The waterhole
A photo of me as a (recently turned) 20-year old 2nd Lieutenant Infantryman in 1982, filling my water bottles with ‘quality’ water (by bush standards) at a waterhole at Umundaungilo village, Ovamboland approximately 2km from the Angolan border. These events are still clear in my mind and of those who were with me. Although some details are not suitable for public consumption, events described are accurate.
This particular waterhole had some of the best water in our region, the Elundu area. The green ‘stuff’ on top of the water is floating seeds from an indigenous bush that the locals throw in the water to limit evaporation and keep the water cool. Water was VERY scarce and ensured that opposing forces could potentially meet at waterholes just like wildlife.
Umundaungilo had a large waterhole with some of the best water in the region. When in the area we always visited it. Our opposing forces possibly did the same. This waterhole was the scene of an extraordinary event in my life, just a few weeks before this photo was taken.
I was about to take one of the biggest (calculated) gambles of my 20-year-old life. On the morning of 9th Sept 1982 our Platoon 5 of Bravo Company left Elundu base on a regular search and destroy patrol. I had had my thoughts firmly on a shona village about 18 km NE of Elundu, Umundaungilo in the days prior.
We had operated in this area a number of times in the past few months, and I had a gut-feel that this village, being almost half way between Elundu and Nkongo, would be an ideal place for insurgents (who mostly tried to avoid us) to sneak into SWA from Angola. I had also noticed tell-tale signs on previous visits that made me suspect enemy presence.
The locals were quieter and more reserved towards us in this village. There were more ‘young men’ drifting around in civilian clothes (unusual for this unforgiving part of the world).
The observation that piqued my interest most was that on the aerial photograph/map we used each shona village showed pathways travelling in a north/south direction over into Angola. These paths all appeared the same width on the photograph yet on a previous visit to the area I noticed the actual path from Umundaungilo into Angola was significantly wider. This indicated higher ‘traffic’ levels.
Endless foot patrols, 100s of KM in this exceptionally harsh land demanded a return on investment for the soldiers. I needed to provide it. I wanted us to surprise this village by arriving undetected. We usually patrolled from village to village, or rather waterhole to waterhole. This time we were going to avoid any contact with the locals by avoiding waterholes. We would circle around the villages and go thirsty…very thirsty. I had instructed my platoon to pack extra water bottles before leaving our Elundu base. This added significantly more weight to their already 50+kg backpacks. Elundu water was notorious for its brack, soapy taste. People only drank beer when visiting our base.
NOTE: Johan van der Mescht who was captured by SWAPO/PLAN a few years before was based at a waterhole with a more palatable water supply a few km from Elundu. The army had set up this supply of water to be trucked to Elundu. After van der Mescht was captured this waterhole idea was abandoned and ‘residents’ of Elundu had to get by with the despicable soapy Elundu water.
Normally when we left our base, we headed straight to the closest village to dump our disgusting Elundu water and fill up with the dirtier but more palatable village waterhole water. After a tough day of moving clandestinely through the unforgiving bush, carefully avoiding any locals, we arrived on the outskirts of Umundaungilo village around 19h00 that evening. It was dusk. The 18 km through the thick, thorny bush, soft sand with heavy kit (50kgs), in 40°C heat, razor sharp ‘haak-en-steek’ thorns cutting into our arms (a thorn bush with razor sharp cat-claw like thorns that hooked into your skin), quietly but vigilantly patrolling in formation, was exhausting (18km as the crow flies so detours around the villages and around thick bushes possibly pushed it closer to 23km). Even by our own accustom, doing this without refilling our bottles at least once was a big ask. On arrival we were exhausted, and most had run out of water. I was determined not to deviate from my plan, but I was mindful that I had brutally ‘punished’ my platoon (and myself) that day. I decided to ask for volunteers for a dangerous night patrol. I doubted I would get any after such a long day. If no one volunteered, we would lay low the next day and move out into the village the next evening after dusk. My motivational ‘carrot’ to entice volunteers was a promised first stop at the village waterhole to drink their fill and fill up their water bottles.
