IN the year 1980, the Angola Bush War was still being fought.

With South Africa a major player in

the war, many South African ships travelled between South Africa and South West Africa (now
called Namibia). So, encounters between opposing ships were to be expected off the Southern
African coast. This is an unofficial, unauthorised biography of the final voyage of one such vessel.

On the evening of Sunday, May 25, 1980, the SAS Heroldtsbaai left Cape Town, South
Africa, to take provisions for the soldiers in South West Africa (SWA). Its port of destination,
Walvisbaai, although nowadays a Namibian town, was a South African settlement and naval base at
the time. I was there, on the docks, when she left port. As the ship left the harbour and set its course,
an uneasy feeling came over me. I was not on the ship myself, being merely a dockyard mechanic
that had to keep the vessels running. I was not even ranked or cleared high enough to know what
was loaded on the ships, except for what I took along on the few trips when I went along. Yet
something told me, as the Heroldtsbaai left port, that we would not see the ship again as we saw her
there.

There were reported sightings of enemy craft off the western coast, so the Heroldtsbaai was
escorted by one of submarine and two fast medium assault craft. She was only to have a skeleton
defence accompanying her, as the mission was meant to be Top Secret and all our naval craft were
strategically positioned to keep the major possible points of contact free from enemies. All vessels
were thoroughly checked by me and my team, and the technicians who went along were also highly
qualified in their fields. All the ships officers on the trip were of the highest quality, for this was a
mission that few in the base even knew about. Yes, we all knew the ship was going. The when was
usually kept until as close to the departure time as possible – sometimes the crew only heard they
were to leave on the day of departure. The where was kept to the top brass – the lower ranks had
their duties to perform, the higher ranks would ensure they reached their destination. The why – at
times like these, there was probably a good reason that it was kept between the two base
commanders.

Had I known what was on that ship, I would have warned as many as I could not go. But it
was war; people die in war, on both sides and in the middle. And sometimes, even those on the
outside, those who have nothing to do with it, get hurt, lose loved ones, or die themselves as a result
of another's war. A war that they have nothing to. Then again, perhaps it was for the best that things
turned out as they did.

What comes next, I received from crew members who served on the aforementioned vessels.

The flotilla sailed out to sea, away from the land, until they reached the staging area. Here
some of the cargo originally loaded onto the Heroldtsbaai were offloaded and the true cargo was
loaded. From there, they first went westward for four hours, before turning into a northern direction.
They followed this course for approximately six hours, and then turned to a north-northwestern
direction. So far, they had no encounters with enemy ships.

However, it was now first light, and the skies were red. There is an old saying: “red skies at
night, sailors delight. Red skies at dawn, sailors be warned.” To the South-East, in Cape Town, the
truth of that saying was coming alive. The Cape South-Easter, also called the Cape Doctor, was
starting. And the effects were visible on the sea.

Unbeknown to any of us, both on the sea or on the land, there was a Cuban battle group
making its way to South Africa. With the war on the SWA border keeping most of our forces
occupied there, and our navy patrolling our coast, it seems that they had hoped to sail around our
forces and launch an attack force from the south, where they would be least expected. However, the
Cape of Storms had proved its name on that day, and they had to turn around when one ship was
damaged so much that it had to be abandoned. It is unknown how many, if any, of the sailors
survived or if the ship sunk before anyone could go overboard. All we know from the survivors we
had captured, is that they claimed that they were one ship less at the encounter with our forces, than
they were when they had left their port of origin.

Nobody, until this day, nobody can say what had happened to the SAS Heroldtsbaai, the
assault craft SAS Stormsee and SAS Windwater or the submarine SAS Piekenierskloof. But for some
reason, which seemed like bad luck then, but now more like God's provisioning, every one of those
craft, at the same time, got engine trouble. The Piekenierskloof had to surface, because there were
components of its machinery that could not be repaired underwater. And to make the alongside
easier, she had turned with her nose, and therefore her torpedo tubes, back in the direction the had
just came from.

Now while the technical crews were stripping and mending and replacing where they could,
the sonar and radar on the individual ships picked up the approaching fleet. As no-one should have
known of their route, they naturally hoped that it were either friendly naval ships or industrial
fishing ships. So they were quite surprised when the ships came on the horizon and they heard in
fluent English, that they were to stand down and disarm all weaponry.

The Heroldtsbaai, being a cargo carrier/support ship, was unarmed, and the assault craft
were turned with their bows away from the newcomers. However, the captain of the
Piekenierskloof heard the communications in his quarters, and immediately ordered all torpedo
tubes loaded.

The torpedoes themselves were of the fire-and-forget-type, giving the submarine eight
minutes to leave the area after firing, before locking on to the nearest vessel's sonar signature. With
the Cuban ships coming up directly in front of his submarine, the captain merely waited until his
bridge officer gave an estimation of a quarter of an hour before contact and fired his torpedoes, each
one minute after the previous one.

However, things were not so simple as they seemed, because as the forward enemy ship tried
to swerve out of the way of its designated torpedo, the other ship fired in the direction of the
Heroldtsbaai. The distance between the two vessels, the support ship and the leading ship, was too
close for safe detonation of the torpedo. As it ripped a hole in the side of the Cuban lead ship, the
shock wave it sent back collided with the shock wave from the second Cuban ship's projectile
exploding close to the bows of the carrier. The two assault craft by now had turned their guns on the
attackers, and proceeded to bombard them at a very short range. The second torpedo hit the rear
enemy ship dead centre on the bows. According to some who saw it, it was a spectacular sight – as
far as explosions are concerned, at least. The ship's bow was literally thrust into the air and as it
came down, the foremost part broke off. And as the ship was moving forward, it was not long
before the entire front was filled up with water and the vessel sinking.

