Kildary: The Incredible Story of a Man of War

By P. Habakkuk

This is the incredible story of a little ship that would not quit – against all odds. Ordered by the us navy and built by the Pullman standard car corporation at Chicago, Illinois, in 1942 as an escourt/small frigate/submarine chaser and launched as uss pce 831. She was well armed, fast and with a total complement of 100. Under the lend/lease agreement she was transferred to the royal navy and renamed hms kildary. Handed back to the USN in 1947 she was later phased out and eventually purchased by the Portuguese, renamed Rio Vuga and converted to a reefer, operating as a mother and support ship to the fishing and tuna industry.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing Singapore
• Release date: Dec 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781543762389

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Copyright © 2021 by P. Habakkuk.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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CONTENTS

The Early Days

A Soldier’s Misery

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

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The Early Days

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The months before the Normandy invasion were hectic—to say the very least. Huge amounts of supplies were shipped across the Atlantic, materials and soldiers alike. By rights, it should have been a very rich harvesting ground for German submarines. But by then, the writing on the wall was very clear—the German Luftwaffe had no more business in the air, and the Allied submarine chasers with the by-now-very-sophisticated technology and the abundance of ships and aircraft denied the U-boats any success. There were, nevertheless, some sporadic attempts, which in most cases ended with fatal consequences for the daring raiders. Of all branches of the German armed forces, the submariners had by far the highest fatality rate—more than 90 percent!

The Germans had developed a new submarine—by far the very best in the world—and they called it the Elektroboot. Fortunately for the Allies, it was too little too late, as usual with all the advanced and superior developments. It was much larger than the other U-boats, was diesel electric with massive batteries banks, had an incredible twenty-six-knots underwater speed, and could remain submerged for very long periods; new materials gave it very advanced stealth properties and a much stronger hull. It also had a very advanced and new snorkel, exhaust, and periscope, a combination that enabled it to remain deeply submerged and thus running their diesels and charging their batteries. After the war, these submarines were taken over by virtually all Allies and remained in service for twenty years and more.

These ships were so impressive that the American president Harry S. Truman visited the U-2513 in November 1946, took a ride and a dive and a special demonstration of the all-new German Schnorchel, which had set entirely new standards internationally.

One of those boats torpedoed and sank a British cruiser at the Western Approaches—and escaped undetected. The four fired torpedoes, very new and effective, stirred a massive hornet’s nest. This attack was a trial run only, and the rest of those boats never became fully operational. But the effect of that one single and very successful attack had a devastating and in the real sense of the word electrifying effect. But like so many other disasters—especially the sinking of HMT Rohna in 1943 in the Mediterranean with the biggest loss of American lives at sea in a single incident—for negative publicity and bad propaganda, they were swept under the carpet in a great hurry.

There were some more U-boats in the vicinity although they were the older types. HMS Kildary had detected one, and for days, the cat-and-mouse game was on. She had a massive amount of water bombs, depth charges, and other ordnance available; and in conjunction with two Sunderland flying boats and two destroyers, they tried to locate and hunt them down. It was an extremely frustrating undertaking, but success was not on their side, and it was most certainly not for the lack of trying. They must have dropped hundreds of tons of high explosives, and no telltales nor telling oil slicks were available. Their Asdic and sonar were fully operational and functioning, but all to no avail despite that they had nearly constant echoes.

Unbeknown to them, the Germans had a new trick up their sleeves—and that was a new sonic torpedo, fired from the boat’s tube and remote-controlled, and fooling the ship’s detection devices completely. The boat would release the bug torpedo, which emitted a strong sound happily picked up by the surface ship’s Asdic and sonar, and while they were chasing the dummy, the boat itself would silently slink away or simply sink to its maximum depth and just sit there.

It is not known whether that dummy was eventually destroyed, but Kildary picked up an echo that seemed to be a submarine. But by then, she was totally out of ordnance and supplies in general, fuel running very low as well. The sub tried to escape in a southerly direction, and with Kildary’s only plentiful ammunition for her multipurpose 100 mm forward gun, she fired those shells with maximum barrel elevation in the general direction of the suspected position of the sub, hoping for a lucky hit. The crew was so determined to get her prey that they bundled six 100 mm shells together, fitted a time-delay detonator, and threw it over the side when they thought they were on top of their target.