Surprisingly, 6 volunteered. That made us 7 with myself. I felt 7 could move clandestinely but also be enough to put up a good fight. Personally, I too had mixed feelings as I too, was barely able to walk from exhaustion. But a visit to the waterhole sounded great and 7 was a good number! At the time I was blessed with good long-distance eyesight and excellent natural night vision. It was a huge asset to me in this environment and I was known for this. I enjoyed night time in this environment. I always felt I had an edge.
As we left our TB (temporary night base) we marked our route out of the bush into the open shona with strips of toilet paper in the branches (easy to see in starlight). We had also recently been issued with expensive night vision binoculars (MOT or COT?) and I had these with me. Daan van Staden, Piet Venter, Lange, Renier Boucher, Brits and one other (cannot remember name) were the volunteers. We headed quietly through the bush, into the open shona and village then headed to the waterhole, about 2 km.
At the time there was a sunset-to-sunrise curfew in the operational area. Anything, anyone, and everything that moved around after dark was to be shot at. That included us! Sneaking around at night was dangerous work. This curfew law was about to be tested.
When we arrived at the waterhole, I set the team up in a defensive observation line and sent the first two members down into the hole. There was loud talking in one of the group of huts. This was neither usual nor unusual, but it was of interest. The waterhole was enclosed by upright branches to keep animals out and had one access point on the far side from where we were set in a line. I was scanning the recently harvested village Mahangu fields (staple diet of Ovambos) with night sight binoculars. This noisy commotion coming from a kraal of 6 huts about 100m south of the waterhole kept us all inquisitive and distracted. I kept scanning in the direction of this kraal, confused and inquisitive of this rowdiness. It was about 20:20 when I saw a long single file line of people about 100m away heading directly towards us. The noise had stopped, and the silence echoed over the shona. As they got closer the night vision provided a clearer picture. I stopped counting at 20 as I saw only a few more behind. Who were these people? What about the curfew? Locals knew not to walk around at night!!! I was terrified one of my team would lose his composure and we would kill innocent villagers. In the dark, with only starlight we could not determine if these were simply disobedient villagers or prey.
As they got closer, I could distinctly see they were carrying AK47s. The hanging rifle belts gave it away at first, then the well indisputable outline of the dreaded AK became clear. No one carries sticks with rifle belts. This was standard USSR issue for our enemy. My heart started pounding and I could hear it.
This group were heading north. Had they completed their objective in SWA and were heading to their base in Angola? They were just 2km from crossing the cutline into Angola. Were they relaxed and complacent being undetected (up to now) and so close to relative safety in Angola? With 2 members still in the waterhole, and no time or opportunity to pull them out, I organised the remaining 5 of us quickly into an attacking line. There was no time for communication or commands. They were about 7 metres from us. I had always, and still do, figured attack as best form of defence.
Outnumbered and out gunned, more than 4 to 1, I figured we could lay low and let them pass….or use the advantage of surprise and take them on. I was quietly confident and saw the opportunity in the situation. We had an element of supreme surprise on our side. My platoon members were well trained and oozed courage. I knew they wanted this fight. There was only ever going to be one choice. We were going to take them on.
We waited until they were directly in our killing zone, I slipped my R4 to ‘A’ (two clicks to ‘R’ was too noisy and dangerous) and lined up the leader of the single file line over my darkened sights. I opened fire. My small group instantly joined in, and all hell broke loose. I was pumped with adrenalin and super vigilant. It was almost a ‘rush’ of sorts. Petrified but ecstatic at the same time. Tracers is all I can remember… spectacular but frightening.
My small team stood their ground and at some point, the 2 joined us from the waterhole. When the gunfight stopped there was a deafening silence across the entire village shona once again. I had initiated the contact in a kneeling position and ended it as flat as I could be in the village sand. If I could have got underneath the sand, I would have.
