Related quotes: There’s a story that have...

A War Story

There’s a story that have being told
(and I do not know if there is truth to it) ,
that after the slaughtering
of the 47th FAPLA / Cuban brigade at the intersection
of the Lomba and Cuzizi Rivers in Angola,

the mauling of several brigades on the way
to Cuito Cuanavale and the destruction
of that military airfield, the loss of many soldiers,
the destruction of nine Mig fighters
and the loss of huge amounts of Soviet equipment

Fidel Castro was very angry and in a terrible rage
brought his Cuban soldiers in Angola
up to fifty thousand, sent four hundred tanks
and his best pilots to Angola,
after the South African forces had withdrawn

which resulted in the Mig-23 attack
on the Calueque dam
in South West Africa (now Namibia) ,
where a Buffel troop carrier was lost
along with some South African soldiers.

According to the story in vengeance
a team of elite South African
Reconnaissance Commandos
was HALO dropped equipped with
the Fim-92 Stinger anti-aircraft systems

that UNITA had supplied to them,
along with some other weapons and equipment
that these special force soldiers do normally carry
to shoot down MIG-23’s
and Hind attack helicopters

that was putting UNITA under attack
and it has been told that they were dropped
near to an enemy airbase under the nose
of the large Russian aircraft that was scanning
the air for any approaching enemy activities

where they shot down
several fighter jets and attack helicopters,
but that the section-leader
left one pilot to fly off after seeing him
making a cross, begging God for mercy.

The Reconnaissance Commandos managed to withdraw,
were extracted at the allocated extraction point
without any further incident with either FAPLA
or any Cuban enemy units
but the story gets much more interesting.

It is told that while that Recce section-leader
was holidaying in the United States
he took a taxicab from the airport to his hotel,
where the driver (a former Cuban pilot) recognized him
and that he had left Cuba as a refugee.

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The Battle of Cuito Cuanavale

I. Outnumbered by armour (A reply to William Shakespeare)

Outnumbered by armour
and by men we met the enemy,
FAPLA and Cubans under Russian leadership
and the men accompanying me
was very worried
and wished for the whole
of the seventh armoured division
to have been deployed.

I said to the men
in the armoured car with me
that if we must die here in vain,
the fewer men it be
but if we grasp the victory
the world will know
that we are brave and honourable men
capable of destroying whatever faces us.

Weary I told them that our ancestors
faced a outnumbering enemy
against Dingaan and won effectively
as they were in the hand of God
and so were we.

Colonel Deon Ferreira send us straight in,
from Rundu
(heading north-west after crossing the border)
to intercept the 47th enemy FAPLA / Cuban (armoured) brigade.

At the same time UNITA were repulsing
the16th FAPLA (infantry) brigade
north of the Lomba River
that was trying to take Cunjamba.

We were hitting hard directly from the south,
surprising the 47th enemy (armoured) Brigade,
virtually destroying it
at the junction
of the Lomba and Cuzizi Rivers

fighting with armoured cars
against tanks
hitting fast and then driving away at speed,
like on commando our ancestors did
during the Anglo Boer war
fighting day and night
till the field, the air was filled with gore

and when more pressure came,
more enemy armour rolled in
our own main battle tanks joined in,
howitzer guns started firing in support
from many miles away,
assisted by reconnaissance commandos
for accurate targeting

It was the greatest slaughtering,
as battles go a terrible, terrible thing
for our enemy
while we wiped them out
and found ten abandoned enemy tanks
left in the bush, in pristine condition
with the men operating them running away

Shortly after these victories
our forces along with those of UNITA
destroyed the remaining FAPLA / Cuban forces
in the Lomba-Cuzizi-Conzumbia aria
and on the offensive
drove back the other enemy brigades
for a distance of one hundred and twenty miles
in bloody battles up to Cuito Cuanavale

l’Envoi
and now on a hill outside Pretoria
the new government
has constructed a monument
called Freedom Park

to celebrate a victory,
thinking that with lies
they can change history,
are even trying to find some Cubans
to place the names of them on a honour wall
as heroes and victors

while they had lost
at a terrible cost of men and machines
and incredibly
some people believe them.

[References: Before Agincourt by William Shakespeare.]

II. Legends and victories in Angola of which the truth is vague (in answer to Johan Myburg)

No person that wasn’t there
can grasp the extent, of the impact
of the Cuban brigades

the air bridge that the Russians had build
with new armour and weapons from Moscow,
the deadly danger that attacks
of the 47th (armoured) ,59th (mechanized) ,16th (infantry) ,
and 21st (infantry) ,25th (infantry) , enemy brigades held

when almost a hundred T-55 tanks
and hundreds of BTR-armoured cars
came driving shooting out of the bush
(supported by MIG-23 fighter bombers) ,

knows how it is when Ratel-90 armoured cars
have to come to a standstill,
to fire upon moving and shooting targets
and in that hour of hell

the truth about a giant victory against
Cuba wasn’t vague,
the whole of the 47th FAPLA / Cuban (armoured) brigade
was totally obliterated,
ninety-four enemy tanks was shot out,
almost three hundred armoured cars were reduced to scrap
four thousand five hundred and eighty enemies were killed
nine MIG fighter jets were shot down

against the lost of only three South African tanks,
eleven armoured cars and troop carriers,
one Mirage fighter jet
and thirty-one South African soldiers.

