Vasquez pointed to a sketchy map, which had been heavily annotated.
“Although the setup is more complex, I have reconnaissance personnel scouting the terrain for dead zones and potential approach routes. They should be back in this afternoon. We are also trying to build up a picture of the enemy’s order of battle, but—the colonel, paused, hesitating-“we are having some difficulty doing so.”
Vega nodded, a little impatiently. Vasquez had done well in a job that had grown harder and harder. Reconnaissance assets had been scarce to begin with, and now American aircraft made any movement dangerous. The chance of any aerial reconnaissance was also nil, especially after two of his precious reconnaissance aircraft had been shot down by carrier-based fighters.
Still, everyone knew the problems, and also the solutions, or the best ones that could be found. He looked at the colonel.
“Well?”
“We are seeing massive movement, not only in the town but on the roads leading to it.”
“That only makes sense,” Vega countered.
“It is the South Africans’ next defensive position, and we are getting closer to the capital all the time.
It’s only natural-”
“Sir, my worst-case estimate for the Afrikaner defenses was a composite battalion of armor, two understrength infantry battalions, and two batteries of artillery.” Everyone on the staff who heard the list winced.
Such a strong defense would make Temba nearly impossible to take.
“We have hard information about two battalions of armor, both stronger than we expected. One of them appears to be made up exclusively of tanks!”
“What?” Vega’s look of puzzlement was natural. The entire South African
Army didn’t have a complete battalion of tanks left anywhere.
“We’ve had several reconnaissance vehicles killed at long range, in excess of three thousand meters, by antitank missiles. the launchers were masked, but appeared to be deployed around the flanks of the town.”
The intelligence officer continued, “We are also seeing helicopters operating near Temba. They are not approaching close enough for us to make them out, but my scouts cannot recognize the type.”
Vega was intrigued.
“What do you think they are up to, Colonel?”
“We can only conclude that it is a last-ditch effort, sir. We are much closer to Pretoria than the Americans, and the Boers have always put the bulk of their forces in against us. The American front to the south has been quiet in the last few days. It may be that they have run into the same kind of supply problems we have faced, but their supply-hungry army cannot operate as well on short rations.
“My assessment is that they have been stripping the American front of every unit they can, and especially after our victory last night, have committed their national reserves from Pretoria. ”
The general said, “Other possibilities?”
“I see none, sir. We had very good information on their strengths before we started the war, and there are simply no other units left. If we don’t include the units fighting the Americans and British, this brigade is the last major South African force in existence.”
“Then let’s start planning. If we can organize another night attack, concentrating on only. one portion of the brigade, we can do to them what we did to that battalion last night.” Vega’s voice was full of energy, and it galvanized the entire staff. They could take on a dug-in force almost as large as their own, and win.
Vega and his officers were clustered around the map, trying to take it apart and visualize the terrain, when the radio operator interrupted them.
“Sir, one of the scouts reports a jeep moving north from Temba under a white flag.”
Vega, already deep in his element, took this development as one more piece of a very interesting puzzle. What could the Boers want from him?
What was in the commander’s mind?
“Halt them at the edge of our defenses, but do not molest them,” Vega ordered.
The general grabbed his hat and battered uniform coat.
“Come on,” he said.
“I will not meet the Boers in the middle of a bookstore. We will meet them at our front lines.”
The party climbed into a
GAZ
jeep and drove south at high speed. An escorting party of soldiers barely had time to pile into another and follow them.
The road south to Temba cut through a line of low hills, the same ones that had held the Boer defenders but now held Cuban soldiers.
The command group approached the spot, and Vega noticed a strange-looking vehicle parked under one of the few trees in the area. It was an American jeep, neatly painted in sand and green colors. A small knot of men lounged or sat in the vehicle, under extremely heavy guard.
As their own jeep neared the scene, the men stood up and appeared to be speaking to each other. ‘the circle of guards tightened, as if to prevent any sudden treachery.
Vega’s group was now close enough to see them clearly, and his mask of calm was nearly shattered by the sights of not only a South African officer, but what looked like American and British officers as well. What in the world were they doing here? Witnesses? Observers?
Regaining control, he stepped out as the jeep slowed to a stop and then waited patiently as his staff also climbed out and assembled themselves.
He let Vasquez take the lead, and they crossed the ten meters or so to where the enemy officers stood, waiting. Vasquez spoke English, and so would act as interpreter. Vega spoke only Spanish and Russian.
The colonel approached the South African, who appeared to be a brigadier, or one-star general.
“I have the honor to be Colonel Jaume Vasquez of the
Cuban Revolutionary Ground Forces. I would like to present General
Antonio
Vega, supreme commander of the Socialist Armies in Africa.” Vega nodded politely.
The South African returned Vasquez’s salute, although he managed to do it in such a way that the colonel could feel the man’s hatred. The brigadier’s tone was cold, and stiff, and the clipped English only accented his anger.
“I am Brigadier Deneys Coetzee, chief of staff of the
South African Defense Forces and provisional head of the South African government. ”
Vasquez’s reaction was so obvious that Coetzee smiled. They’d had no idea. News of Vorster’s fall had been suppressed, easy to do in the tightly controlled media Vorster’s regulations had created. That had given Coetzee and the Americans valuable time to consolidate, and more importantly, to prepare a rude surprise for the Cubans.
Coet/ee allowed the colonel just enough time to translate this introduction for Vega before introducing the other two men.
“This is
Major General Samuel Weber of the United States Army, and Colonel Nigel
Moore, of the British Army. ”
Vega as well as Vasquez recognized Weber’s name from the intelligence reports. He commanded the American 24th Mechanized Division. Late reports had placed it on National Route 3, fighting its way north toward
Johannesburg. Vega felt a wave of cold creeping up his spine.
