VIP PROTECTION
By PG Jonker
During training as a National Serviceman in the army in Kimberley one of the modules in which we were supposed to receive training was VIP protection. By the time we reached that part of the course the instructors probably already had their 40-days party or something, but they were not in the mood. So we just got told we will never do VIP protection, so they’re not going to bother teaching us. End of VIP protection training.
Well, they were wrong.
Some of us were transferred to the SWATF (South West African Territorial Force) where we spent most of the next more than a year in Windhoek, Namibia. And it turned out that from time to time we had to do VIP protection.
On such occasions we were then heavy covert, each armed with a two way radio and a firearm. If you were fortunate, you got the Walther pistol with a holster. Less fortunate, and you got the standard army Star pistol, without a holster. Many a time I had to fish the Star out of my pants as my belt could not keep it in position. I mean, my belt could not even keep my pants in position due to me being a bit skinny.
Uzi
Their always used to be an Uzi sub machine gun as part of the outfit. This was a bit of an enigma. None of us had any training in how to handle the Uzi, but it was nevertheless fun being issued with one. It was a bit difficult to be covert with an Uzi in hand. However, the upside was that civilian onlookers greatly respected the bearer of the Uzi. It is indeed as Deon Maas writes in his book WhiteBoy in Africa: in Africa the guy with the gun is always right (except, says Deon, if you have American Dollars, then you are right).
The Uzi turned out to be a rather dangerous creature. Yes, I know, that is the intended nature of a fire arm, but this one was slightly more dangerous in untrained hands. After one of our VIP protection exercises Hugo was making the Uzi safe whilst explaining to us the reason for it being so dangerous. Apparently it had something to do with the fact that two moving parts were combined in one. As a living illustration the gun went off while he was in the process of making it safe.
A shocked silence followed. Hugo’s ash white face only returned to its normal colour once we established that nobody was hit. Hugo was indeed aiming away from us, but the offices had thin wooden and glass separation walls that would not have stopped a bullet. Eventually he found the bullet lodged in a thick file inside his steel cabinet.
By the time some of the permanent force officers came to make enquiries about the shot that they have heard we were all nicely composed again, and could convince them that someone just banged a plastic bag. Hugo positioned himself in front of the cabinet so that the bullet hole could not be seen without nearer inspection.
Radio procedures
I digress. Back to VIP protection. It was a bit like playing our own “Spy v Spy” (a-la the Mad comics). We each had a code name. Sadly, our friend nicknamed “Spy” could not use his nickname as his radio calling code, for obvious reasons.
My code name was “Wiele”. Rather exotic, don’t you think? Like in: “Wiele, Wiele, Wiele, this is Kaspaas, message, over.” To which Wiele will then do the “Wiele, send, over” thing.
Now the bigger the team was, the more difficult it became to remember each other’s code name. Hence the following activities over the two way radio one day:
“Jaco, Jaco, Jaco, come in”.
Silence.
“Jaco, Jaco, Jaco, where are you, come in.”
Silence.
“Now where is that bl***dy Jaco!”
Silence.
So it went on for a while until someone mustered the nerve to quip over the radio:
“Major, sir, yóú are Jaco”.
PGJ