Since the start of this operation, Keith had felt his days growing increasingly hectic. Constantly traveling between Durban and Pretoria, negotiating with "Precision Aviation Services," and dealing with various application procedures—all these activities made him feel like there was never enough time.
Three days passed in the blink of an eye, and the assessment report for the two helicopters was finally in hand. On the morning that the "Kristo" set sail, Keith signed the helicopter sales contract under the name "Charles Alfred Thomas Shannon" and paid a deposit equivalent to 20% of the total price.
But even after signing the contract, he didn''t feel like the workload had lessened. He still had to review the personnel list provided by "Precision Aviation Services," liaise with Harroby to allocate funds for Jansen, and plan the entry of the mortar team into Eswatini. The mountain of tasks left him breathless, and he no longer had time to handle meals—everyone''s daily food came from takeout or Microwave instant meals.
With China''s influence, the UN had lifted its trade sanctions on the military government, but the embargo enforced by Western countries led by the U.S. remained in place. South Africa''s stance was ambiguous; officially, they implemented the embargo, but enforcement was lax. The intelligence gathered by Du Preez confirmed Harroby''s statements: at the border towns of Bulembo and Ngwenya, same-day return visas could be obtained at border posts. Many South Africans used these visas to bring cigarettes, candy, and alcohol into Eswatini for profit.
Therefore, they decided to stick with the original plan: disguise the mortar team members as smugglers to enter Eswatini. To further streamline the personnel, Deng Shiyang and Keith decided to reduce the mortar team to four members. Although this arrangement would lower the firing rate, a smaller team meant a reduced chance of being detected.
In the midst of the intense preparations, the fourth week quickly passed halfway. One morning, a Pilatus PC-6 light aircraft landed at Motopi Airport in the early dawn.
Two bright lights shone beside the runway as a Nissan pickup truck that had been waiting there drove up. As soon as the vehicle stopped by the plane, a tall, skinny white man jumped out of the car. Together with the pilot, he dragged out several three-foot-long green crates, along with a dozen smaller wooden boxes from the cargo hold.
It took less than five minutes to load everything—they moved all the crates onto the pickup''s cargo bed and covered them with tarpaulin. The Nissan pickup immediately left the airport, driving south through Motopi. The PC-6, with its cargo hold emptied, then turned around, taxied down the runway, and took off, disappearing into the pale sky.
This scene had already played out at the same spot for the second time.
After a week of intensive training, the black soldiers had become familiar with the operation of folding stock rifles and the use of reflex sights, and had also learned shooting techniques for different situations. However, the live-fire training consumed a tremendous amount of ammunition. The training camp''s remaining stock of rifle rounds had dwindled to just over 2,000—not enough to fill a magazine for each person. To make matters worse, the additional ammo that had been ordered was still nowhere in sight, so Semler decided to move the RPG training course forward.
In the afternoon, the one hundred black soldiers were summoned to the shooting range and assembled at the new 100-meter range.
The range had undergone some changes. The targets that originally stood in front of the berm had been removed, replaced by a sandbag parapet, behind which stood an old oil drum propped up on empty ammo boxes. To make aiming easier, the part of the drum protruding above the parapet had been painted white. In front of the firing line, a sixty-foot long, thirty-foot wide sector had been marked on the ground with lime. In the center of the area stood a wooden stand with a cross base, covered with a brown burlap cloth to conceal its contents.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Semler gathered the black soldiers in front of the M-Gator, then climbed onto the cargo bed, pulled out a Chinese-made Type 69 rocket launcher from a weapon crate, and raised it over his head, saying loudly, "This is an RPG-7, the most widely used light anti-armor weapon in the world. It is extremely powerful, reliable, and easy to use. With just a little training, even idiots like you can easily destroy a tank worth millions of dollars!" He looked down at them and added, "Believe me, if you encounter enemy armored vehicles or machine-gun emplacements in battle, don''t waste your time shooting at them with rifles. Sure, that’s better than throwing rocks..."
A burst of laughter erupted from the crowd.
When the laughter subsided, Semler put down the launch tube and took out two cylindrical objects from the ammunition box. They were a rocket and the matching propellant cartridge. Semler removed the cylindrical packaging and connected the rocket and propellant barrel, quickly slotted it into the launcher tube, and twisted it into place. "As you may know, there are many types and models of rocket launchers, each with different operating methods. You don''t need to copy my every move; just learn how to aim and fire." He paused and added, "But before that, you need to learn how to safely use this weapon. I don''t want to have to tell your families later, ''Sorry, your husband died in a stupid accident!''"
He glanced at the silent crowd, then jumped down, placed the loaded rocket launcher at one corner of the marked sector, and walked over to the wooden stand, with the black soldiers following.
"To give you a sense of safety awareness, I will demonstrate the consequences of improper operation." As Semler spoke, he lifted the burlap cloth covering the stand, revealing a dummy made of straw.
Pointing to the dummy, he said, "Now, let me introduce my assistant—Mr. Idiota."
The dummy was crudely made, its straw torso wearing a gray-green short-sleeved T-shirt with the word "Idiota" scrawled on it in black marker. Its head was a white cloth bag with facial features drawn on it, stuffed until it was bulging, and topped with a black beret set askew.
Seeing the comically awkward dummy, the black soldiers burst into laughter again.
Semler frowned and asked, "You think this is funny?"
The laughter instantly ceased, and no one answered.
"Look at your feet," he said, pointing to the white lines on the ground. "The area inside the lines is the danger zone for the backblast." He then pointed to the RPG on the ground, adding, "If someone fires it now, you''re all dead. If you don’t want to die, get out of the area."
Once they had lined up properly outside the zone, Semler put on his goggles and moved to the firing line. He removed the protective cap from the warhead’s fuse, use the thumb plated down to start the hammer, then stood with his feet shoulder-width apart, assuming a standard firing stance. He took a deep breath, aimed using the iron sights on the left side of the launcher tube, and pushed the safety pin above the trigger with his right index finger before pulling the trigger.
"Whoosh!"
The RPG fired with a loud blast, leaving a grayish trail of smoke between the firing line and the target. A Type 69-1 anti-tank rocket flew over the parapet, striking the painted oil drum with precision. A shaped charge ignited, producing a jet of metal that pierced the barrel, sending out countless orange-red sparks. The target erupted into a gray-black cloud, and fragments of sandbags and the drum scattered all around. The soldiers watching cheered.
Semler spat out a mouthful of dirtied saliva, took off his goggles, and looked back. The RPG’s backblast had blown the dummy off the wooden stand, sending it flying a dozen feet away, its clothes and straw igniting, forming a human-shaped fireball.
"Did you see that clearly?" he shouted, pointing to the burning dummy. "If you''re standing near the tail jet, you''ll end up charred like that. Remember the size of this danger zone well—no one is going to mark the ground for you during a battle."
Seeing the shock on the soldiers'' faces, Semler''s lips curled slightly in satisfaction. He believed that this "shock education" had achieved the desired result. Only he knew the truth—to ensure the tail jet looked sufficiently lethal, he had soaked the dummy in gasoline beforehand and place a balloon filled with LPG gas inside his clothing.
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Notes:
- Pilatus: A Swiss aircraft manufacturer primarily producing single-engine light turboprop aircraft.