Getting shot

By Ganyana

Being a research officer, most of my anti-poaching efforts were confined to acting as back up to the professional hunter/killer teams such as those led by Charlie Haley. This often meant I was simply the driver or the commander of the OP. I could be relied upon to be able to read a map, use sensitive night vision equipment and deliver both the kill teams and the stop groups into the right positions. Occasionally though I was invited along- mainly to act as mule. A shotgun or M16 might be a superb anti-personnel weapon but it doesn’t impress lion or elephant. Having me trudging along in front carrying either a Bren LMG or a heavy barrel LMG version of the F.N. FAL gave the kill teams a measure of real security. Also, as the poacher gangs became larger and increasingly better armed, having someone reliable set up with a machine gun to provide fire support became a popular concept.

The other job ecologists were valued for was manning the OP’s. We had scrounged several large first generation night sights and there were labouriously lugged up various hills. The reflection of even a small fire could be seen at upwards of 30km through one of these. Range estimation was difficult, but if two OP’s could get an accurate compass bearing, plotting the poachers camp was simple. After the first Gulf war, the British and American troops that came out to help us made generous donations of a fair number of heavy duty night vision sights taken from knocked out Iraqi tanks. The poachers never did work out how we found them.

Easter weekend 1993 was one of those life changing events. I was at Sengwa research station and the only officer present. Illness and prior booked leave had left us with a very depleted force. Good Friday afternoon bought a heavy clash between an under strength parks patrol and a gang of at least 30 poachers. How we didn’t loose any men I don’t know, but they broke off and managed a spectacular “flee”, when they ran out of ammunition. I went back out with every man I could scrape together but the gang had crossed out of the area and back into the tribal lands that surrounded sengwa on three sides. Local gossip was though that they would be back that night, knowing the station was short of staff.

I set up three ambushes on what I considered to be likely entry routes and was rewarded by hearing gunfire behind us as another two rhino were cut down. For Sunday night I again stationed ambushes on two logical entry routes, but realising the size and firepower of the gang I was forced to increase the size of each force. The station Sergeant Major Zakias Mlangu commanded one ambush and I the other. In addition, I had placed OP’s on the key hills of Ntaba Mangwe and Sampakwa Ridge using staff that were still officially on sick leave whilst recovering from Malaria (at any one time I could count on 15-20% of the game scout force being either off work or on light duty thanks to malaria). The poachers came round us on the way in, but the two OP’s got a good listen in to the gunfire as they shot three rhino at a group of small springs located almost exactly between the two OP’s. I collected Mlangu and his men and set off to try and ambush the only two routes out of the springs. Mlangu suggested leaving a small force with the station machine gun covering the less likely of the two routes, whilst he and I , along with most of the men set up a hasty ambush on the other.

Consequently twelve of us took up position covering the main crossing on the manyoni river which was still flowing strongly enough to limit the number of potential crossing places.