Whoever views the truth of this victory as vague
hasn’t got a clue
of what had happened there
(probably had hidden as a religious pastor
somewhere in the rearguard,
or were away at home)

Whoever believes the false propaganda
distributed by the new government
and the Cubans,
are without proper knowledge
and disputes the bravery
of the undefeated soldiers
of the 61 mechanised
and 32 South African battalion groups.

l’Envoi
Still it’s strange
that the Cuban general Ochoa Sanchez
(who was the supreme commander of this conflict)
was executed in Cuba.

[References: Stigtingsdag (Founder’s day) by Johan Myburg:

“maar duisend-en-een angolese verhale
van brigades kubane
sages van seges waarvan
waarheid maar vaag is”

My translation into English:

“but a thousand and one Angolan stories
of brigades of Cubans
legends of victories of which
the truth is but vague”

The battle at Cuito Cuanavale: “The results of the campaign up to April 1988 were 4,785 killed on the Cuban/Faplan side, with 94 tanks and hundreds of combat vehicles destroyed, against 31 South Africans killed in action,3 tanks destroyed (SADF tanks entered the war after the Lomba River campaign) and 11 SADF armoured cars and troop carriers lost. A total of 9 Migs were destroyed and only 1 SAAF Mirage shot down.” (General) Jannie Geldenhuys. (1994) : At the front. Jonathan Ball Publishers. P240.

“The South African force, under the command of Colonel Deon Ferreira, was tasked with carrying out three operations (1) Operation Modular - The aim of which was to halt and reverse the FAPLA / Cuban advance on the UNITA strongholds of Mavinga and Jamba, (2) Operation Hooper - The aim of which was to inflict maximum casualties on the retreating FAPLA / Cuban forces after they had been halted and (3) Operation Packer - The aim of which was to force the FAPLA / Cuban forces to retreat to the west of the Cuito River.” Nortje, Piet (2003) .32 Battalion. Zebra Press.

'In early October the Soviet-Fapla offensive was smashed at the Lomba River near Mavinga. It turned into a headlong retreat over the 120 miles back to the primary launching point at Cuito Cuanavale. In some of the bloodiest battles of the entire civil war, a combined force of some 8,000 UNITA fighters and 4,000 SADF troops destroyed one Fapla brigade and mauled several others out of a total Fapla force of some 18,000 engaged in the three-pronged offensive. Estimates of Fapla losses ranged upward of 4,000 killed and wounded. This offensive had been a Soviet conception from start to finish. Senior Soviet officers played a central role in its execution.... Huge quantities of Soviet equipment were destroyed or fell into UNITA and SADF hands when Fapla broke into a disorganized retreat... The 1987 military campaign represented a stunning humiliation for the Soviet Union, its arms and its strategy.... As of mid-November, the UNITA/SADF force had destroyed the Cuito Cuanavale airfield and pinned down thousands of FAPLA's best remaining units clinging onto the town's defensive perimeters.' Crocker, Chester A. (1992) High Noon in Southern Africa: Making Peace in a Rough Neighbourhood. (Crocker was U.S. Assistant Secretary of State for African Affairs during the Reagan Administration.)

John Turner claims that: “following their losses, the Cubans were convinced that further military confrontation with the SADF would not succeed.” Turner, John W. (1998) . Continent Ablaze; The Insurgency Wars in Africa,1960 to the Present. Cassell Plc.

Comments made by a Soviet adviser to the Cubans in Angola: 'The people's armed forces for the liberation of Angola have not been able either, even with the help of the Cubans, to decisively defeat the enemy and drive him out of the territory or the country.” M. Ponomariov, Krasnaya Zvezda Magazine; 20 May 1988.]

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This Could Not Be The War We Fought In (Cavatina)

The new government talks down; they deceive
about winning
against us, the war in which we did fight;
the beginning
of this deceit is at primary school
and by sinning
they rewrite history to suit their lies,
to look brave in their supporters eyes.

We did destroy a Soviet controlled
Cuban army,
never lost any battle nor the war,
but liberty
given to their imprisoned leaders,
they are now free
to say whatever nonsense they want to,
in their actions atrocities to do.

Citizens did pay the ultimate price,
and went to war,
some died from cowardly terrorist acts,
as was in store;
some women and children were slaughtered
in blood and gore
by planted bombs, some in church mowed down,
in these things this government finds renown.

[References: 'The battle at Cuito Cuanavale: 'The results of the campaign up to April 1988 were 4,785 killed on the Cuban/Faplan side, with 94 tanks and hundreds of combat vehicles destroyed, against 31 South Africans killed in action,3 tanks destroyed (SADF tanks entered the war after the Lomba River campaign) and 11 SADF armoured cars and troop carriers lost. A total of 9 Migs were destroyed and only 1 SAAF Mirage shot down.' (General) Jannie Geldenhuys. (1994) : At the front. Jonathan Ball Publishers. P240.