We had taken this village by surprise. No one knew SADF forces were in the area and the enemy forces had been going on about their business, unaware of our presence. My gut feel had been right. I felt vindicated but we were now in a precarious cat and mouse game.
Daan van Staden
It was an extremely tense time. Were any of my guys dead or wounded? How many of the enemy did we get? How many were still out there in the dark? Where were those that escaped? They now knew where we were! How much ammunition did we have left? Were the enemy planning a counter attack? Were we going to need backup from the rest of the platoon 2 km away?
I had taken my A53 radio with me (hanging from my hip) and after checking all my guys were ok, I tried to radio in to my platoon. During the firefight one or more of my frequency buttons had moved and I was no longer on the right frequency. I would need light to set it onto the right frequency. Flicking a lighter to see the buttons would have instantly given our exact position away and could have been fatal for all of us. We also had no idea how big the group of enemy actually was. I knew we were numerically (significantly) outnumbered. We had to properly understand our circumstances. We were the hunters but now could be the hunted.
I decided to take our chances without making radio contact. We could keep a balance of power in this way. They didn’t know how many we were and did not know where we were either. Why give up any of these unknowns? A quick ammo assessment showed we had shot out half of our first-line ammunition (140 rounds each) but we could still fight if needed even if the odds were no longer in our favour.
The dust settled and the night vision re calibrating (the muzzle flashes and tracers had ‘blinded’ the sensitive lens) I scanned the entire shona as meticulously as I could. Movement caught my eye as I spotted a crawling enemy figure in the dark about 20m away. I shouted telling him to throw his weapons away from himself. We were absolutely astounded when he replied in fluent Afrikaans.
He begrudgingly agreed but, through my night binocs, I could see that he had not complied. I could see his AK47 through the night vision device. A last threatening warning was given, and he promptly threw his AK aside. I saw it fly through the air and land, with a thud, in the Mahangu field a few meters away from him. I had to focus! Who else of this enemy group were close by, lining us up in their sights? Was someone creeping up on us?
After another thorough scan with my night vision, I did not see any movement or identifiable human figures. I needed to subdue the now ‘disarmed’ and ‘compliant’ enemy. Not wanting to put any of my troops in danger I decided I would do the dirty work myself but needed a volunteer to assist. I asked Renier Boucher RIP (who was the biggest guy in the platoon carrying an LMG) to create a distraction while I ran and dived onto the enemy. Boucher accepted. Instantly, Daan van Staden (19 years old) brushed my request to Boucher aside and said “Ek sal dit doen, Lieutenant.” Daan realised that Boucher was carrying a cumbersome LMG and was a much bigger man. This task needed agility. Boucher was a great prospect for this task, had readily accepted and his strength would have been invaluable. Daan was physically (significantly) smaller than Boucher, but I had come to know him as a habitual volunteer for dirty work. Steely and determined he often volunteered for ‘outings’ I suggested, even on occasions when I quietly hoped no one would volunteer. He was a farm boy from Bronkhorstspruit. I realised Daan would be more agile, and he had earned my trust many times before. I knew I could depend on him. My life could be in his hands. After a quick chat, Daan sneaked quietly to a 90° position in relation to myself and the enemy member. He made distracting noises from that position, and I took off at top speed ending in a dive onto the unsuspecting enemy.
As I landed on him, I realised he had a 9mm Tokarev pistol out, intending to take a shot at us. Daan arrived almost the same time as me landing with a thud on top of myself and the SWAPO member. He was quickly subdued and disarmed of his loaded and cocked Tokarev. We called in the rest of our team. We were acutely aware of our precarious situation. Exposed, in the open fields, outnumbered and outgunned.
We quickly established that this man was the commander of the group and we desperately needed critical information on his team, for our own survival. He would also be a valuable prisoner. We also established he had taken a 5.56mm round in his right butt. The bullet had not exited which meant this projectile, travelling at 980m per second, had hit something and destroyed his insides. He was also a big man. I was one of the bigger guys (thinned down to 60kgs by months of brutal conditions) and he must have been at least 85kgs. But he was as good as dead as he was never going to get the required medical help this deep in the bush in time. The extent of our operational medic’s intervention would not extend to this level of internal destruction. We needed to focus on ourselves.