We had only been in position half an hour when a man cautiously stepped out of the riverine jesse on the far bank and scuttled across the river coming to rest directly in front of us. The bush on our side of the river was more open with 50m of scattered trees and combretum bushes covering what is occasionally a flood plain before the thick jesse started again. We were spread out along the fringe of the jesse either side of the path and I had my heavy barrel LMG wedged into position with rocks and between two trees to essentially give me the effect of firing on a fixed line - anybody on the path would be standing in the way of a hail of bullets all the way from point blank range back to the river. I even helped secure the bipod with a couple of tent pegs.. Mlangu was next to me and a game scout with my one remaining Icaress parachute flare lay directly behind us. The plan was for me to initiate, the game scout to fire the flare, and then everybody else would join in! Mlangu had threatened the men with several fates worse than death if any should panic and open fire before I did. Several more men crossed the river singly and took up station behind trees or bushes before the main column moved out. Using a pair of 10x50 Steiner Binoculars I could clearly make out who was the hunter - he was armed with a heavy rifle - and who was in charge of the escort- he carried an RPD light machinegun - as they crossed the river, and started up the path towards us. Fate played into our hands at this point. A herd of elephants broke out of the jesse about a hundred metres upstream on our side and splashed into the river. This had the effect of causing the poachers to bunch together for safety. A few were visible but who wants to wander alone through dense bush with a cow herd of elephants around? Two scouts moved cautiously ahead and passed within a couple of paces of where Mlangu and I lay, but they saw nothing - concentrating as they were on looking up for the shape of an elephant against the sky line. The rest of the gang moved up quickly behind with the hunter leading and the escort commander only a pace behind. When the two of them were about five paces from me they were perfectly in line with the machine gunner directly behind the hunter, and I opened up. I fired a short burst up into the two of them and then lowered my aim and fired the rest of the magazine in a long burst into the rest of the gang, wiggling it back and forth across the few degrees of lateral movement I had allowed myself. As I fired, Mlangu opened up with his F.N, the Parachute flare and a couple of Pencil flares arched skywards, and a hail of AK bullets from the rest of my men tore into the gang strung out along the path. There were screams, howls, wails, almost drowning out the gunfire and this in turn being almost drowned out by the shrill trumpeting of a large herd of elephants who were close by in the bush and who had been as surprised by the gunfire as the poachers.


In five seconds it was all over. The parachute flare still illuminated the field of battle but there was nothing to be seen moving. The small cow herd of elephants upstream had vanished and there was only ripples in the water to show where desperate men had sprinted back across. I reloaded, unwedged the bipod and folded it out of the way in case I needed to shoot in some direction other than straight ahead. I was fairly certain that the two scouts who had passed through out position wouldn’t have come back to fight but one never knew. The dying flare illuminated depressingly few bodies lying on the pale sand of the path. Besides the fairly dismembered bodies of the two main men there were only five others visible. Considering there had been at least twenty men bunched close together and some 300 rounds of ammo had been fired at them - still, we had got the two that mattered and judging by the sack lying beside a body we had also got the days takings of rhino horn.

We lay there watching and listening. At first there wasn’t even a mosquito that dared to whine around our ears, but after about fifteen minutes they were back, soon followed by the odd cricket - but still nothing moved. Two AM came and went and the bush sunk back into silence. Even the mozzies gave up for the night. We had been lying there for about an hour when I saw a hyaena moving down through the sparse brush towards the river. Where he was headed for there was a low bank more than high enough to conceal a couple of men lying down (for the most part the bank sloped gently down into the sand on our side with the steep high bank of the eroding side being on the other side of the river). I had noted the place as somewhere that could conceal men and already made a note to check it out from the flank in the morning rather than risk walking into somebody waiting for us. That low ledge looked like the only real place between us and the far bank where a man could hide. The arrival of the hyaena on the lip of the bank bought forth a terrified howl - sooo I was right, somebody had taken refuge in that one proper piece of both cover and concealment! The hyaena backed off at the scream, but not very far, and then circled round into the river bed so he could see exactly who was down there. I waited for a burst from an AK to deal with the hyaena but only another pitiful wail rose - Loud enough to create an echo off the surrounding hills. This was followed by a loud, babbling shout that he was badly wounded and would somebody... anybody come and rescue him. Through my binoculars I could see the hyaena plainly as it circled out into the river to get a better look. It wandered backwards and forwards inching closer with each pass. As the hyaena gradually closed in the screams of the wounded man became louder and, if that were possible, even more pleading .

The moon slipped behind a small cloud and the screams reached a new pitch of intensity. I whispered to Mlangu, who was lying next to me, that I was going to move forward and either help the man if possible or finish him off. Mlangu snarled back to lie still and wait for dawn. The moon re-appeared and once again I could make out the bank - and also the hyaena standing in the river bed only a few paces out. Just watching. The wounded man was still screaming for help and I made out a stick being waved about. He was definitely fading though, for the screams still conveyed the terror but lacked the volume of a few minutes earlier. The hyaena darted forward and there was a decidedly soul wrenching cry and the animal bounced back out into the river bed and turned to watch again. Another hyaena appeared and worked it’s way towards one of the bodies lying in the path, then a third dropped into the river from the opposite bank and joined the one watching the wounded man.


