Archives August 2021

IN MEMORIAM 12 August 1978 – Alpha Comp 1977/78 by Col Graham du Toit

Three members from 1 Parachute Battalion were killed in action or died of their wounds on 12 August 1978 after running into an enemy ambush in Southern Angola while in hot pursuit of a SWAPO/PLAN insurgent group of approximately 70 men strong. 

The patrol was moving at pace when they approached a dip in the terrain where the insurgents were waiting. Lance Corporal Pierre Du Bois was hit in the neck by enemy gunfire and died instantly.  Cornelis van der Nest was also fatally shot and killed by enemy gunfire in the initial exchange.  Johannes Greyling, the Radio Operator was critically wounded by a piece of mortar bomb shrapnel when an enemy mortar bomb landed and exploded just in front of him while he was taking the radio off his back.  He was evacuated by Casevac helicopter to the Medical Trauma Facility at Grootfontein where he unfortunately succumbed to his wounds a few hours after being admitted.  The three casualties were:

75398263BG Lance Corporal Pierre Johannes Du Bois. He was 19.
74440124BG Rifleman Johannes Barend Greyling. He was 20.
74445370BG Rifleman Cornelis Frederik van der Nest. He was 19.

Their names and sacrifice has not been forgotten.

Ex Alto Vincimus.


Death stalks us all…and its arrival can be sudden and unexpected, or it can take its time as it wears us down. As soldiers, we never know what plans death has in store for us. And so we simply carry on. Could that be why it is said that old soldiers never die, they simply fade away?

Today we come together—as we ought to everyday—to remember not only the old soldiers who are simply fading away, but also those who left us as young men in the flower of their youth.

We often speak of our fallen but forget that they stood shoulder to shoulder with those we are still blessed to have among us. We forget that together we shared hardships, and as one, we walked through the valley of death, carrying our soldierly possessions on our backs and ready to do harm on whoever stood in our path.

Some of our comrades remained in that valley, resting in unknown graves. Others returned, no longer the innocent young men we were when we entered the valley. Many of us aged prematurely, our youthful ages engraved on our faces and in our eyes. We witnessed things no young man ought to witness—the horrors of war, and the suffering of the defenceless.

We can never forget the smells of rifle oil, of gun smoke drifting across our vision, of helicopter fuel when the rotors started their whining, or of our sweat-stained uniforms. Nor can we forget the exhaustion when we laid our heads down to take brief respite from hard days. The heat and cold and rain have become intertwined with our DNA.

Memories of those who fell alongside us will forever remain etched on our minds, but we ought to never forget those who are still with us. Our shadows silently reach out and touch those of our other comrades-in-arms—as fellow veterans.

Together we sacrificed our youth in service of others. Regardless of our mustering, beit infantryman or gunner, tanker or sapper, signaller or chef, we were all small cogs in a large machine. As the living and the dead, we all served.

Age has now wearied us and made us more frail than we would wish to admit. Small events or triggers suddenly make us recall something funny or sad that happened, but it also makes us realise that we had a common purpose: to serve our country and our people.

We did so with honour and pride.

Serving others was the greatest gift we could give the defenceless and the vulnerable. We all served. The guns of war have long gone silent, yet we are, and will forever remain, ‘veterans’.


Details of the Puma chopper shot down with the 12 Bats and the 3 SAAF: an account of the day written by Gen Roland de Vries:

A Tragic 9 August 1982 — We Loose Fifteen Splendid Soldiers in One Swell Swoop

9 August 1982. A crisp winter’s morning in southern Angola with nothing much really happening… 61 Mech was still in an ambush position to the east of the Cuvelai-Techamutete road, somewhere close to the Mui River. New intelligence had been received of a small SWAPO logistics base close to Techamutete. An attack was considered by the TAC HQ. It was however realised that FAPLA could interfere and the idea was scrapped. The frustrations relating to the finding of the next viable target was now the thing bedevilling the momentum and continuation of Meebos. Was the search and destroy show petering out already?

Captain Willem Ratte and the scouts of 32 Battalion were eagerly searching for the infamous Bravo Battalion of SWAPO — the main enemy 61 Mech had sought and had a few skirmishes with during Operation Daisy in November 1981. They were still out there, roaming the bush. Lost in the same wilderness were the Central and Eastern Area HQs of SWAPO. Don’t forget about the other loose assortments of SWAPO running around in the bush. Where the hell is the enemy, in six figure map grid reference’s terms…? Show yourself damn it!