This had nearly some fatal consequences—since they were circling the suspected position and trying to keep track of their baby, those massive explosions must have annoyed the sub. Suddenly, there was a scream from the youngster manning the twin 20 mm gun on port-side bridge wing, and frantically he pointed at a clearly visible, bubbly streak coming toward them. The watch officer responded instantly, threw both telegraphs full ahead, and shouted at the helmsman, Hard aport, hard aport! There was a split-second response from the engine room and the helmsman, and the gunner’s arm was still pointing out to sea like in a frozen way. The stern came around very fast, and yet it appeared to be agonizingly slow.

And then relief: the bubbly white streak missed them at port-side aft—but just.

The captain had rushed out into the port wing, and now a heartfelt sigh of relief could be heard all over the ship. He said with another heartfelt emotion, Those bloody Krauts nearly managed to get us, for the matter of a few inches, can you believe it!

He took off his cap and scratched his head, looked around at everybody. How come that we did not detect anything, no periscope, no disturbance of this very calm water? There is not a ripple at all, and with our running in circles, we were heading into totally undisturbed waters. With that, he turned around and looked at the sailor who actually saved them. Come over here, my boy, and talk to me. What is your name?

Frederic O’Connor, junior gunner, sir, he said, snapping smartly to attention.

Well done, the captain said. Well done, my boy, and how old are you and where you come from?

Seventeen years of age, sir, and coming from Belfast, sir. The watch officer called from inside the bridge. Asdic room, sir, contact again. As the captain rushed in, there was another message for him. Radio room, sir, urgent.

Kildary was going half speed due south since the Asdic room had reported their target moving fast 180 degrees. After some time, the captain appeared from the radio room, ordered full speed ahead, and course 360 degrees. His officers looked puzzled but did not ask questions. Quietly, he looked around, and then a boyish grin splashed across his face. And now you guys would want to know, hey?

Yes, sir, the reply came like one from all of them.

"OK then, no more sub chasing, would not be good for anything anyway. Want to throw some spanners at it or what? Return to port and base, to be advised which, replenish and then report for antiaircraft duty inside the channel, heading a convoy of six armed trawlers, exact position to be advised.

Radio room, on standby to send a coded signal to combined naval HQ. Operator, see me in the chart room to compile the signal. With that, he disappeared into the bridge.

After Kildary had replenished stores, ordnance, and fuel at the port of Bournemouth, she set sail into the English Channel to rendezvous with the armed trawlers. By then, the Normandy Invasion was well under way, and it seemed a futile undertaking to dispatch this fleet of little ships for AA duty off the French coast, especially in view of the fact that the German Luftwaffe had been wiped out and the Allied Air superiority was unchallenged. The sporadic appearance of a German plane was of no consequence, and in most cases, it was a suicide mission, especially over the Normandy coast where hundreds if not thousands of Allied aircraft were roaming around freely.

One event that shook the Allied air force HQs to the core took place a few days earlier. An all-new bomb developed recently in the UK similar to what was much later known as the cluster bomb was to be deployed at a specific target. A fleet of twenty-six Lancaster bombers was to nail and wipe out a concentrated assembly of German logistics poised to deliver a devastating blow to some of the invasion forces. When approaching target, six Messerschmitt 262 jet fighters appeared out of nowhere, each carrying twelve crude, but very effective rockets under each wing besides the four 30 mm guns in their nose cone. The surprise was complete, and before the Allied fighters could even react, the jets launched their missiles and with their far superior speed disappeared into the clouds—never to be seen again. All the missiles found their targets, and not one of the bombers escaped. The combined explosions were of epic dimensions, even destroyed twelve of the nearby flying fighters.

The impact was worse than the sinking of HMS Hood by the Bismarck—initially, nobody could believe it since not only the bomb but also the entire operation was top secret. How did the Germans know, and who and what enabled them to launch their assault with that Teutonic precision timing?

The strategic and military impact of the attack was negligible—the moral one was most certainly not. How the leakage occurred was never established—wild guesses and accusations there were plenty of, even mutual threats, but all that did not help anybody.

HMS Kildary, like everybody else, was blissfully and totally unaware of what had taken place, but she was in the front line and on the receiving end of unheard-of and devastating German efficiency.

HMS Lawford was a modern American-built captain-class frigate on the lend-lease scheme. She was sitting off the Normandy coast, assigned as a command and communication center. Kildary and her convoy had arrived and reported to Lawford for duty. The trawlers were circling around at some distance away, only Kildary floating near the bigger ship, occasionally engaging her propellers, moving up and down and around her charge.

