Vortex

“You won’t see anything if you get closer, sir. It would just increase the chance of you getting hit again, and we might not be as lucky.”

The general nodded and returned to his prone position. His urge to get closer was natural, but even at close range, a night battle was no more than a confused mix of sound and images. His best vantage point was up here, getting the “big picture,” even if it was a little dark.

The general shook his head a little. Normally he would have dismissed an impulse such as that without giving it a second thought. Vega could only wonder if his wound had weakened him, made him more emotional. He resolved to consider his actions carefully.

The storm of fire suddenly doubled, and Vega realized that his battalion must be close enough to see the Boer positions clearly. Fire was starting to come in from the left and center as well now. The general smiled as he imagined the confusion behind the enemy line-first sending units over to its left, then frantically trying to shift them as the true danger was revealed. Vega loved the chaos and confusion of battle-as long as it was behind the enemy’s lines.

Gomez spoke up.

“Battery commander reports ready for second fire mission.

“

Vega felt his spirits lift a little more.

“Tell him to execute as planned,” he ordered the radio man. He listened to Gomez relay his order as he studied the battle.

More of his tanks and APCs were burning now. The progress of the battalion could be followed by a widening wedge of flickering fires, and

Vega knew that for every burning vehicle there were probably two more that had been knocked out.

He hoped the men had escaped from their metal traps. More importantly, he hoped they would have the wit and the will to advance in the right direction in the swirling, lethal confusion.

A whooshing roar was followed by a hollow crump sound. His artillery was shelling the Afrikaner line, but the shells were smoke, not high explosive. Landing at right angles to the Boer positions, and lying across the center, the smoke would make the dark night darker, effectively isolating one third of the battlefield from the rest. It would not block all of the Boer fire, but it would reduce its effectiveness and slow any movement to that area.

The artillery stopped, and Vega knew they were moving again. American air power, even if not directed by the South Africans, was driving his tactics. Like weather or terrain, it had to be considered, but it could be dealt with.

“The assistant battalion commander says that his tanks have penetrated the line and are swinging left!” Gomez’s report was almost a cheer, and

Vega was glad that the darkness hid his grin. Then he stopped worrying about it.

With the tanks behind them and on their flank, the South

Africans would have to quickly retreat or face utter destruction. Vega almost hoped they didn’t. He imaged the panicked Boer infantry, turning their heads to see shadowed steel monsters emerging from the smoke almost on top of them.

Still, it had not been without cost. Obviously the battalion commander was unable to report. His tank was in the front rank, and Vega could only hope that his vehicle’s problems were limited to a broken radio,

The trick now was to seize the Afrikaner positions, dig in, and be ready for the morning light and a new round of air attacks. By the time the

Americans knew he was here, he wanted his men secure.

He stood up slowly, weakly, but victorious. He was a heartbeat away from

Pretoria. He and his men had survived nuclear weapons, guerrilla attacks,

American air power, all in addition to a dangerous enemy and a harsh landscape. Nothing could stop him.

JANUARY 13

Vega slept in that morning, unusual but quite reasonable. He was used to rising early and liked attacking difficult problems first thing, but that was before his wound, and before his forces had shifted to their new nighttime pattern.

His room, a former office in the back of the bookstore, was dark when he awoke. In his disorientation, for a moment he thought it was still before dawn, but he felt rested. Then, panicking, he thought he had passed the whole day asleep. There was another night attack to organize, and when he caught Suarez, he was…

He heard voices out in the front rooms, saw sunlight streaming through the shuttered windows, and finally looked at his watch. It was eleven o’clock.

He’d slept for eight hours, and even though his leg hurt like hell, he felt better than he had in weeks. It was time to plan the next battle, before the South Africans had time to dig in too deeply.

Vega dressed himself quietly, carefully, favoring his leg. He missed

Gomez’s presence, but the corporal was now

needed for other tasks at headquarters and could not be spared for orderly duty.

Drawing himself upright, he opened the door and stepped out into the main room, which was a common office for the headquarters staff.