The terror fighters: a profile of guerrilla warfare in southern Africa

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Ibias. More than half these were accounted for during the sortie into Congo-Brazza.

Tony was agreat admirer of the former Cuban guerrill a Che Guevara 'He and I would have been on opposing sides of course, had we met, but that does not prevent me &om admiring the man. Before he was killed he was one of the greats of this century in unconventional warfare.' Che had visited Congo-Brazza during 1964 and spent a few months at Doliesie, the insurgent training caxnp 24 miles north of the &ontier. Doliesie is a major

MPLA base staffed largely by Cubans. Tony maintained that Che had actually 102

entered Cabinda a few times. 'I have captured terrorists who admitted that Che had been here. They had, no reason to lie to me because the end was near for them anyway. On xnore than one occasion my captives have also told me of other Cubans who have entered Portuguese territory — usually as advisors to the black revolutionaries.' The belt Tony was w~ w as t a k en from a terrorist he had shot. Written in large letters on the reverse side was the name of the man to whom it had

originally belonged, Joao Mungi; the date, and stamped in black ink alongside, the words HAVANA C U BA. It was his most valuable prize of war. The Che Guevara cult is prominent among many of the Portuguese guerrilla 6ghters in Angola. OKcially, the one-time Argentinian doctor is a rebd and his writings are banned throughout Portugal and the provinces. Unokcially, even mexnbers of the PIDK (Portuguese security police) are staunch adxnirers of the Latin revolutionary. Books on Guevara and copies of his revolutionary treatises are passed around &equently between the camps. A regular Guevara library seems to have built up

in Angola over the years. His guerrilla methods are studied and analysed and in a number of instances adapted to the campaign in Angola.

But it is the man Guevara who is admired most. His courage and his tactics are legend among the Portugum:. 'He stood for everything that opposes Portugal

in A&ica, but I still cannot help admiring hixn', PIDZ Inspector Oscar Cardoza told me as we were Hying between towns in the east. He pulled out a book, printed in Mexico, on the revolutionary leader's life and thoughts — 'almost a Latin-American Mao in his day', he reHected. Cardoza said to me: 'My greatest regret will always be that I could not match wits with hixn in the 6eld. The result would have been one of two things; he would either have killed me or taught me what I still have to learn about this kind of warfare.' Vincent, our interpreter, was xluite diHerent. Yes, I am a soldier, he would say, but this miTitary business is really not for me.

I have no desire to do any winning of wars or killing of people. While I am here I will do my duty because I have to, but no xnore.

His philosophy was simple. He had no grudge against the terrorists. 'They were here before us and will probably be here long after all the so-called civilized races have destroyed themselves. They may even be the leaders of a new world. Let's hope they don't make the same mistakes as us', he said sincerely. He was no communist, but he could not help admiring the ideals of xnen like Sartre or Bertrand Rxxuell. These people were for international peace, he would say, &mowing his brow. 'That's what we need in the world — a little less aggressive prattle.' To him the war in Vietnam was totally reprehensible. There was no reason for it.

logical

'The war, and the Americans for being in Vietnam in the fxrst place, should be 103

condemned on the platforms of the world. If not, we will have slaughter and carnage on a far greater scale in the not too distant 6xture', he articulated. Victor was a passive intellectual and perhaps a little pathetic in his present environment.

Part of our journey to the north passed through Cabinda's magni6cent Maiombe forest. The Portuguese claim that only sections of the Amazon jungle are denser. 'You get lost in there and you will never be found', Tony warned. Since World War II, he said, a number of aircraft had gone down in the forest near the CongoBrazza borderand not allhad yet been found. The forest starts about 50 kilometres north of the 'Bridge of %'ar' and Eorms part of a jungle chain stretching from the Congo River near Boma, through Cabinda and Congo-Brazza to the Maiombe plateau in Gabon. I had seen part of this jungle when visiting the j hospital of the late Dr. Albert Schweitzer a few years before he died. I had taken two days to travel up the Ogowe River to Lamberene from Port Gentil, and much oE the forest that the river cut through was Maiombe. The jungle was the most luxuriant I have seen. Thick mangroves stretched down in a solid impenetrable mass to the water's edge. The heavy undergrowth along the river seldom allowed even a glimpse of the bank. Two or three hundred feet above us the tallest of the forest giants reached out towards the sun. Most of the trees were covered in masses of creepers, moss, Iungi and other tropical that living growths. When looking at it kom the river it seemed creatures could survive in that dank, murky, rain-forest. At river level the forest

oule

impo ssible

was pitch-black. But there is plenty of movement in this jungle even though one rarely sees an animal. Monkeys chatter away at the passing boat, birds screech and chirp among the tall branches and occasionally one hears the distinctive grunt of a leopard or wild boar. And the river has large conununities of hippo, crocodiles and water snakes. To the uninitiated these animals are unseen. You sense a thousand eyes peering at you as the boat goes itsway. At night you feel certain you are being watched, but like most things in A&ica you become used to it. But you never get used to the thought of what could happen if the boat capsized. There are Eew landing places on the edge of the fast-Rowing stream and even if you could swim ashore other boats on the river areEewand Ear between.

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It was only a question of tune. The biggest attraction of Maiombe is the gorilla population. There are thousands in the forest. the Portuguese say, although they are getting scarce on the Congo side as a result of indiscriminate hunting. In Cabinda the forest is too thick for hunting conunercially and of course there is the war.

There was an orphaned baby gorilla at the oHicers' mess in Cabinda when we were there. Her mother had been shot by a soldier near 3elize as she scratched for Eood in the undergrowth close to an army camp.

The baby's name was Chica, and but Eor the heavy growth of black hair covering her body, she might have been htunan. She had been adopted by one of the men and knew almost instinctively that milk and sweet things would appear when

he was around. The tough, hardened jungle 6ghters dropped everything when he was not and Chica curled her grisly mouth and screamed. It was a noise that

could be heard half-way across town. Chica had many problems. She needed, constant love, care and attention. She would cling to the arm of an admirer with the strength of a man. Left on the ground on her own she would clasp her hands and Eeet together and move

forward on her elbows screaming, urinating and defecating simultaneously. Clean, she was a favourite with the men. Only very special visitors were allowed to touch her. %'e apparently did not rank in that bracket as we were only allowed to have our 6ngers gnawed and to

take photographs. Negotiationswere under way, we were told, to have her transferred to a zoo.

They had already had one oHer of R2,000 for her. 'Imagine how many bottles of scotch that will bring in', one of the oHicers

joked. 'We will have the Portuguese army in Cabinda drunk for a year.' I was not quite sure whether he was serious or not.

Dinge camp, our destination in northern Cabinda, was like most military establishments in Angola. The garrison was about 200 strong, but there was rarely more than a third. of the complement in camp at any one time. The bulk of the men spent their time patrolling the surrounding jungle and the CongoBrazza kontier which was only 20 kilotnetres away. Although the men had not seen action for some time, the commandant explained, it was necessary to maintain optimum security precautions. 'When the insurgents came before — in 1961 — they caught us oH guard. Vfe have no intention

of allowing that to happen again', he said. The camp is surrounded by machine-gun turrets, but these are manned only

during daylight hours. The jungle in the vicinity is too dense to depend entirely on searchlights after dark. 'There are too many bushes and trees growing near the edge of the camp. If

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we were to rely solely on lights and machine-gun turrets the enemy would be able to crawl through the forest right up to the wires before attacking. They would be on top ofus before we knew where we were.' For that reason, the commandant said, a number of 24-man patrols were sent into the outlying bush. They were his system of 'advanced guard.'. As at Zala, they station themselves in a cosy position in the jungle and wait for the enemy to arrive. 'It's far more eHective this way. The enemy know our system. They know that if they want to attack they have to pass through our outer peruneter 6rst. It's a very e8ictive deterrent to the lund of enemy we are up against', he maintained. He said they had little trouble with wild animals in the jungle. 'They smell and see us long before we are aware of their presence. They steer weH clear of the

most terrible animal of all — man', he added, almost philosophically. It was dinner-time when we arrived. The sun set shortly afterwards. The sun goes down quickly in the tropics. In the few minutes before it becomes dark the horizon changes colour perhaps four or 6ve times. At Dinge it is even more impressive. The surrounding rain forest and swamps seemed to create their

own diEusing prism, which added a new dimension to the brilliance of a dying sun. Even the soldiers stopped in their tracks brie8y. They had been at Dinge almost two years and had seen this A&ican sunset often before, but it stiH awed many of them. I had seen something similar on the Congo a few years before, when I travelled down-river from Matadi. The intensity of colour re8ected on the river remains gravured in one's mind in an ocean of other impressions. But it is not only the sunset that makes Dinge diHerent from most other camps i n Angola Standing in the centre of the parade ground is a machine~ t ur r e t . It held no gun. There was no sentry peering out &om under its low roof. It had

only a porcelain statue of the Virgin Mary which looked out 6xedly over the barracks.

'That's our Virgin Mary of the machine-gun turrets', one of the men explained, when we asked.