The dawn of June 8, 1944, was a beautiful one, the normally unruly and misbehaved English Channel exceptionally calm and nice. Kildary had drifted with the current some distance away and was now with both engines slow ahead, coming close to Lawford again. As she drew abreast, the lookout in the port wing screamed, Incoming, incoming! and frantically pointed to the east. The duty officer shouted hard aport and threw both telegraphs to full ahead because he had identified some flying object coming their way. At the same time, he had hit the red button for the battle-station claxon, which was now screaming away. Despite the propellers still turning and engaged, the engines instantly responding and going full ahead, the rudders instantly going hard aport, they did not make it, at least not fully out of harm’s way. It was a guided missile Henschel Hs 293 launched from a Ju 88 German aircraft some sixteen nautical miles away—guided into its target by the bombardier operating a joystick. It was most unfortunate for Kildary that she just made it in time alongside Lawford to be hit as well. It was only a glancing blow on her lower aft deck where one of her 40 mm Bofors gun emplacement was situated—a glancing blow, but powerful enough to destroy the cannon, igniting the stacked ammunition, killing the entire gun crew in the resulting explosion. And then the missile hit Lawford, midships and just below the waterline, exploding and breaking her in half. Within a couple of minutes, she was gone, taking with her and killing thirty-seven crew. Despite her own damages and casualties, Kildary rescued some survivors, being closest to the scene of devastation and before the other ships arrived, but not before the attacking aircraft had come in very low and raking both ships with her twin 20 mm guns, causing some more losses. Then it turned sharply to the east and was gone.

A hospital ship was anchored nearby, so professional help arrived within a very short time and soon Kildary was limping back to England after she had been ordered to dock at the port of Plymouth. After all the formalities were over, she was moved to the repair yards, where she remained for quite some time.

And quite some formalities there were—endless briefings and debriefings—and then everybody was placed under the war secrecy act. The official version was that HMS Lawford was sank by a freak torpedo or mine. No mention about Kildary and its potential observations, if any—let alone the outrageous suggestion of a guided missile/flying bomb.

The captain of the Kildary was honored by the top brass of the navy for his brave conduct in pursuing the German submarine and subsequent detailed information and reports thereof. Unbeknown to him at that time, he had given a lead to an American task force, namely, the Hunter-Killer Group 22, a task force consisting of the aircraft carrier Guadalcanal and five destroyers that located the submarine. The inflicted damages were such that it had to surface, enabling the Americans to board and search her, resulting in the most remarkable discovery: the top secret and unbreakable code machine, the Enigma. The submarine U-505 was towed to the Bermudas with all available secrecy to prevent the Germans to realize that the boat was not lost at sea but captured intact by the enemy, thus enabling the Allies to have all the German communication.

There were a lot of mysterious occasions that normally would have been followed up and investigated in great detail, but the Normandy landings were in full swing. After all, because of the biggest amphibious operation in history, a lot of things were considered minor and downgraded on the scale of importance.

Again, twice Kildary had a close shave. Four Allied ships were sunk under mysterious circumstances—and it happened in the heavily defended and relatively shallow English Channel. And as it so happened, a Canadian frigate blew up very close to Kildary, and there was no doubt that it was a torpedo explosion. Despite that Kildary had had an improved Asdic and sonar installed during her refit and repair period, they did not get the slightest indication of an enemy submarine around. Under very similar circumstances, a British merchantman met his fate—a massive explosion ripped the eight-thousand-ton ship apart. And again, no indication of any enemy activity although a lookout on Kildary insisted that he spied a telltale torpedo trace very close to their ship. He was ridiculed, and the loss of the ship was attributed to a mine—most unlikely because of the heavy Allied protective umbrella.

Much later and beyond a doubt, it was established that the U-480 was the culprit. A class VIIC boat was able to sneak into the channel because of a new coating called Alberich named after a gnome from the old German mythology who was able to make himself invisible. She was never detected although Kildary must have gone past and over her repeatedly.

Her 4 mm rubberlike coating successfully prevented any detection. Only after the war it was found by the Allies in some top secret German shipyard.

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A Soldier’s Misery

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It was a mixed bunch of soldiers—Rhodesian Special Forces, Selous Scouts, South African Recces, units of SA Thirty-Second Battalion, and Unita.

For about four days, they had been trudging due southwest, setting course for the port of Lobito, where two ships were about to escape to South Africa.

They were thrown and forced together by accident, circumstance, and necessity, but mainly by the massive thrust south toward South-West Africa of the combined communist forces—Cuban, Angolan, Russian, and East German, a move that had surprised and cut them off.