Coetzee spoke again.
“Tell your general that the South African government has ceased hostilities with the American and British governments and has now asked for their assistance in repelling the communist forces that have invaded our territory. ”
Vasquez bristled slightly, but translated the sentence. Vega maintained his impassive expression, but from the expressions of the rest of his staff, the information hit home.
Vega said, “Ask him what happened to Vorster. ” Vasquez translated the question.
Coetzee replied, “That is none of your business, but since it will soon be public knowledge, we can tell you that he is under arrest and will soon be indicted, under South African law, on several counts of murder.”
When this was translated, Vega’s cold chill now turned his heart into a block of ice. He could almost feel it in his throat. Vorster would never have made peace with the Americans. He was ready to destroy his country before he’d loosen his grip. If Vorster was really gone, then the
Americans and British had a free hand.
The American walked two steps forward, facing Vasquez. Weber said, “I’m not going to mince words. If your intelligence people are on the job at all, you know who I am.” Without thinking, Vasquez nodded.
Jerking his thumb back behind him, Weber said, “I’ve already deployed a full battalion of M-1 tanks in that town back there, and I’m bringing up another two battalions of one of my brigades sometime soon. I won’t tell you boys exactly when, but you can assume the worst.”
He leaned closer to Vasquez, so that they were almost nose to nose.
“The other two brigades will be along presently.” He pointed to the British officer.
“That gentlemen there also has some units he controls, and there are other officers that couldn’t make it to this little meeting. Vaquez noted in passing that the British officer wore a red beret, which could only mean that he commanded a battalion of paratroopers.
“In short, Colonel, you tell your general back there that instead of facing a divided South African Army, he faces the combined forces of
South Africa, Britain, and the United States.”
Vasquez started to translate, but Weber cut him off.
“And tell General
Vega that we are fresh as fucking daisies. I’ve been fighting South
Africans for a while, and I haven’t enjoyed it too much. Now that
Vorster’s been taken care of, I’d love to kick some Cuban ass.”
Vasquez, controlling his temper, transmitted a paraphrase of Weber’s speech to Vega, which even in summary caused him to drop his mask of detachment and take one step toward the American.
Coetzee said, “We offer you these terms: Withdraw from South African territory immediately, using the same routes you came in on. You will be escorted along the entire route, but not molested. Once you have returned to Mozambique
and Zimbabwe, you will evacuate all national forces. On the Namibian front, we will institute an immediate cease-fire, followed by a mutual phased withdrawal with the purpose of restoring Namibian sovereignty.
“You have two hours to organize your forces and begin the retreat. If we have not seen you comply with our terms at the end of that time, we are going to blow you to hell.”
The jeep ride back to Warmbad was absolutely quiet. All of them had their own thoughts and recommendations, but if the general wanted them, he would ask for them.
I Vega’s own mind was on fire-calculating, considering, discarding. He had no intention of giving in limply to the threats of the South African and his Western friends.
Vorster was gone, and presumably any of his sympathizers as well. What did that mean for the South African government? They were obviously the creatures of the Americans and British, but it had always been that way.
If the Americans were moving into Temba in strength, then they already held Pretoria. Vega guessed that his threat to the mines was over, and with it the Cuban forces’ role as a spoiler.
The general kept trying to fit the pieces together, to reduce the situation down to its basics. Could he still take Pretoria? Not likely.
Not with his present forces and supply situation.
Could he hurt the West? Probably, if he could ruin the mines. Vega knew that simply by remaining in South Africa, the economies of many Western nations were being threatened.
That was a goal he could fight for.
The jeep pulled up in front of his headquarters-and Vega got out more slowly, favoring his sore leg.
“Send a message to Havana. Tell them about the new situation and request reinforcements. We will need an increased level of support from the Russians. Tell Castro that ‘the capitalist forces have united themselves against us, and it is time for the socialist forces to match them. This is the great confrontation.”
”
Vasquez ran off to compose the message. Vega made no immediate move to speak, and finally Suarez asked, “Then we are not retreating?”
“Yes, we are, Colonel, but only as far as Warmbad. Pass word to all the commanders that we are taking up defensive positions in town.” He saw their stares and added, “We have been advancing, which means that we were on the wrong end of the three-to-one equation.
“If we dig into Warmbad and let them come to us, we can easily hold off a division-sized attack. After we give them a bloody nose, we will launch limited counterattacks, concentrating on holding ground and killing his troops. No advances, no offensives. They will have to come to us, and we will make them bleed.
” By the time they can bring up enough forces to overwhelm us, Havana and
Moscow will have sent us the additional reinforcements we so desperately need.”
Suarez nodded. It was a good plan, but he was still worried.
“What about the American air attacks?”
“We have seen what their air power can do. We can ride it out if we are ready. Start pulling our men back right away. Make it obvious and noisy, then dig them in around the town. Dig hard and deep.”
JANUARY
14-
DEFENSE
COUNCIL
MEETING
,
THE
KREMLIN
,
RSFSR
Vega’s message asking for additional reinforcements was under intense discussion. It was not an argument, because everyone in the council was agreed: Vega had done the impossible and was only inches short of his goal. The question was, how much more aid should be provided?
The council was also in complete agreement about the Cuban’s request to shorten the supply lines. It was dismissed out of hand. Transport aircraft landing in South African territory would certainly force a direct confrontation with the Americans. The Cubans would have to make do.
Marshal Kamenev, chief of the general staff, looked pale
and haggard after a night with his planners. The Defense Council had been unable to reply to Castro and Vega without hard numbers, and his job had been to find them.
Distilling the situation to its basics, Kamenev said, “Vega now faces forces not only of greater strength but of higher quality. His T-62s and