The target search by Ratte had now shifted to an area to the north-west of Cuvelai. It was within two hour’s striking distance from where 61 Mech was influencing the road leading north to Techamutete from Cuvelai. The signs and the symptoms of the enemy were there — the signs had been found by Ratte on the ground. The TAC HQ decided to launch an area operation into the suspect area: fly in with Puma helicopters, patrol, and wish for a number of lucky strikes with the enemy, fly out again, tally-ho. The recipe was the same; the Alouette gunships would provide close air-support. Hopefully as well, during the flying the gunships would pick up the enemy on the ground. Eight Pumas were poised for the trooping mission of the splendid soldiers of 32 Battalion and 1 Parachute Battalion. Ready to go…

Just after midday the Pumas started flying in the troops to the target zone just north of the Mui River about 15km to the west of the Cuvelai-Techamutete road. The route chosen took the aircraft flying along the dry river bed of the Mui River. The flying pathway of the Pumas from the HAA almost took them over the deployment position of 61 Mech hidden in the bushes below.

With their first flight, the Pumas had unwittingly flown over a deployed SWAPO anti-aircraft position. The enemy was lurking in a bushy patch of the Mui River approximately 15km west of the Cuvelai-Techamutete road. The second time around, at about 15h00, four Pumas again came with a flurry…Again along the dry Mui River with their precious cargo on the way to a landing zone. A curtain of enemy anti-aircraft fire suddenly erupted from below and slammed into the second Puma piloted by Captain John Twaddle. The Puma plummeted to the ground, exploded and burst into flames. Three SAAF crew members and twelve paratroopers were killed instantly — no, for a brief moment one of the paratroopers was still alive…

This was an devastating tragedy. 9 August 1982… We had lost fifteen splendid soldiers in one swell swoop.

Soon after the Alouette gunships went into action. More than thirty SWAPO soldiers running towards the crash site were spotted. A battle ensued and some of the Alouettes took hits from below. One Alouette pilot reported seeing more than hundred SWAPO insurgents dancing around the stricken Puma. More gunships were scrambled and were on their way to the contact site.

By this time the TAC HQ had informed 61 Mech about the unfolding tragedy in the Mui River. We immediately responded and started moving at best speed towards the position we knew were the fight with SWAPO and the gunships were raging. 61 Mech was approximately 23km to the east. Time and distance wise it would take our vanguard close on one hour of bundu bashing to get there. Move! Move! Move!

The battle was still raging at the downed Puma site. The Alouettes were taking fire from SWAPO’s formidable 14,5s and SAM-7s. The gunships needed to return to the HAA to re-arm and re-fuel. At this stage Captain Willem Ratte was still deployed further to the north, close to the Calonga River searching for enemy bases.
61 Mech reached the crash site within little more than an hour. As we deployed in an all-round defensive open leaguer around the crash site we could hear a mini-battle raging just to the north of our position.

My first instruction was for all of 61 Mech to remain extremely alert and to stay mounted on their Ratels until I had assessed the situation. I halted my Ratel next to the Puma helicopter, which was still smouldering. Looking down into the wreck we could see a number of charred remains of the paratroopers. It was obvious that nobody could be alive. However, our biggest fear was that the enemy could have captured someone.

On the command radio-net I then reiterated my command for everyone to remain mounted on their vehicles. As this was as much an army as an air force show, SAAF Major Jaap du Preez and I dismounted to inspect the blazing sight and analyse what had happened — our fear remained the possibility that soldiers have been captured.

About fifty metres to the north we could see where the 14,5s had been positioned — the area was strewn with empty shell cases. The whole area was covered with the chevron boot print of SWAPO. Of the enemy themselves there was no sign at this stage. Realizing that SWAPO expected us visiting the site, Jaap du Preez and I looked at each other and sort of simultaneously warned: “Watch out for booby-traps and personnel mines.” It was an eerie situation…

The three SAAF crew members had clearly been removed from the wreck by SWAPO soldiers. The three bodies were propped up in their seats as if someone had posed them for a photograph in their scorched flying suits. Incidentally: In a contact with the enemy a day later a few Polaroid photographs were found on dead SWAPO insurgents, as well as some of the “dog tags” (two metal identification disks worn around the neck) of the paratroopers.

