P.P.K.Walther [P.P.K.Walther] - Rhodesia’s Hangover

Rhodesia's
Hangover

An African dilemma

P.P.K.Walther

AuthorHouse

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2011 by P.P.K.Walther. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 07/28/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4567-8485-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4567-8524-6 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

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Contents

An unwilling migr

Part of the BSAP

First assignment with the R.A.R.

Training to be not really a soldier.

Life in the Intelligence dog-box

Pas op vir die hond!!

Intelligence fast tracking (Bloedhond)

Home leave for Christmas.

Into the secret world

War comes to the civilians.

Rhodesia takes the path to economic war.

Welcome in Pretoria?

Rhodesias undeclared Economic War on Front-Line states.

Multiferious-plots come to fruition

The price of fame?

Flat out assault.

Student Daze,

Independence (finally)

Week-ends worth working for!

Long term comfort without commitment

Final year; Final tears

Two masters to please.

New experiences

Life changes

After a good nights sleep, a time of changes!

Re-unions with Rhodies

Moving times

Mugabe interferes in Craigs settled life once more!

Like an Elephant, Mugabe NEVER forgets!

Chidudu

Cruising around.

All events described in this book, except for those on public record, are fictional and are not real descriptions of real people, living or dead. Historical events are reported from the authors point of view only.

Dr. Robert Fenn wishes to assert his rights as author.

Acknowledgements

The Author would like to thank all the people who have input, in some form or other, to the story in this book. Especial thanks must go to two ex Rhodesian Special Forces soldiers (Dave and Chris., one a Selous Scout and the other one Rhodesian S.A.S. squadron) who gave freely of their memories and stories. Neither wish to be named as they still fear that their war service may compromise their civilian lives (even in South Africa Chidudu exerts a real influence !). One ex South African Reccie (Craig, NOT the Craig in this story!) has become a good friend and a great fount of technical information.

Many books on the Chimerunga were read, some of those tales have been re-cycled, re-dressed and re-told.

I also owe a debt of gratitude to USS who provide support.

P.P.K.W.

We can shrink from change, yet is there anything that can come into being without it? What does Nature hold dearer, or more proper to herself? .... Do you not see, then, that change in yourself is of the same order, and no less necessary to Nature?

Meditations of Marcus Aurelius, Roman Emperor & Philosopher A.D.

Prelude

By the end of each day he was exhausted, physically and mentally. Just why does everybody have to be so bleddy dumb? he thought; why couldnt they solve the problems for themselves instead of loading him with all the day-to-day crap minor problems. He paid em to solve problems themselves, not run to him all the time!

He reached into the bottom desk drawer and lifted out the bottle of Oude Meester and his well used glass. Looking at the glass, he saw that he could hardly see through it, What the hell? he thought loudly to himself the brandyll sterilise the glass, so Ill have no bother! He poured himself a generous dop and simultaneously thought Whoa down there boy, youve got to drive home tonight. He knew somewhere deep in the back of his mind that he was abusing, not using, the alcohol, but it sometimes helped him sleep at night and fight off the mental demons of his time in the Rhodesian bush.

Stuff it, he said loudly to his empty office, this kakll still be waiting here for me tomorrow morning and maybe I can get a run at it and finish it first thing. With that he stood up and walked to the office door. Before he left, he looked around and still felt that small tingle of pride when he realised that all this it was all his, this second office including the problems, built by his own efforts, so worth working to keep going despite the problems.

By the time he was at his car, his thoughts were again with his family. Suzy, he knew, was loosing patience with his recent behaviour, but he was trying the best he could. He was not getting enough sleep, not nearly enough, the memory flashbacks saw to that. He wasnt relaxing nearly enough, so tightly wound that all the time the smallest thing caused him to be angry to her. It wasnt her fault, none of it was her fault, but how could he tell her that he could help himself?

Driving home to Durbanville through the streets of Brakenfells, he was aware of how the area, though wealthy, was getting that less cared for, disreputable air. There, just across the street, was old Monday with his supermarket trolley, busy picking through bins searching for something only he saw as valuable. Monday had appeared a few weeks earlier pushing the trolley, his only worldly possession, a refugee from Zims implosion. Monday, he knew, spoke Shona first and poor English second, but what else could you expect of a rural Zimbabwe villager? Monday was proud and didnt like it acknowledged that he rummaged through bins to survive, so he didnt flash his head-lights to acknowledge him.

Turning into the drive of his house, he could see house lights and knew Suzy would be waiting inside for him. Slowly the drive gate opened, silently as far as he could hear, but he added the job of greasing the gate track to his week-end jobs. Once fully onto his drive, he thumbed the electronic garage door opener and waited for the door to open fully. Each evening, he followed the same routine, drive gate first, then garage door, then close drive gates, believing that that system gave no chance for any skellum to infiltrate his private space. He did this religiously, driven by his increasing paranoia, fear which he hardly noticed.

Once the door was three quarters open and high enough to admit the car he started forward, his mind already at home, so he didnt notice the movement in the shadows at the corner of the drive. It was only as he opened the car door and was dragged out of the driving seat ands thrown roughly to the concrete floor that he began to realise that his life had taken a considerable turn for the worse. He was wedged tightly between the car and wall, lying almost face down with his right arm trapped under him. When he turned his head to see what was happening, he saw, at uncomfortably close quarters, was the business end of an AK 47. He froze. At least two muggers were there, they shouted to each other and in all the confusion, he caught the word maningi (white man) in Shona, the language of Mashona land and he was straight back to his Rhodesian army days.

They were excited and high on adrenaline and dagga, loud and victorious. That proved to be their down fall. Suzy had seen his car lights sweep onto their drive and was waiting for him to walk into the house through the garage door. When she heard the shouting coming from the garage her first reaction was to hit the panic button and set off the external siren.