It says much for our training, and the ability to be able to think on the hop, that it was over within only a few minutes. Following our hastily devised plan, the attack went splendidly and the men were chuffed. Had we not arrived when we did, it might have been another story. Those guerrillas not killed in the initial onslaught ended up running headlong into the stopper groups. All that remained was for the ground troops to sweep through the area and capture surviving SWAPO cadres; there were only a handful.

By then, both Alouettes were low on fuel. The Puma charged with bringing in the fuel drums had not yet returned, so we had to land and continue managing the sweep-line from the top of the high point that overlooked the contact area where Dennison had initially sought cover. There was no question that the sudden appearance of our gunships had astonished the group and knocked the fight out of them.

We had no casualties on our side, and the final score was 14 SWAPO dead and seven captured. More importantly, the fight had been so fast and furious that the enemy weren’t able to alert their own headquarters of the presence of our helicopters in the area. According to the prisoners, there were between 250 and 300 more of their comrades in a camp further into Angola. They confirmed, too, that the unit was equipped with shoulder-launched, anti-aircraft missiles, presumably SAM-7s, but they were unsure about anti-aircraft guns. They also confirmed that their forces were well armed, with the usual Soviet squad weapons including AK-47s and light machine guns which included PKMs, RPDs and RPKs. There were also several RPG-7s. Meanwhile, some of our men returned to the TAC HQ with captured anti-vehicle mines and rifle grenades.

Once we were able to gauge roughly how big the target was, action was quickly taken to fly in extra helicopters and troops along with additional fuel and ammunition. Our main concern was that if the camp were not attacked within the next 24 hours, the remainder of the group would disappear into the bush as they would have become aware, due to the lack of communication, that one of their squads was missing. Most of that night was spent listening to the interrogation of the prisoners while the senior men threw about ideas for bringing in extra aircraft and men. One of the problems we faced was that we’d never initially planned for anything nearly this big and headquarters back at Oshakati was faced with a critical shortage of fuel and ammunition. To truck it all in from Windhoek might have taken anything up to a week, which meant that a fuel drop by air was requested. This was subsequently carried out by C-130 and C-160 transport aircraft and completed by lunchtime the next day: not a bad feat when one considers that the fuel had to be decanted into drums and flown up from Pretoria, 2,000km away.

Ammunition and the rest of Hougaard’s 32 Battalion company were flown in by DC-3s and Pumas from Ondangua and Ruacana, while two more Alouette gunships from Ruacana, headed by Major Charlie Bent and Lieutenant Andre Schoeman, were also attached to the group. By midday, all required forces had gathered.

By now, headquarters elements from Oshakati had become more involved. The general commanding Sector 10, the overall command centre for the entire northern region, decided that we’d have to go in at 16h00 that same afternoon. I countered this, saying that experience had already proved that a camp that large needed an entire day to clear. Moreover, rushed actions usually result in higher casualties. However, nothing would convince the commanding general to delay so we were tasked to take off at 15h40 for a 16h00 strike. Then fate played its hand. We took off after the final briefing, only to have to abort because of a tropical rainstorm that almost turned day into night in the immediate vicinity of the enemy camp. I was mightily pleased as I’d been looking for an excuse to cancel.

In any event, the planning was not at all to my satisfaction. I was almost certain that with only limited intelligence available, the exact location of the camp had not yet been determined. Shortly after we returned to camp, a senior intelligence officer arrived with fresh information that suggested a clearer picture of where the SWAPO camp lay. He had built a sand model of the area and was able to pin-point everything as detailed by the prisoners. That was fortunate indeed as, had the attack taken place as originally planned, we would have put our troops on the ground almost 20 miles from where they should have been.

I awoke at first light feeling quite light-headed. The big day had arrived and finally we were going to go in. Intelligence had already established that the camp was the largest that the South Africans had gone up against for some time. It was also my biggest to date and I was concerned that we were not strong, either on the ground or in the air. Our total forces comprised 45 soldiers from 32 Battalion, led by Captain Jan Hougaard. For backup he had an 81mm mortar group, four Alouette III helicopters and five Puma medium transport helicopters for troop deployment.

Because of the meagre resources available, the plan had to be both simple and thorough: any delay in bringing in troops or lack of fuel at the mini-Helicopter Administrative Group (HAG) would cause us to lose kills. The basic plan was simple. We would initiate the strike at 08h00 that morning. SWAPO units were usually on parade at that time each day, which was also when orders were issued. This suited us because the sun would be high enough to lighten the shadows and to allow us to spot any enemy hiding underneath the bush cover. Maranta and I were to search for the camp and, once identified, we were to order the deployment of both sweep-line and stopper groups. Four Pumas were tasked to transport these men, and another would be detached from the main group to deliver the mortar group to a more distant position overlooking the camp.

