Vortex

Hat under his arm, Craig stepped through into a wood paneled conference room, complete with a long mahogany conference table and beautifully upholstered furniture. Even the room’s utilitarian fluorescent lights had been tastefully enclosed.

His first glimpse of the men waiting for him wiped away any lasting impression of the room. He’d been expecting to see Wcs Masters, of course. But he sure as hell hadn’t expected to see a group that included the rest of the Joint Chiefs, the secretary of defense, and the Vice

President. He stopped dead in the doorway.

“Come on in, Jerry. Take a pew. ” Masters stepped around the table, shook

Craig’s outstretched hand, and steered him toward an empty chair.

Oh, boy. Although some of the glitter had worn off those in high places as he advanced in rank, Craig still found himself a little awed in such company. Here he was, the commanding general of a Marine expeditionary force-the absolute lord and master of nearly forty thousand men-and he was still the junior man present in this small, secret room. He wasn’t used to that.

Also, just what kind of orders was he going to get? There was an old rule in the Corps that the higher a job started, the tougher it got.

Wordlessly, he nodded to the assembled group and sat down.

Masters took the seat next to him and nodded to an Air Force officer standing near the wall.

“All right, Colonel.”

A projection screen slid down from the ceiling, and the lights dimmed.

For twenty minutes, Craig sat through another briefing on South Africa.

Though shorter than his G-2’s version, the data was a little more timely and a little more complete. Nevertheless, Craig made a mental note to tell

Slocomb he’d been pretty close to the mark.

The lights came up, and General Masters looked at him.

“Jerry, we want you to take the Second MEF to South Africa. “

Bingo. His earlier guesses had been on the mark, too.

“Our people are still putting a plan together, but right now we anticipate an initial landing at Cape Town-followed by extensive operations inland and east along the South African coast. “

With two briefings under his belt, Craig understood exactly what this entailed. Cape Town was eighty-five hundred miles from the Marine amphibious base at Camp Lejeune-an incredible distance for an operation of that kind. Automatically, he glanced at the map still displayed on the screen.

Masters anticipated his question.

“We understand the distance problem,

Jerry. But we’ve got several factors working for. us. First, South Africa’s

Navy is practically nonexistent, so we don’t have to worry about an opposed transit.” The Marine Corps commandant nodded politely toward the admiral sitting across the table and said, “The Navy’s promised us a fast trip.

“Second, we think you’ll only need one brigade loaded for assault. Cape

Town’s well away from the path of the Cuban invasion, and our contacts among the rebels there tell us they’d welcome American intervention as a stabilizing influence. “

Swell. Craig hated the thought of relying on men he didn’t know-men who’d already betrayed one trust. He made another mental note to make sure his staff did their damnedest to combat-load more than one brigade.

“This is a major operation, Jer7y. To get the job done, we think we’re going to need your boys, the Seventh Light, the One oh One Air Assault, and the Twenty-fourth Mechanized. We’re gonna back you up with two or three carrier battle groups and a whole slew of Air Force tac air squadrons.”

Craig swallowed hard. They were talking about committing more than a quarter of a million men. Jesus Christ. He hadn’t even begun to imagine what “big” really meant. He tried a tentative joke.

“Is that all, sir?”

Masters smiled briefly and looked toward the Vice President.

“Not quite.

We’re expecting the British to join in, too.”

Craig felt everyone’s gaze converge on him. This was probably a historic moment, he thought, but no memorable oratorical gems came readily to mind.

“My Marines are ready, Commandant. When do we ship out?”

“As soon as you humanly can, Jerry. We’re on one helluva tight timetable for this op,” Masters replied.

“So who’s in command?” Craig needed to know whom he’d be working for.

Some grunt, probably. It might even be someone he knew.

For a split second Masters looked exactly like Lewis Carroll’s Cheshire

Cat at its most insufferable-all smiling teeth.

“You are. We’re making you Joint Task Force commander

Masters’s voice faded, and Craig suddenly felt hollow and a little dizzy,

Him? In charge of a combined operation? My God, they were offering him the equivalent to a corps command-no, better-a unified command. He’d be leading a mix of U.S. Army, Navy, and Air Force units, plus those of at least one other nation, into almost certain combat on the other side of the ocean.. - .

He suddenly realized he was woolgathering, and that it wasn’t a good idea to play space cadet in front of the Joint Chiefs. Might adversely affect his chance of promotion, he silently joked, and he realized he was a little euphoric.