Ben covered the conflict in Angola, Mozambique and Guinea-Bissau for TIME from January 2 to March 15, 1967, photographing the Portuguese Conflict while patrolling with both the Government Forces and rebel Forces.
In Algiers, Ben photographed Holden Roberto, the leader of the National Liberation Front of Angola, who persuaded him to embed with rebel forces in the same territory he'd covered with Portuguese government troops.
Ben recalls, "It was early on a March morning. I had slept fitfully on the dirt floor of the mud and thatched roof hut that the rebel soldiers had provided me. It was either on the Congo side of the border or maybe not. Borders are not too important in the bush. This was the day we would move deep into Angola and try to 'hook up' with Holden Roberto's ragged group of under funded, under fed and under equipped rebels.
"We were on the move by first light, and I made sure my 'water bearers' had the two canteens of boiled river water, that would be my lifeline. These guys were used to all the local bugs and infestations, and would drop to their knees and drink from any puddle, stream or other water source without a second thought when they got thirsty. I didn't have that option.
"I ate a quick breakfast of my meager leftover portion of chicken soup from dinner the night before. I think it was chicken—I hope it was chicken. The rebel 'camp follower,' who had prepared my dinner and boiled the river water for my canteens had answered my quizzical expression with a toothless grin and a flapping of her elbows and a 'cluck -cluck' chicken imitation.
"We left and started walking. About a dozen rebel soldiers and me. We did a lot of walking that day. An awful lot of walking. About 12.30 that afternoon we came to a wide, sluggish river whose color and consistency was that of green-pea soup. One of the guys waded in and found it was only waist-deep, but out of deference to their camera-laden companion, me, we continued walking upstream. We eventually found a dead tree that had fallen across the now narrowed river, making a natural footbridge. The rebel leader indicated I should bring up the rear.
"Two rebel soldiers had hung back to cover me and were crossing the log bridge about three meters ahead. I, of course, was looking down to make sure of my footing when I noticed the little droplets of water, spurting up from the surface of the river. My immediate reaction was, 'how nice, a little rain would help cool things off.'
"It’s funny—in a split-second your mind races ahead with pleasant thoughts of cooling rain before you can actually hear the staccato echoes of AK47's chattering from somewhere upstream. Government troops had spotted us and had belatedly set up an ambush.
"Of course my two compatriots had instinctively rolled off the log tipping me ass-over-teakettle into the gooey, foul smelling and nasty tasting river. They were loyal to me, though. They fished me out hustled me to the middle of the group and doubled-timed us out of the immediate vicinity. Our leader indicated the government forces probably would not try to follow us, but we should 'bugger' out if that neck of the woods—or the Congolese Jungle to put a more realistic name to it.
"It was nearly an hour later that finally got a moment to stop and survey the damage. None of my rebel friends were injured and I was unhurt, but one of my Leicas was ruined. I did salvage the film and the LIFE Lab in New York was able to process it. Luckily, I was able to dry off two of my Nikons and used them to complete the story over the next three months."