'The South African force, under the command of Colonel Deon Ferreira, was tasked with carrying out three operations (1) Operation Modular - The aim of which was to halt and reverse the FAPLA / Cuban advance on the UNITA strongholds of Mavinga and Jamba, (2) Operation Hooper - The aim of which was to inflict maximum casualties on the retreating FAPLA / Cuban forces after they had been halted and (3) Operation Packer - The aim of which was to force the FAPLA / Cuban forces to retreat to the west of the Cuito River.' Nortje, Piet (2003) .32 Battalion. Zebra Press.

John Turner claims that: 'following their losses, the Cubans were convinced that further military confrontation with the SADF would not succeed.' Turner, John W. (1998) . Continent Ablaze; The Insurgency Wars in Africa,1960 to the Present. Cassell Plc.

Comments made by a Soviet adviser to the Cubans in Angola: 'The people's armed forces for the liberation of Angola have not been able either, even with the help of the Cubans, to decisively defeat the enemy and drive him out of the territory or the country.' M. Ponomariov, Krasnaya Zvezda Magazine; 20 May 1988.]

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My buddies (a reply to Boris Slutsky)

All young white men at a time
was forced into the military, into war
or had to serve a three year jail term

and most of my buddies came home,
but some did not:

Parachuting into a enemy camp
there was one close friend that died,
the other three I hardly knew
and to the government it was
an incidental small thing against
seven hundred and fifty
enemy SWAPO and Cuban casualties

and on one patrol one close buddy
stepped on a landmine
were blown up and no one else was hurt,
and to the government it was
an incidental small thing against
the enemy that had lost
little lest than a full platoon.

In Angola when we met enemy armour,
turned FAPLA / Cuban divisions
under Soviet leadership into junk

I saw a Ratel armoured car
that was trapped in a landmine field
that had been shot out
with the holes
were enemy tank projectiles went in
and every one inside was burnt, incinerated
if not blown to bits, turned into ash

and it had been only one of eleven
armoured cars
and troop carriers that was lost
some of only thirty-one soldiers dead
but there was pain that flashed through me
when I saw it

and to the government it was
an incidental small thing against
four thousand seven hundred and eighty five killed
on the Cuban/FAPLAN side,94 tanks
and hundreds of enemy combat vehicles destroyed

and now no one thinks
of the sacrifice that all of these soldiers made,
of the hundreds of thousands
of returning citizen force soldiers
who were nuts, bomb happy
with post traumatic stress syndrome
or whatever you want to call it

as to the government it is
an incidental small thing,
that happened in a distant past
as if the ex-soldiers are non-existing,
even seen as apartheid criminals by some.

[References: Buddies here used as name used in the South African Defence Force for comrades. Ex-soldiers here used instead of war veterans, as in African circles the word war veterans has got a new derogatory meaning connected to it. My Comrades by Boris Slutsky.]

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Carrion

a Enemy soldier lies motionless
and his limbs are twisted,
reaching for the last
energy of live
and a hand still holds a gun.

Blood and guts
are splattered about,
where a mortar bomb
hit home
and some flies gather.

The strong sulphur smell
mixed with fried human
burns my nose,
where smoke rises
from a shot out
enemy battle tank.

Another tank stand moveless
with its barrel
still aiming somewhere
and the remains
of its occupants hatched inside.

About a hundred Cuban tanks
and twice that much
enemy armoured cars,
stand lifeless in the African bush.

The battle scene is a graveyard
and my Ratel tank destroyer drives past,
to cross the Lomba river.

Before nightfall I fight
the darkness of my soul
and struggle with God
and to this day,
still no one can answer why.

[References: => Ratel tank destroyer=>Ratel ZT-3 (the anti-tank guided missile version) . Reference are given here to the “battle for Africa, ” fought by 61 South African mechanized battalion group and 32 South African battalion group against four brigades of the Soviet-led FAPLA forces (the 47th,59th,16th and 21st brigades) in Angola in August 1987.]

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Till the shooting ended

The fine press of binoculars against eye,
speech apparatus against mouth,
bodies camouflaged against the ground
made burning stars
fall from the sky.

Projectiles from G-5 howitzer canons
blasting from more that forty kilometres away
crossed the sky
in parabolas adjusted fine
and smashed enemy tank and armoured car
to pieces.

Flames throwing their tongues
orange-red to the sky,
enemy weapons pierced,
a commander with cigar in his hand bended,
enemy soldiers of whom
intestines rained down in pieces
in a moment where everybody
met the maker
and pools of red blood
and shot-out scrap
was all that marked the place of slaughtering.

l’Envoi
Till the shooting ended,
men stopped dying,
when too many were killed and pierced
and a war on the backside
of Africa was lost
and even the Russians knew
to forget about any victory
and the Cubans returned to Cuba
and never again Fidel Castro
could try and clench his fist round Africa.

