Larry Bond - Vortex

The man nodded.

“Definitely, sir. ” He jerked his head to one side. Moffett took the hint, saluted again, and sidled away, grinning at his good fortune.

Craig turned his gaze on the row of dead men. There were four of them, and the bare feet sticking out from under the tarpaulin showed that they were black.

Soldiers pulled back the sheet, revealing four young African men, all dressed in fatigue-style uniforms of mixed cut and color. Moffett had shot three of them, the Army officer explained. The fourth had been killed by another guard as he attempted to flee.

“All our sentries are equipped with nightvision gear, General. I don’t think they were ready for that.”

And Craig was not ready for black guerrillas.

“Who were they?” he asked.

“What were they trying to do?”

The lieutenant colonel shrugged.

“We didn’t find any documents, but one of them had an ANC pin on his shirt. Other than that slim link, nothing.” He frowned down at the row of corpses.

“As for what they were up to? Well, they had three AK-47s, one RPG launcher, and some satchel charges. And this part of the wire is opposite our helicopter park. That’s a pretty juicy target for a sabotage attack, sir. “

Craig nodded reluctantly.

“Double your guards. We shouldn’t expect them all to have Corporal Moffett’s aim.”

He turned to the staff officers with him.

“Increase security at all our camps. I don’t want any frigging Beiruts on my watch, understand?”

They nodded. Nobody in the U.S. military took the threat of terrorist attacks lightly.

Craig spun back to face the Army lieutenant colonel.

“Send out a tracking party right away. See if you can pick up any further information about these guys-where they came from,

if they had any help.” Addressing the party as a whole, he said, “We’re not here to hunt down the ANC, but by God, we will protect our own people.”

Turning away, Craig headed for the helicopter. Shaking his head, he muttered under his breath, “Sounds good, anyway. “

Another complication.

As his helicopter lifted off and headed back to the Mount Whitney, he cursed his luck. Cape Town was supposed to be a safe haven, a place where his men could prepare for their real job. While he didn’t view his primary mission as “liberating South Africa’s black population,” certainly booting out Vorster should be good news for them. Were these guerrillas working with the Cubans, or did they just hate armed strangers in their country?

New contingents of troops were landing constantly, crowding camps that were springing up like plants after a desert rain. Every airfield in the area was so choked with military aircraft that the precious engineer units had been diverted to expanding one of them.

Craig closed his eyes for a brief moment’s rest. Just coordinating this buildup was an exhausting, but vital, job. And now he faced this new distraction. Ashore among a fragmented and violent population, he longed for the relief of open combat.

DECEMBER 12-CNN HEADLINE NEWS

A blond, thirtyish announcer sat before a now-familiar map of sub-Saharan

Africa.

“The American buildup in South Africa continues, amid criticism both at home and abroad. For different reasons, Senator Steven Travers of

Nevada and Soviet foreign minister Alexei Tumansky both released statements today condemning U.S. involvement in the region.”

The scene shifted to show Tumansky in front of the United Nations building, surrounded by aides and reporters. Bundled in an elegant overcoat and fur cap, the minister spoke earnestly.

“Our resolution is intended to call world attention to

the West’s intervention in support of the South African government.

“

As if on cue, one of the reporters surrounding him asked, “Washington has stated that it intends to remove the Vorster regime from office. Don’t both you and Washington have the same goal?”

“Washington merely intends to restore its own version of ‘law and order’ to South Africa. The socialist armies now liberating the country intend to let the people decide their new government. “

The scene changed again, this time to show Senator Travers at a podium, in front of an applauding crowd. The anchor’s voice-over said, “And at a recent fund-raising dinner for Trans Africa Senator Travers castigated the administration for involving the U.S. in a ‘dangerous foreign adventure.”

” Travers’s voice became audible as he said, “Instead of starting our own private war, we should be assisting those forces in the area that are already fighting Vorster’s regime. The cold war is dead.

If the President can’t get used to the idea of joining hands with old enemies in a common cause, then it’s time for new leadership in the White

House. ” More cheers and applause greeted his words, which faded along with the senator’s image.

The anchor’s face returned, and in a calm, reassuring voice, he read a statement by the British foreign minister, speaking after a particularly noisy question period in the House of Commons.

“Britain remains committed to intervention in South Africa, both as a way of protecting our extensive commercial interests in the region, and to ensure that a democratic government is created, one that can end the frightful bloodshed now under way.”

Looking up from his script, the anchor let a little excitement creep into his voice.

“Meanwhile, the buildup continues.”

DECEMBER 12-VOORTREKKER HEIGHTS MILITARY CAMP

Commandant Henrik Kruger’s bungalow still showed signs of the damage it had suffered during the American attack on Pelindaba. Rough plaster patches covered cracks in every wall, and sheets of plastic were tacked over empty window frames. His standard-issue furniture hadn’t come through in any better shape. Thick pieces of canvas now covered a small sofa and three high-backed chairs whose upholstery had been torn to pieces by flying glass and steel splinters.

Brig. Deneys Coetzee paused in the doorway and made a show of carefully surveying his surroundings.

“What a pigsty, Henrik! You’d be more comfortable living in a tent or inside your Ratel!”

“Perhaps I would. ” Kruger smiled briefly and then glanced over Coetzee’s shoulder. None of his “trusted” junior officers were in sight. Good. He motioned the older man inside and shut the door behind him.

By the time he turned around, the brigadier had already

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doffed his peaked officer’s cap and plopped himself down on the closest chair.

“We’re alone?”

“Yes.” Kruger felt it might be better not to mention Ian Sheffield’s presence in the room next door. What Coetzee didn’t know, he couldn’t be forced to reveal if the security forces chose to interrogate him.

As always, the shorter man came straight to the point.

“You’re about to receive new orders-marching orders.”

Kruger nodded. He’d been expecting that for some time now. His battalion hadn’t suffered many casualties during the American air and commando raid-just a few wounded and even fewer dead. True, they were still short of heavy weapons and APCs, but so was almost every other Army unit. And with South Africa being invaded from every direction, keeping a veteran unit such as the 20th Cape Rifles sitting immobile and useless outside

Pretoria made less and less sense with every passing day. If anything, he was surprised that it had taken General de Wet and his incompetent toadies this long to reach that conclusion.

Coetzee looked him straight in the eye.

“You and your men are being sent north tomorrow. To fight the Cubans.”

“I see.” Again, that wasn’t very surprising. He and most of his men had been born and bred in the Cape Province. Even Karl Vorster wasn’t crazy or foolish enough to trust soldiers to put down a rebellion in their own homeland.