Vortex

Dozens of acres of the fly-infested, unproductive flatlands outside the small town of Rutenga were now covered by camouflage netting, barbed wire, and protective minefields. Trains from the south arrived almost daily, pulling flatcars crowded with Cuban tanks, armored personnel carriers, and artillery pieces. And day by day, the equipment parks outside Rutenga grew larger.

Hard-eyed soldiers of Zimbabwe’s North Korean-trained Fifth Brigade patrolled the town’s streets and railway station-on constant guard against South African spies or commandos,

Travelers of every description were hauled in for questioning by local interrogators or taken north to the capital, Harare, for more rigorous investigation. Antiaircraft batteries dotted the surrounding landscape, ready to down any unauthorized plane that poked its nose into forbidden airspace.

Both Zimbabwe and Cuba were determined to prevent any word of their military buildup from leaking out. But their efforts were unnecessary.

South Africa’s leaders weren’t even looking in the right direction.

OCTOBER I I -CUBAN EXPEDITIONARY FORCE HEADQUARTERS, WNDHOEK, NAMIBIA

Col. Josd Suarez, Gen. Antonio Vega’s chief of staff, looked tired. Three days of ground-hugging airplane flights, stomach-wrenching helicopter rides, and secretive movement all across southern Africa had taken their toll. Most wearing of all had been Vega’s relentless questioning. He’d insisted on going over every last detail of the trip, and if Suarez hadn’t known what to expect, he would have been shattered by the persistent probing.

Vega knew that his fierce, pitiless questioning was just a symptom of his own frustration. For security purposes, he was supposedly planning a new offensive in Namibia-all the while staying as visible as possible to draw

South Africa’s eyes away from the buildup in Mozambique and Zimbabwe. It was a necessary task, but it left him unable to monitor directly the unfolding of his own plan. It also left him feeling like a caged lion.

Suarez answered his last question and sat back, looking even more tired.

Vega nodded. The colonel was one of his best officers. He’d given a good, concise summary of his impressions and activities.

Suarez must have seen his pleasure because he risked a

question of his own.

“Have the Soviets discussed a starting date for our operation yet, Comrade General?”

Vega scowled.

“No, they haven’t. And I understand that Castro’s last inquiry came back with the damned standard line about the need to wait for a ‘more favorable correlation of forces.”

” If they hadn’t been indoors,

Vega would have spat to relieve the foul taste the bureaucratic nonsense left in his mouth.

“Our soldiers are dying, wearing down the South African Army with their blood, while the gutless Russians wait for the most opportune moment to promise us their continued support.” Vega stood up and started pacing back and forth, in front of the map board. He’d been pacing a lot lately.

The casualty figures and the strain involved in running one campaign while planning for another, wider war were to blame for that. His nerves were also being stretched tight by the Soviet Union’s continuing refusal to commit itself fully to the invasion of South Africa.

Abruptly, the room seemed too small, too stifling. He needed fresh air and open skies, if only for a few moments.

“Colonel, walk with me.”

Suarez rose with him and together they stepped out of the headquarters-a nondescript block of office flats that had once housed a car rental firm, an accounting firm, and a small printing shop. Now the brick building housed more than one hundred staff officers responsible for guiding the largest military operation on the continent.

A squad of armed guards at the entrance snapped to attention as Vega and his chief of staff emerged into the evening air. It was pleasantly cool, and Vega ambled across the street to a small municipal park, surrounded by a bubble of quiet and privacy that would be breached only by desperate emergency. He ignored the thin screen of security troops fanning out around the park. They, like the weight of the stars on his shoulders, were always with him.

“The Russians are using us, Josd, just as they always have. “

Suarez nodded grimly, apparently unsurprised by his commander’s disenchantment with the Soviet Union. It was a disenchantment shared by many in Cuba’s higher political and military echelons.

They’d long looked to the Soviet Union as a source of spiritual inspiration, but Moscow’s revisionist moves had shaken that faith. The

Kremlin’s political bosses were increasingly viewed as little more than corrupt, tepid socialists-not as the dynamic leaders needed by the international communist movement.

The military situation in southern Africa was widening that gap. The

Soviets seemed perfectly content to sit back and reap all the benefits of Cuba’s armed struggle, while avoiding any of the risks. It was intolerable.

After they had walked in silence for a few minutes, Vega spoke again.