[Reference: The Battle of Cuito Cuanavale were South African Reconnaissance Commandos (Recce’s) and artillery gun crews played a major role.]

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Into South West Africa

It was on a summer day
that a pair of camouflage coloured
Mig-21 fighters sneaked from Angola,
into South West Africa
and one turned back
and the other continued at 36000 feet
heading southeast.

Although they were tracked by radar
no Mirage or Cheetah fighters
intercepted them
and running out of fuel,
Lt Domingos José de Almeida Vinez
made a dead stick landing
on a farm near Otjivarongo.

The uninjured pilot
surrendered his pistol
to the Police
and in minutes,
was a prisoner
of the SADF.

This incident happened
months after the Cuban Mig-23 attack
on the Calueque dam
and to this day I wonder,
if Vinez and his wingman
was sent on a mission
to check the SAAF’s
interception abilities?

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Cassinga

Just like spring when the blue sky is full of falling leaves,
there are three hundred and seventy parachutes that decent,
on a ominous day
with enemy AA-guns reporting
and the enemy are more
than a thousand and a half in number.

The barrels of the enemy AA-guns are lowered,
to break us
and the enemy tries to sow havoc
and to decimate us.

Enemy snipers are shooting from trees
and from everywhere
there are shots being fired,
that munches pieces from us

From behind ruins
we fire almost endlessly
at trenches where some enemy soldiers hide
and launch mortar bombs
all over the place,
while bullets are coming down like rain.

We return heavy fire
to the enemy at the AA-guns,
while other soldiers replace them
which keeps the battle hanging in balance

Shot after shot are being fired
and the smell of death
is strong in the air
and there’s nowhere
for the enemy to escape to.

The last resistance disappears
and there’s apparent peace
and dead enemies everywhere
and some of the bats,
get into pumas
and the rest of us wait
with nowhere to go.

The border is too far to walk
and there’s nothing to drive away with,
when Cuban tanks and armoured cars
find us there.
.
With RPG-7 iron fists
four tanks are destroyed
and a landmine stops another tank in its tracks,
but only paratroops against oncoming armour
are canon feed
and nothing diminishes the danger
of a Cuban mechanized battalion.

Till two Mirages destroys ten armoured cars
and everywhere there’s smoke and dust
and a Buccaneer comes from the sun,
to let moments turn into eternity.

Time after time
it flashes by and fires its rockets
at the oncoming tanks
and with no ammo left,
dives fearlessly over shooting AA-guns
to make the tanks take cover.

It’s very ruff going
but the last pumas land
in a clouds of dust,
to evacuate us
while enemy tanks keep firing.

I try and hold the rearguard with a LMG
before the shot out ruins fades away from me
and we leave forty living enemies behind
and all of us are safely gone,
but for four brave men
whose lives are spent.

[References: AA-guns=> Anti aircraft guns. Bats=>Parabats=>Airbourne soldiers. RPG-7 iron fists=> Rocket propelled grenade launchers=> Bazookas. Mirages=> Mirage fighter jets. Buccaneer=> Buccaneer ground support bomber. Pumas=> Puma helicopters. LMG=> Light machinegun.]

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Playing Mig roulette (cavatina)

Playing Mig roulette, along we would drive
without cover,
listening for reports from commandos
then pull over,
to hide under trees and camouflage nets,
then recover;
after the futile enemy bombing
again armoured cars would be driving.

[Poet's note: Mig here refers to Mig-21 and Mig-23 fighter bombers flown by the enemy Cuban / FAPLA air-force.]

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The spoor

We were flown in
by a Puma helicopter
hot on the tracts
of a group of terrorists
who had attacked some farms.

A Bushman tracker was in the front
on the spoor, armed with a old R1,
two of the section
was armed with LMG’s
and I carried the a short barrel R5
and it was very hot
under a merciless sun.

The tracker told us
that one of the enemy
was wounded and at places
we saw drops of blood
and it looked
as if he was dragging his leg
in the way that he walked.

The going was fast
as we didn’t want to let them pass
the chop line back into Angola
and we were at a jog.

Suddenly in the distance
there was a firefight
and some shots rang out
sounding like AK-47’s
and locking our weapons
we hastened,

not knowing if another patrol
or who or what
had run into the enemy.

When got on the scene
the wounded terrorist was dead
trampled by a African Buffalo
who gored him
before setting on its enemy’s tracts.

He was left behind
by the group
who had come across an African Buffalo
and had fired at it,
only wounding that black beast
and had run away in the front of it.

The Bushman smiled and shook his head
laughing because of the actions
of the stupid terrorists
and we were hot on the tracks
of the Buffalo

following through a rocky dried out wadi
past some bushes
and into longer grass
when suddenly the eyes of the tracker
went huge as saucers
and he turned around
stumbled past me
and dropped his gun
on the ground right
next to me
running as if for his life.

This was quite awkward
seeing a man run
who had fought numerous
firefights with me
without a whimper of fear
now running as if
the devil himself
was on his heels
but the Buffalo
had turned around
on its tracks.

