Larry Bond - Vortex

Ian sat up straighter. This morning’s frantic rush to get ready and on the road hadn’t left him much time to think about that meeting, but it had pretty clearly been important. Kruger and his officers had obviously made a crucial decision of some sort. But about what? He held his breath as the first inkling of what they must be planning flashed across his brain. My God, maybe they were going to…

Squealing brakes broke his train of thought. He looked up through the front windshield. The lead Ratel had pulled off onto the left shoulder-an action being imitated by every other vehicle in the battalion column.

Dust plumes rose as tires left the asphalt road and rolled over dirt and loose gravel.

The sergeant brought the truck to a complete stop just a few feet behind

Kruger’s command vehicle and switched off. Then he unrolled his window, looked briefly at his perplexed passenger, and then looked away again.

His expression was as unreadable as ever.

Ian shook his head. Why were they stopping now? The battalion had only been on the move for a little more than an hour. And why stop here? He studied the flat countryside surrounding the long line of trucks and APCs without finding any answers. Empty grazing lands stretched to either side for as far as the eye could see. Two or three hundred meters farther on, a narrow, unpaved track crossed the motor route, winding west toward nominally independent Bophuthat swana. The main highway itself ran north, passing straight through the open savannah of the Bushveld Basin until it vanished in a wall of shimmering heat waves.

Up ahead, a boyish-looking lieutenant swung himself out of the Command

Ratel, dropped lightly to the ground, and moved down the length of the stalled column shouting, “Orders group! All platoon and company officers report for an orders group in ten minutes!”

Kruger himself clambered out of the command vehicle a minute or so later, followed by a tall, bearded officer Ian recognized as Capt. Pieter

Meiring, the battalion’s secondin-command. Both men looked tense.

Slowly, other officers joined them. Soon Ian realized that he could sort the arriving captains and lieutenants into two distinct groups. Most greeted Kruger with friendly informality and wore comfortable-looking uniforms wrinkled and creased by long service in the bush. But a sizable minority, mostly young and mostly sour faced, seemed insistent on exchanging rigid parade-ground salutes with their commander and each other. Their pressed, immaculate uniforms showed the same insistence on punctilious formality. Ian disliked them on sight.

Kruger dropped to one knee and unfolded a large map. His officers grouped themselves into a semicircle around him apparently intent on whatever he was saying. Ian frowned suddenly. That was odd. Each of the battalion’s veteran officers seemed to have stationed himself next to one of the younger men.

He leaned forward, trying to get a better view through the dust-smeared windshield. Maybe he could see more outside the truck “Please stay put, Meneer Sheffield. Kommandant’s orders. ” The sergeant sitting beside him didn’t even turn in his direction. One of the man’s hands still rested on the truck’s steering wheel, but the other lay conspicuously near the assault rifle clipped to his door.

Ian sat back, stunned. The man knew who he was! Was Kruger turning them over to the security police despite all his promises to Emily?

The sergeant saw his surprise and grinned. He patted the rifle.

“Don’t worry, meneer. This is not for you. We have enemies somewhat closer at hand. You see?” He gestured through the windshield.

Ian followed his pointing hand and stared in shock. Kruger had risen to his feet and now stood with a grim, cold expression on his face, watching with folded arms as his veterans roughly disarmed their younger counterparts. More soldiers were coming down the line of trucks and APCs, herding several of their onetime comrades ahead of them at bayonet point.

The sergeant nodded in satisfaction.

“A good clean sweep of all the AWB trash. That’s what the kommandant said he wanted. And that’s what we’re giving him.”

No kidding, Ian thought, still amazed by the speed of Kruger’s move to rid himself of Vorster’s toadies and spies. As he watched, the prisoners were stripped of all their weapons and rank insignia and crammed into three of the battalion’s troop trucks. R4-armed guards scrambled atop

Ratels stationed to the front and rear-perched there to deter any escape attempts. The rest of the battalion’s junior officers and staff were already scattering-trotting toward their own APCs and trucks.

Engines roared to life from one end of the column to the other. The men and vehicles of the 20th Cape Rifles were ready to move again.

Kruger appeared at the open window on Ian’s side of the truck with Emily beside him, her eyes blinking rapidly against the harsh light of the bright sun.

“You have room up front for another passenger, I trust?”

Ian smiled faintly, still not sure what to make of this man who seemed able to swing so swiftly and easily between cold ferocity and warm companionship. He popped the door open and slid over into the middle of the seat.

“Any time, Kommandant. “

Kruger helped Emily up and stood back as she pulled the door shut. Then he leaned in through the open window.

“Both of you may now move about more freely. I do not think you need fear Pretoria’s informants. Not in this battalion at least.

My men and I are no longer subject to Vorster’s illegal orders. “

“And Matthew Sibena?” Emily asked.

“What of him?”

Kruger looked taken aback for a moment. He’d obviously forgotten all about the young black man.

“He can also come out of hiding.” He paused, apparently searching for the right way to say something.

“However, it would be best if he does not call too much attention to himself. My soldiers may not like what they have seen of the AWB and its fanatics, but that does not make them ‘liberals’ in matters of race. You understand?”

Emily nodded once.

“We understand. And we thank you for all your help,

Henrik.”

Ian felt her warm hand slip into his and relaxed. He studied the other man’s calm, weather-beaten face.

“So I guess we’re not heading north to the Transvaal, then?”

Kruger nodded.

“You guess right, meneer.” He pointed toward the narrow dirt track ahead of his Ratel.

“That road will take us west and then southwest-the beginning of what I am sure will be a long journey to the

Cape.”

They were going to try driving all the way to the Cape Province? Ian whistled softly. A long journey indeed! The last reports he’d seen had claimed the nearest rebel forces were in Beaufort West-more than a thousand kilometers away over unpaved back roads scarcely worthy of being called by that name.

“Assuming we make it, Kommandant, what will you do then?”

“Who can say? Join the new government? Surrender to your newly arrived

American army of occupation? Scatter to our homes?” Kruger shrugged.

“I

truly do not know.”

Ian asked, “And your AWB prisoners? What will happen to them?”

“We will keep them with us for a while. Any of those verdomde traitors would gladly shoot me or you, especially you, Meneer Sheffield. They would also certainly betray the Twentieth’s position to their masters.”

“But are we taking them all the way to Cape Town?” Emily asked.

The kommandant shook his head.

“No, I don’t want those

jackals with us, but I cannot afford to turn them loose. Certainly in a few days our defection will be noted at headquarters. After that, we can discard them at some small town as we pass. We will be commandeering any gasoline we find, and if we cut the telephone lines, they will do us no further harm. 11