I pump the clutch, change gears, and floor the accelerator. Our Casspir surges forward past the follow-up, through a kraal complex, out the other side, over the fence of thorny acacia branches on the outer perimeter, into the bush and slap bang into an ambush.
Tack-a-tack-tack, they Open Fire with automatic rifles that sound very different on the receiving end than when you are giving it to them. We charge straight into the ambush. I see a few of them running in front of us and don’t realize that they are the decoy and are leading us into the middle of their ambush. I change to second gear because of the soft sand. They open fire from our right. Automatic rifle, machine gun fire and the RPG 7 are flying toward our Casspir. The RPG’s explode all around us; all of them miss our Casspir.
My gunner has frozen and I scream at him to open fire. I have two of them lined up in front of us for the kill. Lukulya has a .30 Browning shoved out a gun-port of the right side of our Casspir, he and the other Ovambo’s are continuously firing to our right in the direction of where the enemy are firing from.
I imagine a thud as our Casspir connects with one of the two in front of us, the other double backs to our left side. My gunner finally opens fire and floors him. One terr runs up to the right side of our Casspir with an F 1 Hand Grenade in his right hand, tries to climb up the side of our Casspir to throw it in through the open roof but the Ovambos cut him down with automatic rifle fire. BANG! We hear the explosion as the grenade detonates and the enemy dies. A piece of shrapnel punctures our right-rear tyre.
I have to change to first gear; I have to get us through this ambush and eventually the Flat Tyre forces us to stop. The firing has abated and we need to change the flat tyre in order to get mobile again.
Finally we return to the contact scene. There is no dignity in death. The bodies are piled up in front of me, shot to shit. I can see that their bones are snow white, their blood its bright red and their brains are dull yellow.
It’s a gruesome sight, blood, bones, brains and limbs bent the wrong way, bodies broken by bullets. One terr has half a skull missing, blown away. Some of this ones fingers’ are sticking out of his arm near his elbow. He’s the one that tried to toss the hand grenade into our Casspir.
Look at this one, gaping holes in his stomach. There’s a fucking tapeworm crawling out of a bullet hole in his stomach.
Who drove over that one, he’s squashed flat like a pancake.
We move off south-west to pick up the road to Ondangwa, to head home and back to base, another successful week in the bush is over.