Vortex

“If need be, we will send photographs to this madman Vorster-daring him to bomb our units under those circumstances. If they want to butcher tens of thousands of their own women and children, we will make it easy for them. This war has changed, Colonel. We will match these Afrikaners threat for threat.

Escalation for escalation.”

Suarez shook his head.

“These precautions may protect our men from nuclear attack, sir, unless our enemies are truly insane. But I still have reservations about using chemical weapons. Residues, decontamination, these are all things we are not prepared for. Our own casualties could be high.”

“For once we have had a little luck, Colonel. ” Vega smiled thinly.

“Our

Libyan comrades-in-arms have more experience in this than we do, so their troops will lead the assault.”

Suarez nodded sagely. The Libyans had used poison gas many times during their unsuccessful attempts to conquer Chad. By fights, they should know enough about such weapons to avoid killing themselves.

“Both cargo aircraft also carry technicians and extra protective equipment.” Vega faced his chief of staff squarely.

“Cheer up, Jose6.

These chemicals will help us break the back of South Africa’s remaining defenses. They’ll replace the combat power we lost yesterday. With luck, we’ll destroy the Afrikaner army in its foxholes!”

“Let us hope so, Comrade General.”

Vega stared at him, obviously unsure whether his subordinate’s flat, impassive tone signaled continued doubt or growing confidence. Vega walked over to the map and pointed to it.

“The planes are scheduled to arrive later this afternoon. Ensure that our best people are in the tower. We do not want a landing accident today.” He smiled grimly.

“I

want those munitions moved to our forward units tonight. Tighten security, both on the ground and in the air. Clear?”

Suarez nodded.

“Good. Tomorrow, at dawn, we will use the weapons in preparatory bombardments against the enemy’s main line of resistance.” Vega pointed to a spot south of their position on National Route 1. “There.”

HEADQUARTERS, 1/75TH RANGERS, HUNTER ARMY AIRFIELD, GEORGIA

Frowning, Lt. Col. Robert O’Connell flipped from page to page of the war game after-action report. Board games and computer simulations couldn’t predict real-world battle results with total precision, but they were useful tools. Done right, they could highlight unexpected glitches or weaknesses in plans. Sometimes, they offered valuable insights into possible enemy counter moves Right now, though, he thought, the battalion’s simulations were just depressing.

So far, each of the three mock battles fought using the I/ 75this initial attack plan had ended in unmitigated American disaster. Casualties over 75 percent, no objectives seized, complete loss of command and control-the list of foul-ups went on for more than four pages. He shook his head in frustration. It was pretty clear that the battalion’s command

team would have to rethink drastically the Brave Fortune operations plan all the way from landing to extraction.

Someone knocked on the doorframe.

“Come. 11

Maj. Peter Klocek, the 1/75this operations officer, poked his head through the open doorway.

“I just got off the phone with Cheyenne

Mountain, Colonel. It’s for real. No media hype. They’re already using those nukes we’re supposed to grab. 11

“God.” O’Connell had been praying it was all a mistake ever since he’d heard the first panicked reports from South Africa.

“But I’m sure you’ll be glad to hear that the world community is up in arms over this.” Klocek didn’t hide his cynicism.

“I understand there are reports of protest notes, peace demonstrations, and threats of further unspecified sanctions rolling in from all over.”

“Great. Just great.” O’Connell scowled. Sanctions, demonstrations, and protests didn’t matter a damn now. Not when the Afrikaners had already shown they were prepared to wage total war-nuclear war. The only real way to stop Pretoria’s madmen would be to take the bombs away from them.

He glanced down at the reports littering his desk. At the moment, that scarcely seemed possible.

NOVEMBER 25-POTGIETERSRUS

The shattered remnants of several South African battalions held

Potgietersrus like a drowning man clinging to a rope.

The bush veld mining town wasn’t quite the last bastion before Pretoria itself, but there weren’t many such spots left along National Route

1.

With its mixture of excellent defensive terrain, a strategic road junction, and important economic assets, Potgietersrus was a good place to make a stand.

The city sat overlooking a dry, rocky plain, its offices and smelters and homes rising out of the ground like an island of civilization in the wilderness. In ordinary times, thirty thou sand people called Potgietersrus home-ten thousand of them white, fifteen thousand black, the rest mixed and other races.

Naturally, the whites lived in the center of town and ran the mines and businesses that kept the city alive. Their homes were mostly spacious, tree shaded, and expensive.