Vortex

They can’t see the need for sacrifice.” He shook his head.

“True socialism does not come easily. It must be earned with blood and hard work.”

The general stood up and looked over at Suarez.

“Very well, Comrade

Colonel. Disarm and detain any group of ANC guerrillas you think may be disloyal.”

His face darkened.

“I will not tolerate mutinies among my forces. Not when we stand on the threshold of victory. Dismissed. “

He stood brooding, staring out the window as his officers filed out the door. Sasolo’s cowardice and treason left a bitter taste in his mouth.

ABOARD USS MOUNT WHITNEY, BETWEEN

ASCENSION ISLAND AND CAPE TOWN

Long columns of gray-painted ships steamed through the night at high speed, bow waves and trailing wakes gleaming pale blue in the dark. Aboard the ships, thousands of American and British Marines ate or slept or played cards. And they talked. They talked about sports and women and anything at all except South Africa.

Their officers weren’t so fortunate.

“General Craig?” The orderly softly called him away from a knot of officers in the command center. It was hard to get his attention in the bustle and noise of the crowded compartment, but it was considered rude to shout at a lieutenant general.

Finally, Craig turned and nodded to the corporal, who approached and handed him a single sheet of paper. The enlisted man saluted and left as

Craig absentmindedly returned his salute, reading the message while his staff waited expectantly.

Craig’s posture sagged a little, but he recovered quickly. He turned to face Brig. Gen. Clayton Maller. As his J-3, Maller was in charge of operations for the invasion force.

“Clay, revise the training schedule.

I want at least one full day spent on chemical warfare training. Drills, protective suits, the works.”

Maller whistled softly.

“You mean .

“Yeah. The Cubans gassed a town north of Pretoria that was putting up a stiff fight. The message doesn’t say what they used, but total casualties are several thousand. Hit the civilians pretty hard, according to our intel.”

“Shit.” Maller sat down heavily, letting out his breath in a whoosh.

“First, nuclear protection drills, now this. Sir, the men are liable to acquire a negative attitude about this operation. ” He smiled to hide his concern, but the message was all too real.

Craig nodded somberly, his thoughts several thousand miles away.

Maller didn’t know about the planned Ranger raid on Pc-7

lindaba. In fact, only five officers outside the Ranger battalion itself,

Craig included, had even heard it mentioned.

His staff would only be told about Brave Fortune when it was under way.

The security classification “need to know” didn’t include a separate category for those who needed a quick morale boost. Besides, he wasn’t sure knowing the details of what sounded like a suicide mission would make anyone any happier.

Craig only prayed that this harebrained Ranger attack would be successful. He’d never seen an amphibious task force turn tail and run before, but that would be the only sensible course if the Afrikaners held on to their nukes.

CHAPTER

__29

Countdown

NOVEMBER 25-HEADQUARTERS, I ST BATTALION, 75TH RANGER REGIMENT,

HUNTER

ARMY AIRFIELD, GEORGIA

Lt. Col. Robert O’Connell was on a secure line to Washington, listening grimly as his regimental commander, Col. Paul Gener, threw ten days’ worth of mission planning into the shit can The fact that it was a phone call he’d been half expecting since the news of Pretoria’s nuclear strike was no consolation.

A stray beam of pale, watery sunshine briefly brightened his office without brightening his mood. Just once, he wished that he could get a telephone call from the Pentagon containing good news. It seemed likely to be a wish that would never come true.

“No, sir, I understand. Yes, sir. This is one helluva way to run a railroad. We’ll see you here tomorrow. Goodbye. ” He bit back the urge to say more-a lot more. Instead, he replaced the red secure phone on its cradle and sat staring out the window.

“Trouble?”

O’Connell turned slightly and looked across his desk at the lean, tanned face of Maj. Peter Klocek, the battalion’s operations officer.

“You could say that, Pete. ” He nodded toward the phone.

“We just lost a week. This is now D minus four. Washington wants us to go in on the twenty-ninth not

December sixth. Plus, they’ve upped the target list. The Joint Chiefs want us to take out Pelindaba’s enrichment plant, too. They don’t want to give

South Africa the slightest chance of prepping a weapon before our Marines go ashore at Cape Town. “

“Jesus Christ!” The S-3 couldn’t hide his consternation. Attacking a week ahead of schedule would mean abandoning a series of full-scale rehearsals designed to test a complicated plan so far worked out only on paper and on computer. Even worse, the last-minute addition of a major target such as the uranium enrichment plant would spread the Ist Battalion’s already thinned-out resources even further.

“How the hell are we supposed to do all that?”

O’Connell shrugged.