Larry Bond - Vortex

“The correlation of forces is too great for any conceivable force to overcome. Even with Cuba’s whole armed forces, I could not stand against the Western alliance.”

“

Kamenev looked up from the paper.

“He rebukes us, comrades. He is implying that he stands alone against the West, and that Cuba cannot stand, but that we could.”

“Could we, comrade?” Tumansky’s face was a mask of concern.

“Our goal was clear. The socialist forces fought a real enemy, the last capitalist power in Africa. World opinion was on our side.”

“More importantly,” the President added, “we could have put a noose around the Western economies’ necks, while ours grew strong. ” He turned to Kamenev.

“What military options are open to us?”

The marshal sighed.

“If we wish to continue fighting, we would have to land Soviet troops, in division strength, in Mozambique and Zimbabwe.

Vega’s men are finished. We would have to provide the forces ourselves.

Once secure airheads had been established, we could then begin advancing south, along the same routes used by Vega’s forces.”

The chairman of the KGB nodded.

“The prize might be worth a risk of war with the Americans.”

The President and other members of the Defense Council did not appear to share his feelings.

“How long to execute such a plan, comrade?”

“I could have airborne forces moving in twenty-four to forty-eight hours.” The marshal’s positive words did not match his reluctant tone.

“Category A divisions could be taken from the strategic reserve. It would take a minimum of two weeks to build up, then a campaign of several months before we would reach

Pretoria, if at all.”

The President prompted, “And the chance of success?”

“Very poor, sir. American and British forces are already in place in the area. We could expect to be bombed by carrie rand land-based aircraft as soon as our troops started appearing. They would undoubtedly bring in more units, matching our buildup. Our interventions might trigger other

Western countries into joining the Americans. We would be fighting an armed and ready enemy, on ground of his choosing, far beyond our normal reach. It could take much longer than several months. “

Tumansky said, “A long war would be a disaster. If we can move quickly, outpace world opinion-“

Kamenev interrupted him.

“We do not have the initiative, Minister. A wise man picks his fights carefully. This is not the time.”

The foreign minister was silent.

“Then we have no options?” The President’s question was accompanied by a long look around the table. The other Defense Council members remained silent.

“Comrade President. With your permission, I will start ferrying Cuban troops back to Luanda, and then to Havana.”

The President sighed.

“Approved.” It would be a long time before they’d risk another ruble in Africa.

JANUARY 16-ALLIED EXPEDITIONARY FORCE HEADQUARTERS, DURBAN

The visitor from the State Department looked out of place, his suit and tie clashing with the drab camouflage colors surrounding him. General

Craig had half-dreaded and halfexpected his arrival.

Normally, a military government was set up in the conquered territory until order could be restored and a civilian government established.

Craig knew he could do the job.

In this case, though, the civilian government was already

established. In this day and age, too, Washington would want to maintain much closer control over the situation.

Craig sighed. He’d spent a lot of time in the Pentagon and the Navy

Annex, but that didn’t make him an insider. Washington would want one of their own men in charge.

With the State Department in the act, his job would be over. What would happen to him next? A staff job for the commandant? He smiled, remembering the current assignments. If they could stash him somewhere for a few months, the assistant commandant’s slot would open when Bud retired….

Edward Hurley was special ambassador to South Africa, reporting directly to the secretary of state. A small, professorial type, he looked the part of an academic right down to a neatly trimmed beard and mustache, and tortoiseshell glasses. The general had heard Hurley’s name mentioned during the crisis, always favorably. Obviously, he’d done well and was now reaping the reward-a top diplomatic post.

Craig thought that he looked young for the job-only in his late thirties or early forties. Still, he’d need the energy. He was welcome to the headaches.

They had been exchanging pleasantries for several minutes now, and Craig was impatient to get on with the meeting. Stories about the weather change and the gossip in Washington only delayed the inevitable.

Finally, Craig broke in.

“I’m grateful that the State Department has sent you personally, rather than just sending me a new set of orders.”

“I wanted the chance to introduce myself and make sure that we could work together.” Hurley’s tone toward the general was respectful, something he didn’t hear from a career bureaucrat that often.

“I take orders pretty well, Mr. Ambassador. I’m sure there won’t be any trouble.”

Hurley smiled.

“I think we’d better take care of the paperwork before we go any further, General. ” He reached into his briefcase and withdrew an envelope.

“This should clarify our relationship.”

Craig accepted what had to be his orders with a feeling of resignation, and a little apprehension. Every military man feels a little uneasy tearing open the envelope. It still wasn’t too late for a booby prize.

The Marine tore open the envelope and pulled out the two sheets of paper, both from the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The first page appointed Gen. Jerome

D. Craig, USMC, as military governor of South Africa, responsible for preparing for the restoration of civil government….

Craig looked up at Hurley.

“Then I’m to be left in charge?”

“As head of a military government until the South Africans establish their own.”

“But there is a government. Brigadier Coetzee .

“Has absolutely no power, except what you give him. And too many people in Washington are unhappy with the idea of a ‘military junta’ taking

Vorster’s place. Trans Africa wants us to hand everything over to the ANC, the conservatives in Congress want guarantees that the government will not have any socialist elements, and so on.”

Hurley held both hands, open, in front of him.

“Don’t get me wrong. The

State Department would love to have much more ‘direct participation’ —Hurley smiled—which translated, means running things itself. The problem is that it’s just too hot a political issue right now. Any move made by the State Department will be criticized. The consensus is that a military transition government will be seen as apolitical. “

“Unpolitical is more like it,” Craig grumbled. He didn’t bother to protest the order or try to evade it. Craig was puzzled, though.

“What is your role?”

“That’s on the next page,” Hurley answered.

Craig turned to the second of the two sheets. Special Ambassador Hurley was assigned as a political advisor to the military governor of South

Africa, and official U.S. representative to the new government.

As he finished the page, Hurley added, “I’m going to try and take the heat on some of the political questions, General. Washington wants you in charge, though. You’re a popular man. You won the war. Did you really think your job was finished?”

“The Cubans are shattered, Mr. Ambassador, and the civil war is over.”

“There are still bands of guerrillas, both black and white, all over the country, General. Some of them are no more than bandits. Those that we can’t persuade to surrender will have to be… dealt with.”