I saw that African beast
with eyes glaring almost red
and nostrils wide open
and horns lowered
and knew that my rifle
wouldn’t stop it
and if I didn’t I would be dead,
but the R1 would probably
since its larger full metal jacket bullets
could rip right through trees.

It must have been the quickest
that I have ever
picked up a gun
exchanging it for mine
bringing it to my shoulder
and started firing
and I could scarcely
believe my luck
when that buffalo bull
dropped there at my feet.

[References: R1= A rifle similar to the Belgian FN. R4= A rifle similar to the Israeli Gaelil. R5= a Shorter barrelled version of the R4 with folding stock, sometimes used by paratroopers and other special force soldiers. LMG= Light Machinegun. Chop line= Cleared aria on the border between South West Africa (now Namibia) and Angola.]

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The bad lands

Nowhere in the bush
where lions, leopard,
crocodiles, hippos
and snakes dwelt
felt really bad to me.

On patrol at times
a hidden landmine,
a booby-trapped corpse
could shatter you
with a thousand
hell hot pieces of steel
and still skill, tenacity
and knowledge kept me safe.

Even in Angola facing enemy armour
where shells swished past,
Ratel armoured cars were trapped
and shot out
and the enemy
hatched in steel caskets
that were armoured cars
and tanks at a time,

where hyena, jackal
and vultures ripped through bodies
of shot, sliced, ripped Cuban
and Fapla soldiers
we overcame
and although the cruelty of war
and lost of human live
gripped me
and the smell penetrated
up into my soul,
the ground stayed pure
and African
as if we did belong.

Yet when I visit that little hill
(in Natal)
where Dingaan misled Piet Retief
and had him
and his companions slaughtered
and fed their bodies
to the birds, the wind, the sun
their spilled blood is still glowing
as if radioactive
and that place
feels really evil to me.

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The beret must have been a dead give away

To this day I know that
the beret must have been
a dead give away,
and the shoulder flashes
also proclaimed something
of the military unit that I belonged to.

Tired and almost asleep on my feet
after the long military flight
out of the war zone,
the soft rain smelled
fresh and it was cold
where I hiked
the last stint home.

Fourteen days leave
came as a real blessing
and just being away
and back in the states
was really great

A Brand new blue BMW
stopped next to me
and the occupants were
very friendly
and it was warm inside the car.

It looked like a mom and dad
and beautiful eighteen-year old daughter,
but they were foreigners
and introduced themselves as American.

The girl really liked me
and their accents were all American,
but something was just not right
and I couldn’t put my finger on it
and just maybe they were just a little too much
into being Americans.

The man remarked that he find it curious
for a officer to be hiking
and I thought that NATO probably
had similar ranks
and I explained that my
camp was away in the war zone
and that there was no way
to take my motorbike
all the way there.

The woman was driving
and the man frowned
at the bars and badges
on the chest of my bush jacket,
as if the combination of them
did not make sense to him.

It’s another thing to be seconded
to different units
and to complete some
of their training
and I realised that for Americans,
they probably knew
a little to much about our army
and were most probably
intelligence for the enemy.

The girl treated me like a hero
and wanted to know
about my unit
and somewhere questions
about unit strengths
and targetable distances
crept into the conversation,
but I steered the conversation
in to another direction.

The man wanted to know
if we were really going to win the war
when the enemy use heavy armour
and I said that we would win
against any thing that they bring
and it would be better for everyone
if the Cubans just packed up
and went back home
and the man laughed at me doubtfully.

Maybe there was something prophetic
in those words
as was proved at the Cuito Cuanavale battle
and I told them how
my ancestors in a twenty thousand strong
Boer farmer citizen force army,
had subdued a British army of
four hundred and fifty thousand
for three years long.

Little did they know
that my words said much more
and that Ratel-90 crews
used the same tactics
of fast movement
and accurate shooting
and great bravery
in dealing with enemy tanks.

There’s something very brave
to stop dead still
with a Ratel armoured car
to stabilize the gun
to be able to get the shot off
while a enemy tank
that can shoot while it moves
is charging towards you,
but that piece of information
never came out.

[References: The Battle of Cuito Cuanavale “The results of the campaign up to April 1988 were 4,785 killed on the Cuban/Faplan side, with 94 tanks and hundreds of combat vehicles destroyed, against 31 South Africans killed in action,3 tanks destroyed (SADF tanks entered the war after the Lomba River campaign) and 11 SADF armoured cars and troop carriers lost. A total of 9 Migs were destroyed and only 1 SAAF Mirage shot down.” Jannie Geldenhuys.1994: At the front: 240 Johanathan Ball Publishers. The states=> Back home in South Africa. NATO North Atlantic treaty organization.]

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Freedom Park

Build your monument to a war
that you have lost at Cuito Cuanavale
and try to deceive the world
about your victory

which was rather your huge loss
and hail Russians and Cubans as your heroes
and we who have paid the cost
knows where victory really laid

and that no bugle ever played its last farewell
to the enemy we sent to hell
and although no one mourns our dead
most of us live on instead.