Some frantic communication had directed them toward a meeting point.

All four units had operated behind enemy lines or rather inside hostile territory since in a bush war, no defined front lines exist. Prior to their assembly, they had no knowledge about the existence of the other units and had operated independently in different locations, and only after the catastrophic surprise attack and resulting sporadic battles and contacts they had met.

The largest contingent had been a combined force of SA Thirty-Second Battalion and Unita soldiers, the Angolan black rebels under Dr. Jonas Savimbi fighting the communist government. The combined special operations headquarters had directed them toward that assembly point, and once together, they became a deadly and powerful fighting force although the pursuing troops were far superior in numbers, most certainly no match for the experience and tactical skills of the Special Forces, resulting in continuous heavy losses. Twice they had ambushed FAPLA, first time wiping them out to a man, capturing some vehicles and substantial amounts of ordnance and supplies. The second ambush was not as successful because the long-drawn-out enemy force escaped; how many they could only guess.

They had made good headway, and two large fuel tankers were captured intact. They had pushed themselves in order to gain as much as possible distance, but now they had to fuel up, and the continuous fighting had taken its toll as well—everybody needed a break. After securing camp, they all hoped for a much-needed rest.

All captured vehicles had petrol engines, even that amphibious BTR-60, a Russian-made lightly armored, heavy and fast reconnaissance vehicle. Its main armament was a powerful 14.5 mm multipurpose machine cannon, the secondary a rapid-fire .308 machine gun. Its all-driven eight wheels enabled it to negotiate heavy and treacherous terrain, but its two ninety-horsepower petrol engines were very thirsty, like all the other trucks, of which they had two SIS 150 4x4 and two SIS 151 6x6. The three jeeps were also petrol driven, and they were lucky to capture the petrol tankers intact, both of them nearly full. They had fueled up all the vehicles to the brim and also the large number of jerry cans each vehicle carried individually in brackets provided for that purpose. They emptied one tanker and filled up the other.

The Rhodesians had two Bushmen, and so had the men of Thirty-Second Battalion. Their talents in tracking and bushcraft are the best in the world—beyond a doubt. And both parties had two donkeys; the bond between the Bushmen and the animals was astonishing. Well before sunrise, they broke camp and got ready for another fast escape tour toward the distant coast, which looked more and more like a mirage. One of the captured vehicles was that armored eight wheeler, which Mike, their elected leader, had dispatched for a recon trip ahead. Mike was a lieutenant with the Rhodesian SAS and a very respected and experienced soldier, and now he detected some nervous and jittery movements among the Bushmen. The next minute, all hell broke loose.

Because of their superior training, skills, and experience, not one of the soldiers needed specific orders or commands—they reacted instantly, their razor-sharp instincts honed by years of merciless and brutal bush warfare. Within a split second of the shout of alarm, they took up defensive cover and action—if it would not have been for the Bushmen’s last-second alert scream, the enemy’s surprise would have been complete. They would never have expected this nasty surprise since they had covered such big distance, and for the enemy to regroup after the hammering they took and pursue with such speed was hard to believe. The enemy was about to have completed the intended encirclement, and that would have been a murderous situation.

Even as it was, they suffered heavy casualties. The enemy fired an RPG-7 grenade into a group of Thirty-Second Battalion soldiers, killing them instantly. For a long time, the firefight raged on, and suddenly a deadly and dreaded sound approached rapidly—and that would have been the end of them and their fate sealed. That heavily armored machine with its 12.7 mm four-barrel Gatling gun and the 57 mm rockets could wipe out the entire force at its leisure and at its own time, and it would have done so if it would not have been for the Recce radio operator who had picked up some radio communication of an SA Impala ground-attack plane operating nearby. The pilot responded to the frantic call for help and requested the position and a smoke marker. It was nearly too late because the chopper just got into position, hovering nearby, and had commenced firing. The heavy slugs shredded the bush and trees, the noise absolutely deafening. Bravely, the Unita soldiers fired at the machine, blissfully unaware of the thick armor plating, thus attracting the deadly firepower of the Gatling gun. One of them fired an RPG at the chopper, missed, and was killed instantly. The Gatling gun fell silent; the pilot pulled up slightly, obviously looking for a better firing position. They could take their time, safe and secure in the knowledge that small-arms fire, even armor piercing, could not touch them.

Now a large red cloud billowed up, engulfing the helicopter, thus creating a clear target for the small but very effective and deadly subsonic jet fighter.

