It hadn’t really hit me yet that all my plans were in disarray. For a few days, I enjoyed the light duty. Instead of PT every morning, I would report to the Quartermaster’s office. I would check equipment in and out, maintain and organize inventory. I was no longer treated as a “recruit” even though I had not finished my training. I was just one of the staff at Training Troop as far as everyone was concerned. Color Sgt Rose, my new boss, had all the new recruits call me “Trooper,” the title of honor for all regular members of RLI who were not NCOs. It was a heady experience being addressed as a full-fledged member of RLI! Of course, I was still bunking with my unit and hoping that I could join a new intake of trainees in about five weeks, once my ankle had healed.
The 2nd day of my new life as Trooper Wasserman, Color Rose told me that I should report to Captain Cooper’s office, just 30 feet down the hallway. Capt Cooper was the commanding officer of Training Troop. I remember him as tall wiry man with a neatly trimmed mustache, typical of what you would expect of a British officer. My only previous contact with him had been when he addressed us on the first day of training. We lived in terror of NCOs—but an officer, they were from a totally different realm!
Saluting, I stood at attention in front of his desk. He drew my attention to an attractive blonde sitting in a guest chair to my left. She introduced herself as an assistant to Robin Moore (American author of The Green Berets). She was assisting Moore in his effort to write a book about the conflict in Rhodesia. She had government permission to interview me about my experience as an American in the Rhodesian Army. I was happy to comply and spent the next hour with her chatting about my reasons for coming to Rhodesia.
[A few weeks later, when I had leave, Pegi and I both were interviewed by her, a retired Colonel in the American Special Forces, and Robin himself after dinner at his home in Salisbury. Moore published our interview in several papers of the New York Times syndicate, Newsweek and as a chapter in his book Rhodesia. ]
Later that day, I was the talk of Training Troop and RLI. In the mess hall, even some Troopers from the Commandos wanted to talk to me. Who was the hot blonde you were with today? How did you get that duty? What is going on? Are you in the CIA? We heard she is an agent for the South African intelligence.
I just smiled, enjoying my new status as a celebrity in RLI. I think her first name was “Lynn,” and I do remember that she was South African, married to an officer in the Rhodesian Air Force. The Colonel, whose name I have also forgotten, had met Robin in Vietnam when he was writing The Green Berets. He was one of the characters in that book which was later made into a movie starring John Wayne. Lynn and this Colonel’s roles in Rhodesia are fully detailed in the historical fiction novel by Moore, The White Tribe.
About a week later, I was again ordered to report to Captain Cooper. Standing in front of his desk again, he said:
Well, Wasserman (pronouncing it “Vasserman” as is common in Afrikaanse), I have just been on to the doctors at base hospital. They tell me that it is unlikely that your leg is going to heal up enough for you to be able to complete training and go on to the Commandos.
My heart began to pound—what did this mean? What was going to happen now? I could feel my world beginning to crash in around me. Those two sentences meant no RLI, no Officer Training, no SAS, no military career as I had envisioned.
Sensing my distress, he continued:
However, you can still be part of RLI and participate in operations in the bush. I want you to report to the motor pool. You will be trained as a combat driver. You will drive our attack vehicles in raids as we take out the Terr camps. How does that sound to you?
Relieved, I replied: Yes, sir! That would be just fine sir!
Right then! You will report to the motor pool each morning beginning next Monday. In the meantime, you can go home this weekend for leave. Next Monday, you can start sleeping at home and just report to the motor pool each morning at 0700. Dismissed!
Whoa! As I saluted and made my way to the mess hall for breakfast, I was a bit light-headed. This was good? No, it was a disaster . . . well, maybe this was good? I would still be a combat soldier in RLI. And I was no longer a recruit. But what was I? Would I be a full-fledged member of RLI with a green and white service belt, green beret with RLI insignia? Or would I be just a driver assigned to RLI?
I still had permission to walk rather than double-time everywhere, but found it best to stick to the back roads where I was less likely to be accosted by NCOs who would scream until I showed them my doctor’s note. I usually jogged lightly when I saw someone coming, just to stay out of difficulty.
This morning, after my discussion with Capt Cooper, I was lost in thought when I passed the back gate that led to the field where I had hurt my ankle. I didn’t notice the RP (Regimental Police) on duty at that gate until he stepped out of his one man guard house and screamed: You! Come here now . . . run!
As I ran-limped over to him, he howled: Stand at attention when you are talking to me!
What is wrong with you, you lazy waster? Just because you talked to some sexy blonde, you think you are special and you don’t have to double-time it like everyone else?
No, Corp! I have permission from the doctors because of my leg!
Don’t you talk back to me you worthless piece of dung! I don’t care if Ian Smith himself tells you to walk—I am telling you that if I ever see you walking around here again, I will have your ass in the box (jail). Is that clear?
Yes, Corp!
Now get your sorry ass away from my post!
Well, that settled it—my new posting outside of Training Troop to the motor pool was going to be a real improvement. And besides, I would get to see Pegi every night and sleep in my own bed!
Next: Reverse Gear and Fast!
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