Larry Bond - Vortex

Her mother lay on the floor, next to her grandmother and uncle. Shaking her only elicited a faint moan. Alice ran for water. The police had whipped her mother once during a raid-leaving her bruised and bloody. And her uncle had told her to fetch water. That had helped.

She was halfway to the pump when she heard her mother screaming, “I cannot see. I cannot see!”

Alice ran back and tried to rouse her uncle or grandmother to help her, but they were both dead. She knew how to check, and she answered her mother’s questions about them. Neither had any wounds, but their staring, horrified expressions showed that they’d died in agony.

“Momma, what should I do?”

There was no answer.

Several thousand South African civilians-blacks and whites alike-lay dead or wandered maimed through Potgietersrus.

NOVEMBER 25-HEADQUARTERS, CUBAN

EXPEDITIONARY FORCE, PIETERSBURG

Jonathan Sasolo served as Gen. Antonio Vega’s liaison with the African

National Congress. Classified by South Africa’s laws as “mixed race,” he was a wide man, with big hands and a loud voice. He held the rank of major in the ANC’s military arm, Umkhonto we Sizwe, and theoretically was accorded that rank here at headquarters. Vega’s staff hadn’t treated him with enough respect, though-an injustice that only served to amplify his anger and outrage.

“Is this how you liberate us? Kill half of our people and let the rest starve?”

Vega was trying to be diplomatic, and both Suarez and Vasquez were present to lend their arguments as well.

“Comrade Sasolo, please understand. We had no control over the wind.

“

“But you knew its direction and strength. And you ignored the very predictable results of a nerve gas barrage!” Sasolo leaned over Vega’s desk, yelling at him in a way that left his staff aghast.

“More than a thousand dead, Vega, and thousands more maimed. There are so many dead that we haven’t yet had time to count them. What kind of a victory is this?”

“An important one,” Vega retorted.

“Our forces, which include your men,

I might add, lost only fourteen dead and thirty-seven wounded while annihilating an entire enemy brigade. “

Vasquez nodded.

“Think of the shock in Pretoria, Comrade Major. Think of how much closer this brings us to victory.”

Sasolo scowled angrily.

“Victory? I tell you, man, there will be far fewer people to celebrate this victory of yours if you continue like this. Especially if your troops confiscate every scrap of food in the city! What are my people supposed to live on?”

“We only took food from stores in the white areas, Major.” Suarez’s tone was calm.

“All the blery food is in the white districts, you bastard! There is no food anywhere else.”

Vega answered him this time, clearly losing patience.

“The supply echelon will bring up more food soon, comrade. Our own logistics have been snarled by air raids and commando attacks. Fuel and ammunition have first priority anyway. That’s why we had to collect food in the first place.”

“Letting my people starve.”

Vega’s tone began to harden.

“Major, I am concerned only with the rapid, efficient advance of my forces. My men are fighting and dying to liberate your people from this fascist regime. I am sorry about the deaths here. Many others will no doubt die before we are done. But their deaths will not be in vain.”

Sasolo stood his ground.

“Pretty speeches won’t change the masses’ minds,

Vega. They’ve seen the Boers, and now they’ve seen you. They say, “Where is the differenceT ” The ANC major stepped back from the desk.

“I have been discussing this matter with our executive committee.”

Vega nodded. Vasquez had told him of several coded communications passing back and forth between ANC headquarters in Lusaka and Sasolo-codes that the Cubans hadn’t been able to break.

The major continued, “I now believe that we should withdraw from this alliance. That we must chart our own course for the liberation of South

Africa. You are using us… just as the Soviets once used you.”

Vasquez went to the door.

“That’s enough, Major.”

Sasolo turned to see two Cuban soldiers, rifles pointed at him.

Vega pointed to the ANC guerrilla.

“Arrest him.”

Sasolo’s astonished protests quickly faded away as they grabbed him and hustled him out of the room.

Vasquez shook his head.

“He’s not alone, Comrade General. Many of the ANC troops are grumbling. We may have trouble with them over this matter.”

“I know, Vasquez, I’ve read the reports, too.” Vega sighed.

“Weaklings.

They can’t see the need for sacrifice.” He shook his head.

“True socialism does not come easily. It must be earned with blood and hard work.”

The general stood up and looked over at Suarez.

“Very well, Comrade

Colonel. Disarm and detain any group of ANC guerrillas you think may be disloyal.”

His face darkened.

“I will not tolerate mutinies among my forces. Not when we stand on the threshold of victory. Dismissed. “

He stood brooding, staring out the window as his officers filed out the door. Sasolo’s cowardice and treason left a bitter taste in his mouth.

ABOARD USS MOUNT WHITNEY, BETWEEN

ASCENSION ISLAND AND CAPE TOWN

Long columns of gray-painted ships steamed through the night at high speed, bow waves and trailing wakes gleaming pale blue in the dark. Aboard the ships, thousands of American and British Marines ate or slept or played cards. And they talked. They talked about sports and women and anything at all except South Africa.

Their officers weren’t so fortunate.

“General Craig?” The orderly softly called him away from a knot of officers in the command center. It was hard to get his attention in the bustle and noise of the crowded compartment, but it was considered rude to shout at a lieutenant general.

Finally, Craig turned and nodded to the corporal, who approached and handed him a single sheet of paper. The enlisted man saluted and left as

Craig absentmindedly returned his salute, reading the message while his staff waited expectantly.

Craig’s posture sagged a little, but he recovered quickly. He turned to face Brig. Gen. Clayton Maller. As his J-3, Maller was in charge of operations for the invasion force.

“Clay, revise the training schedule.

I want at least one full day spent on chemical warfare training. Drills, protective suits, the works.”

Maller whistled softly.

“You mean .

“Yeah. The Cubans gassed a town north of Pretoria that was putting up a stiff fight. The message doesn’t say what they used, but total casualties are several thousand. Hit the civilians pretty hard, according to our intel.”

“Shit.” Maller sat down heavily, letting out his breath in a whoosh.

“First, nuclear protection drills, now this. Sir, the men are liable to acquire a negative attitude about this operation. ” He smiled to hide his concern, but the message was all too real.

Craig nodded somberly, his thoughts several thousand miles away.

Maller didn’t know about the planned Ranger raid on Pc-7

lindaba. In fact, only five officers outside the Ranger battalion itself,

Craig included, had even heard it mentioned.

His staff would only be told about Brave Fortune when it was under way.

The security classification “need to know” didn’t include a separate category for those who needed a quick morale boost. Besides, he wasn’t sure knowing the details of what sounded like a suicide mission would make anyone any happier.

Craig only prayed that this harebrained Ranger attack would be successful. He’d never seen an amphibious task force turn tail and run before, but that would be the only sensible course if the Afrikaners held on to their nukes.