When Frikkie and Plug were in Matric the SANDF visited their school on a recruitment drive. After listening to the presentation they both decided it would be a good idea to join the Army for a year.
Frikkie was attracted by the prospect of being paid a salary while being trained to use explosives and weapons to kill people. Plug’s motive was entirely different, his decision being prompted by a recent experience in the local Post Office.
The only thing that Plug liked about standing in queues was that you could often pick up some real gems of human wisdom that might prove to be of value at a later date. He had been waiting to collect a parcel and overheard an old guy with a limp lying about his heroic deeds in Angola. “I was a Major general, you know,” he said. “I was always at the front, in the thick of it, you know. That’s how I got wounded. Should have been a bloody Quartermaster! A Quartermaster rarely sees battle, you know. Plenty of opportunity for self-advancement, you know.”
Intrigued, Plug had gone home and done some research. A Quartermaster was in charge of supplies, the procurement and distribution thereof. Well, that made sense. What the old guy had meant by self-advancement was actually self-enrichment. And that was why Plug decided on a military career for a year.
Just before the initial medical examination where they had to strip naked, piss in a bottle, have their testicles weighed, and bend over for the rectal probe, Plug overdosed himself with a medication that induced symptoms of tachycardia. The veterinary assistant who was masquerading as a military doctor felt Plug’s pulse and said, “Fok!” He listened with his stethoscope and again said, “Fok!” He called to a hospital porter posing as a military doctor who was busy peering up a young recruit’s asshole. When he came over and took Plug’s pulse he too said, “Fok!” And it was little surprise that when he listened with the stethoscope he exclaimed, “Fok!”
All went according to plan and Plug was ordered to report to the Quartermaster, under whose command he was to serve as a storeman.
He soon worked out ways to add his own percentage to the profit from the procurement and distribution of supplies being made by the Quartermaster and his Sergeant. After his 12-month stint Plug went home well rested. He had dined better than a senior officer. He had passed from military camp to civilian fleshpots without let or hindrance. And at the bottom of his kit bag was a large biscuit tin stuffed full with wads of banknotes.
Frikkie’s experience was different. The Army offered him a legitimate excuse to vent his pent-up frustration, hatred and self-loathing. He enjoyed the initial training with maniacal enthusiasm and soon demonstrated to his officers that he was ready for battle and eager to see some action. His brute strength, his natural athleticism and his thirst for blood did not go unrecognized, and he was soon drafted into the elite unit of pathological thugs known as Peace Keepers. Off to the DRC he was sent.
In the DRC he received a rude awakening. He soon learned, to his extreme chagrin, that the enemy was at least as good at fighting in the bush as he was. This resulted in him living for seven months of his life with the conviction that each day was bound to be his last. Admittedly he did manage to kill quite a few people, both in battle and on reprisal raids against civilians. And he participated in the gang rape of a woman, her subsequent disembowelment, and the torching of her village. He tortured prisoners before they died of their wounds or were executed. On one occasion he was making his way through the jungle, R5 at the ready, expecting at any moment to step on a landmine, or be shot in the back. There was some rustling in the tall grass at the base of a tree. He fired a burst into the grass before throwing himself flat. He lay motionless, listening. Finally he got to his feet and went to investigate. The bodies of two boys, about 5 or 6 years old, lay lifeless where they had been cowering. How was he to have known?
Yes, he saw a lot of action and he survived it. But it was to be many years before he stopped throwing himself to the ground whenever a car backfired in his proximity. And he was never able to entirely erase the sound of the woman’s screams, or the sight of the two boys.
This chapter is taken from Frikkie and Plug, which is available on Smashwords.
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