Once our forces were in place, the two remaining Alouettes would provide top cover to two small groups deployed towards the far north of the camp and monitor any forces trying to reinforce the enemy. We were also there to prevent any SWAPO forces from escaping while the battle raged.

A mini-HAG was to be established about 12km from the camp, from where the helicopters would refuel and rearm. If a Puma could not get into an LZ in the contact area for a medevac, the casualties would be transported back to that temporary base by one of the gunships. A Puma would then be able to land, uplift the wounded and take them back to the tactical HQ for further treatment. The critically injured would be flown directly to the military hospital at Oshakati.

After a quick breakfast of dog biscuits and plastic coffee, we went over the plan once again. We needed to ensure that the intelligence scenario had not changed overnight, and that everyone understood the communications plan. Someone finished off the briefing with a prayer and we ambled out to the aircraft at about 07h20.

For me, personally, those few moments before take-off are sacrosanct. I actually prefer to be alone and would wander off a short distance to collect my thoughts. It is also a little time for reflection about what all this is about, a time for prayer. Like it or not, I routinely have to deal with what I term the pre-battle butterflies, which I have always felt is necessary in order to create a balance between the feeling of fear and the high that is likely to follow after it is all over and you find yourself not only intact, but alive. Moments later everything is channelled to the task on hand, which usually starts with a final gesture towards the gunner, already strapped in behind his weapon.

The take-off was uneventful and no snags were reported. Captain Maranta and I flew our machines at tree-top height to the target area; visibility was excellent and there were no clouds above us. Once across the Kunene River, it was my job to get down to the serious business of navigation. Generally, the trick is to keep the chopper as low as possible, so that the noise of the rotors doesn’t carry too far and give the enemy warning of our approach. However, navigating in rocky or mountainous areas when flying ultra-low can be problematic because of the limited horizon and the many ridges and gullies that can easily cause confusion. Our Alouettes had no navigational aids like those fitted to modern-day helicopters, with the result that I used only my line-of-sight, or what we liked to refer to as ‘Eye-Ball Mark 1’. At such times, if the pilot was not up to the situation, it was easy to become disorientated.

At the Two Minute Mark, I called for the climb and confirmed that the Pumas were in the holding area. In theory, according to our earlier planning sessions, that climb should have taken us over a lengthy ridge that overlooked the camp area. For a moment or two I prayed for complete surprise and, like Angelo who was on my wing, was a little disappointed when no enemy base appeared ahead. We were aware that the target area was in a kind of bowl, surrounded by high mountains. Indeed, before us was a large hollow depression in the undulating desert country, completely surrounded by high ground.

There was no option but to continue searching. We set a course close to the nearest flank of a large mountain, hoping that our engine noise, dissipated by all the valleys and canyons in the vicinity, would confuse the enemy. Certainly, they couldn’t yet be sure from which direction we were approaching and the muted camouflage paint on our choppers went some way towards preventing visual detection.

At that point I was still apprehensive about anti-aircraft fire, as that capability had not been determined, and I had visions of grinning black faces sitting behind double-barrelled anti-aircraft guns, their sights lined up on my chopper with itchy fingers just waiting for the order to fire.

The trouble just then was that I’d expected to see the camp almost as soon as we got over the crest, but there was still no sign of it. Surely, I told myself, an enemy base that size couldn’t be missed. We knew it was expansive—with something like 300 men, it had to be. There would be sleeping quarters, lecture rooms, offices, latrines and the rest. We should have picked it up by now. Still, all we saw was flat scrub.

We went into another orbit over the area, convinced now that even if the camp were deserted, we’d still pick up path patterns and possibly the parade ground. It had to be there somewhere, I knew. Every so often I would check the altimeter as I was subconsciously gaining height which I had to stop doing. All I could see now were large numbers of dew-soaked rocks, dark brown in colour. I sent Angelo Maranta towards the north of the area to have a look. Just then, Coetzee shouted over the intercom that he could see tents below us. I looked down and saw nothing. However, he was adamant. He had tents visual, he shouted into the intercom, describing them as ‘squarish and dark brown’.

At that moment another kind of picture unfolded before me. Dark brown rocks became bivouacs and, moments later, a path pattern emerged, almost like a spider’s web. Then I spotted uniforms that had been hung out to dry, camp debris and much else that had been concealed. A second later, both Coetzee and I hit the ultimate jackpot: under every bush lay inert soldiers, four or five of them gathered together in some areas where there was more cover. One of the bushes resembled a star fish, legs protruding everywhere.

