Vortex

The third and latest headquarters was located in an anonymous-looking row of shops off a side street in town. Since they communicated solely by runners and field telephone, there was none of the exterior bustle and activity that marked it as a headquarters. There were no vehicles to spot, no radio traffic to detect. It was harder to do business, but they were still alive.

Vega had chosen a small bookstore for his own office, one of the prerogatives of command. Propped up in an easy chair from one of the apartments above, his leg elevated so that he was almost lying down, he didn’t feel foolish only because of the throbbing pain.

“The Russians have promised to replace our antiaircraft guns and send more and newer missiles to improve our defenses.” Suarez handed Vega the message slip.

Vega reached for the paper, then weakly waved it away.

“How many SAMs will it take to protect us from two aircraft carriers, Colonel? Who will provide the advisors and training for the new equipment?” The general scowled. “it will help, but in addition to airdefense equipment, ask for smoke generators and more dummy equipment. “

Suarez nodded, smiling.

“That will serve two purposes: provide them with more targets, and fool the South Africans and Americans as to our real strength.”

Vega shook his head and smiled.

“I’d rather they both thought we were weaker, not stronger. It’s clear that South Africa is concentrating their remaining forces against us.

“We can beat them. What are the casualty figures this morning?”

“Roughly ten percent of our armored vehicles are lost, another ten percent damaged but repairable, especially with cannibalization from the destroyed ones. The figures are double that for specialist units: artillery and air defense units have been especially hard hit.”

Vega nodded soberly, remembering B Battery. They were reduced to two guns now and had suffered over twenty dead in last night’s raid. It gave sober reality to Suarez’s cold statistics.

“In return for that, we shot down seven aircraft and damaged another ten,”

Suarez reported.

Vega had learned long ago not to trust completely enemy body counts.

“How many wrecks have we found?”

“Three, sir. The other four were seen to be trailing smoke and in trouble as they left the area.”

The general shook his head.

“However many there were, I think they will lighten up now. We can still expect attacks, but not at the level of the past twenty-four hours. From now

on, we will conduct major movements at night. If we pay more attention to proper dispersal and concealment, we can continue with minimal casualties.”

Suarez tried to sound hopeful.

“As long as they don’t attack the airheads in Mozambique and Zimbabwe, we will still receive supplies.”

“The Americans don’t need to attack the airheads. The supply line is long enough for them to hit it between here and the border. The risk of hitting Russians or other foreign citizens is too great, just as the risk of losing a cargo aircraft or its crew is too great for the Russians to land here.” Vega remembered the airfield at Naboomspruit. It could easily handle large transport planes, but the Soviets had insisted on landing at the original airfields, now a hundred kilometers away. He understood their reasoning, but it didn’t keep him from hating them.

Vega had been half-sitting up, but suddenly fell back in the chair as all the strength left him. Lack of sleep and a hole in his thigh that had needed thirty stitches could not be ignored. Suarez was worried. The general had been pushing himself before the wound. Now he was pale, and obviously on the brink of exhaustion. Tired men don’t make good leaders.

“I’ll send in the medics and some lunch, sir. You should rest and heal.”

“So should the rest of the Army,” Vega replied.

A mild painkiller and some food had relaxed and refreshed him, and his chief of staff let him sleep until dinnertime. That gave Suarez time to organize the Army and the disrupted supply lines.

The general woke from his long nap, and while he was still pale and thin, he spoke more energetically and was much less defeatist. As they ate dinner, Vega issued a dozen directives, all designed to help deal with the American air attacks and the problems of night combat. He railed against the loss of half a day, and Suarez smiled. He would gladly spend half a day’s advance to get his general back.

Evidence of the American attacks was everywhere when the command group went forward to their observation position. Suarez was visibly uneasy, but Vega had insisted on observing the first night attack personally. None of them had any experience in large-scale night attacks, and Vega said that he needed to learn faster than anyone else in the Army, and hopefully faster than the South Africans.

Gomez parked the jeep in a gully formed where a dry streambed cut into the side of a hill. Although there were several groups of trees nearby, the Cubans’ first lesson had been to avoid prominent terrain features.