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We knew his name because we had a special monitoring station in South West that monitored all radio traffic throughout southern africa so we knew what they were up to all the time. We also had recce commondos watching all their key bases, so our intel was often very good and very timely.
As for a book, I dunno, I cannot remember a lot of stuff because it is repressed, or I was pissed, I was constantly pissed during our COIN ops, whcih is why the campers that drove the tanks gave me the nickname Gilbies. I used to carry two square bottles of Gilby’s Gin, half full of gin and topped up with tonic or bitter lemon, these took the place of the standard 2 litre water bottles and I would start drinking as soon as I woke up.
I started writing some stuff years back, but because I buned all my diaries in a drunken fit I cannot verify dates, times etc, so it would be a pointless excercise. There are also only a couple of army buddies I am still in touch with and they are scattered all over the globe. The rest have either topped themselves, punched their tickets in car accidents, been taken out in South Africas crime or seen their arses as PMC’s in various little wars around the world.
First off Doc, glad you got out of it you hairy haggis nosher.
A couple I could recount, but the mood would have to take me first.
Nearly got chomped by a lion and stomped by an elephant. Had 2 major car accidents (really major) and had a parachute retarded 500kg bomb hang up in the tree under which I had parked my Ratel and crew. Had a cunt called Havenga shoot my bushat off my head with a shotgun when he was “making it safe”. Couple of other army type wibbles I won’t get into here.
I was hunting lion on my buddy Rudi’s farm with Rudi and his Grandfather in South West Africa on the border with Botswana, the lions had been in amongst the cattle causing havoc, so when Rudi and I popped down on pass from the army his gran’paw asked us to give him a hand in rooting a few of them out. On one particular day we were following some lion spoor from a cow kill and were walking through thick shoulder-high grass. I heard a grunt and turned about, just in time to see this 78 year old man bring his rifle to his houlder and pop a lioness in the chops, she dropped less than 5 meters from us. If Rudi’s grandfather had not paused to rumage in his pipe and been turned towards the quarter she charged from, the lioness would have fucked us good and proper, she had looped back on her spoor and when we followed up the spoor she had been stalking us for the better part of 1 kilometer.
Yonks ago, when I was a youngster playing hide-an-seek with the gooks in a placed called Angolsh, we would not infrequently get revved by Cuban piloted Migs and Sukhois. The were crap shots and would bomb from high altitude because they were shit scared of our SAMs. They typically used to drop parachute retarded 500kg he jobs and we used to hunker down and watch them miss us by miles. However, one late afternoon this fucker callen Romano, who reckoned he was shit hot (he had his plane painted black) and always pushed home his attacks from much lower, decided to come and find us boers and give us a wakey. Anyhow, we used to monitor their frequencies and used to take cover and cammo up the vehicles when we heard them clearing for take-off at Menongue and on that day we did the same but the wank-sack must have spotted something and he unloaded a couple of his eggs right over us. The first went off with a bang that I felt more than heard, then no second bang. After they had buggered off we were dusting ourselves down when my gunner pointed up into the tree under which we had parked our Ratel. There was a great big fucking green painted cunt of a bomb stuck up there with the chute caught up in the canopy. I vomited as soon as I saw it. The fuckers are supposed to cook off just above the ground and project their nasty bits downwards, how the fuck that did not happen in this case I do not know, but believe me it was a hairy moment when we moved the Ratel out, hoping the fucker would not cook-off. That little business still wakes me up sometimes and I have to open a bottle of nerve tonic before I can get back to sleep.
On a happier note Romano saw his arse when he went back to Cuba, head got a bit to big so they trimmed it down.
8)
I have used the bog standard one for years Turks, use it to build my computers, skin animals, cut biltong, its fine
Will see what kind of deal we can cut, our renewal is due end of Feb, so we will speak sometime then
Guys, ALL of your comments have been appreciated, they are valid and sound.
You must understand that it took quite a bit of angst before I even mention mentioned the situation.
And you must also be aware that this has nothing to do with lust. I have had many fit birds (not just in my imagination) come onto me, as I am sure we all have. But they were all a nice arse with tis and legs. This is very different. We match up in so many ways its crazy, and I do not lust after her, rather I enjoy and cherish the time I spend with her.
I am also aware that you live once and should live it to the maximum.
However, I am letting things be for now, because it would be morally reprehensible
Thanks chaps, your views are very much mine to be honest, but when the nads speak, they speak loud!
After consumption of a great deal of booze I have decided to let things be and get on with life.
But the advice is muh appreciated, even though I am sure I will spend the rest of my life wishing I had at least rodgered the wench.
