Vortex

“I will not have anyone under my command who harbors soft feelings for these people. Our president has made it quite clear that we should use strong measures to maintain law and order.”

Taylor said softly, “The president has also admitted seizing power illegally.”

“That will be enough, Major!” Reitz shouted, outraged.

“I won’t have you questioning our government’s authority, or mine. You are here to learn how to do your job, which I should think is humbling enough. A court-martial would be even more humbling.”

Taylor heard Kloof’s shouted command to move out and

turned to see C Company’s three platoons formed in a giant wedge. With assault rifles at port arms, they started trotting toward the far side of the oval soccer stadium.

A panting corporal ran up to Taylor and saluted.

“Sir, Captain Hastings says his men are in position and he’s ready to fire the tear gas.”

Taylor started to speak, but Reitz cut him off.

“Well, what does he want us to say? What is he waiting for? Tell that incompetent fool to fire.

Let’s get to it.”

My God. This Afrikaner bastard was insulting his fellow officers in front of enlisted men. Taylor felt his rage returning, overcoming the fear his erstwhile colonel had tried to instill by threatening him with a court-martial.

Unnerved by the dispute between his superiors, the corporal backed away and then ran off carrying Reitz’s message. The colonel watched him go and then muttered, “I wish it were nerve gas. Just wipe out the lot of them, that’s what we should do. “

A Company was deployed about fifty meters away, facing the stadium. A long line of men knelt on one knee with face shields down. Alternating soldiers carried assault rifles and riot batons, held at the ready. One group of four men armed with grenade launchers waited behind the line.

Hastings and his company sergeant had posted themselves near the four grenadiers.

Taylor watched as the corporal rejoined them and saw Hastings’s head snap in their direction before turning back to his men. The captain’s arm lifted and then dropped sharply.

Thummp! Thummp! Thummp! Thummp! Tear gas projectiles arced through the air and fell into the soccer stadium, trailing a thin white haze behind them. Wisps of gas started to rise slowly, drifting inland on a light breeze.

“The troops stood and started to move forward at a trot.

Reitz was beside himself.

“Four grenades? My God, that’s a stadium, not a public toilet!”

“He’s trying to give them a warning, a chance to leave without causing a panic.”

“Damn it, man, I want them panicked!” Reitz exclaimed.

“I want them terrified, especially of us!”

Still swearing, the colonel ran after the advancing company, and when he was in earshot, he started shouting, “Fire more tear gas. Fire now!”

Screams and the sounds of dozens of people choking and retching almost in unison were drowning out the muddy, indistinct voice bellowing over the stadium’s public address system.

Hastings looked over his shoulder when he heard Reitz, scowled, and passed the order on to the four men carrying grenade launchers. Another salvo of tear gas grenades arced into the air and fell inside the crowded stadium.

The colonel grabbed Hastings by the arm and swung him around.

“Have these men fire and fire again until they do not have any more projectiles! Then tell me and I will find more for them to use! Is that clear?”

Hastings nodded silently and after half a beat, saluted. Reitz ignored him. Instead, he turned away and followed the advancing troops, staying about five meters behind the command group.

More grenades soared through the air and fell into a growing haze. A few scattered and landed outside the stadium walls, but most went straight in. Taylor noticed that the loud voice on the loudspeaker had stopped, but that the screams and half-choked shouts from inside kept growing in volume.

Small bands of brown, black, and white protestors milled in confusion around the entrances to the soccer field-still unsure of the Army’s exact intentions.

Suddenly the screaming in the stadium moved outside. A mass of people, individuals indistinct at a hundred meters’ distance, surged out the door nearest to Hastings’s troops. Other throngs of fleeing demonstrators were pouring out the other exits, eager to escape what must be chaos among the tear gas-filled bleachers and soccer field.

Hastings motioned to a sergeant, who raised a bullhorn and yelled, first in Afrikaans and then in English, “Halt and surrender! If you flee, you will be shot.” As if to add substance to this threat, Taylor heard rifle fire from the far side of the stadium. That bastard Kloof and his men were already at work.

The mob ignored the sergeant’s warning. A few men and women near the edges seemed to hear, but even they ran. Taylor could see several people with bloodied limbs or heads, undoubtedly injured in the crush to get out through the narrow, body-packed exits. He shook his head slowly in dismay.

The colonel’s tear gas barrage had driven this crowd beyond reason.