As I stood next to the wreck I momentarily felt an immense sadness, a heavy weight settling on my chest… silent crying. I was thinking of those back home who did not yet know what had happened in the Mui on this fateful 9th of August 1982. My pondering did not last long as I was interrupted by a Ratel-90 approaching the crash site. Close to me lay one of the doors of the Puma which had been blown to one side.

The approaching Ratel-90 belonged to Second Lieutenant Dewald Weideman, one of the troop commanders of Captain Chris du Toit of Charlie Squadron. Weideman dismounted and started walking in my direction… Why? Chris du Toit shouted at him to get back on his Ratel. As I put up my hand and echoed the warning to halt him, there was a tremendous explosion right in front of me.Weideman was flung into the air, one foot and the bottom part of his torso was blown to bits, but our man was alive… Medics! Doctor! Medics! Quick! Call for a Puma Casevac now! Again I shouted: “No one, but NO ONE get off your Ratels! Repeat my message down the chain of command now, AGAIN!” There was an eerie respectful silence that enshrouded the death site.

Jaap du Preez and I then found a drag mark from the Puma wreck to a lonely tree approximately thirty yards away. We could see the body of one of the paratroopers propped up against the stem of a Mopani tree. We walked very carefully towards the site, searching the earth for signs of booby-traps or personnel mines. The paratrooper was dead, he must have been alive for a while, probably thrown from the Puma by the explosion. His skin was blistered and hung in tatters from him. The pain must have been excruciating. He was shot through the centre of his forehead — was this a coup de grace by the enemy?

Jaap du Preez and I returned to the wreck and started counting the bodies. We repeated the count six times to make very sure that all had been accounted for. We then confirmed our counts. I then instructed one of the Ratels to drive towards the Puma wreck and for our soldiers to carefully transfer the remains into body-bags. The body-bags were not enough and some of the charred remains had to share bags. A Puma was called in to fly the remains to the HAA and then back to SWA. 61 Mech then left the Puma site and to leaguer a few kilometres to the north of the Mui River for the night. We would return the next day to evacuate the helicopter wreck — we were definitely not going to leave it for SWAPO to use for propaganda purposes later on.

Sadness permeated the leaguer of 61 Mech as the sun set in the west over the Calonga River. Somewhere out there was Captain Willem Ratte and his scouts and the enemy in the darkness… That night Major Alex Britz made our command group a “Potjie” (typical African stew prepared in a Falkirk three-legged cast-iron pot). He had made a deep hole in the ground for his fire so that the glow could not be discerned by any watchful enemy. We sat on our camp chairs in the bush in camaraderie, surrounded by darkness and the silence from within.

At midnight I was called to the radio by my signals officer Captain Sean MacSweeny. It was the TAC HQ. They had sifted through the remains of our slain soldiers and could only find signs of fourteen. One was missing. I replied: “No ways, check again.” Captain Jaap du Preez and I checked our counting procedure of the day once again. We were very sure of the numbers; we had counted fifteen, over and over.

At 03h00 the next morning I was contacted again by radio. The TAC HQ informed me that the medical staff at the HAA had found fifteen unique bones, which affirmed the count was correct. Relief washed over me.

In Memoriam — let us be quiet for a moment:
The three crew members of the South African Air Force:
Captain John Twaddle;
Lieutenant Chris Pietersen and;
Flight Engineer Sergeant Grobbies Grobbelaar.

The twelve paratrooper national servicemen of 1 Parachute Battalion:
Corporal Esuas Lombaard (20);
Lance-Corporal Stephen Hoare (20);
Rifleman Andre Wolmerans (21);
Rifleman Grant Krull (20);
Rifleman Craig Moody (20);
Rifleman Andries Hermias van Niekerk (20);
Rifleman Anton Kruger (22);
Rifleman Martin le Roux (22);
Rifleman James Marshall (20);
Rifleman Alan de Klerk (19);
Rifleman Shane Patrick Mallon (21) and;
Rifleman Ruffle Hilton-Barret (21).

In later years I came across the following message on an internet site: “3 April 2009. My brother died in Angola together with 12 parabats and 2 more pilots on 9 August 1982. Chris Pietersen I still miss you and love you to bits. Your sis.”

As darkness settled over the leaguer, some of it also settled in the souls of the one thousand soldiers of 61 Mech who became the lone victims of their own apprehensions and thoughts once again.”