It had, been consecrated by a priest and was dedicated to these people whose lives depended on this form of defence, he said reverently. The turret seemed a little odd at the time. But in retrospect I could see it made good sense to these deeply religious people. Portugal has a history of patron saints, so why not one more to guard over the present circumstances? Particularly

since machine-gun turrets had almost become away of life since black guerrillas had appeared on the scene. I.ife at Dinge was casual. Vfhen the men were not on guard duty or patrol

they could do what they wished. The reveille bugle blew at six, but few of the men stirred before eight. A few of the o6cers slept through until ten on some xl1olnmgs.

The commanding ofEcer, Major Domingos de Magelhias Fihpe, allowed his 107

men a fair amount of leeway with regard to the stringencies of military routine. Two years living on top of one another, he said, and you could not expect the spit and polish of nev recruits. The morale of the ordinary soldier at Dinge was low. The war, or lack o f it, had got on almost everyone's nerves. There vere few extra-mural activities and little of the organized sport we had seen in Angola proper. They had a month to go before they returned to Portugal. It vrould be an agonizing four weeks, I was assured. The men iud lived in close contact vrith each other. A nevr face vras a raritv. Each one knew the idiosyncrasies oE the other men in his platoon aud there were fevr surprises. Activity Huctuated almost entirely between the barracks and security dutie. Occasionally they could go into the village, which consisted oE a bar, a shop and a fevr houses. A&er 23 months of the same cooking they found Portuguese army food and vine insipid and a snack in town made a vrelcome change. Everyone was listless —even the of6cers. 'What we really need is a little action. The men are bored', one of the lieutenants told me. In Sector D and the east it v-as not so bad, he said, but here, with only the monotonous jungle noises for company it vras rnerde. Even the black girls were scarce; he shrugged his shoulders in despair. The fev. that there were had long ago chosen their lovers &om among the men, Qr

were jealously guarded by their husbands. 'And to make matters worse, we cannot get drunk too often — vre just have not

got the money for it', he added moodily. Although life at Dinge camp vras not typical of what I found elsewhere in Angola, the soldiers here did represent a crosswection of the Portuguese army. They had no real reason, apart &om boredom, to complain. Materially they were weH looked after. They were well fed, weH clothed and they had more than enough free time in which they could do as they pleased. Some men employed their time industriously. To others, it was too much trouble to do anything. 3y being brought to A&ica, many of the men had broadened their scope and had seen a little more of the world than their low wages in Metropolitan Portugal vrould otherwise have allowed. Some of these young men, who adapt easily to A&i ' c o n ditions, had never ventured further ttun their native villages before. A number of them received their 6rst pair of boots on joining the army, Quite a few started eating three square meals a day for the 6rst time in their lives the morning they entered the military training camp. All take the spartan living conditions in the bush in their stride. All are capable of fending for themselves, for most have done so since they 6rst started to crawl. They are the sons of 6sher men, mine-farmers, Iisbon taxi-drivers and, very occasionally, of university professors or professional men. 1Vlost of the young men serving in Africa are in their early twenties. AQ are

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conscripts. The majority are passionately idealistic for an anticommunist, antiterrorist cause which dovetails neatly with the tenets of the Roman Catholic church. Probably the biggest problem facing the individual Portuguese soldier is 6nanciaL On active duty in A&ica, a soldier receives a monthly salary of about R20. The married ones get a small additional allowance for their families. With this money they have to buy all the necessities of army life — toothpaste, brushes, polish, soap, the occasional casual shirt for weekends in the town — and of course food and wine when on leave. The higher ranks are also badly paid. A corporal receives about R25 a month. A conscript sergeant gets about double that, though professional (non-conscript sergeants can earn as much as RI10 — a princely sum when compared to their charges. There are no sergeant-majors or warrant ranks. OHicers, considering their professional level and standard of living, are not all that much better o8: A young alfares(second lieutenant) with a university education starts at about RI00 if he is married. A lieutenant after two or three years' active service receives plus jminus R'I50, while a full-blown captain with about a dozen years' service in the army, on active service in Angola and in command of a company, picks up a

)

monthlypay cheque of R220. These amounts are not impressive and even less so when it is remembered that the men have to maintain themselves while on active service and in many instan~ support a family back home. If a man is not married, more often than uot he has an aged parent to look aker.

Officers' mess bills account for about a quarter of their salaries and claims for ente~ g are seldom allowed. %'hile living in the various army camps we were wined and dined entirely out of the pockets of our hosts. During this period we were never allowed to pay for a thing. This routine is the same for all visitorsirrespective of nationality or p olitical outlook. It was typical of Portuguese hospitality generally. Discussing the low wages with some of the men, they maintained they were in fact receiving lessthan equivalent ranks in the Kenyan or Ghanaian army were being paid.One man who made a studyof the subject reckoned the Portuguese army pay scales were about on par with the Congolese army 'and Kinshasa radio still has the impudence to call us mercenaries', he laughed loudly. It was his private joke and he apparently told it often. In spite of the lethargy at Dinge, the camp could boast its own radio station and an 'arts' club. As almost every town in Angola has its own radio club, complete with studios and professional announcers, it was perhaps not surprising that we should 6nd an o@hoot in one of the remote jungle camps in Cabinda. The station was an

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amateur a8air. Apart &om the occasional news report, it devoted most of its two or three hours a day 'on the air' to record requests &om the men. Soldiers

in other catnps in the vicinity of Dinge also joined in when they could pick up the bush radio on their sets. The station, I was told, had been built ahnost entirely

by one man from scraps he had managed to scrounge in Cabinda. They had also managed to build up a record library. The radio station would be bequeathed to the unit that replaced them when they le&.

The Dinge Art Club was run by a sculptor who had taught himself to azve wood during his two years at Dinge. His work had improved so much during this time that he had been invited to stage a one-man exhibition on his return to Lisbon. A nmnber of his larger works, in ebony, were already on permanent exhibition in Cabinda and, at the time of our visit, he was struggling to complete a large commission &om one of the commercial houses in the enclave before his unit returned to Portugal.

The sculptor had worked hard. The jungle supplied all thewood he needed; the camp his tools. He had used them well. He would go far. He was already

reaping the &uits of his industry. The commandant said it was a pity a few of the other men could not have used their spare time in a similar manner. Seeing the men lounging about, too tired it seemed to sleep, one could not help agreeing. The busiest people in the camp at Dinge were certainly the motor mechanics. Theirs was the job of keeping the garrison's seven trucks in running order. All except the ambulance were old and required constant repairs. Cabinda rarely received new most: of it went to other sectors where the enemy was more active.

equipm ent -

The ambulance was probably the busiest vehicle of the lot. In their policy of creating better relations with the local A&ican population, the Portuguese helped where they could. Medicine played a prominent part in the hdfilment of this ideal. This was demonstrated while we were at the camp. At about two one morning

the duty transport ofhcer was called &om the bungalow where we had been billeted for the night. An African woman had been in labour for the past 36 hours and there had been complications. The camp doctor had been in atu:ndance and decided that the only way to save the life of the mother and her unborn child would be to take them through to Cabinda as soon as possible. It meant a journey of almost 200 kilometres — at night. It took a brave man to drive his ambulance to Cabinda through the dark. He had to cross some of the worst roads in A&ica. He also knew that if there were terrorists in the vicinity, he would be ambushed. The insurgents would have heard the ambulance coming tniles before they saw it, giving ample time to

preparean ambush. Only after they had opened 6re would they have been able to see it was an ambulance — though it would not have been the 6rst time they would have 6red on a vehicle carrying the distinctive red cross.

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As it was, the driver got through without incident. He saved the life of the mother and, her little boy, who was born later that morning. We subsequently heard that the child was ~ e d a &er the driver of the truck — a simple gestUre, but one that indicated that Portugal's efforts at wituung the con6dence of the

African population in Angola is g~

gr o u nd.

This policy has come a long way since hostilities started in 1961. Of the total population of about 60,000 in the 7,000 square kilometres enclave, about a third Red into the neighbouring Congos as the result of vicious Portuguese reprisal raids. Here again, as in Sector D, thousands died, caught in a remorseless cross-6re between government and insurgent forces. The only safety the local Africans could 6nd was across the border. Cabinda had become a Haming battle-ground. About 1,000 Cabindans still remained on the other side of the border. 'But we always have about 5 to 10 per cent of the local population visiting in the two Congos', one of the staR'o6cers intimated.

Those who had not yet returned did not worry him unduly. He winked. 'We have many 6iends among them. They keep us comfortably in the picture about what is going on in 3razzamlle. It costs us a little money, but the balance sheet is very much in our favour.' A similar state of aHairs existed in Zambia, he said.

While at Dinge, we were told an extraordinary story about the early days of

the war. The camp had originally been a logging arm. The old saw-mill still stood in the jungle near the barbed-wire fence, gathering rust and creepers in the tropical heat. The original owner of the plant had. been away when the terrorists struck. Hearing about the attacks, he rushed back to Dinge to protect his family. It was too late.

