My Account of the Battle

Day 1,157, 11:43 • Published in South Africa South Africa • by OKayOK

As I approached the boarders of Mpumalanga, I looked into the distance at the huge columns of smoke billowing into the sky; there was a distinct smell of burning flesh. I tried to but this into the back of my mind, but was still nauseated by it. I held a Q1 rifle close to my chest, my hands shaking from the fear that I felt. The gun was old, rusted and I was not sure if it would fire. I was militia, not signed up to any eSAAF military division, just a Politian trying to do his part for the struggle.

A crazy looking clown walked over the boarder back towards me. His eyes darting from left to right in a paranoid, frightening type of way. Blood was dripping from his sharpened teeth. He bellowe😛 “Zamrg sir, it’s really getting hot in there; the things that I have seen would revolt you. The level of goat molestation is beyond what we ever believed.” With cold steely eyes, zamrg stared at the insane clown and in a deep, almost primal voice sai😛 “that’s why we are here soldier, see to the militia and help them in any way possible.”

The Crazed clown broke off from the officer section of the line and walked along inspecting each and every member of the militia. As he approached me he moved his face close to mine and uttere😛 “what is that in your hand?” specs of Brazilian blood flew from his mouth onto my face. I answered in a trembling voice: “That’s my Granddads gun, he had it in WW1”. “UNACCEPTABLE” he yelled at me, “IS THIS A MESUEM OR A BATTLEGROUND” to which I answered “a battleground.” He called over another soldier, and ordered him to hand over his weapon. “This will do you well on the battlefield old man; just try not break a hip.”

As we sat waiting, the explosions seemed to reach a deafening level. A radio operator shouted at the Officers: “T3 sir, T3”. Zamrg stood to his feet, a cigar in his mouth, and shouted “READY MEN. WE DO THIS NOT FOR OURSELVES, NOT FOR OUR FAMILIES, BUT FOR OUR COUNTRY. NOT ONE STEP BACK OR I WILL SHOOT YOU MYSELF – MOVE OUT”.


At that we started a steady march up a bank that symbolized the boarder. I could hear bullets flying past my head. The felling that I had was fear, unadulterated fear like a child left in a dark place alone. I hesitated, and stopped frozen where I stood. I felt the cold feeling of a gun pressed into the back of my head, it was zamrg and in his distinctive voiced he uttered to me: “keep moving or I will shoot you down where you stand”. I stepped forward one step, then another, then a third. Perhaps it was fear that kept me going forward, but it was fighting the fear that I felt going into this battle. I was torn, not really knowing what to do, but kept moving like a robot on auto pilot.

As I crested a hill, I say my first Brazilian. I lifted my rifle and fired a single shot. It was sufficient and the enemy fell to the ground, dead as dead can be. I had a new energy, a blood lust – I NEEDED more! I started into a hard run, still having bullets flying around me. I was looking desperately for my next victim. I spotted someone, I fired once, it was not enough, the person staggered but recomposed himself. He went for his weapon. I fired another shot, he staggered more – so I fired a third. I could see this was the death blow, but before the person feel to the ground I saw in absolute horror the South African colours on his arm. I had shot a friendly. I ran to the injured soldier, it was Lazer Fazer, the Reserve Bank Governor. I held his arm and said I was sorry. He replie😛 “at least it took three shots and not two. I can die happy with that”. Then he was gone. I took off my jacket and covered his face.

I killed a lot of people in this battle. You could say I am a changed man, a man that has lost a certain innocence. I will now settle back into the Joys of my administrative duties, because at the end of the day someone has to do it.

Viva eSA
Viva eSAAF