Larry Bond - Vortex

Masters anticipated his question.

“We understand the distance problem,

Jerry. But we’ve got several factors working for. us. First, South Africa’s

Navy is practically nonexistent, so we don’t have to worry about an opposed transit.” The Marine Corps commandant nodded politely toward the admiral sitting across the table and said, “The Navy’s promised us a fast trip.

“Second, we think you’ll only need one brigade loaded for assault. Cape

Town’s well away from the path of the Cuban invasion, and our contacts among the rebels there tell us they’d welcome American intervention as a stabilizing influence. “

Swell. Craig hated the thought of relying on men he didn’t know-men who’d already betrayed one trust. He made another mental note to make sure his staff did their damnedest to combat-load more than one brigade.

“This is a major operation, Jer7y. To get the job done, we think we’re going to need your boys, the Seventh Light, the One oh One Air Assault, and the Twenty-fourth Mechanized. We’re gonna back you up with two or three carrier battle groups and a whole slew of Air Force tac air squadrons.”

Craig swallowed hard. They were talking about committing more than a quarter of a million men. Jesus Christ. He hadn’t even begun to imagine what “big” really meant. He tried a tentative joke.

“Is that all, sir?”

Masters smiled briefly and looked toward the Vice President.

“Not quite.

We’re expecting the British to join in, too.”

Craig felt everyone’s gaze converge on him. This was probably a historic moment, he thought, but no memorable oratorical gems came readily to mind.

“My Marines are ready, Commandant. When do we ship out?”

“As soon as you humanly can, Jerry. We’re on one helluva tight timetable for this op,” Masters replied.

“So who’s in command?” Craig needed to know whom he’d be working for.

Some grunt, probably. It might even be someone he knew.

For a split second Masters looked exactly like Lewis Carroll’s Cheshire

Cat at its most insufferable-all smiling teeth.

“You are. We’re making you Joint Task Force commander

Masters’s voice faded, and Craig suddenly felt hollow and a little dizzy,

Him? In charge of a combined operation? My God, they were offering him the equivalent to a corps command-no, better-a unified command. He’d be leading a mix of U.S. Army, Navy, and Air Force units, plus those of at least one other nation, into almost certain combat on the other side of the ocean.. - .

He suddenly realized he was woolgathering, and that it wasn’t a good idea to play space cadet in front of the Joint Chiefs. Might adversely affect his chance of promotion, he silently joked, and he realized he was a little euphoric.

“.. . amphibious operation so a Marine should be in overall command. You have a reputation for aggressiveness and energy, and you’ll need every bit of it. The President is planning to go on television tomorrow night, so we’ll be committed from the start. You can expect a lot of press attention, Jerry, and we need good press. “

Masters leaned toward him.

“We know you can fight. Can you handle the rest of the job? We’re the only ones who know you’ve been tapped for overall command. ” The commandant

nodded to the men seated around the table.

“If you turn down the top slot, you’ll still take the Second MEF overseas. We’d be disappointed, though, because we think you’re the best man for the job.

“This isn’t an order, it’s a request. Will you take command?”

Not an order, Craig thought. The big ones never are. They always give you a chance to back out, with honor. Of course, backing out would mean he could kiss any further promotion good-bye. He wouldn’t stand a chance at taking the top slot after Wcs retired. The theory was sound, though. Some men would find it easier to risk losing a promotion than a whole war.

Craig sat quietly for no more than a second. He tried to think objectively, to weigh his own strengths and limitations dispassionately.

But he already knew his answer. It was impossible for him to say no.

The flight back seemed even shorter than the trip north. Strapped into the Hornet rear seat, he could barely open the briefing book they’d given him. Nevertheless, what he saw as he leafed through summaries of his force structure and the latest intelligence strengthened his original belief that he could do the job. 6 .

Then he got to the thick annex labeled “Political Considerations.” For the first time since receiving his orders, Lt. Gen. Jerry Craig began to have doubts.

NOVEMBER 15-HEADQUARTERS, 3 COMMANDO BRIGADE, ROYAL MARINES,

DEVON PORT

ENGLAND

Brig. Neil Pascoe was sound asleep when his bedside command phone rang.

It trilled loudly six times before his hand fumbled past the nightstand lamp and found the receiver.

“Yes. What the bloody bell is it?”

The brigade’s duty officer sounded properly contrite.

“Major General

Vaughn on the line, sir. “

Pascoe came fully awake instantly. The commander of

Great Britain’s Commando Forces wasn’t known for calling his subordinates without good reason. Most especially not at half past two in the morning.

The line hummed and clicked.

“Pascoe?”

“Yes, sir. “

Vaughn came right to the point.

“I’m afraid events in South Africa have taken rather a nasty turn for the worse. I’ve just spoken with the PM, and he’s asked us to come to seventy two hours’ notice to move.”

CNN MORNING WATCH

The reporter stood in front of the main gate to the U.S. Marine Base at

Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. Behind him, a small crowd milled outside the base-workers entering or leaving, well-wishers waving small American flags, curiosity seekers, and a thin scattering of fringe-group protestors with signs. A mixed force of Marine MPs and North Carolina state troopers kept the two tiny groups apart-skinheads and KKK supporters to one side, leftists and aging Spartacus Youth League members to the other.

Green-painted trucks lumbered in and out of the gate, mixing with civilian cars and semitrailers. It made a picturesque background for his narrative.

“.. . catapulted into furious action by the events of the last forty-eight hours. Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, home of the Second

Marine Expeditionary Force, has erupted as the Marines prepare to embark on every available Navy hull and on several commercial vessels chartered by the Military Sealift Command. The container ship Gu~f Galaxy and several bulk cargo carriers are only the first of many that will be needed to carry the Marines and their equipment across the Atlantic to

South Africa.

“Ships are loading at Navy and commercial ports all along America’s

Atlantic coast, and overseas in Southampton, England, as the Royal

Marines embark as well.”

The image cut away to an aerial view of Wilmington. It was normally busy with merchant traffic and warships bound

for the shipyard or for the naval base there. Now it was choked with traffic, with dozens of ships literally filling the marked channels leading in and out of the busy waterway.

The camera zoomed in on the Navy base itself, showing cluttered gray ships pulled up to several piers, all the centers of frantic activity.

“These Navy ships will carry what official sources describe as ‘the leading elements of the Allied peacekeeping force.”

“Other Marines we’ve talked to used the term ‘assault echelon. “

NOVEMBER 18-ADVANCE HEADQUARTERS, CUBAN EXPEDITIONARY FORCE, LOUIS TRICHARDT AIR BASE, SOUTH AFRICA

The South African air base showed all the signs of fierce resistance and thorough demolition. Mile-long concrete runways were peppered with craters torn and gouged by heavy artillery fire. The control tower, hangars, and storehouses were all pounded into burnt-out masses of scorched aluminum, twisted steel girders, and broken shards of brick, concrete, and rock.