When he reached the veranda of his house, the heads of his three children were neatly arranged next to each other on the porch. Their bodies were found

hacked into ribbons in one of the bedrooms. They had been systematically butchered by the terrorists. The eldest was 8 years old.

The body of his wife was not very far away, strung up by her feet in the lounge. She had, been brutally raped and slit open &om gullet to groin. 'The man went out of his mind', the commandant explained. 'He rushed back to his truck, collected his hunting riHe, a pistol, found a shotgun somewhere and

set about killing every black man he could 6nd.' 'He had notched up a taEey of 14 by the time the police caught up with him. Most of the people he had. killed were innocent A6icans living in the vicinity of Dinge. Many had worked for him on the milL The real culprits had. escaped into the jungle earlier that day, having themselves killed some of the A&icans in the area.

The last thing the farm-owner could understand was why he was being arrested

by the police. Black people were on the rampage. They had destroyed his familyhis life. They in turn should now be destroyed, he argued. The commandant said that the man had never quite regained all his senses. He

believed he was in Luanda working in the docks. The last he had heard he was living with a mulatto woman. I told the commandant of a similar instance in northern Angola about the same time, that I had hmrd in Sector D. A farmer living near Carmona had also had his family slaughtered by the terrorists. He promptly set about killing the local natives. Eventually he was taken off to Luanda by the police in a strait-jacket. He was suicidal, they said at the time. The authorities would not let the farmer kill himself or anyone else. So he

ended his days by jumping headlong out of an eightwtory building in Luanda while he was receiving psychiatric treatment. To the outsider looking in, the logic of these gruesome acts is difEcuh to understand. It is necessary to view the brutalities in the context in which they are committed. The terrorists crossed into Angola with a single purpose in mind: to create havoc and revolution and eventually destroy Portuguese authority and control in the country. Africt was for the Africans t To this end they employed every means they had at their disposal. Not only did many of their killings have some kind of a symbolism attached, bur, they also hoped that their brutality wo8d inspire brutality in others. Their ultimate objective was to create maxunum friction between black and white and, if necessary,

between. black and black. This is one of the reasons why so many Angolan Africans were also killed by the insurgents early on in the war. They were supremely con6dent that the Portuguese would retaliate by killing

other Africans. They did — in the beginning. It was only when the true design of the terrorist command became apparent that the Lisbon government implemented a programme of co-operation with Africans in Angola. Friendly relations between the races was to be the order of the day, which was what the I"reedom Armieshad been trying to destroy. 'The terrorists used the simple maxim of Mao Tse Tung; "That to take a country, it is first necessary to create chaos and revolution by every means possible" ', the commandant maintained. 'And what better for revolution than friction between the races', he

added.

catalys t

It was a young lieutenant who made the most erudite observation of all. 'It seems that there is someone else applying those same principles on a far more subtle plane in the United States — and obtaining better results', he said.

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Section III THE EAST (Zona Zil)

Keeping oneself civilized is not

an easy task in the jungle. Part of this routine is to keep clean.

Supply drop by parachute to a remote mountain post in Sector D. Much of the mail and fresh provisions have to be dropped by aircraft,

his

D

Wounded soldiers in Luanda's military hospital. The Portu-

guese army averages about 200 killed in action a year. Tho more serious casualties are evacuated to Lisbon by air,

Keeping the economy stable is a giant task, but much has been achieved over the past five years. Many of the farms previously laid waste by the guerrillas are producing again, such asthis coffee estato near Carmona in Sector A.

Eastern Angola has been known to the Portuguese for centuries as Terran do Fim Mando — land at the end of the earth. Bigger than Texas; dry, arid and sparsely populated, this is the mopani and baobab country that the British missionary explorer Dr. David Livingstone often wrote about while he lived in Luanda.

He loved the wild, wide-open spaces and herds of wild game that would stretch across the veld &om one horizon to the other. The uniform, almost monotonous table-top Hatness of the region were part of his very existent. There are few hills or mountains to break the monotony of the countryside. The east is not unlike much of the country in Rhodesia and Mozambique where terrorists have been active recently. Eastern Angola is A&ica in the raw. It is a land virtually untouched by the twentieth century. Frontiers with Zatnbia and Katanga, unde6ned by geographical

factors, fuse somewhere in the wilderness of Central A&ica. There arefew de6nite lines of demarcation. The sun beats down mercilessly all the year round. The sandy terrain and scant rovide little shelter &om the elements. At night, during the cool season, the mercury can drop below zero a few hours after sunset. Contrasts are severe, but this is a rigorous land and only the strongest in ~ or ma n survive. Further south, the Okavango River forms part of a natural boundary with the South A&icanwontrolled Caprivi strip — the thin 6nger of land which was ceded, to the Germans at the turn of the last century to give Kaiser Bill 'access to the Zambezi and the Indian Ocean'. It is also in the east that Agostinho Neto's revolutionary army has enjoyed its most s~ succ esses against Portuguese authority. Eastern Angola was the scene, early in 1966, of MPLA'S 'second &ont'. Neto's foram were mar~ y

vegetationp

helped by those of UNITA (another Zambia-based revolutionary group) in the early days. The area in the east which MPLA forces have in6ltrated is almost three times the size of England — a fact quite blandly admitted by the Portuguese. The terrorist grip, they maintain, is precarious, but Neto's guerrillas have been able to maintain

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a steady pressure on the Portuguese civil and military authority. 'They have been particularly successful in one direction' a Portuguese intelligence oHicer disclosed. 'They have managed to divert attention &om the mar in northern Angola.' MPLA, he continued, had been able to stretch Portuguese resources to cope with the nem war. The new threat was not formidable. It was an inconvenience. The Portuguese were con6dent they could cope with the 'inconvenience' if it were three times as big. Optimism is not usuaIy a trait of the Lusitanian character. Fem oHicers I spoke to, homever, did not register some concern at this escalation

of what had previously been a very limited campaign. Since the start of the mar in the east, MPLA attacks &om Zambia have moved steadily inland through the underpopulated hinterland. In some areas the guemllas moved quicker tlun others, depending on the extent of Portuguese control. Two years after the Mt attack there have been onslaughts on places as far a6eld as Luso, Cuito-Cuanavale and Serpa Pinto, all several hundred miles &om the Zambian and Katangese &ontiers. On other occasions, in October 1966 and more recently, terrorists &om the sister political organization SWAPU (South West A&ican Peoples' Union) were able to cross the entire breadth of Angola (mith MPLA assistance) and attack S outh A&ican &ontier posts at Os~ o and i n t h e Caprivi. O s~ o lies on the border between Angola and South West A&ica. The terrorists had travelled

almost 500 miles unchecked and unchallenged through southern Angola. T he MPLA campaign in eastern Angola has been consistent and well c~ r d i nated. The training the insurgents have received has been good. Their arms are of the best available in the communist bloc. Portuguese losses in the area, though not yet as high as in the Dembos, north of Luanda, are rising steadily. The Portuguese military command at Luso, headquarters of Sector ZIL (Zonu Ingttrotion L'Ooest) gave two reasons for the increased attacks in the east. One was the immense Ilow of communist arms into Zambia and Tanzania since early 1967.

The other was the augural hand of Red China. The Chinese inHuence in Zambia has grown steadily since 1967, they said.

Alwaysi n aus piciousin their movements and activities in host countries, they had played a prouunent part in guiding the destiny of the MPLA.

The intelligence oHicer said they had considerable information to prove that Chinese tacticiaus and tr~ oHi c ers were behind a good deal of MPLA strategy.

'This assistance ranges &om training, all the may through to logistics, propaganda and the planning of attacks on speci6c targets', he said. He mas careful to point out that although MPLA mas communistmrientated, the majority of the I'reedomf tghters were not. They mere simply receiving aid &om the most available source and, making the best use of it. There were few hardened Marxists among the A&ican command. There mas the odd exception

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The principles of Marx and Lenin are alien to A&ica, he continued. An A&ican might embrace communism super6cially for a while, but this was not a lasting revolution. A&ica had had centuries creed To them, commtmism meant, of wars and revolution. All they asked for now was an end to bloodshed and

simply,

uncertaBlty.

He went on: 'The average man in A&ica wants a place in the sun for himself and his family. He wants to be sure that next week he will still be eating regularly, that his children can go to school and that once in a while, perhaps, he can let his hair down. He asks for little more.'

