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Chapter 7

8:45 am, Mafukuzela camp, Kwanza Sul province,

Angola, 20 August 1987

“Take cover, comrades!” Comrade Pilate shouted, looking upwards in an attempt to locate the origin of the roaring sound that filled the air around him. “The Boers are attacking us! Take cover!”

People came sprinting from all corners of the camp, dust rising up as five South African Air Force Puma helicopters, each with a white letter painted on its belly, descended on the camp.

Pilate screwed his eyes shut, opened them again and then blinked several times as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “It’s a raid!” he shouted over the sound of the engines. “Run to the trenches!”

Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat!

The sound of gunfire came from the helicopters as they came in to land. Three people behind Pilate fell to the ground. One of them had been shot in the neck, and he began to kick both his legs as the blood spurted from his wound.

Ducking close to the ground, Pilate ran towards the escape trench. Two metres deep, it was surrounded by tall trees and thick bushes and ended in a dry riverbed that lay on the other side of the large maize field behind the camp. It had been dug for a moment exactly like this.

Boom!

A grenade exploded a few metres away, showering Pilate with dirt and throwing him to the ground. Climbing to his feet, he looked around in confusion. People were frantically running for cover, but very few of them were carrying their AKs, even though their lives were at stake. As Pilate watched, a woman clad in fatigues fell to the ground just outside Soshangane block. Another woman tried to help her to get up, but she was tripped by two men who were trying to get away.

It was already too late for the comrades in Ndlela ka Sompisi block. The building was on fire, smoke billowing from the shattered windows. High-pitched screams filled the air as burning debris began to fall on those inside.

Pilate tasted blood. Looking down, he saw two bodies at his feet. He touched his face. Blood from his two fallen comrades was congealing around his nose and mouth. “Shit,” he whispered, his teeth clattering against each other as if it was a cold day. “We’re dead people.”