It came swooping in at treetop level; her two 30 mm under the fuselage and two 0.50 m machine guns, one under each wing, all opened up simultaneously, converting the heavy Russian-made Hind helicopter into a huge fireball. The shockwave of the explosion nearly hit the aircraft, which had to turn sharply to the right to avoid it.

The chopper pilots never saw the Impala. Therefore, there was no evasive action, and the enormous explosion ripped it apart, with the white-hot debris landing among the Cuban soldiers, killing and horribly wounding a large number of them. The Impala had turned around and strafed the fleeing and hiding enemy with cannon and machine-gun fire, dropping one large napalm bomb as well, which exploded with a huge fiery mushroom. There was a nerve-racking animal-like scream—even the battle-hardened soldiers looked at one another with horror.

Mike looked at his men and shook his head and mumbled, Poor bastards, must have been right in it. One of the Recces said, Well, serves them right—rather them than us. Mike looked at him. My boy, you are right of course, but you don’t have to be snooty about. Do you know what napalm can do to you?

The soldier looked at him and then replied, As a matter of fact I do, and those horrible screams still ring in my ears. With a serious expression on his face, he said then, Yes, sure thing, to shoot and kill those bastards is one thing—but to burn them alive is quite another.

The radioman interrupted, holding up the handset and handing it to Mike. Your pilot wants to talk to you again. He listened for some time then nodded his head and held up a greeting hand as the Impala screamed by low-level overhead. Roger all that and affirmative. Only because of you we kept not only our butts intact but also a number of jeeps, trucks, and equipment, which makes us quite mobile. We got our GPS, and don’t worry, we will pick up your boys in a hurry. Just keep us covered and abreast. Over and out.

There was a sea of curious faces around, but before anybody could ask anything, Mike waved at the eight wheeler, which had just returned from the recon trip. As they climbed out of their vehicle, they just stood there, not really with their jaws dropped, but totally astonished nevertheless. What the hell happened while we were away? Can’t we leave you alone for five minutes? They looked around, taking in all the smoking debris and dead bodies.

Mike briefed them in a hurry and then addressed them all, "Situation as follows: our pilot’s wingman, also an Impala but a two-seater, managed to nail a loitering and careless MiG-17. Because of the very low level, the pilot did not have a chance to get out in time. But must have managed to get a signal off, or for whatever reason, out of the blue, a MiG-21 came down and shot their arse end away—split second left to bail out with their aircraft out of control. Then the dirty bastard tried to machine-gun them while floating down. But they were lucky in a way. It must have had the rockets and missiles used already—one of those AA missiles would have cooked them for sure.

They came down not so far from here, and the entire area is crawling with FAPLA, trying to find the two pilots. Our pilot shot them up as much as possible, but now he ran out of ammo and will arrive home with fumes in his tanks only. So let’s load up and go. Their position given is about fifteen miles from here—let’s try to find them before FAPLA does. Our pilot is very concerned about his pals, and of course, we owe him a lot. Off we go. He ordered five of his men and five Recces, heavily armed with all sorts of equipment, some sensitive listening device, and one Bushman. They also had two massive .50 sniper rifles, semiautomatic with a massive silencer attached. Mike and two other of his men also carried their silenced Heckler & Koch .45 machine pistols, really their weapons of choice. They all climbed into the BTR-60, which had an open top—only the front part for the driver and commander and the rear part of the vehicle, which housed the engine compartment, were covered. Mike had advised Eugene, the RSM of the SAS, to attend to the dead and wounded and assess the situation in general.

The two pilots had been in constant touch with their rescue party, advising them about some snags and potential dangers. They had been well trained in survival tactics and bushcraft, and they confirmed Mike’s questions about their arms—yes, they were armed with 9mm Parabellum and R4 short rifles.

Mike and three other soldiers had jumped into one of the jeeps, closely followed by the BTR-60. Now one of the SAS soldiers, who was handling the GPS, tracking the distances and locations, threw up a warning hand and cut the engine of the jeep after the radio operator, sitting in the backseat, had tapped him urgently on the shoulder and putting a finger on his lips, holding up an arm for the truck to stop. In a split second, the soldiers had jumped off and fanned out in a defensive pattern. The had hardly hit the ground when gunfire erupted nearby, but not directed at them. Mike signaled his men, and they cautiously got up and moved forward.