The officer had grown up among the black people of Angola. He believed he knew them better than most. The authorities in Luanda are emphatic that although MPLA might be receiving aid &orn Red Chinese sources, the Chinese in Zambia never enter Angola to 6ght with the insurgents. 'We have seen them &om time to ti me across the frontier through binocularsin fact we have taken pictures of them with telephoto lenses. Their high-buttoned jackets and cloth caps give them away every time', another officer said. I asked about the'Chinese woman' I had been told about by some of the men in the east. I had heard about her &orn a number of different sources, but the Luanda top brass were adaxrunt in their denials that she existed She is a myth,

they said. The woman had almost become a legend in some parts of eastern Angola. She was said to be leading a fanatical group of insurgents who had already infficted heavy casualties on the Portuguese forces. Known simply as 'Chinese woman', insurgents who had been captured and

questioned on the subject said that she had a charmed life. Like the men she commands — about 6fty in all — she leads a spartan existence, living under similar conditions to the soldiers and eating the same food. In battle she would ohen expose herself in the most dangerous positions. As far as was known she was not married. She was only about 30 years old. It was said that she had, received part of her training in Guinea, 6arther up the West A&ican coastline. The story might have been a myth — but it was too widespread and detailed not to contain an element of truth. The 6rst time I heard the story was &om a young infantry lieutenant, Antonio

da Silva, who had spent 18 months following guerrilla bands in the east. His path had ohen crossed that of the mysterious female, he maintained. Antonio was a serious individual. War was his metier. He had joined the army as a pro-

fessional and he was not the kind of person who would easily fabricate a story. According to Antonio, the woman had spent a year in Zambia before coming to Angola. She always operated, near the Zambian &ontier and would slip across t he border if things became too hot in ~ ola . Antonio had 6rst made contact with the woman's band towards the middle of

1967. She had been operating in an area about 200 kilometres south-east of Luso; her main sphere of operations till then had been in the Cazombo region, the Angolan panhandle that juts eastwards between Zambia and Katanga. I let him take up the story.

'A&er days in the bush following numerous trails we found nothing. I decided to split my company into groups of forty men each. The four groups would then move eastwards in a 6n-like formation.

'Many of the trails we followedwere dead~nds. This was apparently part of her plan to shake o6' anyone following her group. At a point in the bush she would send three parties &om the main group o8'into the bush in cQkrent directions. They would march through the bush for two or three hours and then turn around and retrace their steps. You can imagine the quandary one is faced with when you come to a place and there are four diferent trails leading o8'in all directions. It takes the men at least half a day to 6nd out which one does nor

lead into a dead-end.' At other times, Tony explained, she would suddenly leave the main track. Her group would break a &esh path to the right or left and cover up their traces very

carefully with leaves and dead brushwood. 'She was expert at the art of camouHage. She must have learnt her made in Asia somewhere', he said.

Tony and his men followed the band for eleven days. Every 6fth day &esh supplies of food would be brought to his group by helicopter, guided in by radio. He was not happy with this arrangement. It pin-pointed his position to

any terrorists lurking near by, but he had to keep his men fed and happy. 'Then one of my A&ican trackers found a trail leading o8'the main track. It was an accident that he found. it at all. He had stopped to relieve himself and saw that the ground alongside the track had recently been disturbed.'

Tony and his men followed the new track for two more days. Own the new track led into the old one again, cutting across and leading out on the other side in an obvious attempt to shake o8'pursuers. 3ut by now they had an idea of the general pattern. 'The trail was exceptionally well-laid. It must have taken a great deal of time

and trouble but it was very effective. Only someone who had grown up in this area would have spotted it in the 6nt place, as these terroristswere meticulous in their camouRage.'

On the thirteenth day, Tony's group suddenly came upon a village in the bush. lt was obviously a large one as they could hear considerable movement a few hundred yards ahead. In the distance someone was calling movements to what

sounded like a physical training class. 'We moved forward stealthily. I sent two scouts ahead 6rst. They cune back with the news that there were two sentries immediately ahead of us and about six or eight others stationed at various points around the aunp.'

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Tony was in a diHicult position. Unlike Sector D and Cabinda the bush here was sparse. A man could be clearly seen moving between the trees 20 or 30 yards away. There were no natural obstacles behind which he and his men could approach the terrorist hideway. 'So we had to creep forward on our stomachs; the whole lot of us. We killed the two men ahead of us with knives — more by luck than dengn — they had been dozing in the sun. I then sent some of the men to the right and left in order to make a narrow three-pronged attack. We could not spread out too Gr or we would have been sighted by the other sentries. I ordered the men to attack immediately the enemy spotted us and sounded the alarm. 'About ten minutes later one of the terrorist sentries detected movement in

the bush. We were still about 100 yards &om the camp. The black man 6red a

sigil di

surxession of shots in the air. It was a warning r ected at the camp. We then ran in on the attack. 'We killed four and captured another two out of a group that could easily have been two hundred strong. They had obviously prepared themselves for just such an event. The moment the alarm sounded, about twenty terrorists took up

well-protected positions in the camp and held us oR'while the bulk of the insurgents escaped. When the last man had Red they withdrew. Even then we could not rush in blindly — there may have b~ o t hers waiting and we had to watch

for booby traps', he explained. Tony said that the campthey had raided had been a training unit — one of the

6rst found on Angolan soil. The men had been receiving instruction in languages,

the handling of arms, pohtical theory and physical training. ' The Chinese are great ones for keeping themselves fit. They believe in ~ g everyone spend an hour a day doing physical jerks while on campaign — usually the hour before breakfast.' It was the same in Malaya, he said. Perhaps the most interesting discovery during the subsequent follow-up operation was another camp about 400 yards further into the bush. The second camp had been the insurgents' sleeping-quarters. The area they had attacked was the instructional area. When the people in the barracks heard 6ring they also

disappeared into the bush. The whole organizational structure indicated that someone with considerable experience in guerrilla war&re was in charge. Everything had been planned beforehand. The possibility of an attack by the Portuguese had been rehearsed. Even the women aud children in the barracks area were able to get away undetcrted. Not a single gun was le& lying for the Portuguese to 6nd. It was later ascertained that this was also the base camp of the 'Chinese woman' and her guerrillas while she operated in the area. One of the captives admitted this a6er he had been tortured

By 6r the most popular method of attack in eastern Angola as in other sectors

is still the road ambush. The revolutionaries are aware that many of the military posts strung out in

this vast area have to be regularly supplied. There are also a number of camps along the Zambian &ontier that maintain small airstrips. Fuel supplies have to be delivered at intervals to keep reserves at a safe leveL Travel in the east, as in Sector D and Cabinda, is a slow, grueHing process. There are few roads. Once the truck leaves the main highways between the bigger towns in the region, you are forced to negotiate sandy tracks that have never seen a road~rader. often carve their own routes along the Convoys travelhng along these Hat terrain. It is rare to travel more than a dozen miles without digging one of the convoy vehicles out of the sand. A >ton Unimog vehicle that has sunk into the soft gravel up to its axles can take a down soldiers two or three hours to extricate — especially if it is heavily loaded with 44-gaHon drums of aviation fuel.

@ issues

The terrorists prefer large heavily-loaded convoys. They can pick off a section at any tune. They choose a sandy spot between the trees and set up their positions. As the trucks pass they blast o8'with machine~un and mortar 6re and then disappear hastily into the bush. Oken their attacks are preceded by a mine blast which has been Led in the

road, though mines have been found largely ineffective in this vast country where vehicles tend to make their own way on the 6rm ground alongside the road. In places there are a dozen tracks leading through the bush paraHel to one another.

Mines also require cared handling, one of the officers pointed out, and the guemHas have not shown themselves particularly adept at handling them in the past.

Convoy leaders prefer to foHow the hard-baked pans and river-beds which seam across much of eastern Angola. The rainy season only lasts a few months. For the rest of the year nature provides these solid cjay beds as her own form of road-link between tow~. Baked hard, by the sun and as straight as an arrow in places, these routes are sometimes bet@:r than the more solid gravel strips in other parts of the country. A road can follow a dry watercourse for as much as 50 or 100 kilometres at a stretch.

Shortly aEter we arrived at t.uso a convoy arrived in the town &om the south. There were about 6fteen trucks — half of them army vehicles. Many were splattered with bullet holes and shrapnel splinters. The convoy had le& Cangamba a few hundred kilometres to the south four days before. On their second day out, shortly after dawn, they had been attacked

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te n orists machine gun post ~~ mortar

Y fi nal terrorists machine gun 1,2,3, stagest8 withdrawal of terrorists ground posts

by a brge MPLA group while travelling along one of these dry river-beds. The action Md lasted about 40 minutes. There had been Portuguese casualties but tom were few traces that any terrorists had been kiHed in the battle. After the enemy had withdrawn the Portuguese had surveyed the scene of the battle. They found traces of blood in a number of places — but no bodies. The insurgents also

left few of their used sheHs behind. The ambush was a professional job, the captain who travelled with the convoy

told us later. Wey had planned the whole thing beforehand and. had used 6ve macbin~ and o n e mortar. The deployment of their men had been exceHentso good in fact that the Portuguese had been pinned down for much of the battle. Mey had us where they wanted us', the captain said abruptly.

He explained that they had camped the night on the edge of the hard clay of the river-bed. He knew the area fairly mell — he had already taken half a dozen convoys along the same route.

About 3 miles 6srther along the road passed alongside a number of moundssome were higher than 100 ft. One could almost caH them hills — there were four or 6ve of these high spots on both sides of the tracks. 'The convoy was neatly strung out over a distance of about a tluarter mile when three machin~ open e d 6r e &om the 'heights' on both sides of us.