We do not need to be on any
honour wall
or to be associated
with your heroes
who mowed down people
praying in a church
and set off bombs in the street.

We never lost any battle
nor a war
and our honour is in the lives
of every man, women and child
who in a way are still free.

[Reference: “The results of the campaign up to April 1988 were 4,785 killed on the Cuban/Faplan side, with 94 tanks and hundreds of combat vehicles destroyed, against 31 South Africans killed in action,3 tanks destroyed (SADF tanks entered the war after the Lomba River campaign) and 11 SADF armoured cars and troop carriers lost. A total of 9 Migs were destroyed and only 1 SAAF Mirage shot down.” Jannie Geldenhuys.1994. At the front. P240. Johanathan Ball Publishers.]

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The Cassinga jump

Fear and tension was written over the faces
of paratroopers next to,
in front and at the back of me
when the red light
began to flash in the Hercules
and we went to action stations
still skimming barely over the tops
of taller trees at about two hundred feet
and most of us had two weeks earlier
been home at our civilian jobs.

One paratrooper vomited
right over me in yellow stinking
half fermented food
and the retching smell
made me nauseas as well
while the aircraft pitched steeply
with its last-minute manoeuvres
coming to jumping height
of eight hundred feet.

Mushroom clouds left by exploding bombs
billowed up from Cassinga
and in trenches I saw
people shooting upwards at us
and suddenly bombers dived
through our formation.

The sticks in front of me jumped
and air rushed into my face
at the open door
while the pit of my stomach went numb
and I stepped into space
falling, falling and seeing
a rocket-propelled grenade exploding
near the aircraft above me
and it veering away.

While the opening parachute jerked me up
I heard the deep roar
of a anti-aircraft gun
shooting from below
and it was clear that we
had jumped later
than we were supposed to
or the dropping zone
was too small to take
a full stick
of thirty-two paratroopers at a time.

We were dropping about
five hundred meters farther south
than were we should have been
and a strong wind
was driving from the northeast.

We landed in wooded terrain
which made grouping very difficult
and among the trees were drawing fire
before even touching down.

Immediately after hitting the ground
I returned fire
and the enemy fire became more sporadic
and we assaulted the group of buildings
that intelligence identified as the enemy
engineer complex,
running into groups
of our own B and C companies
and for a time was shooting at each other
before realizing it was own forces.

We were just taking the engineer complex
now formed up with the other soldiers
when we came under rocket attack
from RPG-7’s
and had to kill the crew
at a enemy B-10 recoilless gun
where I threw several hand grenades

and then ammunition stores
in the building complex started exploding
but only one paratrooper was wounded
when we took up our stop-line positions
to block off the escape route
lying south from Cassinga
and the anti-tank platoon was sent away
to set up a tank ambush
on the road running from Techamutete.

By this time I had picked up an enemy
LMG and more than enough
ammunition for it
and shot from the hip
at any movement that I saw
and until then it had been
easy as pie.

Then the commander of our company
left some men at the stop-line
and about twenty of us
along with him
went to the enemy vehicle park
where we ran into a crowd of civilians
fleeing into the surrounding bushes.

I opened up with the LMG
as we launched the attack
in the direction
of the lowered anti-aircraft guns
and we entered the trenches,
finding some civilians there,
but heavy fire came directly
from behind them.

It turned into a matter of killing
or be killed and even the women
that we met were armed
and in enemy uniform
and I lobbed hand grenades
into the next leg of the trench
and kept firing from the hip
and was splattered in blood
by a woman’s body
that was blown right out of the parapet
and what was left of her
was still in green fatigues
and blown to shreds.

Then I had nausea again,
retching uncontrollably
and somehow I stared to cry
with tears running down
my cheeks,
but like a machine moved on
seeing enemy soldiers
scrambling from the trenches
to replace the ones killed
at the three lowered anti-aircraft guns
with a bravery running near
to madness.

The closed quarter struggle
were worst than fierce
and cruelly savage
and we could only clear
just one leg of the zigzagging
ditches at a time
with supporting fire helping
from the outside.

There were screaming and crying
women and children among the enemy
and we had to kill or be killed
and a chill ran through me
and the noise was just terrible
with mortar bombs exploding
at the anti-aircraft guns,
shooting from almost
any direction onto them
and bullets ripping the walls
of the trench next to me
and I almost choked in the smoke,
dust and cordite fumes enveloping me
and finally those trenches were cleared
and the anti-aircraft guns stopped firing.

[References: LMG= Light machine gun. Read my poems Cassinga and Wings of destiny, for a full account of this battle and what happened when South African paratroopers faced enemy (Cuban) armour.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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The guard

We were observing, doing recognisance
on a enemy camp, had parachuted in
during the night, dropping from very high
and my comrades and I had leopard crawled,
catwalked from dark patch to dark patch,
from shadow to shadow
using the cover of knee high grass
and with the sun rising
was in a dense small bush

reporting back on tanks and armoured cars,
the number of soldiers seen,
how battle ready they seemed
when a little boy herded a few goats
and with a bone thin dog came along
and I let them go, not being able
to kill them as the enemy
and almost immediately we had to leave.

