The Captain
It’s the third day of the battle
and around us there are enemy tanks
of which the canons keep clapping
and Stalin organ rockets
that falls at places among our men.
Next to me there’s a Captain
with a three day old beard
and his eyes is red of tiredness
while he gives instructions
over the radio.
We shoot till darkness
and through the night
and thunder clap flashes
keep on shooting
the enemy out.
The morning dawns
and the sun rises over the battlefield,
that is soundless and grim
and like two ghosts
we walk around in the bushes.
He wipes dust from his face
while we drive further
through the bushes
and we look out
from the top of the Ratel IFV
and in the distance,
a single rifle shot resounds
and the Captain is dead.
[Reference: Ratel IFV=> Ratel Infantry Fighting Vehicle]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
On the other side of the Lomba river
There are flashes hitting in the distance,
bad weather hanging on the other side of the Lomba river
with tanks standing ablaze
nothing can stop the war clouds
(while the shots of enemy tanks resound)
or stop the slaughter of the angel of death
and Fapla, Cubans and Russians perish
and we also receive deadly shots.
There are flashes hitting in the distance,
where we teach them a final lesson in Africa
when the enemy appear
but olifant tanks and Ratel armoured cars are stuck in a landmine field
and howitzer canons fire
at the beginning of the slaughter
with tanks standing ablaze
and there are olifant tanks and Ratel armoured cars disappearing in the bush
with rockets raining down
when the enemy appear
which rip enemy weaponry into pieces
and division after division comes under restraint.
There are flashes hitting in the distance,
and the canons of howitzers, tanks and armoured cars fire continuously
while the smell of death is everywhere
with rockets raining down
with few enemy being still alive,
with some leaving intact tanks, fleeing to survive
with tanks standing ablaze
and I am conscious of the inhumanity
and feelings of powerlessness
while the smell of death is everywhere
and the slaughter goes on and on
and human life isn’t important.
There are flashes hitting in the distance,
with tanks standing ablaze
and whatever you do or mean
nothing can stop the war clouds
and feelings of powerlessness
or stop the slaughter of the angel of death.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Somewhere Near The Lomba River
The guns of enemy tanks are flashing
like bolts of thunder while I am glancing,
the night air is full of the smell of cordite
and luckily those shots are passing
while the armoured car draws to a sudden halt
for its gun to take aim and on my lips I taste salt
before the armour piercing shell is fired
and at a direct hit around me the crew exalt
before at speed we move on
and some more enemy Cuban soldiers are gone,
are burnt in the fiery hell
while my heart, my brain feels like stone.
An enemy shell strikes another armoured car
like a exploding flaming star
and I can smell torched human flesh,
while I wish to be away very far,
to be away from killing
and this chilling
kind of machination of machines and men
who at each other are firing
but to survive we battle on right through the night,
are still trying to find some more enemies in the broad daylight,
find two abounded stationary pristine enemy battle tanks
from which the enemy had run in fright.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The air was full of fire and sand
The night that I wished to be home
as the path we were on
lead to death
and not like the axiom to Rome
behind enemy lines
we called in the vultures of death
and the chill froze my breath
in clouds in the bright moonlight,
followed the mist from the river
penetrating ever deeper
into the enemy positions
we hid almost in their midst
and with the rising sun
eerie birds came screeching down
with flaming afterburners
dropping rockets and bombs
on enemy tanks,
shelling armoured cars
with raging canon
and the air was full
of fire and sand.
poem by Gert Strydom
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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.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Phantoms in my dreams
Another river flooded with blood
with thousands of enemy soldiers
wiped out, as if their lives
mattered not to man.
Almost a hundred tanks shot out,
more than three hundred
armoured cars destroyed
and some tanks,
(more than the fingers
on my hands)
just left behind
with the occupants running away
to hide in the veldt
and to this day
the shocking reality
of that battle scenes
are phantoms in my dreams.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A lot of places we go, when they see the organ coming in, they're expecting rock and roll, but after they hear us play they like it. To me, guitar cuts through-it carries more than organ. But organ has got more guts.
quote by Wes Montgomery
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rain, rain falling
Rain, rain falling
from a thunder clad sky
with rockets, projectiles and blood
and the oncoming enemy
almost everywhere
in ironclad armour
coming to the day
of their slaughter
receiving sizzling thunder
to the tune
of howitzers, rocket trucks,
armoured cars and tanks
and rifle machineguns
and the Lomba River runs red
while there’s havoc everywhere
and the venom of vomit
fills my mouth
while I struggle to breathe
in the face
of annihilation
of a deadly enemy.
[Reference: Rain by Dikobe wa Mogale.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Wings of destiny
I
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.
II
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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Ablaze
Ablaze! An armoured car
is aflame and stuck in
a field of landmines
and enemy tanks are everywhere.
So soldiers say - on yesterday –
just as the dawn was grey
a Ratels wheels
set some landmines of
and it was stuck there
and received seven shells
from enemy tanks
and it’s a terrible, terrible thing.
So Generals say – on yesterday –
just as the sun was rising
we lost one Ratel-90 armoured car
stuck in a landmine field,
but she gave a brave fight
and the enemy lost
thirteen tanks that came
to take a shot at her.