Seconds later I heard the dull 'plop' of a mortar shell being launched. It landed 50 yards to the le& of us. 'The men jumped &om the trucks and took up positions alongside the road. Those who could, returned 6re.' 'Within nunutes grenades started falling around us. A g r oup of guerriHa grenade throwers had been lying in the taH grass barely 50 yards Rom the trucks.

They were weH covered by the 6re kom the surrounding high spots. The machineguns were also able to cover the withdrawal of the grenade throwers as they moved to positions away &om the convoy. 'The terrorists continued the battle for another ten minutes and then started faHing back in stages.Once the grenade throwers and riHemen had reached higher ground they were able to provide cover while the machine-guns moved to a high spot hither into the interior away &om the convoy. Eventually there

was only one machine-gun le& (Y) which kept 6ring until the insurgentswere safely to the rear and able to escape without being foHowed. 'The group on the other sik of the track meanwhile kept up a detracting 6re. They were on ground much steeper than the crowd on our right and were, therefore, much more difEcult to attack. They were 6ring down on to us. This group continued to give covering 6re until the last machine-gun had withdrawn.' The captain said that out of his party of 150 men he had lost 2 men in the action. There were another 11 wotmded of whom probably 1 more would die. Most of the men had been hit in the 6rst few seconds of the engagement. After that the enemy 6re was erratic — although still strong enough to pin down the

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Portuguese forces around the trucks. He estimated that there must have been between 40 and 60 attackers. He said there were no indications that the enemy were anything but A6icans.

'I doubt whether she was involved', he smiled knowingly before I could ask my question.

Luso is a town of about 5,000 people which reminds one of the many small towns in the American Mid-West. Everything centres on the cathedra opposite the town square and mayor's parlour. Roads lead oR'neatly into well-laidmut

suburbs and then end abruptly at the surrounding bush. Luso has its own market place, a radio station, a couple of cinemas, a large hotel that has been commandeered by the army and a number of smaller pensions that attract the occasional visiting newsman. Luso also has its own railway station. A train leaves every day for Nova Lisboa, Angola's second city, further west. It takes rvro days to cover the distance-

travelling during daylight hours only. Two hundred milesaway in the east lies Villa Teixeira de Sousa on the Congolese border. 'We do not travel at night — the terrorists sabotage the line too o&en', one of the oHicials at the railroad station commented. 'lf you are in a hurry, why don' t you Hy? Everyone Ries these days.' The of6cial was curious about my movements. A note would probably appear on the desk of the local PIDE inspector within an hour or two telling him of the bearded foreigner who had been asking questions about train movements. The oHicial consulted a colleague as I walked away. He was obviously another of those single-minded Portuguese who believed the security of the nation rested on their shoulders alone and who sensed an agent proooooteurbehind every bush. I had experienced it before, on two previous visits to Angola. At Lobito and Novo Redondo on the coast much earlier in the war, I had been arrested by the security police and kept in custody until I was able to prove I was a bona 6de tourist.

'It's the war, senor — it makes everyone suspicious', the young alfares said apologetically later that morning as we drove to military headquarters. The headquarters building at Luso, a high-walled structure of Moorish design, was guarded by a military policeman with a sten. He clicked his heels smartly as we passed. A number of Portuguese marines were leaving as we arrived. In answer to my query, theaffares that there was a fairly large contingent of marines

explained

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in Sector ZIL They were used in the swampland bordering on Zambia's Barotse Province. The terrorists use the unchartered channels in the swamp to in61trate large quantities of arms, equipment and men. Some of the largest terrorist bases are believed to be in the swamp. The marines hunt these groups in rubber boats,

he said. Heading the Portuguese war eHort in the east &om Luso is Colonel de Souza, a short stocky man and a veteran of the Portuguese brigade which fought with Franco's forces in the Spanish civil war. The walls of Colonel de Souza's oHice were liined with hundreds of guns that had been captured over the past two years. The majority of these were antique blunderbusses. There were also a few hraeli Uzzis, Russian Degycimev machine-

guns and. World War II Lugers. In other rooms the officers had arrayed an assortment of bows, arrows, hatchets, feather head-dresses and primitive home-made hand-guns captured &om the enemy. The Luso military headquarters was a veritable armoury of insurgent 6re-power. 'A museum of terrorist armour', the

balding colonel joked. Later we were to see other items which had been captured during military operations against the Zambian-based gue~ in t he e ast. These included Chinese hand-grenades, Russian carbines, West German Solingen steel commando knives, American bazookas and &agmentation bombs, Belgian and French pistols, Cuban and Egyptian boots, the distinctive mustard-coloured Czech camouBage

uniforms, Rhodesian clothing and South A&ican canned foods and medical supplies. There was even a packet of Australian dried fruit. The ofhcer quipped something about the cosmopolitan nature of the war.

The material &om Southern A&ica, he said, had been imported by Zambia and distributed among the terrorists. With the help of the South A&ican authorities they had managed, to trace the batch numbers of some of the ~ s s u p plied by

Johannesburg pharmaceutical 6rms. The drugs had originally been ordered by the Zambian government. The biggest problem the Portuguese army faced in the east was one of communications, he said. Almost the entire region was overlaid with sand up to a depth of about 5 metres. In some areas the sand, went down to more than 40 metres.

'It is impossible to build roads on this kind of foundation. We do, of course, have some good roads, but it's a giant task keeping them serviceable.' Most of the garrisons in the interior were kept in touch with the outside world by aircra&. It was a di6cult task. In the rainy season he reckoned it was a little easier. The Portuguese keep boats lundy to reach many of the outlying areasparticularly in the swampland. Helicopters are also used. lt was a supreme exercise in logistics, he added, as we discussed the war over

a map spread out on his desk. The Portuguese had won a few notable victories in recent months. In various

battles with the terrorists they hadkilled three enemy generals in the 6rst quarter of 1968. One of them,Jose Carvaho, known as 'Week' among his men, was a nephew of Neto and was second in command of MPLA's Zambian-based forces. He had been shot at Caripande, in the Cazombo region. In the same month a UNITA general, Calacala, was killed near Luzo. He had been leading a small force intent on attacking the town when he was surprised by Portuguese commandos. He walked right into them and the whole unit was destroyed. A third general, another MPLA man by the name of Sangue do Povo, died near Lucusse, on the road to Gago Coutinho. This was an area constantly under enemy attack. 'So you see, we are not doing too badly against their "group leaders" as these

generals call themselves', the ofEcer said proudly. He pulled out a detailed map of the Barotse and north-western provinces of Zambia 'Now I w ill show you exactly where our &iends are operating from.

You can see how good our intelligence boys have been', he grinned broadly. Major Simoes pointed out two towns in western Zambia ringed with a pencil mark — Balovale in the n orth-west province and Sikongo 6srther south in Barotsdand. 'These are the two command headquarters of the MPLA. Balovale is responsible for terrorist activity towards Luso and the north and the other one co-ordinates activities in the south', he said. Two other nameshad been underlined. They were Chavuma, just south of the Cazombo region, and Shangombo in the far southwest corner of the territory. His 6nger moved to a town called Yuka. 'This is an

MPLA 6eld hospitaL' Recently, he said, there had been more activity in Barotse province. The Zambian government were building two airstrips at the swampland village of

Siluwe. 'We are not quite certain yet why they want an airstrip on our border. Kaunda talks about protection against our bombing raids, but it does indicate that aircraIt may play a role in future terrorist tactics, as it already does in Guinea(with Rufhan

and Em German help). Let's hope Zambians will Ily the planes and not their British or Canadian instructors — we would hate to shoot up a few innocent expatriates'. The major emphasized the word 'innocent' with a grin. I asked about the rail link with Zambia. It was one of Kaunda's major links with the outside world, yet Zambian-Based terrorists still sabotaged it. The major said that attacks on the line averaged about one a month. The insurgents usually pry loose sections of the track or remove 6sh-plates. Only on one occasion had explosives been used. It was quite an extraordinary state of a8airs, Major Simoes maintained. Zambia needed the line to shift her copper, but the terrorists still damaged it from time to time. President Kaunda had warned that anyone who was responsible for the

130

derailments would be expelled &om ~ b i a. 'There have been a few expulsionsSavimbi of UNITA &me was one, but they still carry on', he said. The major

impetuo us

thought it was more an show of force than anything else on the part of the terrorists. '%'hen the line is sabotaged between Munhango and Luso, we k now it i s UMTA — or what was left of Savimbi's forces in the area. East of Luso, the line passes through MPLA territory', he said.