Soon hundreds of enemy soldiers
were dropped in search lines,
were trying to cordon us off
and my comrades wasn’t pleased with me,
as things could have been much easier
if I had killed that child
and we went into a river
cutting reeds to breathe through
and went under the surface
trying to shake off the enemy

that was closing in on us
and when the three of us left the river
some large crocodiles
were on the bank where we entered it
and we had the opportunity
to return to the enemy camp
where the next evening
an enemy Cuban soldier lit a big cigar
only a few paces from me
and the child was a far better guard than he.

poem by Gert Strydom
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African Spirit

Unfortunately, I will not stop,
Across Africa, I will travel with this African face,
My African pride,
And my African story.

I saw your face in Zimbabwe;
Then I saw it again in South Africa.
You smiled at me in Malawi,
Why were you surprise to see me again in Angola?

I carry the African song,
Listen to soulful rhythems from within.
I have an African heart,
With lots of love and pain, it won't part.

Your African face smiles at me with inspiration,
Across Africa and the world, give me an ear;
I speak an African language.

Someday you will know my love,
Someday you will sing my song,
Someday you will hold my heart;
Someday you will cry the same tears in my eyes.

Someday you will relieve my pain,
One day you will understand me.
Someday you will join my fight an we'll make Africa our pride.

poem by Peter Phiri
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I Want to be a Soldier

I will be a soldier
Only when soldiers realize
They are not animals or
cattles
Only if soldiers can ask
'Why should I shoot that
innocent man? '
I would be a soldier
If soldiers can ask the
commander
'Why should we shoot at
the children? '
I would be a soldier
If soldiers know that
The red blood that runs
through their veins
Runs in the rest peopl's too.
I would be a soldier if
Soldiers know they aren't
what they ask them to be
When they know that
The Emperor will never ask
them to kill his children
I would be a soldier
When soldiers realize war
is inhuman
When soldiers know war
always starts war
When they know that
World peace can not be
reached through war
When United Nations can
ask themselves
Is war the only way to end
corruption in the globe?
When soldiers know the
distance between peace and
war.
When soldiers realize how
intoxicative the gun is.
When soldiers realize
that gun does not control
them, but they control it.
I would be a soldier only if
soldiers know
why Martin Luther King jnr.
was killed.
If they know Adolf Hitler
also tried to make peace
through war.
I would be a soldier
If they can tell me why they
are only trained to kill.
I would be a soldier if
soldier can say
NO TO BRUTE LEADERS.
I would be a soldier if
soldiers know
the difference between
death and birth.
I would be a soldier if they
can tell
Why they are weapons of
destruction?
If they can explain why they
killed at Vietnam?
Why they killed at Somalia?
Why Ghadafi was killed
without trial?
Why Abraham Lincoln was
shot
Why Ghandi was killed,
Why they dont care if they
die in war in the name of
peace.
I would be a soldier If soldiers know they have rights If soldiers know they need Freedom. I would be a soldier If the goverments around the world realize How wonderful the world would be If the money invests in atomic weapons can be spent To feed billions of children on the streets of India, Nigeria, Brazil, South Africa The United States and all the streets of the World. I would be a soldier when soldiers can fight for liberty And not for slavery When soldiers know that nobody should think for them When soldiers know they are humans not cattles, When they realize that nobody should tell them what to think and what to feel. If soldiers can be humans, I would be a soldier.

poem by Idris Adesina
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Soldier (not really a poem)

the american revolution was fought witha new breed of soldier.
this country was founded on that soldier.
that soldier is the one that those on the front lines calls the coward
that soldier is the one that those on the front lines call when they need help
because these soldiers dont miss.
these soldiers are trained harder than the most elite frontline man
these soldiers are tought to kill their enemy before there enemy sees them.
these soldiers are the ghosts in the night,
these soldiers are the wind in the day
these soldiers are everywhere.
these soldiers are the bush next to u.
these soldiers are the the tree across the field.
these soldiers are the lump of snow in the flat plain.
these soldiers are snipers.
snipers are the reason we are free.
snipers stop the enemy before the enemy gets close to u,

poem by Joshua Decker
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Wings of destiny

Ask any parabat that jumped at Cassinga
and he would tell you
that destiny has wings.

While facing a battalion of
Cuban tanks and armoured cars,
out of the blue and as if by magic
a Buccaneer appeared.

There was nothing more beautiful
than to see that jet
making self-sacrificing dives,
before it flew off to disappear
into the blue sky,
but let me tell that heroic story
as I know it.

Coming back from a bombing raid on Cassinga
the next target of Captain Dries Marais was
the Swapo camp at Chetequera
and he insisted
on arming the Buccaneer bomber,
with armour penetrating rockets
in addition to the standard
high explosive rockets.

Andries Marais himself
couldn’t explain the reason
for the irregular request,
but kept on insisting
that every third rocket
should be armour piercing.

