Larry Bond - Vortex

Reitz braked the Land Rover beside a roadblock manned by a squad of armed troops. He had to shout to make himself heard.

“Where’s your captain,

Sergeant?”

The noncom stiffened at the unexpected sight of his battalion’s two most senior officers and pointed toward the company’s command post, set up on an open stretch of ground northeast of the stadium.

Capt. John Hastings stood in the shade of a Buffel armored personnel carrier, surrounded by several lieutenants and sergeants, all studying a city map. They looked tired, and one sergeant had a bandaged forearm.

The gut-twisting, acrid smell of tear gas clung to their rumpled, sweat-stained uniforms.

Reitz leaped from the Land Rover and strode over to the group.

“What the devil’s going on here?” he shouted.

Hastings and his command group spun round, startled. They came to attention and saluted.

“Orders group, sir.” Hastings pulled his blue beret off and ran a nervous hand through tousled red hair.

“We’re trying to determine the best way to clear the stadium.”

Another Buffel pulled up, the wheeled vehicle’s angular armored body towering over them. Andries Kloof, a lean, black-haired officer, climbed out of the troop compartment and ran over to join Reitz. More APCs arrived behind Kloof’s command vehicle and halted, engines still turning over, adding yet more noise to the din all around.

“Captain Kloof and C Company, reporting as ordered, Colonel. “

Taylor snorted, but quietly. This wasn’t a parade ground, but Reitz returned the younger Afrikaner’s salute with snap and precision-just as though it were.

“Glad you’re here, Kloof. Stand by for a moment.”

The young officer moved closer and studied the map with the rest of the group.

Reitz, looking impatient, turned back to Hastings.

“Well, Captain? What’s this mess you’ve managed to create?”

Hastings’s snub-nosed face paled beneath its light dusting of freckles, and Taylor saw his jaw muscles twitch as he fought to control his temper.

“We estimate there are two to three thousand people in and around the stadium, sir. Mostly white students from the university, but there are a lot of blacks and colored there as well.”

He gestured to the map.

“We’ve sealed off all entrances and exits to the commons area… “

Taylor listened intently. Hastings and his company were following standard crowd control tactics designed to minimize

civilian casualties and protect his own men at the same time. They were using tear gas to break up organized groups of demonstrators outside the stadium. Once the demonstrators were dispersed and fleeing the gas, a platoon armed with Plexiglas riot shields and batons moved in to haul them off to waiting trucks.

Unfortunately, it was a slow and tedious process. The soldiers carried more gear than the protestors and were finding it difficult to capture more than a handful with each sally. Most managed to evade arrest and reformed-only to be dispersed by new salvos of tear gas grenades. It was a frustrating cycle that seemed to go on and on.

“And what about the stadium itself?” Reitz asked.

Hastings shook his head.

“I haven’t wanted to fire tear gas inside because of the panic it would create. Too many people could be trampled.

We’ve been using loudspeakers to order them to disperse or face detention.”

“And whenever they are ready to leave, you’ll arrest them?” Reitz’s voice was laced with sarcasm.

“Your concern for these hooligans is touching, but misplaced. These people are breaking the law and should be treated as such.

“Now listen to me closely, Captain! I will not have you”-Reitz raised his voice—or any man in this battalion babying these troublemakers.”

He jabbed the map.

“Have your grenadiers start firing tear gas into the stadium. And form the rest of your men into a cordon. Once the gas goes in, start sweeping the area on this side of the stadium. Arrest everyone, and if they run, shoot them!”

Hastings stared at Reitz, shocked, but he quickly concealed it. Taylor noticed the captain’s eyes flicker in his direction. He controlled his own expression, masking his true feelings behind an impassive countenance.

Reitz smiled for the first time.

“You will see, gentlemen. A few bullets will convince these ruffians to stop running and surrender. “

For an instant, Taylor thought about protesting the triggerhappy order to open fire without serious provocation. It would be a useless gesture, though. Even at the best of times, South African law enforcement was a pretty brutal business. And Reitz was within his rights as commander on the scene.

But that didn’t mean Taylor liked the situation. It also didn’t mean that he could forget that Colonel Ferguson had never found it necessary to have unarmed civilians shot. He stiffened.

Reitz’s smile faded and he glared at the group.

“Well?”

Galvanized into action, A Company’s lieutenants and sergeants went flying off under a new string of orders from Captain Hastings.

The colonel turned to C Company’s eager commander. Kloof take your men to the far side of the stadium and clear these communists away. Arrest anyone who stops, shoot anyone who moves.”

The younger man saluted again and ran off to his waiting APC. Taylor heard him shouting orders in a high-pitched, excited voice.

Reitz strolled over to Taylor’s side. His tone was pleasant, almost light.

“There, Major, that’s what I mean by my orders being energetically executed.”

He glanced at his watch.

“I expect we’ll have this little tea party broken up in an hour or so. ” His voice turned harsher.

“When we get back to the office, I want you to draw up court-martial papers for Hastings.

He’s obviously incompetent and may actually be in sympathy with these rioters.”

Reitz frowned at his stunned look.

“I will not have anyone under my command who harbors soft feelings for these people. Our president has made it quite clear that we should use strong measures to maintain law and order.”

Taylor said softly, “The president has also admitted seizing power illegally.”

“That will be enough, Major!” Reitz shouted, outraged.

“I won’t have you questioning our government’s authority, or mine. You are here to learn how to do your job, which I should think is humbling enough. A court-martial would be even more humbling.”

Taylor heard Kloof’s shouted command to move out and

turned to see C Company’s three platoons formed in a giant wedge. With assault rifles at port arms, they started trotting toward the far side of the oval soccer stadium.

A panting corporal ran up to Taylor and saluted.

“Sir, Captain Hastings says his men are in position and he’s ready to fire the tear gas.”

Taylor started to speak, but Reitz cut him off.

“Well, what does he want us to say? What is he waiting for? Tell that incompetent fool to fire.

Let’s get to it.”

My God. This Afrikaner bastard was insulting his fellow officers in front of enlisted men. Taylor felt his rage returning, overcoming the fear his erstwhile colonel had tried to instill by threatening him with a court-martial.

Unnerved by the dispute between his superiors, the corporal backed away and then ran off carrying Reitz’s message. The colonel watched him go and then muttered, “I wish it were nerve gas. Just wipe out the lot of them, that’s what we should do. “

A Company was deployed about fifty meters away, facing the stadium. A long line of men knelt on one knee with face shields down. Alternating soldiers carried assault rifles and riot batons, held at the ready. One group of four men armed with grenade launchers waited behind the line.