Military 3 = The Right Stuff

.Hi G....where and when did you get awarded your HC after smokeshell..

Well.. It was a huge surprize actuallly..
The parade was in central Square in Bloemfontein shortly after my clearing out 1981.

I will try to explain how it all happened back then....

After the Angolan carnage in June1980. It was about October 1980..a few months before the end of my two years national service.
We were at a training camp in Lohatla in the Northern Cape...when I was requested, by popular demand... to be company chef.. and admittedly by my own choice.. to escape more days of gruelling training.. to the disdain of my shattered section.. who had to continue training without me.

I am not an army chef but I could cook with passion and it was very rewarding for me. 
My moms basics helped I think?
The intensely hard work was a good distraction and therapy for my deeply traumatised condition after Smokeshell.

I was busy cooking supper for the company when the whole  company was ordered to form up.

Capt Louis Harmse..the company commander, stood in front of the rows of us young men.
He addressed us all for the first time, complimenting us on our recent achievements on OpSceptic and also for the fine formation and execution of our vehicle training manoevers that week.
Then .. out  of the blue.. he announced that  o/korporaal Rutherford had been awarded the Honoris Crux for actions under fire on ops Smokeshell/sceptic

I was as shocked.. as everyone else.Haa!!.. I looked left and right and smiled at my mates thinking there was some kind of joke because I was the new chef.

We all waited for the other names .. but none came.
I didnt move.. frozen in surprize..
I didnt know what to say or think.. or how to react.. happy.. shocked.. bewildered..?
Proud.?
I stepped forward and the captain  shook my hand and the boys all clapped..I was completely stunned..but grateful for this recognition.
But for what..?
For what exactly... I had no idea.?At that stage there was no citation that I knew of ..nor any further info spoken of.

I remember the whole company getting back into the vehicles to drive back to our tents about ten km away in the veld.
There were no rowdy pats on my back.. no cheers of pride or good morale.. only business as usual.

A couple of the boys came up to me and said well done or                "congratulations".. but it was a quiet response.. if also slightly cold..I was so confused but elated I suppose... as I loaded the food containers onto the trucks amid the chatter of my compatriots.
I chose to run back to camp so I could have time to think. 
It was after five pm and I set off alone and I literally flew.. 
I never felt my feet on the hard red earth and the kilos flashed by as my mind reeled. 

I ran and ran and ran... not knowing what to say.. what think..
I  shouted to the sky and my head was awhirl..and I got lost..
 I ran right past our camp.. lost in shock and sadness. I realized then, that this award was to do with those I had attended under fire as they lay dying in the sun and the bewildering realization that I had not been killed right next to them and why was I still alive.?

Lohatla is a huge tract of wide open plains and I really went far...alone on foot out there.. I was completely lost... until luckily as it was getting dark...
I found a small group of oumanne or campers having a braai at a small group of tents. 

They sat me down and I rested... had a beer and told them what had happened..and about the medal that I was due to recieve.

They didnt know me at all ..but they cheered in wonderment at first.. and then as they realised that what I had told them was true ...raised me on their rowdy shoulders and applauded me almost like their own hero.
For exactly what.? It would take me a long time to figure it through and therefore I couldnt tell them much more than a bit about the operation we had done in Angola in June...but they guessed that it was something I must have done right.

They didnt want to let me leave and were so kind and appraising.. and...so proud of me.. and they were not even my own company..they had never seen me..but they cheered.

I explained to them that I had a kitchen to run.. food to prepare for 220 and I was late.. and they obliged me with a lift back to my group 8km back down the road I had run.

I had run 18km without even thinking.. and was super fit and strong.. and inspired.. but still lost..and lost in my head. 
And that was only the beginning of many years of coming to grips with survivor guilt and Ptsd.

Lost in my head ..as the recent deaths of my closest compatriots was fresh in my mind and that blood smell still in my nose. 

It was all so surreal and bitterly confusing as our battle group carried on training here as usual without those lost compatriots.
Lost in my head.. I became a bit morose I think.. being rewarded as my closest pals lay dead.. and notably..those in my platoon ..my team mates who were next to me there under fire in action.. equally brave... were unseen heros.. unsung ?

So ..of course I felt awkward then..
But time has helped me see it all as I step back now.
As it happens...I think I did ok..

I was seen doing the right stuff by many on the battle zone...
And most notably.. by the highest ranking officer on the operation that day.
I kept my head.. under fire.. I never ran away.. I challenged the savage enemy alone, running through their base with only my rifle and my wits.