There had been a whisper on the radio when the radioman stopped the jeep because he could not understand—and now there was shouting and a call for help. The pilots had been tracked down and were now under attack. The soldiers fanned out even more in an established and well-proven fashion—the five SAS men with their silenced .45 MPs and one silenced .50 sniper rifle to the left and the Recces to the right, forming a forty-five-degree triangular pincer movement. Clearly, they could hear the heavier and deep-throated AK-47, whereas the R4 had a high-pitched report. One of the Recces carried a 40 mm grenade launcher, which he pointed up and fired two rounds at a steep angle, in the general direction and hopefully behind the gunfire, trying to distract the enemy and take the pressure off the beleaguered pilots. It seemed to have worked; the firing stopped for a couple of seconds and then resumed with an enormous fusillade—and it sounded as if in the opposite direction.

As they moved forward, the sniper signaled that he had something in his powerful sights. The minimal report of that silenced weapon was drowned completely by the other rifles. They had now a fairly clear view and line of fire; the noise and the flashes of the AKs gave them excellent targets, and rapidly they shot and killed a lot of enemies without their comrades realizing where the deadly fire came from. The pilots had been advised to keep their heads down and not to move, and suddenly, the unsilenced fire of the Recces started, cutting down whatever was left.

For a couple of minutes, nothing moved; and then some Green Boots, the nickname of the Thirty-Second Battalion, also nicknamed the Horribles by the enemy, got up cautiously. After a couple of gunshots, they announced all clear and then everybody got moving, including the quite shaken but miraculously unharmed pilots. The Recce radioman identified himself, and thus they finally made face-to-face and personal contact. Some of the soldiers had swarmed out to make forward security, and the rest of them surrounded the pilots. There was a lot of smiles, handshaking, and backslapping.

All weapons and ammunition had been collected and loaded, and now they were in a hurry to get back before some enemy reinforcement would arrive.

Arriving back at their impromptu base camp, Eugene, the RSM in charge of the combined forces, reported to Mike and gave him a detailed situation report. "We suffered quite badly, still don’t understand how the bastards managed to sneak up on us like that—on us, of all people!

Our total casualties come to 62, including 12 wounded. Buried our men, attended to our wounded, two of them serious. Backtracking, we counted 322 dead enemies, including the first encounters. How many escaped from here if any, we don’t know, but there are no survivors. Mike looked at him and said, Eugene, no survivors, hey?

No, sir, at least we don’t know of any. The downed chopper made one hell of a mess of them, did not touch, left it as is for their comrades to attend.

Eugene looked at Mike again, and with a serious expression, he said, "Well, possibly I do know the reason they nearly got us, we did a bit of investigation. Most of those fellows are Cuban special forces, obviously well trained. All that is bad enough, but to catch up with us in such a crafty and stealthy way I find hard to swallow. But now listen to this—they did not have any vehicles, and they carted all their supplies, their ordnance, their weapons and themselves on donkeys and mules. Can you believe that? Therefore no noise, therefore our Bushmen and our donkeys did not click on, no strange noises, no strange smells, just typical African ambiance. And it nearly worked. In disgust, he shook his fist at the dead bodies. And we paid a heavy price, and it shows you again you never stop learning, and you never can be careful enough.

"They ‘liberated’ a large number of donkeys, mules, and even some horses, how many all, we don’t know, but one horse was anchored down by a dead Cuban officer with one foot tangled up in the stirrups. The horse must have dragged him for some distance before it stopped—just standing there. And that terrible scream we heard, it was not them Cubans. It was donkeys. Some of the napalm must have splashed onto them, burning and mutilating them something horrible. Not a nice sight. Poor animals.

The two Rhodesian Bushmen with their two donkeys found, calmed and collected, a total of sixteen donkeys, six mules, and four horses. So together with ours, we got now quite a ‘fleet’ of animals—potentially a blessing in disguise because it is still quite a distance to the coast.

The two pilots were listening to all the proceedings, walking around with the soldiers, totally amazed. One of them asked Mike how they managed so successfully to get them out of that very tight spot. By rights, we should be dead meat. And here we are walking around with you guys without even a scratch.

Mike turned to one of the Recces, pointing at him and that nasty-looking 40 mm grenade launcher he had strapped over his shoulder. That youngster, he teased, "had a brain wave by firing two rounds into the air. He is quite a crack shot with his machine. He roughly calculated the steep trajectory, going up and coming down like a mortar grenade. It was a long shot, to use that silly phrase, but quite appropriate in this context. But we were lucky. The two shells landed where we hoped they would. The bandits turned around, thinking they are being attacked