A town called Alex - Part 2

Township duty was mostly boring, doing the daily patrol, playing soccer with the kids. Every so often thinks would get ugly, and then it's total confusion and fear for a few hours. Then it's the boredom routine again.

We were on one of our boredom patrols one Wednesday afternoon (which was a bummer because it means we missed sport parade)in the poorer part of Alex, the one with the tin shacks. The guys were talking about rugby, and teasing Dof Stoffel because his girlfriend wanted sex but he came from a farming community and he was worried what his friends would think..

Out of the blue two Ak's went of on full Afrikaans from one of the shacks. Most of the rounds hit the sides of the buffel, no-one was hurt. But there was some chaos and pandemonium. My radioman was screaming into the radio, the troops on the right side were firing back and the ones on the left managed to get off the Buffel onto the ground (for thos who don't know, lying under a Buffel when someone is shooting at you is not a good idea. The v-shape forces all the ricochets down on top of you).

Four troops had managed to get round the back of the shack, but no one was getting anywhere. They obviously had loads of ammo. I was trying to figure out the next move and swearing at myself because I only had my 9 mil with me, when the cavalry arrived in the form of a mellow yellow - one of the police casspirs.

He didn't even slow down, just turned and drove straight over the tin shack. End of story. Now why the fuck didn't I think of that?

A pretty town called Alex

My mind is turning to sludge. I think it was Alexandria, the township just next to Sandton. How a cesspool could get a pretty name like that I dunno. We were doing a late afternoon patrol in our Buffel. There was supposed to be a poliesman with us, but he was busy, and we decided to take a drive, then go home. I’d been invited to a braai that night and there was a pretty girl I wanted to chat to.

We came around a corner into a open area of veld. And the first thing I saw were people scattering. A few people were still milling around. Lying at their feet was some poor sod with a tyre around his neck. He was soaked – I assumed it was petrol. He’d been beaten up pretty badly, and he was barely conscious. The driver (his name was Jannie and he came from Standerton, and I have no idea why I should remember that after 20 years) gunned the Buffel and headed straight for them, hooting.

It all happened in slow motion. The one shit looked me straight in the eye, bent down and lit the petrol. Then he stood up and gave me the middle finger. So I shot him. Another guy threw a brick at the burning man’s head. I shot him too.

Three of my guys peeled off the top of the Buffel with blankets and a fire extinguisher. They managed to removed the tyre with the barrels of their R4’s, sprayed the poor oke till he looked like a snowman, and threw two blankets over him. He was still moving, but he didn’t look too good.

The signals tiffie got hold of the cops while the rest of the guys made a hurried perimeter defence. Everyone was a bit shocked. There was no one in sight. Just as well, the troepe weren’t into winning hearts and minds right then.

I got shat out by some police captain for not doing things by the book while a medic tried to keep the poor man alive. The fuck wanted to know how many rounds I'd fired and wanted me to produce the empty doppies!! Spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening writing out my statement in longhand (no computers in those days). All the troepe were interviewed, and I was confined to quarters. A bokkop major popped into my room just before dinner and told me the cops had decided the shootings were legit and they wouldn’t press charges. But that the paperwork will still take some time.

The braai was good, but the pretty chick was there with a huge rugby forward. What a fucked up day.