The forward ship though, had fired a shot directly into the Piekenierskloof, and the top half
of the tower was shot off (thankfully, that day was the worst day, both encounter- and weather wise,
of the entire voyage). However, a huge explosion ripped through both the support ship and her
nearest companion – the Stormsee. Soon afterwards, the SAS Heroldtsbaai started taking water –
her stern had a huge hole where the Cuban ship had hit her, though thankfully the greater part of the
hole was above the waterline. The assault craft had their guns on the attacker by now, and
proceeded to shoot it apart. Only fifteen men were picked up that day – the others all went down,
either on their ships or in the down draft of the sinking ships.

Meanwhile, the technicians had managed to get the two assault vessel running at full speed,
and the submarine at three-quarters. So the Piekenierskloof, being unable to submerge for the rest of
the voyage, took to towing the Heroldtsbaai directly in front, while the two assault craft pulled at
angles next to the submarine. There was also a makeshift “waterbarrier” put on the hole in the
carrier's hull. And the ships crew manned the bilge pumps on a rotational basis, constantly pumping
water out.

They followed their planned course, although at a much slower speed than previously
planned for, and arrived at Walvisbaai Naval Base nearly a week later than they had planned. Here
the vessels had to wait for repairs and maintenance, while the crew were all taken off duty for some
time.

Of the South African sailors, five have died: the two lookouts in the submarine's conning
tower, and two of the technicians on the Heroldtsbaai and one who was climbing the rope ladder
between the ship and the Stormsee at the time of the explosion. It seemed as if he had lost his grip
when the shock of the explosion get to the ladder, or maybe the ladder was thrust against the ship
and he got injured there already – whichever way, the last that was known about him, was that the
top half of his body was lying on the deck of the Stormsee and the lower half was gone.

During the debriefing, a tale of great heroism on the support ship came out. And during the
interrogations, there came a tale of great confusion on the Cuban ships.

When the waves from the torpedo explosion came together with the wave made by the
exploding Cuban projectile off the bows of the Heroldtsbaai, one of the technicians was thrown
over the engine onto the shaft leading to the propeller. As the engine was not running, he survived,
but had a hard time getting up – the shaft was the only thing keeping him from falling into the
bilges, where the was a clear flowing of diesel and oil. Needless to say, things could have turned out
tragically for him if he had fallen in there, because a few moments later, that was where the water
started rushing in after the ship was hit. He most probably have drowned if he was stuck in there.

He got himself out of the bilges and was holding onto the engine for support, when he saw
through the hatch on the floor above something that made his blood go cold: a fire extinguisher
rolling around, its head broken off and foam flowing over the sides of the hatch opening. But that
was not the reason he got a fright. The fright was, because the straps holding some very important
containers have broken loose, and the drums were rolling and sliding on the foam.

He climbed up the ladder, hoping to make alarm in time. As he closed the hatch, the drums
came towards him. He tried to throw himself out of the way, until he saw the symbol on the nearest
drum. Then, instead of saving himself, he kicked out and had his legs pinned between the drum and
the ship's hull. And by some luck, or divine intervention, the same fire extinguisher which had
emptied itself all over the floor, rolled around and got stuck between the farthest drum and the hatch
handle. Just as the drums pinned his legs to the hull, the enemy projectile breached the next
compartment. His legs and hips were crushed by the drums, but he survived. They all survived,
except for two technicians, because his body had cushioned the impact of the drums, containing
gasoline for the people on the South West African coast.

Although the medical officer had managed to stabilise him in the sick bay, he died from
internal damages later in hospital, and was posthumously awarded the Cape of Good Hope Medal
for bravery at the cost of his own life.

As for the Cubans, it turned out that one of their ships did sink on the sea around the Cape of
Storms. While they were moving in abreast formation, the ship on the port side was thrown off
course by waves hitting it in rapid succession. The force of the water pushing the ship sideways,
caused the rudder control to break, which in turn led to the ship swerving out of control towards the
central ship. The captain on the centre ship merely did the logical thing and swerved to the port side
(there was a ship to the starboard side) while ordering the throttle to half speed. This was not in time
to save the other, out of control ship and the central ship's bows thrust through her side, pushing the
other onto and over a blinder, ripping a hole through the ships belly and removing part of the keel,
which in turn had weakened the ship's belly even more. This resulted in the metal plates being
pulled apart by the sudden inflow of water, thus letting even more water rush in. Some sailors made
it off the ship, though few were picked up. It is generally believed, that any survivors would have
been captured and taken to the nearest naval base to await further instructions. I know of no such
people. But as I said, I was just a mechanic at the time. My security clearance was not high enough
to know much about such things.

The Stormsee and Windwater were repaired and returned to active duty, until they were
phased out early in the new millennium. The Piekenierskloof was also repaired, however she was
re-assigned to training duty. The SAS Heroldtsbaai though, was irreparably damaged. She was
decommissioned that same year, and towed out to sea where she was destroyed in a target practice
exercise.

On her final mission of active duty, she was carrying forty crates of ammunition for the
South African forces in SWA. One of the decks that was damaged in the blast contained twenty of
those crates. Apparently, enemy intelligence was aware of the cargo and their ships were lying in
wait just outside the territorial waters at Walvisbaai, for four days. Had their engines not given
trouble, the South African ships would have been overrun by six fast assault craft, two corvettes and
a frigate; it is unknown if there were also enemy submarines in the grouping. The source of their
intelligence remains unknown to this day. Though two of the cleaners turned up dead on the docks,
shot by weapons of eastern origin, less than a month later.