The enemy had obviously heard us arrive. Almost as if they had been trained to do so, everybody scurried for cover under the nearest bush. However, they couldn’t hide their legs, which protruded in every direction. It was a remarkable revelation: I’d never seen so many enemy troops on the ground before; they were all over the place.

Assessing the situation a little closer—at the same time, telling command by radio what we’d found—I could see that the camp was structured around a derelict kraal. It must have covered an area of roughly a dozen football pitches and the choice of location was excellent. Everything had been cleverly positioned in a rocky area that offered both natural cover as well as camouflage, much of it small trees and scrub. Ground cover was sparse though, and from the air we could quite easily observe the entire panoply.

By now our excitement had peaked. I was aware that we faced a chance of a lifetime, but our options were curtailed: two tiny gunships ranged against a significant enemy force with who-knew-what firepower. We were on our own until the rest of the group got there and I had to play my game carefully. My first task was to get our troops on the ground. Once the insurgents started to break out, their movements might become a flood, so I had to keep them guessing whether or not they’d been spotted by us. I instructed Maranta to widen his orbit, climb a bit higher and act as nonchalant as possible.

Meanwhile, while we waited for the Pumas to come in, I worked on another idea and decided that we’d change tactics slightly and drop our sweep-line to the immediate west of the camp. The stopper groups could then come in along the river line towards the south-west. There was a rather strategically placed conical hill quite close to the camp, which I thought would be ideal for the mortar team because it overlooked the base. Also, from up high the crew would be able to observe where their bombs were falling and make corrections without us having to give them guidance.

I started another circuit around the base, in part because the enemy had still not made an effort to reveal their positions. From the little I could see, they appeared fairly confident that we hadn’t seen anything, which was when some of them started to slowly crawl towards the perimeter. They had made their first move.

Flying in lazy circles above the camp and trying to act as though we were unaware of their presence was disconcerting. I was far too high and very much aware that if they did decide to use their SAMs, it could cause problems for both choppers. Then I spotted the Pumas, approaching fast from the west. Judging from the reaction below, the enemy must have heard the distinctive thumping rotors of these larger machines because some of their troops got up from where they had been lying, which was when I decided to open fire. We needed to slow down their movement; experience had shown that once one person moves in a set direction, the rest usually follow and it would have been difficult to contain large numbers.

The first rounds from our choppers stopped any stampede by the enemy forces encamped below. It also resulted in those already on their feet diving for cover. Then all hell broke loose. I heard a powerful blast towards my rear which rocked the chopper. My stomach muscles tightened when I realised they were using some heavy stuff against us. At the same moment Maranta shouted over the radio: ‘SAM launch, six o’clock!’

Out the corner of my eye I saw the distinctive thick whitish-grey smoke trail of a SAM-7 twirling up into the sky towards me. I immediately put on more bank to find the firing position, but as I turned through the half-circle, the missile speeding past harmlessly, I saw a second SAM-7 launch, this time directed at Maranta’s machine. It was my turn to shout: ‘SAM launch, nine o’clock!’

Fortunately, we were quite low, which meant that by the time I’d called, the missile was already travelling at Mach 1.5; it shot by just in front of his nose. We were now also coming under some fairly heavy weapons fire. The noise was horrific and the curtain of tracer rounds around both choppers seemed almost impenetrable.

The position from which the enemy was firing the SAMs was easy to find. There was no wind so smoke from the launch area rose lazily into the sky, highlighting the command position below. As I arrived over the launch area I saw the missile operators trying to take cover beneath the bushes: Coetzee quickly killed them all with a few well-aimed rounds.

By now our two helicopters were at the receiving end of a huge volume of firepower and RPGs were starting to make life uncomfortable. There were dozens of them, the majority air-bursting over our heads. While I consider them to be fairly ineffective against aircraft, their blasts can be awesome, especially if they explode close by: there is usually an extremely loud bang accompanied by a large puff of black smoke.

Suddenly, another missile—a Strela-2—shot past the nose of my aircraft and, again, after the firing position had been identified, Coetzee did what he had to. Moments later, the Pumas were approaching the newly designated LZ and I moved over to the position to mark it with smoke and to give the troopers a measure of top cover. The LZ was just under two kilometres from the camp and, with the breakout, I’d observed some of the enemy running in that direction. I radioed Kruger in the lead Puma and he passed it on to the others, including the officers who were about to disembark. The sweep-line, led by Jan Hougaard, was already moving forward and things seemed to be developing nicely. The next task was for the remaining Puma to drop off the mortar group and this was done without problems. Having completed their tasks, all five Pumas returned to the ‘Fluss’ to uplift stopper groups, fuel, ammunition and those personnel needed to form a mini-HAG in the area adjacent to the enemy camp.