I stood up. There was no ways I could lie there for another couple of hours listening to a man being eaten alive.” Get down, bloody fool boy” came from Mlangu at my feet. I ignored him and moved forward, slipping the fire selector from full auto to single shot. I made at least ten paces when the tree stump ahead of me, just off the path blossomed flame. I don’t remember hearing the gun, just seeing the flame and feeling bullets tugging at my shirt. I clearly remember swinging the F.N. round just before an almighty thump caught my right shoulder. I dropped the F.N. and fell down in one easy movement, drawing my revolver with my left hand. As I hit the floor I made out my assailant. He was lying in a little depression behind the old mopane stump, with his head about three paces from me. I could clearly make out his eyes and took a snap shot in their direction. The eyes went out. I sat up and fired another round into his back at about the same instant that Mlangu arrived above me and pumped half a magazine into the body to be sure. I remember seeing other game scouts rushing forward, and spraying bullets into each of the bodies they could see and into every tiny patch of bush that could possibly conceal anything bigger than a field mouse, but the ability to think came very slowly. Mlangu was shouting in Tonga to the men (A language I don’t speak) and a scout carrying my pack arrived next to us. I always carried the first aid kit, since I knew that my men would soon loose all weight that wasn’t food, water or ammunition. Their idea of a first aid kit was two aspirin. Mlangu quickly cut my shirt open whilst the other scout held my torch. The sight wasn’t pretty. The bullet had hit the collar bone about half way along and the two splintered ends were sticking up at either end of a profusely bleeding mincemeat mess. Mlangu stuffed a couple of absorbent pads over the main wound and another over my shoulder blade (where there was another hole - but I couldn’t see that one) , and then went looking for other wounds. I had hole through my shirt and a burn mark down the left side of my belly but the skin was barely broken. There was a long tear in my left trouser leg, but there was only a nasty bruise. Having decided that I had been hit but once, Mlangu bandaged me up as best he could, binding the sling holding my right arm tightly across my chest, and wrapping the shoulder up as firmly as possible. He then gave me some doxypol tablets to ease the pain (there actually wasn’t any yet) and all the while directing operations for men to cut some small trees and make a stretcher, collect up the weapons from the fallen poachers but not to disturb the bodies etc.

I was helped onto the stretcher and with four men carrying it and Mlangu leading the way we set off back to the truck. All the station landrovers and ladcruisers were either out with staff who had gone into head office or off the road so we were down to using a very old and battered Nissan UD seven tonne lorry and the only people on station with a heavy vehicle license were Mlangu and myself. By the time we were half way back to where we had parked the truck on the boundary road, the doxypol was starting to make my head spin whilst at the same time my shoulder was beginning to really hurt. I usually carried a strong injectable pain killer like morphine or pethedine, but had run through all three vials kept on station in the last few weeks on various emergencies and hadn’t had the opportunity to get into Harare to pick up replacements - The really painful thing was that my second-in-command would bring five vials back to station the next day!


When we reached the vehicle, the old general hand we had left to keep watch over it had a good fire going and a large kettle on. He had heard the fight and figured that sooner or later he would have a bunch of tired and very thirsty men arriving back and so had got organised. A tin mug full of over sweet tea was very welcome whilst Mlangu issued some final orders, and then we set off on the five hour drive to Kwekwe hospital (the nearest that was certain to have a doctor, and necessary medicines). The old man and a game scout came along to help clear logs off the road and change a wheel if we had a puncture. I lay propped up against the door in the cab, half sitting and half lying whilst Mlangu drove. The first hours drive to Chief Sai’s village was a nightmare. The track was in very poor condition and hard going in a 4x4 landrover. Pushing the big two wheel drive lorry through took some driving and Mlangu concentrated on not getting stuck. Once we turned onto the main gravel road, he relaxed slightly, and began to give me the lecture of my life. Didn’t I realise that he had been fighting sundry terrorists and poachers since 1965? Who was I to think that I knew about fighting and to ignore him? Was it because I was white? An Officer? Had a university education? What about the men we had to abandon in the field because I was so stupid as to get shot? They were still heavily outnumbered, no clear leader and we needed to get the police in to clear up and fill out the death dockets. For the next two hours we bounced along without a let up in the lecture. At the same time I became aware of a salty taste in my mouth- blood. And worse still- my own! I managed to interrupt Mlangu and point this out to him. He shone a light into my face and merely confirmed that there was a thin trickle of blood from my mouth every time I coughed. We would stop at the police camp in Gokwe and try and get better help and a faster vehicle.

