The driver pulled up in front of the Cecil Hotel. But then, one of the men sobered up for a moment, pointing out where his sergeant friend had been killed in an ambush. My three friends were well in their cups and feeling pretty good. We saw the “Welcome to Umtali” sign around sunset. “Can we see your “gat” (my Colt)? What’s in the suitcase”? My Rhodesian camo, my pack, a sea bag and the AR15 had caught their attention. It came to a screeching stop and backed up to where I was standing with my gear. An army armored car carrying three teenagers on their way to a terrorist alert came flying by. I was in the town of Rasape, maybe half way to Umtali. He, like the previous trucker, gave me his card and said I was welcome anytime at his home. I explained I had an appointment with an official at the police station in Umtali. The driver was young, carried an FN and worked for Birdseye Produce. The dust hadn’t cleared when a second Land Rover stopped. I hitched a ride and got off when he reached his turnoff. He carried a pristine 9mm Sterling that he had had since WWII. The next truck was a guy in an old Land Rover. A vehicle stopped and loaded up as many men and their guns as would fit. The next morning I took a taxi to the outskirts of town, where I would find a hitchhiking stop. OK, how do I get there? Easy! You hitchhike! “Really?” The customs officer’s girl had another job in the works, in Umtali. I declined, explaining that I wanted to get the lay of the land. A farmer was looking for an extra gun for his terrorist alerts. The next day I set up an appointment with her recruiting contact. My host’s girlfriend worked for the courts and she had a contact if I wasn’t ready to join the army. The Colt attracted attention on the streets where carrying was normal. The next evening I holstered my Browning, shouldered my AR-15 and walked down the street for my first Rhodesian beer. The Rhodesian on my flight coming in from South Africa had recommended a hotel about a 10-minute walk to the customs officer’s home. I need a meal and some sleep.” He invited me for drinks the next evening. “Do you want to join the army? There are other Americans here,” the customs guy asked me. “I understand,” he smiled, shook my hand, wished me good luck and strolled off.Īt the customs gate in Salisbury, I was given a weapons declaration form. With a thick English accent, one of the guys noted that my suitcase was heavy. In Johannesburg, two customs guys carried my gear and took me to the Air Rhodesia area. 223 HP and my Browning HiPower, more ammo, and my old web gear from Vietnam into a duffle bag I had a parachute rigger modify to my specs. I threw an AR-15 w/Leatherwood scope/MT and a case of. After my dad died in November ‘78, I sorted out my affairs, made sure Mom was OK, sold my car, and bought a round trip ticket to Rhodesia in September ‘79. Communism, which we fought in Vietnam at a great cost, was eating Africa alive. The second issue had a short “In Retrospect” segment written by Ed Arthur. SOF came on the scene and vets like me knew we had a friend. In many respects, it is how the Iraqis and Afghanis have been living among equally savage and suicidal homegrown terrorists, who strike unexpectedly with a vengeance. He gives us a taste of what it is like to fight savages that pillage, rape and terrorize a people on a daily basis. He captures the feelings of terror and hopelessness of the black and white Rhodesians before the terrorist Mugabe sold the elections. Buddy contacted us and told us his story, set in the last year of the Rhodesian war. The merc’s story took him back to Rhodesia. He read the article, “SOF’s First and Last Rhodesian Firefight” in the January and February 2012 issues. The Rhodesian Bush War, Buddy Lilley believes, was the mercs’ last hurrah, when men donned a “Be a Man Among Men” T-shirt or at least strutted the attitude when they sold their belongings and bought a one-way ticket to war when mercs were welcomed like long lost relatives when they walked down the streets armed to the hilt and onlookers admired their gear and when political correctness was a cuss word.īuddy served in the US Marine Corps, including two tours in Vietnam, 1966–70. Martin Brass (aka Vann Spencer, co author of I am Soldier of Fortune) RKB.īuddy Lilley’s story as told to SOF’s Dr. SoF was with them all the way…and was responsible, through its reporting on the vicious Bush War, for 75% of the 450 Americans volunteering for the Rhodesian military. with the help of foreign volunteers from all over the world…including the U.S. Against insurmountable odds, Ian Smith’s regime held out for 15 years against the machinations of perfidious Britain, the U.S.
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