Things were not going well for the guerrillas. By now the enemy had realised that they were contained, which was when they started directing heavy fire at me and Maranta, as well as mortar fire onto the troops in the sweep-line. It was quite a concerted effort and although we retaliated, there seemed to be no end to the amount of firepower they were able to bring to the party. Also, their mortar fire worried us. It wasn’t very effective, but you didn’t need a surfeit of brains to work out that some of their bombs were passing through our circling orbit: It wouldn’t have been the first time that an aircraft had been brought down ‘by accident’. Fortunately, Maranta found their position and was able to neutralise the emplacement.

Once the troops started moving through the fringes of the camp, they too came under concerted fire and their progress slowed. I radioed to the ground commander that we had the enemy boxed in and that there was no rush. Effectively, we had the rest of the day to achieve our objective and there was no need to take chances. The slower the pace, I said, the less chance of casualties.

At one stage, the fighting on the ground became so intense that Coetzee was killing isolated pockets of enemy within five or six metres of our own troops. The lethal radius of the 20mm cannon shell is five metres and our troops weren’t stupid so they kept low each time the cannon barked. In fact, the positions were even more dangerous because some of the troops had to be treated for light shrapnel wounds, picked up from the gunships, after the engagement.

Another time, two of the enemy had climbed the only tree in the area to get a better line of sight on our advancing forces. Coetzee picked them up and killed both with a single salvo. As some of the guys commented afterwards, it was like a scene from the movies.

About 20 minutes after the sweep-line had been dropped, the Pumas were back with the stopper groups. Maranta was detailed to give top cover to the trooper with ‘Blackie’ as its call sign. As the Puma came into the hover and prepared to make the drop, a fairly large squad of about of 30 enemy soldiers seemed somehow to have managed to move forward to where they reckoned the LZ had to be. Maranta’s gunner engaged the enemy and was soon involved in a fairly stiff firefight. After a few minutes, he managed to neutralise the position, but not before his chopper was damaged by small arms fire.

At that stage I was giving top cover to the Puma dropping off call sign ‘Nella’. As it came into short finals for the LZ, I picked up another group of enemy troops running along the gully in which the Puma was going to land. The sides of this natural defile were rocky and steep and the enemy soldiers could not climb out of it, although they tried. For Coetzee it was like a turkey shoot. All he had to do was fire above their heads and the ricocheting shrapnel did the rest: the guerrillas dropped, one by one.

After the Puma had taken off, several enemy troops managed to move forward to within about 50 metres of the LZ. Less than a minute after having put been down, Nella and his group found themselves in a serious firefight with a determined group of guerrillas. Worse, they were in an exposed position and there were a few anxious moments before we were able to neutralise the attackers. Once again, Coetzee’s accurate firing saved the day.

By now, both Maranta and I were short on fuel. Also, we were out of ammunition. The two Alouettes, flown by Bent and Schoeman, positioned themselves overhead and took over the dual job of controlling the sweep-line and providing top cover. Jan Hougaard had his first casualty as we were pulling out. One of his sergeants was badly wounded so Maranta landed his Alouette and uplifted the soldier. The rescue took place under heavy fire, with Maranta’s chopper landing only metres behind the sweep-line. After refuelling and rearming, both of us headed back to the battle to relieve the other two helicopters.

A lighter side to the battle—which had then been going on for about three hours—occurred when Hougaard’s men had moved through the main camp area and were taking a breather. Their instructions were to consolidate and then sweep back through the area in a bid to gather weapons and documents and to clear up any pockets of enemy resistance that had escaped the initial advance. I landed at Hougaard’s position to discuss the next move and also to answer a call of nature. While relieving myself next to a tree, there was a loud holler from one of our soldiers, followed by a sharp explosion in the branches above me. All this was accompanied by the whistle of shrapnel flying all over the place. I got such a fright as I dived for cover that I wet myself: there was a lot of banter afterwards about me pissing my pants.

What had happened was that a lone survivor had somehow remained undetected and decided to make a last ditch stand from a nearby hollow in the rocks. I reckon that he thought he would kill the group of people I was talking to before he died. Luckily, Maranta was orbiting the area and was quickly directed over the enemy’s position, where his gunner killed the man.

Throughout the battle, we had Impala ground strike jets orbiting the area for additional close air support. They came in handy when, towards the end of it all, our ground troops encountered a particularly aggressive group of insurgents who had managed to keep our forces at bay. I decided to call in a strike from the Impalas. After passing on the relevant target information and marking it with smoke, I eased away from the area to give the jets a clear run in. I waited and waited some more, but after some minutes there was still no sign of the jets. Still on the radio, I asked them where they were and when they’d be moving in for the strike.