Dawn was breaking as we reached the hamlet of Gokwe and turned into the police camp. In a mater of minutes I was transferred into the back of a Landrover station waggon, and with a policeman driving roared off to the clinic. A nurse was already waiting and she simply climbed into the back as we stopped and looked me over as we sped off down the tarred road. There was precious little she could actually do about the wound, but she had a flask with some hot tea in it and some morphine. She also had a towel. A very practical person, for within 30 seconds of the morphine going in I threw up a great dollop of blood and bile. Only after that did she offer me the tea, and as the morphine eased the pain the tea went down a treat and I began to think I might actually live. It is 160km from Gokwe to Kwekwe down a good tarred road, but in the early morning there are always animals ranging from donkeys to elephants wandering across it, so it was very definitely a series of screeching breaks and wild swerves. At about the half way mark we met an ambulance coming the other way. There were certain advantages to being the most senior government officer in the district and a fairly popular one who made the odd donation of meat to sundry police and hospital functions. Even if Mlangu was seriously pissed off with me, the Police Inspector in charge at Gokwe had obviously pulled out all the stops. The ambulance had an army doctor on board and oxygen, and I was soon tucked into a decent stretcher, a drip plugged in, and sufficiently full of morphine to regard the world pretty favourably. The Army doctor decided that the city of Gweru, a 40 minute drive further than Kwekwe had considerably better facilities, and since I was stable we would go there. Gweru is now firmly on my list of places to avoid. They took an X-ray of my chest, decided that only a few bone fragments had hit the lung and that I was fine - where upon I was transferred to a ward and left. The next morning the Army doctor called in to see how I was doing before he went back to his station near Kwekwe and was horrified to find that no doctor had seen me, the drip that he had set up was empty but still connected and that I had been given nothing to eat or drink. A few angry shouts bought another drip, some pethedine and he went out and bought me a coke, and then phoned the main hospital in Bulawayo and arranged for my transfer there. I later felt I should have a T-shirt printed up with “I survived Gweru Hospital” on it. Anyway, despite everything I survived and was back at work two weeks later, although there were three subsequent operations to try and re-join the collar bone and remove bone splinters that were causing problems.


All together ten poachers died that night. The seven who’s bodies I had seen on the path plus the man who shot me, the wounded man lying under the low bank an another who’s body was found 15km away during a combined police and parks follow up that my 2 IC organised. At least two others had been wounded but got away. Our shooting had been better than I had thought. The man who had shot me had probably been hit in the hip and rolled off the path and behind the tree stump and waited to extract revenge. A bit difficult to be sure for in the usual African style every game scout left behind had wondered over and fired a couple of rounds into him, in addition to the two rounds from my .41 revolver and however many Mlangu had fired. He fired at least 15 rounds at me and had but one round left in his rifle when it was bought in. A couple of aimed shots and I would have been so much worse off, but I suppose he thought I was so close he simply couldn’t miss. The dead were carted off by the police to Gokwe and the machine gun, .375 rifle and six AK’s recovered sent off to the Forensics lab for ballistic comparisons with other crime scenes. I thought we had done rather well, and that our success would cause other poachers to reconsider coming into sengwa. I was wrong. The Rhino in the Zambezi valley were almost all gone and despite the dangers of trekking so far inland they came in increasing numbers. We began trying to capture and relocating the survivors to stations where they could be better protected. Despite several more successful ambushes of poaching gangs and numerous inconclusive gun fights between game scouts and poachers, by the end of the year there were no rhino left.

