Vortex

“Tell me, Colonel, how much of the enemy’s force is committed to this war?”

Vasquez didn’t even consult his notes.

“We’ve identified units belonging to three brigades, Senor Presidente-half of South Africa’s regular army.

Counting reserves, more than a third of its national forces.”

Castro countered, “But Pretoria hasn’t fully mobilized its reserves yet.

True?”

Vasquez bowed his head slightly, acknowledging the point.

“Selected units are still being called up, Senor Presidente. “

Castro turned to Vega. His words were blunt. Tact wasn’t a social grace often found in absolute rulers.

“So, General, you have stopped this first assault, but the Afrikaners haven’t fully committed their reserves.” He leaned closer, his eyes cold and hard.

“I need to know, Antonio. Can you hold against a second, even larger, offensive?”

Vega had been expecting the question. It dovetailed perfectly into the proposal he hoped to make in a moment.

“I can, Presidente. With the two brigades now in Namibia, I can stop up to two South African divisions.

As you know, the defender has the advantage, three to one.”

“But by the same rule, you need more than a division yourself to advance against the South Africans. And the road net south will not support an offensive of that size.”

Vega was pleased. Castro’s preferred nickname was El Artillero or “The

Gunner. He had not lost his military skills. Inwardly, the general took a deep breath, thinking, now it begins.

“That is true. As matters stand now, we are deadlocked, Presidente. We can build up above two brigades, but Pretoria can also reinforce its army-leaving both sides caught in an escalating stalemate. Such a stalemate would continue until one side or the other was exhausted.”

Castro frowned and Vega frowned with him. Cuba could not win such a prolonged war of attrition. It was a poor country, without even a fraction of South Africa’s resources. Vega knew that national will counted, but he was a practical man and he always calculated the odds before making a bet. And staying locked into the current military situation was the

equivalent of staking one’s entire life savings on an already disqualified horse. His army’s capture of Walvis Bay had staved off defeat-not guaranteed victory.

Vega watched his leader’s face as he considered the options, knowing that

Castro was running through the same set of unpalatable choices he’d already considered and rejected.

Withdrawal was out. Too much of Cuba’s international prestige was already at stake. Havana’s support for little Namibia had garnered both praise from the world community and much-needed revenue from the country’s diamonds, gold, and uranium.

On the other hand, they couldn’t simply accept the status quo. Pretoria’s armed forces would eventually exhaust Vega and his men-wearing them down, man by man.

And that seemed to leave one equally futile and even more expensive option-a desperate race to match South Africa’s steady troop buildup. A race that would still inevitably end in eventual exhaustion and defeat.

Castro’s disappointed scowl grew deeper. He’d come to Namibia for a celebration and instead found the likelihood of ultimate failure.

Vega nodded soberly to himself. Cuba’s president had a good military background, but he clearly couldn’t see a way out of their box, either.

The general drew himself up straighter. it was time to take his own gamble.

He cleared his throat.

“I have a plan, sir-a good plan, I believe. But it involves a certain amount of risk.”

Castro looked up sharply.

“Risk of loss is better than certain loss.” He eyed his general closely.

“Tell me of this plan of yours, Antonio.”

Purposefully, Vega stood up and strode over to the easel.

“Senor

Presidente, I am convinced that we must look beyond the struggle for

Windhoek, or even for Namibia. This invasion is only the latest in a series of South African aggressions on this continent. It demonstrates once and for all that Pretoria’s racist government is incapable of reform.”

Castro looked a little impatient. Political orations were usually left to him, but many of the staff officers clustered around the room nodded and Vega took heart from that.

“Our internationalist duty brought us here to fight against capitalist aggression. As loyal socialists, we are glad to do so. But we are only engaged in fighting the symptoms of this disease this racist blot on

Africa’s soil. Even a victory here in Namibia will not end Pretoria’s machinations. Therefore, I propose that we take direct action against these Afrikaner imperialists. “

Vega flipped the Namibian situation map over the back of the easel, revealing a map showing all of southern Africa. Red phase lines and arrows converged on Pretoria from three separate directions. He saw

Castro’s eyes widen in surprise.

“We must occupy South Africa, destroy its corrupt, capitalistic regime, and build an African socialist state in its place!”