Larry Bond - Vortex

Skiles looked thoughtful.

“I’ve been working on the time factors involved,

General. I don’t think Pretoria would have made this threat public unless they already had at least one site wired. On the other hand, they’d be stupid to wait until the job was completely done.”

“Makes sense.”

“Okay.” Skiles doodled a quick series of numbers on a pad while he talked.

“I put some of our engineers and some Navy people with nuclear-power training on this. Now, based on the number of targets and some very rough estimates of South Africa’s transportation capabilities, they don’t believe the Afrikaners could prep a significant part of the Witwatersrand before the eighth or ninth at the earliest. Maybe even later than that.”

The chief of staff looked up from his doodling.

“It also gives us another reason for pressing the attack. The more pressure we put on Pretoria, the fewer troops the Afrikaners can release for transport and demolition work.”

“Then let’s keep the pressure on,” Craig said, “but let’s face facts. Even at forty-plus klicks a day, we’re still not going to be close enough to the mines before they’re rigged and ready to blow.”

His Air Force liaison leaned forward.

“Hell, we have total air superiority.

Why not grab these places by air assault like Ladysmith? We’ve got the helos and the manpower. “

Craig shook his head. He liked his officers to think aggressively. But sensible planning had to be firmly grounded in reality.

“I’m afraid that’s a nonstarter.”

The intelligence officer amplified Craig’s reasoning.

“There are literally hundreds of shafts and pits in the Witwatersrand, John. Every one of them would have to be hit by surprise and cleared simultaneously. It’s just not possible. “

“Yeah. I get the picture. ” The Air Force brigadier general lapsed into a gloomy silence.

The faces around the room mirrored his uncertainty and frustration.

Craig let the silence drag on for several seconds. Then he leaned forward.

“We’re looking at this situation the wrong way, gentlemen.

We’ve been looking from the bottom up instead of from the top down. How do we capture the mines? How do we block half a dozen channels of possible communication? How do we stop Afrikaner demo teams from setting off their charges?” He shook his head.

“The fundamental problem we face isn’t tactical-it’s strategic. So we need a strategic solution. A head shot, not more body blows. “

They stared back at him. Skiles got it first.

“You mean Vorster. “

“Right.” Craig’s voice was cold.

“Once Vorster gives the word to contaminate the mines, there’s nothing we can do to stop it from happening. So we have to take him out before he can give that order.”

JANUARY 7-LOUIS BOTHA INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, DURBAN

Two men wearing South African Army uniforms stepped down out of the

U.S.

Air Force C-141 Starlifter and walked across the pitted tarmac toward the terminal building. The Air Force security troops on guard detail stiffened in surprise until they saw the red-white-and-blue armbands marking the men as Cape Province regulars. Both also had passes countersigned by the

Allied commander at Cape Town.

None of the MPs were especially surprised when the pair asked for directions to the Special Warfare compound at one end of the airport.

Everybody knew the Rangers and the SAS had dealings with all sorts of unusual people.

Col. Robert O’Connell sat behind his desk with his hands folded together in front of him. He was pleased to note that they weren’t shaking-at least not much. That one week’s enforced leave on Cape Town’s beaches might have been worth it after all.

The remnants of O’Connell’s 1/75th Rangers were back in the States enjoying a well-deserved rest and an outpouring

of public and media adulation. With Gener dead, the Pentagon brass had frocked him to the rank of full colonel and put him in command of the whole Ranger regiment. They’d expected him to handle that job from the

U.S. Instead he’d taken his promotion and volunteered for immediate service in South Africa. Part of that was pure cussed ness or maybe just stupidity, he thought. But mostly it was sheer professional pride. The war was still on. This Marine general Craig had the 2/75th under his orders now. And no Ranger regimental commander worth his pay could possibly run the show from a comfortable stateside berth while his men went into combat.

O’Connell smiled slightly, remembering his irritation when Col. Paul

Gener had said much the same thing to him. He shook his head. Gener had been right. Things did look different from the other side of the desk.

A polite cough from one of his guests brought him back to the present.

He looked up at the three men seated across from him. He’d gotten to know

Brig. Chris Taylor pretty well during several meetings in Cape Town. Maj.

Oliver Cain served as both the commander of the British Special Air

Service squadron attached to the Allied force, and as 0”Con nell deputy in the Joint Special Warfare HQ set up to coordinate the Ranger, Green

Beret, SAS, and SBS units operating in South Africa.

The third man, though, was someone he knew only by reputation. Commandant

Henrik Kruger’s trek through hostile territory had made headlines around the world. O’Connell sat up straighter.

“So you’re that sure of this guy

Coetzee? You don’t think he’d get cold feet and back out at the last minute?”

Kruger shook his head.

“I would trust Deneys Coetzee with my life. What he says he will do, he does. ” He suddenly bared his teeth.

“In fact,

Colonel O’Connell, I will trust him with my life, quite literally. Take me with you if this operation I propose is approved. If he betrays us, you can kill me yourself. “

O’Connel I studied the South African officer closely. Christ, he’d thought Brave Fortune was crazy. But what this man Kruger was suggesting was pure, unadulterated insanity. On the other hand, what options did they really have? General Craig was right. They had to get Vorster and get him fast. The Air Force wanted to bomb, but bombing made martyrs. And bombing was never a sure thing.

He shrugged mentally. Kruger’s idea might just be harebrained enough to work. Anyway, it sure as hell couldn’t hurt to explore it further.

He picked up the phone on his desk.

“Bill? Patch me through to the chief of staff’s office. I want to talk to Skiles himself, understand?” He waited for a few minutes, his fingers drumming on the desktop in impatience as he listened to static.

Finally, a familiar voice came on the line, harried but still friendly.

“Good to hear from you, Rob. What can I do for you?”

Time for the plunge. O’Connell sat up straight in his chair.

“I need an appointment with General Craig, sir.”

Skiles sounded doubtful.

“I might be able to get you in sometime this afternoon…”

Hell, in for a penny, in for a pound. O’Connell gripped the receiver tighter.

“No, sir, you don’t understand. I need to see General Craig now.”

HEADQUARTERS, CUBAN EXPEDITIONARY FORCE, NABOOMSPRUIT

Gen. Antonio Vega cursed the Afrikaners and their fanaticism. They were willing to destroy their entire economy in order to deny it to their enemies. This was scorched earth on a new scale.

He knew what Vorster and the other Boer leaders thought. They would return to basics, to the simple fanning life that they had known in the past. They were fools. Cuba had been trying to climb out of the very trap they wanted to climb into for half a century.

Colonel Suarez knocked on the door.