Very Good Read.

Anymore like this?

Sitrep
Despite all attempts at maximum effort, the repeated swarm overcame the defenders. The rhino were all killed.
This story is repeating today all over parts of Africa with humans substituted for rhino and political or religious extremist subsitutited for poacher. The violent losses are appalling and have been for many years. Yes the story is an old one but still horrifying to those of us who live in the safety of our Republic.
Thanks for sharing your story Sir.

Great read, thanks for posting! At first thought it was going to be written by a guy who was shot by Ganyana!!

Thank you for sharing.

So sorry Ganyana is no longer with us.

Dr Don Heath D.Sc.
Manager Technical Support
Norma Precision AB

On the losing side in 5 wars.

I was Born in Rhodesia and managed to miss most of the bush war except for being blown up in a landmine and getting a chunk from an RPG 7 stuck through my skull into my brain. The 'Dissident' war that opened up 9 months After Mugabe came to power in Zimbabwe (December 1980) was my first 'real war'. There were no winners, only a debate over who lost the most. I was shot at by the North Korean troops propping up the Mugabe regime, and the South African backed 'dissidents' as well as sundry bandits taking advantage of the general lawlessness to make a quick profit. I was mainly working on a Rabies outbreak at the time and this involved working in isolated rural areas usually with only a single companion. Being white, and driving a Government marked vehicle I was fair game for all. The atrocities committed by the Korean led Government troops were beyond belief and they made several determined efforts to kill me so I couldn't take pictures or report to the media what was going on. It was a hard survival school. I also took the opportunity to transfer from the local police reserve into Police forensics. My basic biology degree being deemed what was necessary. I gradually moved more into the forensic ballistics section.

In 1987 peace finally returned and I got on with my Masters degree, but the Rhino war started up the following year. Being a research officer, the actual fighting wasn't supposed to be my job, but when you are losing, any officer who will help is welcome. It was a wasted effort. The poaching was controlled by 8 men, one of whom was the vice president of Zimbabwe and another the Director of the National Parks dept. The Chief Investigations officer for the Dept later proved to be a South African intelligence officer who was fully involved in protecting the poaching operations in the South East of the country. In hind sight it was a war we had lost before we started. I picked up a bullet through the right shoulder, another through the right leg and a couple of bad Phosphorous burns. The price one pays for trying to lead demoralised and pathetically trained troops in any sort of action.

[​IMG]
In 1993 I took a 3 month break to go to Somalia with the UN peacekeepers as a forensics' specialist. There was no peace to keep, and that war still drags on.

With the economic collapse in Zimbabwe in 1999 my position as Senior Ecologist at head office was untenable. They simply couldn't have a white man in such a position and after several months of fairly intense harassment I left and went hunting. I took a short break in 2004 to go as a forensic specialist to the middle east...another war without end.

The rapid decline in game populations in Zimbabwe, the influx of illegal operators and the break-down of so much of the infrastructure, as well as getting married and suddenly having a family to think about caused me to accept a post with Norma Precision in Sweden as R&D manager - my first job where you don't need someone or something dead to call it a successful day.
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BRICKBURN, Nov 2, 2015 #8
dory and Odinsraven like this.
juan pablo pozzi
juan pablo pozzi
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Don Heath ,Ganyana ,was like a bro ,he was my mentor in the professional hunting community ,he sent my first clients ,and was instrumental in my succes .We share many adventures together ,and althoug far aways we chat everyday abot guns ,hunting ,soldiering ,wars ,my dogs etc .He was an outstanding person in all the senses .My condolences for Sheila and the girls .

Don was a very experienced veteran ,of Rhodesia ,Somalia ,and Irak .Besides that he was in the war against poachers .I belive the rpg7 blast fired by terrorist -poachers probably from Somalia permanently damaged his brain .

Excellent read. Thanks for posting.

Thank you Jim ,please send regards to Kevin .Hope to hunt with you again my friend.