Free The Soldier who Said No by Chris Marnewick Page B

in half an hour or so. You look a lot better today, not so pale any more. We’ll have you up and walking around in a day or so. Merry Christmas!’
    Before Sister Appollus left him in the care of the nurse, she wiped his forehead and whispered, ‘Druk nettie knoppie assie dieners jou wee’ pla . ’ Just press the button if the cops bother you again.

Southern Angola
May 1985
8
    In the hour before first light, the clouds had passed. After a glance at the stars, Pierre de Villiers set off in a southerly direction. He formulated a plan as he jogged, putting more ground between him and his pursuers. He knew they would come for him. He would need rocky terrain or a stream with running water to perfect his scheme, but in an area something between savannah and bushveld, he might have to travel some distance before he would find any koppies. He knew he could not return to the river, not immediately anyway. Soon his breathing took on a rhythm matching his stride, two strides in, three strides out, two strides in, three strides out.
    While he had expected some disciplinary action when he returned to base, De Villiers was unable to make sense of the events on the bank of the Cuito River.
    They had reached the river bank within minutes. Their kayak was where they had left it, tied to the roots of a tree under its overhanging branches. Verster called Pretoria on the radio. This time there was no acknowledgement of the signal. He tried again. No response.
    They heard the helicopter first and readied themselves for evacuation, but it flew straight up the river towards Vila Nova Armada. Its underbelly had given the game away. It was a Russian gunship, an MI 25, known as a Hind according to its NATO codename, with rockets and heavy machine guns hanging below its fuselage, used for ground support. The Hind had been followed minutes later by two light SADF choppers. The Alouettes were French-built attack gunships and were not designed for evacuating troops.
    Verster and De Villiers kept their heads down and waited in an uneasy silence. By early evening they had been ready to return to their kayak to start making their way down-river when De Villiers heard the distinctive whirr of a Puma helicopter. It was the agreed evacuation chopper, he assumed, and when it landed near the designated rendezvous, he felt sure enough to initiate radio contact.
    The Puma landed on the river bank. They waited for a call on the radio, but there was none. The Puma remained ready for a fast takeoff, the blades whirring at speed but at flat pitch. A radio cackled in the background and Afrikaans voices filtered down to Verster and De Villiers.
    ‘Let’s show ourselves,’ Verster suggested.
    ‘Better call them on the radio first.’
    Verster fiddled with the controls of his radio and found Channel 17. He spoke clearly but in hardly more than a whisper. ‘Lieutenant Verster and Captain de Villiers at the RV ready for evac, come in please.’
    There was a long silence before the radio operator answered. ‘Why are you whispering?’
    ‘We’re below your position. Hold your fire so we can come out.’
    A different voice took over. ‘We’re holding fire.’ The voice was different, authoritative, rasping, the voice of a heavy smoker.
    De Villiers and Verster could hear that the speaker was a few metres away, above their heads. They slowly stepped out from behind their cover and made their way up the bank, AK s held above their heads. Halfway up they were accosted by a soldier with an R 4. ‘I’ve got them, Captain,’ the troop shouted to someone behind him.
    ‘Bring them up. Tell them to put their hands up.’
    The captain was waiting for them at the top of the bank. He stopped them with a hand signal. They could see his outline against the sky, but none of his features. He stood with his legs apart and his arms folded across his chest.
    ‘They’re UNITA , keep your rifle on them!’ he shouted.
    They quickly surrendered their AK 47s.
    ‘Who are you and