Certainly the most interesting subject discussed at Luso that day was the tr~ terrorists received in Zambia, Tanzania, Congo-Brazza and abroad Major Simoh explained that the training programme could be classi6ed into two distinct phases. The bulk of the elementarv tr~ w as h andled at bases in

A&ica. The brighter trainees are singled out by their instructors for advanced training abroad. The Algerian base at Tclemen ladles a steady stream of 'undergraduate'' &om Central A&ica. Others, including a number &om Rhodesia, go to Russia,

Cuba, Egypt and China. 'Even Israel and Ethiopia, surprisingly, have trained Southern A&ican terrorists in the past', he added. The major produced a number of handbooks thathad been taken &om a to an captured terrorist. The man's name was George Pedromfagina. identity card found on him at the time he was captured, he was born on 10 June 1943 at the Evangelical Mission at Luonze, a village near Luso. On the cover of his Algerian textbooks his rank was given as '3rd Class Of6cial; Status: batchelor'. Prior to his departure for training in Zambia, he had worked brie8y in the diamond-mines in the north. Young Pedromfagiru's military career among the insurgents had been chequered. After elementary training in Zambia and Tanzania, he had been chosen to spend thirteen months studying advanced guerrilla warfare tuition in Algeria. The 6rst nine months of instruction had been at Tclemen. The last four months were spent with the 7th A&ican Company (ComyanhiaMilitar), Radio Transmission Unit P'l9, Algeria. These were the details written on documents taken &om the man. While in Algeria, the trainee's course had been comprehensive and thorough. His training oKcers had, come &om Algeria, Cuba, China, East Germany and even included a few communist veterans of the French Resistance movement. He had studied military and civil organization; military theory; radio communication; industrial and military sabotage; ambush work; compass and ~ graphical training, trip-wires and booby traps; demolition, explosives, mines and grenadm. Part of each day was devoted to languages and political education, which included a solid. grounding in communism. 'Almost better training than some conventional armies receive', the major commented. The indications were

According

131

certainly there as I leafed through the volumes of handbooks and notebooks taken &om PedromIagina. He had spent four months 6gh~ t h ePortuguese in the east before he was captured.

One aspect of the schooling became obvious while paging through Pedrom's handbooks. In the beginning his handwriting had been little more than a puerile scrawl. %'hen the course was 6nished more than a year later, he could write with de6nite polish. Many of the notes towards the end of the course were written in French, although Pedromfagina had started writing in Portuguese. His tutors had obviously been Frenchwpeaking. Among the handbooks I found a newspaper cutting from an Algerian paper. It told the story of the former Congolese premier Noise Tshombe, who had

probably been languishing in an Algerian jail while Pedromhgina was undergoing training. For a moment I could only speculate what motivating factor had prompted him to keep the cutting. In independent A&ica Tshombe was still the ogre of a decadent colonialist era. Also displayed for inspection were the handbooks of another terrorist, David Batista, who had originally come &om the area around Sa da Bandeira, 6trther south. Batista had escaped during the raid. He was still at large with his band.

Only his books had been taken. On this particular attack near t.unhameze, the major said, the Portuguese had captured 6fty-6ve Chinese grenades and a number of guns. Three terrorists had been killed and two captured for the loss of one Portuguese soldier. Batista's note pads disclosed that he was a mine and demolition expert. Various communist and western mines were displayed in cross-section in his notes, and there were detailed instructions for making mines &om shells and grenades. In another section Batista showed diagramatically how to destroy a railway line. Graphs pin-pointed the quantity of explosives for the various thickness and types

of rail. There were separate graphs for T.N.T., gelignite and plastic bombs. 'The strange thing about this war is that the majority of these insurgents never really lose their true Portuguese identity', Major Simoes said. 'These young men go away, mix for years with people in other countries, speak a variety of tongues, but always retain their Lusitauian character. 'They despise the present Portuguese government, but they admire the history and traditions of Portugal, as weR as its culture and writings. %Then they are among themselves they still speak Portuguese. %%en they can get them, they read Portuguese newspapers.' They were like South A&ican exiles in Europe, he said. They were away &om 'home' in body — but not in spirit. Some would probably never return while the present government remained in power, but they hankered a&er anything &om

the old country. Many would crowd embassy bookshops when the mail arrived each week. Some still avidly followed the social columns. 132

To iHustrate his contention the major told me of an incident which had taken place shortly after the 6rst attacks in the east. The World Cup finals were being played at Wembley. He was a lieutenant then, in charge of a platoon in the Gago Coutinho area. 'Me had been on patrol about three days when I spotted smoke curhng out of the bush ahead, of us one evening. We knew there were no villages in the area so we proceeded cautiously. An hour later we could make outa smaH kimbo+ along-

side one of the dry river-beds. 'But there was something different about this one. There were no guards, although we could hear quire a great deal of noise. We were still about 50 yards away when we saw that about a dozen men were gathered around a radio set. Their guns were near by. AH of them, with animated expressions on their faces, w ere listening to a furious commentary on the match between Po~ a l a n d

England. They were gathered around the radio like a crowd of schoolbo)v. We could hear the commentary distinctly from where we were crouched. 'Each time the Portuguese team was on the attack the terrorists would roar with approval. These men were supposed to be at war with PortugaL Their lives were at stake and yet they were completely caught up in a f ootball match. Eusebio's name was like magic. Every time he was mentioned they cheered. 'It would have been easy to kill the lot from where we were, but how do you kill someone who even for a few minutes shares the same emotions as you. Among my own men I could see some straining to hear the outcome of the game. AH these men, black and white, had probably followed the fortunes of Portuguese football teams since they were old enough to understand the game. 'Vfe took them aH eventuaHy. They came quietly. There was little else they could do with two machine-guns covering them.' But even afterwards, the major said, when his men spoke to their prisoners

their relations were a little diferent; a little more amicable. 'A number of those men who were captured are today 6ghting in the Portuguese army in the north. One or two of the others I stiH see around town.'

%%le we were at Luso we visited one of the commando units camped near the town. Generally speaking, Portuguese army co~ dos a r e the 6ghting equivalent of the Foreign Legion in Prana:. Their numbets are composed of men who are chosen for their initiative, competency, above-average intdligence and ability to M. AH are volunteers and aH undergo one of the most rigorous training courses of any army in the world. Once in the 6dd, the o6cers and men have an Batsof their own. They are a dass apart from the average portuguese soldier, who regards the commando * gmmbo or Kimbo-native village in eastern Ausola.

133

with a certain awe. Their exploits against the terrorists in Angola, Mozambique

and Guinea have won them plaudits and admiration beyond the borders of Portugal and the provinces. When the terrorist headquarters know a commando unit has been dra&ed into an area, they usually withdraw their men until these

killers have le&. In charge of the group at Luso was a tough and rugged-looking 24-year-old, Lieutenant Manuel Ferreira da Silva. Always with a smile on his dark face, the lieu~ t wa s a professional soldier who had spent his past seven years in the army.

Of this period he had been an ofhcer for four years. He had spent three years before he received his commission in a military academy in PortugaL 'We commandos have to sign on for life before we are accepted in this lot', he told me. 'There is no set period of service. Once in the commandos there is only one way out — on a stretcher.' He was still smiling.

There were 125 men in his unit. He had 5 other executive officers, a medical ofhcer and 22 sergeants to help hun. As long as they were not actively in pursuit of the enemy, there were no restrictions on the movements of his meu. They had a few chores in the cunp, but were otherwise &ee to come and go as they pleased. It was another matter altogether when there was work. Discipline was then of the highest order.

The camp lay about 15 kilometres &om Luso. The men lived in tents in the open bush. The unit could be shi&ed in 20 minutes in an emergency — tents and all. The men slept on inHated mattresses which are used as rafts during water-borne attacks and to cross rivers when necessary. 'We had a session of river crossing last Sunday not far &om here', Lieutenant

da Silva said with the authority one 6nds among many professional soldiers. 'The boys made contact with a party of terrorists near the Lunguk River

south of here. We spotted them across the river. I sent a dozen of the fellows across in ra&s. Of the group of about eight, we killed one and took two prisoner. The rest escaped. into the papyrus.' The lieutenant said the unit had been active in the east for four months. He

had not yet had a casualty, he claimed, although they had been in action most of this time. I was later to hear details of the commando training programme. The main camp for the Portuguese army is situated. outside Luanda, and men for Lisbon's three theatres of war in A&ica are trained there. The course lasts 15 weeks. During this period the future commandos are

subjected to an intense physical and psychological progratnme that spans aQ 24 hours of the day. Commando instructors theorize that the action of war, as such, could and does happen at any time. It is not restricted to daylight hours, or to any particular time of the day or night. The men are consequently subjected to fatigues that sometimes start at 2 a.m. and carry on for two or three consecutive days without sleep.

134

'Em Defesa de Angola' (The Defence of Angola), theme of an exhibition of military pictures in Luanda during our visit. Even with this kind of propaganda many Portuguose have not yet realized the significance of the war effort in the jungles and desert of the country. A war veteran In the uniform of a civil guard on parade in Lunnda. Tho Portu-

guese army as an efficient fighting iinit has coine a long way since 1961,

General Joao Almeida Viana, Chief of the Portuguese Armed Forces in Angola, speaks to the nation.

