or sharp, and we were off to Mzingwane Dam……and this was really going to be fun.
Mzingwane dam
Brady Barracks (Bulawayo)…..The Spawning Of A Sapper
May 21, 2010
Probably about August 1974……Brady Barracks (Bulawayo)-Headquarters,1 Engineer Squadron (1RhE)
“Come on Sapper Craig……up here!!….next to me…that’s it…..keep up with me at the front of the squad…don’t slow down now!”
This coming from an Aussie (maybe Kiwi) Staff Sergeant Engineer Instructor…..who also happened to be a marathon runner and took us for a daily 5 kilometer morning run down the road next to the barracks that would eventually get you to Salisbury.
Fuck me I thought to myself…..I really hoped I had finished with all this PT and running bollocks……how wrong I was.
But it was different here. The instructors were just about all ex-(or possibly serving) Royal Engineers….great guys, and helped a person instead of taking the piss. I was getting to enjoy my reasonable fitness and was looking forward to beginning specialist training. It was my first awakening that the Engineers were different from the Infantry, in fact they bordered on being human.
The first night at Brady Barracks deserves mentioning. There were about 30 of us (I think) from Intake 139 that had been accepted for Combat Engineer training and we were crammed into quite a small barrack-room as our initial accommodation. Living space was scarce at the Squadron in those days. In fact our accommodation was almost right next to the HQ building and the tiny parade ground.
It must have been about 2 am when all hell broke loose in the barrack-room…..lights came on blinding us and the doors were thrown open. Two Corporals bought us all to attention next to our beds……all of us in our underwear and some of us who slept in the nick standing stark bollock naked. From out of the darkness an apparition appeared…..no rank or badges on his uniform…..the only distinct characteristic about the man was the black eye-patch he wore over his left (maybe right) eye.
He walked slowly up and down our barrack-room…….giving each of us an evil one-eyed glance and grin.
“They call me Little ‘itler”…….up to now he had said nothing and those were his first words. I took it he meant Little Hitler, but being a Cockney he couldn’t pronounce his H’s bless him.
“For your sniveling, rotten sins you have been blessed with me as one of your instructors…….beware the man that crosses me because you will wish you were never born etc, etc, etc”………we were meant to be shitting ourselves I think although I was starting to get the feeling this was a wind-up of some kind. Anyway I thought it best to play along with the game or I might suffer one-eyes consequences. Little ‘itler continued his briefing to us…emphasising again the terrible fate that would befall us if we pissed him around during training or any other time for that matter. Threats of being fucked-up so badly our whole family would burst out in tears comes to mind.
And then he was gone…..taking the two Corporals with him. We found out the next day that this was in fact some sort of tradition. The new intake that arrives gets “initiated” by the intake that is about to complete their National Service……..and some of the regular instructors take part for good measure. All good fun. I was quite happy with that and in fact “Little ‘itler” and I became great friends. He was a regular Engineer Instructor and his name is definitely worth mentioning here……Vic Hydes……one of the good guys, a highly skilled instructor and fantastic man to work with. We had some great times together and he got me out the crap a few times when I “forgot” to pay my Hi-Fi installment. Vic, if you ever get to read this….I salute you and hope that you and the family are well!!
Just as a closer for this episode we got the outgoing intakes living quarters when they left about a week later……a much better arrangement with more space and nicer beds.
Our Combat Engineer (CEB 3) training was split into two phases, theory and practical. All or most of the theory was carried out at Squadron HQ and consisted of the following subjects (if my memory serves me correctly): Demolitions, mine-warfare, improvised rafting and floatation, watermanship, field machines, knots and lashings, water supply and purification, bridge-building, field defences, obstacles, camouflage and concealment, roads and airfield, field geometry, survey, and a whole lot more Sapper stuff that I cannot recall right now.
I really want to get done and dusted with the training bollocks and get onto the real meat of my time as a soldier so forgive me if we move on to the practical phase of my Combat Engineer training in the next installment and be done with it. I think you will find it interesting……I know I did.
Basic Training……the metamorphosis
May 16, 2010
It has been well recorded that the Rhodesian fighting man/woman were the finest counter-insurgency force in the world at the time and the training we received from day one was designed to ensure that this reputation was never sullied. It was hard and relentless, both physically and mentally. I must mention here that I have never been a small chap of politically correct weight. Those who know me will understand what I mean. I have had a lifelong battle with excess lard and this did not do me any favours during basic training. I really suffered, as did many of my fellow trainees.
However I soon discovered that I had a high level of mental stamina and an above average walking endurance with extremely heavy loads. This was to prove of great benefit to me in the future.
Walking anywhere was considered taboo during basic training and would immediately incur the wrath of our instructors, who appeared to take their greatest pleasure from grinding the less physically adept more than the rest. There were three of them in A Company……and at the time were all evil men according to me. I remember their names and faces to this day but I do not see any value to mention them here. I fully understand they had a difficult job to do but they did seem to wobble along that thin and somewhat blurry line between constructive battle competence/discipline training and sadistic bullying rather frequently. Perhaps this was all part of the grand plan to make us survivors in combat…..I don’t know….. but apparently it worked as I am still here to tell the tale so I have forgiven them a long time ago and in some ways I probably owe them my life many times over.
Basic Training doctrine in the Rhodesian Army had one purpose……to train every recruit to be an infantry fighting platform as their primary function. Even though many of us would later specialise in one of the many and diverse branches of the military machine, each and every one of us could therefore also form part of a fighting infantry section, or “stick” as we called them. With this as the objective much of our time was spent carrying out weapon drills by day and night, days and days of musketry training on the range, section battle drills, bayonet fighting, grenade throwing, map-reading, bush-craft, and a myriad of other black arts and skills that we would need to see without being seen, and kill without being killed.
So between all the boot-polishing, beret shaping, uniform starching, parade ground work, bed-packs, barrack room inspections, guard duties, PT and vehicle debussing drills we actually did some interesting stuff too.
I am not going to spend much more time on the intricacies of Rhodesian Army basic training techniques.
One thing is for sure though and that is that I was extremely happy to have had my request for transfer after Phase One Basics to the Rhodesian Corps of Engineers approved. The truth is that I did not see myself as an infantryman full-stop, and coming from an engineering background the Sappers seemed the way to go. I have never regretted it to this day and my next installment will cover the 8 or so weeks that the Rhodesian Army spent turning me into a Combat Engineer.
- Llewellyn Barracks (Alan Roberts)
Llewellyn Barracks from 14,000 ft:A) Main Entrance to Llewellyn
B) The parade ground: where many painful hours were spent
C) The sports ground: with rugby posts that we often had to run around during drill on the parade ground
D) The abandoned air strip: around which we had to run most mornings before breakfast
E) The rifle range: now abandoned….you can see the stop-butts just left of the “E”
F) Number Three Guard: where I also spent many painful hours
- Passing-Out Parade-Depot, The Rhodesia Regiment
Fatfox9's Blog 