Vortex

Forrester nodded and motioned him on, knowing that Hickman and the other chiefs were talking the problem through out loud.

The Air Force general stared hard into space for several seconds and then glanced at his colleagues. Finally, he looked back at Forrester.

“Even sending another carrier battle group won’t do much good, sir. We’re going to need more than just air and sea power to impose our will on South

Africa. To do that, we’re going to need men on the ground-lots of them.

“

HEADQUARTERS, SECOND MARINE EXPEDITIONARY FORCE, CAMP LEJEUNE, NORTH

CAROLINA

Lt. Gen. Jerry Craig, USMC, squirmed in his chair as the briefer droned on and on. His intelligence officer, Col. George Slocomb, had pieced together a summary of the military situation in South Africa, but it wasn’t a straightforward military campaign. There were essentially three separate wars raging, all rapidly turning into one giant furball. Hard data on any of them was tough to come by.

Slocomb was trying to fill in the gaps by concentrating on South Africa’s confused political situation, but Craig was uncomfortable with that kind of stuff. He was a military professional-one ordinarily only too glad to leave politics to the “power tie” boys in Washington.

The general squirmed again, running his hand slowly through close-cropped red hair. It was impolite to go to sleep during a briefing you had ordered. Besides, South Africa was the hottest part of the world right now, and he had to know what was going on.

“General?” One of his aides leaned next to his ear.

“What?”

“Washington’s on the line, sir.”

Irritated at the interruption, Craig got up and walked over to a side table that held a phone. The lights came up and a low buzz of conversation started. His irritation faded, though, when he heard the voice on the other end.

“Jerry, this is Wcs Masters.” Craig knew Wesley Masters’s voice well. Two classes ahead of him at the Academy, Masters had served with him in several posts, fought with him near the DMZ in “Nam, and partied with him in some of the wildest ports in the world. Masters was also one of the few men in the Corps senior to him-the head honcho, in fact, commandant of the whole ever loving Marine Corps.

Craig automatically stiffened to attention.

“Yes, Commandant. What can I do for you?”

When his staff saw Craig’s response, all talking stopped as though it had been cut off by a switch, and every ear listened to Craig’s side of the conversation.

“Yes, sir, we’re as ready as ever. We’re prepping for Gold Eagle next month, but…

“Aye, aye, sir. I understand. ” Craig shook his head. Jumping Jesus. Had he heard that right?

“I’ll be there ASAP. I’ll radio my ETA to Andrews.

Goodbye, sir.”

Craig hung up the phone and turned to face his openly curious staff.

“Listen up, people. Drop everything in the plan of the day. Implement the recall bill and start preparations for embarkation.”

Jaws dropped all around the room. Well, he knew exactly how they felt.

He turned to his operations officer.

“Terry, call Cherry Point. I want a two-seat Hornet prepped with a pilot standing by in twenty minutes. I have to make a fast trip to Washington-real fast. And get my helicopter over here.”

Craig raised his voice slightly so that it would carry through the crowded room.

“When I get back, I want a meeting with every officer on the staff.

Everyone. Have a list of anything that might interfere with a fast embarkation.”

He smiled slightly, but there was a grimness to it.

“And it better be a very short list. “

CHERRY POINT MARINE CORPS AIR STATION, NORTH

CAROLINA

Craig barely noticed the helicopter ride to the Air Station. He spent the entire trip pretending to go over routine paperwork. Reading and signing trivial memos and authorizations helped him conceal an inner whirlpool of thoughts and emotions. Marines, generals especially, were not supposed to act like giddy schoolboys. And he’d been fighting to control his expression and his demeanor ever since the commandant’s phone call.

An order to embark was not given lightly, or routinely. It was only issued in a time of serious crisis, when the President’s list of options had shortened so much that using military force wasn’t just possible, it was probable.

It had to be South Africa. There were hot spots aplenty elsewhere, but the world’s only serious shooting war was going on down there. And

Masters had asked him to ready his entire expeditionary force! Not just a battalion or one of his two brigades. Whatever was up was big, and again that pointed to South Africa.

Combat in Africa. He shook his head. His Marine career had already included a lot of combat duty, always in godforsaken places nobody sane would ever want to live in, just fight over. But he’d never had the opportunity to command so many men in battle. At full strength, a Marine

Expeditionary Force could muster up to forty thousand sailors and