The story of the start of the world's first Private Military Company, Executive Outcomes.
The story starts with The Mexican signing up with that now notorious mercenary company, Executive Outcomes. Here his drinking progresses at a alarming rate once again. Only this time he decides to do something about it. It took about a year of trying and failing before he got on track. Then after seven years of sobriety, one... not so fine day, he picked up a drink again. If you thought that been a mercenary was an adventure the story that follows is a record of even stranger adventures and travels, interesting people, some good, some bad and some downright evil. The Mexican picks up a new nickname, Gypsy, as he never stays too long in one place, roaming the Southern tip of Africa as the cards are dealt.
So, saddle up and take a ride, with The Mexican Horse Thief, if you dare.
You can obtain a copy of The Chronicles of the Mexican Horse Thief I – Angola, on the Facebook page:
The Mexican Horse Thief.
Excerpt
Bimbi’s Letters
In any military situation the Brass knows that letters from home are important for morale, so Executive Outcomes set up a similar system to what most of us had known in the SADF. Obviously without all the bullshit, like having to do push-ups if your letter smelt of perfume. Every plane that came in had some mail for us. We could get stamps at the canteen and our letters would be posted from “The House” in Pretoria. My mail was mainly from Charmaine; she even sent some drawings based on what I wrote about camp life.
We had been in Angola for a few months when I noticed that Bimbi never received any mail. So I watched to see if he ever sent any out; he did not. I knew he had a wife and kids living in Phalaborwa, although he was Congolese. At this stage the South African news was full of stories, some actually true, of a bunch of South African mercenaries in Angola. A few guys had been killed already and the newspapers were having a field day. Charmaine kept a photo of three bodies; dead and half-naked, that Savimbi had sent to the South African news services as a warning to keep South African soldiers out of his country. I’m sure all the wives and girlfriends were eagerly waiting for mail.
One day I asked Bimbi why he did not write, would his wife not be worrying about him? Now, Bimbi was a really black man, not some shade of brown. If he could have, he would have blushed. The story was, he and his wife had no common written language. Although he could speak five or six languages, he could only write in French. His wife, being from Venda, probably had never even heard French before she met Bimbi.
I offered to write on his behalf, and, after much cajoling, Bimbi arrived in my tent late one night. It was touching to see how embarrassed this hard-assed ex-5 Recce soldier was; so shy about his personal life. He told me to write that he was well and to ask how are the kids. That was it! When I asked if I should write that he missed his wife, he nearly crawled under the bed. I then teased him further. I asked if I should tell her how much he loved her, too. We eventually sent a letter off. His next embarrassment came when Goodness, his wife, replied. The poor bugger couldn’t read English either. So he snuck into my tent late one night again and very shamefacedly asked me if I would mind reading his letter. The cost to him must have been enormous. He was pleased that his family were all well. Bimbi was a truly brave man, in every respect, and I liked him all the more for it.
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