Portuguese soldiers on parade in Luanda. The face of Lisbon's armed forces is a tough one after almost a decade of fighting in Angola, Portuguese Guinea and Mozambique.

The languid Luanda waterfront. In spit I 6 0 f the war in the interior, Luanda remains one of tho beautiful cities of Africa.

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Luanda night-life — a splattering cacophony of colour, movement and noisr. along tho city's elegant sidewalks. These are open air cafes seen from the top ol a buildirrg. The war rerrrairrs remote in the rrrirrds o( rrrusl in Ure capilcd, Marry iucrrls rrccept the terrorist threat philosoplrically.

While under training there are no weekends. A&er one or two weeks the men

may be given a day oH; but even then they are not actually told they have a day oH.' They simply do nothing, awaiting the next order. During this period of conditioning, the men have no set progr:unme. They never know what will happen to them next — or where or when it will happen. They may be required to spend a week in the jungle on their own, or swim four or 6ve miles across one of the lagoons along the coast. They are taught the 6ner points of unarmed combat. They must be able to kill efhciently and silently with a knife. If, during a course, a man wavers, even momentarily, he is taken off the programme. There are many other volunteers among the ranks in the Portuguese army anxious to join theelite corps. An important aspect of the course is psychological indoctrination. Microphones throughout the camp beam out slogans and. doctrines at irregular intervals during the day and night. The messages make the men aware of their physical capabilities, the task before them, the enemy, the threat that faces the motherland and, as one commando instructor succinctly put it, 'their duty to Christ and country'. Commando instructors take pains to keep abreast with the latest in tactics and methods employed by the enemy. OHicers who return to Luanda &om the various 6onts on leave or duty are usually debriefed at the commando camp. Instructors also regularly go into battle with commando units in order to study conditions at6rst hand. The trahmq, programmes that follow are reorientated according to what they learn &om these on-the-spot sessions in the bush or jungle. There are no problems while a commando re~ in th e a r my. Those few

who have been discharged into civilian life are the dificult ones, a staH'ofhcer in Luanda told me. 'They do not assimilate easily into civilian society again. We have made killers out of them. Few lose that killer instinct — even after years away from the war.' He maintained it was an international problem and one to which even the Americans were still looking for an answer.

On the dusty landing strip at N' Riquinha in the south-east corner of Angola stands a signboard that points to the north. It reads simply, 'Lisbon 13,999 km.' At N'Riquinlm even Luanda seems remote. %'e had travelled eastwards through the town of Henrique de Carvalho near the Congo border and Luso further south, and covered more than 2,000 kilometres to get there. N'Riquinha, as the crow Ries, is actually closer to Mozambique on the east coast of Africa than the Angolan capital. As a tiny trading post established by the colonial authorities in the last century, N'Riquinha is now a vital link in the chain of Portuguese command in Angola. It is comxnanded by a young army professional, Captain Vitor Manuel Rodrigues Alves, who bears a striking resemblance to the South A&ican cardiac pioneer Professor Chris Barnard. 'Most people who come to the camp for the

mili tary

6rst time think I am his twin', the captain laughed. He was a happy, friendly individual. The area under his command is the south-eastern corner of the country, an area of more than 30,000 square kilometres, or roughly the size of Switzerland. It is bounded on the east by Zambia and by the Caprivi strip and Okavango River in the south. It is his duty to garrison certain vijlages in his area; maintain them with supplies by road, rotate relief forces at regular intervals; keep inQtratoxs who come across the &ontier in cheek; act as guardian and protector to the African refugees who return to Angola and, on average, 6ght about one action a week against terrorist units in his area. Captain Alves has a company of 165 men and 5 oHicers to help him. 'It's stretching things a littl e fme. It's not always easy, but we manage somehow', the captain declared with a disarming pleasantness. Behind the mask of charm and congeniality, Vitor Alves was a man of cold logic and military eBiciency. His bearing was that of the military man, but not ostentatiously so. Among his men he assumed an easy atmosphere of informality, but one could still sense authority. He would ask one of his men to do something rather than order him. He would

138

put his arm on the shoulders of one of the young lieutenants as they spoke about a patrol which had just returned &om the bush, or discussed the best tactics to rout a new group of terrorists which had entered his area. When he gave an order he expected it to be carried out and promptly. He was ruthless with those who

took advantage of his easy-going aHability. He had. trained, the men in his company in Portugal. They had all come out to

A&ica together four months previously. They knew their Cayitao and had a healthy respect for him which was entirely reciprocated. They had &equently been in action during the four months. In this time, Captain Alves had lost one man and had three injured — one of them seriously. The unit's tally of terrorists killed, wounded and captured was impressive; it numbered, well into three 6gures. Vitor told me: 'These are my sons — to each I must be a father, judge, disciplinarian and con6dant. I must take them all home with me at the end of the two years because I am responsible for them.' We sat on the porch watching the sun disappear over the arid scrubland. When there were problems, he wrote to their families, wives or sweethearts in Portugal. He was the oKcial and unofhcial go-between for the men. The captain had been in the army for 11 of his 33 years. Part of his A&ican military career had been served in Mozambique where he met and married a

young student &om Rhodesia. While he served his country in A&ica his wife looked a&er their children and studied at Lisbon University. Captain Alves, a metropolitan by birth and bearing, spoke four languages Huently — English, Portuguese, French and German. But his roots in Africa went deep. He liked to think of himself as someone who had adopted the continent as his own — 'an adopted. son of Africa'. 'I have drunk of the waters of A&ica. It runs in my veins. I do not think I could live anywhere else for very long', he

would say. He believed all men, black and white, are equal. He said so. He had never been able to understand the reasoning behind apartheid, but he was too discreet to be blatantly critical. Like the commandos, Captain Alves was a breed of man apart, but he was no killer. At N'Riquinha part of Vitor's time was spent on the mammoth task of rehabih tating civilian refugees who crossed the border. The Rom of newcomers averaged about twenty a day and was growing steadily. Most had arrived at Portuguese camps in the bush and asked to be allowed to live at the 'Big Town', as N'Riquinha was already known among the natives. The post had a population of nearly 1,000. It was the largest concentration of people for 300 miles. Refugees arrived at the camp with nothing — no clothes, no blankets, not even cooking utensils. Many wore only loin-cloths. Without blankets, the bitterly cold winter nights cut through them. All had to be fed and the sick separated *-

&om the healthy. Each family was allotted a smdl stretch of land alongside the main camp where

139

they could build a hut. 'When you see those poor emaciated people rolling up here, people who have lived in terror for two years and probably not known whether they would ever see another sunrise, then only do you realize the cost of this war in human terms', Vitor said as he pointed at a truckload of people who arrived shortly after we

landed. 'We oHer them what we have. We feed them aud clothe them. I have some clothes and blankets — all new, good stuE captured &om the terrorists. At the presentratewe shall soon have enough for everyone. Only yesterday I found a cache of blankets, boots and shirts near a terrorist hau t s o uth of here.' The group which had arrived was pathetic. They were primitive people, some very old, others very young, clutching wide-eyed at their mothers' breasts. All the children in the group were suffering &om malnutrition. They were Camaxis, river people who lived on the Zambian border. Here and there new arrivals would spot an old friend among those already settled and exchange a greeting in the traditional way. For a minute or so they

would clap, and then shake hands six or eight times. The process would be repeated three or four times in suction, after which everyone would squat down on their haunches and swop news. Later that morning the elders of the new group called at the mess to express

their ~ . On e of the men was so old, and thin he had to be supported by a young man. Tears rolled unashamedly down their faces. They had come home, they said, home to their Angola. Vitor said a little later: 'They have found a little niche in the sun here — it's all

they want.Now they vrill build a hut. %%en that is ~e d I shall give them some land where they can grow a crop. Within a month every one of them will have put on ten pounds in ~eight.' He was visibly shaken. The camp at N'Riquinha grew its own vegetables. The captain was also building

up a sizable herd of cattle, pigs and goats which helped to supplement the community's diet, cut oR as they were from the rest of the country. Supply columns often only reached them once a month. It was the medical side which worried the captain most. Many of the new arrivals required some form of treatment. All suHered &om malaria or tick fever. A number of the children had been af8icted by a severe skin disease that attacked the area around the groin and buttocks and made even walking pain6d. It was exceptionally contagious, but the clinic had experimented and developed a lotion that seemed to help. In charge of the N'Riquinha clinic was Dr. Manuel Carlos Guerra. He had already spent two years in A&ica on conscription &om a lucrative practice in Oporto. He had volunteered to stay on and help where help was needed, and had been posted to N'Riquinha, as 'punishment', &om another camp near Luanda.