Even navigator Ernie Harvey
was perplexed with this request
and they were tense,
while preparing for
the strike mission.

The Buccaneer took of
and in a short while
crossed the Angolan border
and just when Ernie Harvey
were going to check in
with Tactical headquarters
things went mad
on the operational frequency.

The pilot Warneke
who had relieved them at Cassinga,
reported a armoured battalion
consisting out of tanks
and BTR 152 personnel carriers approaching.

The operational frequency
was far too cluttered
to get through to Tactical headquarters
and they heard
two Mirages being scrambled,
but there wasn’t time to arm them
and they had only
only 30 mm cannon.

You need an excellent navigator
to keep tract to a target
over the featureless Angolan countryside
and navigator and weapon systems operator Ernie Harvey
had replaced the maps
with the ones of the new target,
but the navigation computer
still had the settings.

III

When fighting against tanks
and armoured cars
with only a few landmines
and rocket propelled grenades
to stop them,
even light machine guns
are quite useless
and still I kept on shooting
while the LMG’s barrel got red hot
and I tried to keep the enemy back.

There was great joy
to see two Mirages
cutting the armoured cars apart,
but the surprise on the enemy
of that Buccaneer
dropping out of the sky
with its armour piercing
rockets will stay with me
to eternity.

Two tanks were shattered
and stood burning
after the first past
and the twin-barrelled 14.5 mm anti-aircraft guns
that the BTRs were trailing
were being deployed
and the Buccaneer
took one of the anti-aircraft guns out.

Suddenly the air was filled
with Puma helicopters landing
and the Buccaneer
took out a BTR
and two tanks started shelling us
and the Buccaneer kept diving
at close to the speed of sound
until the tanks disappeared
into the bush
and we lifted of safely.

There was nothing more beautiful
than to see that jet
making self-sacrificing dives,
before it flew off to disappear
into the blue sky.

Later I heard that 17 hits
were counted on that Buccaneer
that safely landed at Grootfontein base
and to this day,
I know about no greater heroes
than the two
flying in that Buccaneer.

.
[Reference: Cassinga Swapo military camp / town. Parabat=> South African Airborne / Parachuting soldier.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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Ac her forþ beraò; fugelas singaò, gylleò grœghama

Gnashing enemy tanks are coming on
while the Ratel-90 stands still
and many things
goes through my mind.

The shot sounds thundering
and for a moment I am blinded
by smoke, dust and giant flames
that devours things.

The redneck is still shooting
through branches and bushes
with the front machinegun
and it can cost his life

but he shoots on like a machine
and feeds the ammunition belt
and I let the driver pull him in
and he’s again aboard

locked behind armoured steel
where he curses and takes out his rage
and shoot from within
and he speaks a foreign tongue:

“Ac her forþ beraò;
fugelas singaò,
gylleò grœghama”

We drive away with speed
and stop and shoot and drive again
and let projectiles
find their targets deadly

and so we continue for hours
that drag into days
and around us the enemy is shot out

and what is not burning,
is already junk
or just left behind.

Enemy soldiers of Fapla,
Cuba and a few from Russia
lie shot to pieces,
some half burnt
and whole brigades are wiped out

and in the distance I hear jackals howling
and the air is full of vultures
turning in it

while the stench of death,
phosphorous and gunpowder almost suffocates me
and some more dust or maybe emotions
makes my eyes tear.

[References: Redneck=>Englishman. “Ac her forþ beraò; fugelas singaò, gylleò grœghama” => Gaelic for: “For here starts war; carrion birds sing, and grey wolves howl.” From: “The Fight at Finnsburh.” Jackal => a African fox.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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angola the African dream

Angola, the African Dream.

A box of photos, black & white and amber, under the old woman’s
bed, tell of young faces and success. Cars drive up and down
an avenue called Liberty. Angola, even the most humble state
functionary had a black servant. And the white people were deaf
to the dark voices of independence.
The Portuguese settlers had been promised a land of plenty, and
the local people would be their willing serfs. Foreign legion soldiers
helped them flee the wrath of the exploited. Back in Portugal again,
dipping their hands in manual work, the African dream was over.
Photos never tell a story it’s a blank canvas made up of shadows
and the unspoken. Memories will be sweet and often untrue.
People who had to return back to poverty, will insist they brought
civilization to Angola, especially now that the avenue of Liberty,
in Luanda, is potholed.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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En.Citatepedia®.ro

A War Story

Related quotes

The Battle of Cuito Cuanavale

This Could Not Be The War We Fought In (Cavatina)

My buddies (a reply to Boris Slutsky)

Carrion

Till the shooting ended

Into South West Africa

Cassinga

Playing Mig roulette (cavatina)

The spoor

The bad lands

The beret must have been a dead give away

Freedom Park

The Cassinga jump

The guard

African Spirit

I Want to be a Soldier

Soldier (not really a poem)

Wings of destiny

Ac her forþ beraò; fugelas singaò, gylleò grœghama

angola the African dream

En.Citatepedia^®.ro