So angels say – on yesterday –
just as sun lit the sky,
man played war games again
and used explosives, cannon and flame
and innocent men died
trying to survive
and it’s a pity
that man doesn’t know
how to live in peace.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Psalm 20
The battle belongs to the Lord
They are many and kicking up dust
In the day of trouble my enemy comes
In you alone will I place my trust
For the Lord our Saviour keeps His children
And in this fulfills their desire
In the field of battle the enemy falls
He ran into Gods furious fire
Who shall stand when our King comes forth
Mighty and glorious to fight
The enemy runs but there's nowehere to hide
For He puts ten thousand to flight
So now is the time to bend your knee
And acknowledge the name above names
For the Lord is coming to judge the earth
Not by flood but surely by flames
poem by Frank McEleny
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No captain can do very wrong if he places his ship alongside that of the enemy.
quote by Horatio Nelson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Just an Organ
It has been stated that the heart is just in organ.
But if it was just in organ why when a person falls in love they can feel that emotion in their heart.
If it was just an organ why when love is lost does the sadness that one feels seem to shatter the heart?
If the heart is just an organ why when a child wins a prize does a parent feel pride in their heart?
The heart is much more than just in organ it is the house of our emotions.
From the emotion of love, and sadness to the pride that swells in each of us.
The heart is not just an organ.
The night is full of brown Ratel armoured cars
The night is full of brown Ratel armoured cars
and Olifant tanks
that drives and rolls in on the ground
and salvos from rocket launching trucks
that draws arcs
and in the distance howitzer canon reports
in volleys
and when a light flare suddenly falls
it is as if the bushes are teeming
with enemy tanks and armoured cars
just where I look
and it looks
like the day of judgement.
Projectiles find their targets
and canister-shot comes down exploding thundering
and it’s an apocalyptic night
for some of the enemy
who are burning,
scorched and blown to smithereens in their armour
and when a tank
suddenly appears out of the bushes
there is a hell of a red thunderclap
as a shot from another Ratel hits it deadly
and I realize that even here
a person’s time is measured out
and around me there are fireworks
like stars falling from the sky
while we stop and aim
the following killing shot.
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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Forever young
I saw boys driving away to war
in a Ratel-90 armoured car
and they were well trained,
ready for action
and called up for military service
against their will.
Two smiled and a few
waved goodbye
and there was dirt
in my eyes,
when my armoured car
caught speed.
Enemy battle tanks were everywhere
and we fought right through the night
and with first light
an armoured car was stuck
in a mine field
and they were hoping for the best
but the worst was there
and shot out they paid the cost.
Although the enemy
paid a much higher price
and lost,
it’s like yesterday that they
waved goodbye
and sacrificed in vain
their lives for people
that does not honour them
and remain forever young.
poem by Gert Strydom
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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.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Victory will be surely theirs
Victory will be surely theirs.
Without victory they will never get back
their lost homes.
Victory will be surely theirs.
For, without victory they will never be able
to sleep with their loved ones by their side.
In the middle of the night every tanks
will encircle their refugee camps,
snatch their adolescent boys and girls
from their mothers’ shelter,
bind their eyes and take them away.
Unless victory is theirs
the enemy’s insolent legs will go on kicking
their most revered old women.
Their ill fated children won’t be able to stop
the enemy’s bullets even by hiding themselves
behind their fathers’ broad chests.
Victory will be surely theirs
for they are not afraid
of the enemy’s hundreds of killer weapons,
their most modern bomber planes,
the earth quake like holocaust
hundreds of corpses of their kith and kin.
They are not afraid of the western power’s
military might,
and, so, victory will be surely theirs.
In order to teach the enemy a proper lesson
they fling their own lives like a grenade
into the enemy camp.
And, so, victory will be surely theirs.
There is no other desire in their limbs
other than that of self sacrifice
and the destruction of their enemy.
No battle formation of the enemy
can throttle that desire.
They throw away their lives like paltry pebbles
into the waters of death.
Their souls, in a frenzy for freedom,
fly upwards like blazing fireworks
towards the Great Freedom,
learning behind life’s eternal truth.
----
poem by Shafiqul Islam
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If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.
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.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Abdul Hameed
As a plan of defence and to reply enemy's attacks
On grenadier's positions, being repeatedly made,
He occupied a vital area in the new defence plan,
A firm hold on that place was essential to sustain.
Serious threat developed, as the enemy attacked
With regiment of tanks, intense artillery preceded;
Shelling so heavily that shells littered every yard,
In defence positions, foe's tanks penetrated forward.
Hamid, commanding a recoilless gun detachment
Seeing gravity, moved to stop the tank regiment
In gun mounted jeep disregarding personal safety,
Taking his position he knocked out a tank of enemy.
Intense enemy shelling and tank fire couldn't deter
His sustained act of bravery knocked out an other;
One by one he knocked out six with accurate fire,
Then changed his position for seventh, with dare.
By this time, enemy had spotted his position,
On him brought down concentrated machine gun.
The intense and continued fire put him in trouble
A war was continued between steel made and muscle
He fought, as not the tanks, he was made of steel
Kept on firing, with his courage and patriotic feel.
As he fired to destroy the seventh tank of enemy,
Wounded by a high explosive shell, mortally;
His bravery and steel like determination, destroyed
Six plus one tank, which took The Hero too, along
Defended his mother land with strong determination
And lived for ever, in hearts of people of his nation.
(C) S D Tiwari
sdtiwari1@gmail(dot) com
poem by S.D. Tiwari
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