Vortex

Jet engines howled from the other side of the tarmac where the other C141 s taxied toward takeoff. Abruptly, one swung through a sharp 180-degree turn, came to a brief stop on the runway’s centerline, and then accelerated-rolling past with a thundering, rumbling roar.

Lt. Col. Robert O’Connell watched his battalion’s lead transport lumber heavily into the air with a profound sense of relief. Three nuclear weapons were safely off South African soil and bound for

American-garrisoned Diego Garcia -die first stage on a long flight back to the United States. Another C-141 followed a minute later, lifting off just as the third Starlifter flashed past down the runway. One after another, the huge transports took off.

“Rob, we’re done! Now I suggest we get the hell out of here! “

O’Connell turned toward the hoarse shout. Lt. Col. Mike Carrerra pointed toward a collection of empty trucks. The wounded they’d carried were all inside the C-14 1. O’Connell nodded vigorously.

“Amen to that, Mike. Get your people aboard! “

“Right.” Carreffa whirled round and yelled through cupped hands, “Let’s go, Alpha Two!”

Moving fire team by fire team, the Rangers of the 2/75this

Alpha Company scrambled upright and ran for the open cargo bay. As the last man’s combat boots thudded onto the steel ramp, Carrerra signaled the

Air Force crew chief waiting eagerly by the door controls.

“Close and seal!”

He turned back to O’Connell with a wide, punch-drunk grin plastered across his face.

“Well, I’ll be dipped in shit, Colonel. I gotta admit

I never thought we’d pull this fucking thing off. Congratulations. “

O’Connell smiled wanly and glanced over his shoulder at the rest of the

C-141’s crowded cargo bay. Dozens of men lay motionless on either side of the central aisle, swathed in bloodstained bandages. Others, apparently uninjured, sat silently along the Starlifter’s metal walls, clutching M16s and light machine guns in hands that shook uncontrollably.

Carrerra’s battalion had taken heavy losses while seizing and holding the

South African airfield. His own unit’s casualties were even higher.

Preliminary casualty reports showed the ln5this losses running at more than 50 percent. His Ranger battalion had been wrecked while accomplishing its mission.

He looked up at Carrerra’s tired face.

“Yeah. We did it. I just hope to

God it was worth the price.”

Carreffa eyed the pillars of smoke and flame rising in a great arc from the west to the north.

“Well, one thing’s for goddamned certain. These bastards will sure as hell know we’ve been here!”

O’Connell found himself nodding in agreement as the cargo ramp whined shut, blocking their view of South Africa. The huge C-141 was already in motion, turning rapidly onto the runway leading home.

Karl Vorster’s government had just lost its nuclear option.

CHAPTER

Foothold

DECEMBER 7-SIMONS TOWN NAVAL BASE, CAPE TOWN

“There’s the helicopter. ” Brig. Chris Taylor, commander of the

Independent Cape Province Defense Forces, pointed out over the water. At first, the shape was visible more by the starlight it blocked than as a concrete form-visible just as a small patch of blackness racing low across white-capped water. But the whupping sound of rotor blades made it real.

The helicopter was headed for a pier at the Simonstown Naval Base, an area controlled by his troops, but still in range of the guns on Table

Mountain. In fact, all of Cape Town was in range of those guns, and that was a problem. Vorster’s troops, holed up in the mountain, had made the liberation of Cape Town a hollow victory, because any movement, any sign of organized activity, quickly ended in a storm of shellfire.

For more than three weeks, the whole city had taken a terrible beating.

Its citizens now moved only at night, without lights, and as much as possible, without noise. All those who

“a could had fled to the countryside-something that wasn’t an option for Cape

Town’s black population.

The black and colored population lived in Alexandra township, south of the city, and they depended on the normal commerce of the city for their income. Servants, cleaners, and laborers, they’d been hit the hardest when the daytime shelling started.

Now bands of blacks roved the city, looking for food, money, or anything of value. Transportation was rigidly controlled, and Taylor’s forces were once more employed in trying to preserve order. Those that weren’t busy chasing looters escorted food convoys or formed ai perimeter around Table

Mountain-guarding against a sortie by the besieged forces.

Vorster’s troops were deeply entrenched in a network of improved caves and tunnels bored into solid rock. With little more than a single infantry battalion plus artillery, they’d stood off two determined attacks by Taylor’s much larger forces. Those assaults had claimed so many of his men that he’d given up trying to take the place by storm.