There is more to the story at this point, (which has been omitted out of loyalty and courtesy to those who were with me that night). We needed information and then silence at any cost. We quickly consolidated our small group and loaded the enemy member up onto Boucher’s broad shoulders and started the dangerous 2km walk back to our platoon in the temporary base (TB). Half of this walk was through the dark, dangerous open Mahangu fields of Umundaungilo. This walk remains the scariest 2 km of my life as we had shot out half our ammunition and had lost radio contact. We were outnumbered, outgunned and vulnerable.
Our small group cautiously and quietly returned in the dark to the rest of the platoon following the pieces of white toilet paper we had meticulously placed in the trees earlier to navigate our way back in the pitch darkness to the platoon base.
Years later, I have realised I did not even request the platoon medic to assess the wounded enemy member. I am not sure if I did not think to do it, figured it would be pointless or if I simply did not care. At the time it seemed not to be a concern to me at all.
During the night I was woken by Daan who informed me the wounded man had died. I acknowledged his message, turned over and went back to sleep. The endless brutal physical strain on us, day in and day out, week after week for months on end had made us emotionless and heartless, lose all sense of humanity and compassion. We were apathetic machines who only cared about our own survival, with an intense dislike for this ‘enemy’ who had dragged us 1000s of kms from our homes into this hell hole. Sleep was more important.
The next morning, as usual, my first thoughts were a fantasy about an outside tap with running water. (I did not get a chance to have a drink at the waterhole or fill up a bottle the previous night). Thirst was enough to distract me from the events of the previous evening. I radioed in to Elundu Base to my commander, Captain van Staden. He was livid! He launched into an uncontrollable tirade. I had failed to report our contact.
Ovamboland was dead quiet at night. Sounds could be heard miles away. The only sounds were those of night birds and animals. Our training had taught us to be dead quiet from sundown to sunrise. Platoon 2 was 7 km away from us and had heard the gunfight in the dead of the night before. 2nd Lieutenant Charlo de Vries (who became my daughter, Shannon’s Godfather years later) had radioed in to Elundu to report gunfire from our direction. Military protocol demanded immediate situation or contact reports to base. I had had a good night’s rest before obliging!! The whole base had been on tenterhooks, worried that some of us had been wounded or killed. I endured this deserved pasting over the radio from Captain van Staden with little concern. I knew he was (eventually) going to like my story. I was just so overwhelmed and grateful none of us had been hurt or killed. I was also on a ‘high’ after pulling one over the enemy. Our platoon would receive ‘high-fives’ on their return to base.
The 1982 Intake at Infantry School were doing their border training phase at Eenhana, (about 50km west of our position) at the time and the next morning a platoon was sent out to collect the body of the PLAN member. I was delighted to see the leader of this collection team as being Johan Visagie who had been in my platoon during officers training the year before at Infantry School. He was an excellent ‘student’ and leader at Infantry School in my year and they always kept these ‘sharp’ guys back to train the new intake at Infantry School. It was great to see a friendly face 1000s of km away and deep in the bush…from where I last saw him. Seeing Johan briefly was the highlight of my week. What a mess our minds were in! Lives of our enemy meant less than a visit from an old friend or a drink of water. Many would judge us but without having been in our shoes, none could really understand. We were just young men wanting to go home placed into an awful land with a job. Johan and I, as well as Daan and I, have reunited in recent years and I am blessed to share and include them in my account of this incident.
I have recounted this incident with both recently. We can’t change what happened or how it happened. We just know we are privileged to still be able to share our thoughts with each other. It is incidents like this, as messy as they are, that bond army brothers together. For my sins I (and probably the others) have prayed for forgiveness for nearly 40 years. I have enormous respect for my entire platoon that served with me in 1982. They were courageous tough lads, and it was an honour and privilege to serve with them. We were just boys doing our national service!
Leon Markus de Bruin