I ran to the aid of dead and dying comrades and performed medical procedures to the book.. I thank my trainer Dr James Gibson today for much of that.
He went to the same school with me and was four years my senior.

All the ops medical that I did there was right, and I'm most proud to mention that Peter Brent was stoically by my side and completely unfazed by the extent of the blood and gore we had to contend with. The others in my section were less able to deal with the sight of such carnage and were deployed bravely in circular defense of our position, fighting off the well concealed and deadly surrounding enemy forces. All this was under the most incredibly well coordinated instructions by the platoon commander 2lt Paul Louw and Cpl Gary Braithwaite.

Peter Brent appeared over my shoulder and started helping me to get the dying soldiers into more protected positions and more comfortable as best we could, because it took us both a few vital minutes to comprehend our situation and that we were the only medical hands available. 

Initially all of our shocked responses caused further delays and confusion and I was the only able bodied soldier who dared to initiate medical procedures because of the sheer bloody carnage that suddenly faced us. 

This was not "supposed" to have happened and was not in any training manuals.
 The burnt flesh..blood and shattered bone was real.
My medical training was good but still never prepared me for the extreme dismemberment of my closest friends.

Later others gradually overcame their initial shock at the sight of such carnage and started helping  as I got the situation more under control.... and I never forgot them or what they did.

It was a great relief to have some help and not to be all alone.. with the dead and dying..Peter Brent was there and that was a great relief for me. 
I tore open shredded uniforms and severed hanging strands of skin and flesh.
I cut off a leg below the knee and picked up a foot still inside a boot.

Michael, My running partner's foot.
I bandaged and tourniqued and vomited..
 I applied heart massage and kiss of life as my face was covered in chunks of gore coming out of my desperate and dying patients.. my close friends.

I inserted drips and injected morphine on the worst.. and ..I held their bloodless dying hands and boosted their morale.. and it  was seen by all those terrified by the sight of so much blood and gore.
And it was right that someone noticed..this was not my nomination.

So.. I never got shot.. Enemy sniper bullets hit the body of the vehicle above our heads as we worked.
I should have been dead many times over.. as the others sat safe behind the machines and tucked low behind cover..as I ran around outside tending wounded.

By luck or chance or a guardian angel.. I dont know how or why.. but I survived those days.

They gave me a medal for that I think.?
... whew.!!

A huge parade in bloemfontein..centre city..

They cut the bushelters out off the square and layed out red carpets everywhere ..19 of us were honoured that day..
My mom and dad were flown in by Defence hq.

Pik Botha . PW.. Magnus... and Constand Viljoen..my father spoke with them all and swelled with pride as Constand..chief of Army,  said that my citation was most exceptional.
I met all the big wigs.. it was so scary for this little lancejack  "onderkorporaaltjie."
It was a huge parade and I was really anxious..
I never smiled because I knew that the families of the dead and all my compatriots were watching..so naturally... I was pensive and sad and I felt then , so out of place... so undeserving.. a fraud.?

 Yes of course I was proud of the great honour and recognition..but it was completely shrouded in sadness and confusion...and sealed by trauma that few would really know.

I was reserved..in respect for those that died under my hands... and my myriad of inadequacies.?
Today I look back and read the stories of all the others.. their accounts of great valour and achievement.. and I am so proud to have been there with those others.
It was because of their actions.. It was because of their competent battle efforts.... That I lived that day.

 It was such a huge team effort and I would have been dead if not for those other ratel platoons.. their fearless gunners and tenacious teams on the ground.
My actions were not only combative hand to hand facing the enemy.. but included comprehensive medical procedures under fire ..and boosting of morale under the pall of death.

As it turns out today.. it is clear ..a good few of my comrades who endured the most terrifying enemy sharps, explosive events, ran away in terror and confusion from the immediate contact zone. Some coming to further grief.. but thats another story that has no place at this stage.

So.. I look back today .. differently..my citation is well substantiated..

I see now what others did so bravely.. so selflessly.. and what I did..
And it was all good...

Today I no longer cower in sadness and regret..and guilt... but I am proud  ... that I did well ...what I was trained to do... compliments to my trainers...and when the chips were down ...  
I was on top form.!. coherent and efficient..!

And someone saw me doing that. 

I also kept a daily journal of all those events which has formed part of the historic detail we are still piecing together today. 

So in 1981..I was awarded a medal for gallantry ..along with a group of very brave soldiers from all over the country..who were on other daring operations..and who, in some way or other..had saved lives at great risk to their own.

And I was one of them.

Im still here...

Thats what happened....