'They would not provide me with the research facilities I required so I kicked up 140

hdl', the doctor explained casually. He had three major maladies to cope with at the camp. All affected children severely — trachoma and skin and bone diseases caused by acute lack of vitamins over an extended period. Kwashiorkor was also a big problem among the newcomers, but was relatively easy to treat, he said. In the four months he had been at N'Riquinha he had saved the sight of 6ve children su8ering from advanced trachoma, He was treating dozens of others in the caxnp for this ailment, rife throughout black A&ica. The captain said that Dr. Guerra had only recently returned to N'Riquinha after two weeks in hospitaL A parasite had lodged in the doctor's genitals. Deciding that he could not aHord the time to be treated in t.uanda, he operated on himself, but passed out unconscious half-way through surgery. He had to be evacuated

by plane the next day. 'But it's 6ne now — no aher effects', he smiled broadly through the gauzed windows of his clinic as he attended sick parade. About 150 people waited patiently in the hot sun in front of the squat little bush hospital while the young doctor fussed about his patients. Captain Alves disclosed that the doctor had done a considerable amount of research on tropical diseases since he had arrived at the camp. He often worked through the night. The area contained a wealth of possibilities for research work. He was certain South African doctors could learn a lot in the area, which would be of bene6t to the entire subcontinent. N'Riquinha also had its own school. As in other sectors the N.C.O.s taught the re6tgee children the three R's. All schooling was in Portuguese, and although many of the children had never heard the language before they arrived at the centre, they were already speaking it among themselves as they played between the barracks. %later is a big problem in this arid land A large detachment of men spent most

morning

of the day at the hand-pump in order to provide enough water for the garrison and. ci~ . C a ptain Alves said that a new electricump p would soon be installed, and this would provide enough water for irrigation. He then intended teaching

the villagers how to grow cash crops for pro6t. 'It helps them and it helps me if they make money. They can't live on charity for ever', he maintained. Vitor reckoned that if he could make the area economically viable

(and he

thought he could do so in a year), it would also be a defence against insurgents. These people would then be anxious to protect their livelihoods against terrorism. Soon he hoped to be able to grant a concession to one of the villagers to start

a store, as a few of the villagers already owned small herds of cattle. Somewere collecting skins to barter. He was con6dent the economic potential was there. The garrison at N'Riquinha has a routine a5 its own. Apart 6om the water fatigue, there were few duties in the camp. Some of the younger A&icans were

141

being taught cooking and carpentry aud to assist as medical orderlies. One bright young fellow &oxn Barotselaud had asked the commandant to be taught hairdressing. He was now being trained as a barber's assistant. Three others were learning elementary mechanics in the motor pool.

Mondaywasthe 'big' day at the camp — theplane arrived &om t.uso with the mail and supplies. It was a day for taking things easy. The ofEcers carried the tradition a stage further by we~ civ i lian clothes on Mondays. 'It is their Sunday', Vitor commented. 'It's the day when one soldier &om each platoon has dinner with us and it's our way of keeping in touch with the men.'

An interesting group of people at N'Riquinha were the Bushmen. These tiny people, who have lived for thousands of years in the ~ahari Dcsert further south, are today found, in many parts of southern Angola. The Bushxnan community at the camp numbered about twenty.

'They have su8ered badly at the hands of the terrorists. They refuse to play ball with the insurgents and are often hunted like wild animals. I hire them as trackers and hunters', Vitor said. Although these remnants of a Stone Age culture have assimilated many Western custoxns — they love liquor and tobacco — they have lost none of their age-old talent for tracking in the bush. In the sandy wastes they are able to pick up trails

that are ofien a week old. They can tell how old a track is, how many people have used it and in which direction the original party was going. Vitor said they could also smell the presence of humans, and, tell you whether theywere black or white — all at a distance of about a quarter mile, or further, with the wind in the right direction. 'On more than one occasion Bushmen have Rushed a group of terrorists out of a thicket for us',AlfaresManuel 'Zapata' Martins admitted. Zapata, who was

22, was another professional soldier who had been in the army four yeaxs. He was of Jewish extraction — his parents had come &om Spain during the civil war.

He bad two Bushmen in his group and they always marched alongside him on patroL At Serpa Pinto, further west, I was later to meet the famed Bushman antiterrorist leader 'Satan', who had, killed more terrorists than any other black man in Angola. 'Satan' was a deadly shot with his favourite gun, an old German Mauser.

Reputedly, he could pick oH' the enemy at 500 yards, killing them in the head every mme. The grey~ed old man was agile for his 65 years. He earned his

surpriin sgly

naxne as a result of the ritual to which he subjected all his victims. As soon as he had killed a man, he would slit his chest open lengthwise and cut out the heart.

Only then would he be satis6ed the man was dead. 142

'Satan' smiled approvingly as his story vm told with the help of an interpreter — another Bus~. There were not many Portuguese who had been able to master the 'click' language of these ancient people, even though Portuguese are

usually fairly adept at picking up native dialecu. The Bushmen at N'Riquinha all wore the uniform of the Portuguese army. They wore their boots with pride, though it cut their walking pace noticeably and at times looked decidedly uncomfortable. They stood smartly to attention as the Portuguese Hag was ceremoniously hauled down at sunset. This mark of

respect was also observed by the villagers near by as the buglers played the Portuguese 'retreat'. Those who could, stood facing the parade area. It was a cant tribute &om a people who had probably scen their 6rst Hag on the

day they arrived. at N'Riquinha. Captain Alves explained that the war in his area was cBferent in a number of ways &om campaigns being fought near l.uso. It was more drawn out, he said. The enemy were not seeking Portuguese units; they were more intent on in61trating through his sector (Sector CC) to the west. 'They come through here from staging areas in Zambia. Most times they are well armed and carry heavy loads of supplies for the terrorist command operating

in the interior. The position is almost similar to Sector D in the north — this is the hinterland 6ey have to cross to get there and our job is to stop them', Zapata

added. When contact is made with a group of insurgents, he said, it was simply a matter of trailing them through the bush and trying to force them to make a stand. Oken, if the terrain allowed it, the Portuguese would move ahead and try to set up an ambush.

'The ideal in this kind of warfare, which I suppose is similar in some ways to the Israeli-Arab war, is to draw the enemy to a pbce where you can attack him',

Vitordedared.He had tried a nmnber of ruses in the four months he had been there and had been fairly successful. In his 6rst month at N'Riquinha he had trailed a group for go days and was eventually responsible for the death and. capture of an entire MPI.A unit. '~ t w a s my 4) days in the desert. It was a gruelling, disheartening experience but it was stamina and perseverance that paid dividends in the end. We killed

31 and captured 12.' It was on this operation that Captain Alves had lost a man. A sergeant had also

been badly wounded in the leg and stomach. The captain maintained that black soldiers in the Portuguese army were capable of surviving far more serious wounds than most Europeans. In a training exercise in the Dembos, shortly before his unit had been posted to N'Riquinha, one of the A&ican corporals had been wounded by a terrorist.

He had been shot by an elephant gun and the blast had blown half his chest awa,y.

'His entire rib casing had been cleaved open. It was a shocking mess. The medical orderly was iH while treating him. When we got the man back to base the priest gave him the Last Sacraments before he was evacuated by helicopter to Luauda. But he survived and will be rejoining the unit within a month or two. He is on sick leave at present, Vitor told me. The captain stressed that this natural resilience was one of the reasons why the terrorists had been so successful. 'They might not have the initiative to hold on during a chase, but they have far better chances oE surviving wounds than our own men — even though their medical methods are often the crudest imagina,ble.' In many areas insurgent wounds are still treated by placing cattle dung over the area. The biggest killer among the enemy, he said, was tetanus.

erased

Captain Alves had returned &om a long chase through south '

A n g ola a

Eew days before we arrived at N'Riquinha. He had helped Zapata follow a band

of terrorists for 250 kilometres along the Zambian &ontier. The young alfures had managed to relieve the terrorists of their civiliau charges and had returned to base with the villagers. Captain Alves continued the chase. 'We were out for three weeks a&er Zapata had left. The insurgents would try

the occasional half-hearted ambush and then rush oR again. They would never allow us near enough to close the action. 'So I tried, a trick thathad worked, with me only once before. I had 80 men with

me. When we reached a large abandonedkimonoon the Luiana River I split my group into two. I picked 18 of my best men and sent the rest back to camp. I

made it look as if we had abandoned the chase and, gone home. 'We spent the night in the deserted village. I kept halE the men on guard while the other half slept. It was an eerie experience alongside the river, with hippos grunting and foraging in the tall reeds throughout the night. Every time the

hippos moved, the guards jumped Everyone was at a pitch of excitement.' It was another day and a half before the enemy showed up, Captain Alves said He was prepared to wait three days and the terrorist group appeared o6'the camp on the third evening. 'It was worse there than any other place I haveever waitedinambush. Iknew the terrorists were somewhere in the vicinity and consequently we could not speak or even smoke a cigareue. The atmosphere was really tense. A single spot of li @t in the dark would have revealed our position. 'Suddenly there were twelve terrorists approaching the village. There was a clearing about 200 yards across &om the Kimbo and they waited and watched for 20 minutes on the 6r side before they decided it looked safe enough to come closer. They stopped a second time about 100 yards &om our position. We were ready for them. 'I could see that all was not well during the second halt. They were in the middle

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