“Widespread attacks,” Vega commented.
“This isn’t just a simple cross-border raid, Comrade Ambassador.”
Tejeda put his glasses back on.
“Agreed. I’ve already put a call through to
Havana. I expect to hear from the foreign minister himself in half an hour or so.”
Surprised, Vega checked his watch. It was past midnight in Cuba, an ungodly hour even in a godless country. The foreign policy apparatus wasn’t usually so quick off the mark.
Tejeda nodded.
“Yes, Havana is greatly concerned. That is why I shall need to give the minister your assessment of the current military situation in
Namibia. And he will also expect our joint recommendations for reaction to this South African aggression.”
“Our what?” Vega was nonplussed.
“On the basis of fragmentary phone reports?” His voice was testy, almost angry I “General, please.” Tejeda tried to soothe him.
“You are the senior Cuban officer in Africa and we need your expertise. I have little experience in military matters. Certainly there must be broad conclusions you can draw, measures you can recommend to safeguard our interest.”
Vega knew he was being soothed. Tejeda had served as an officer in the
Cuban Army, and even if he had never seen combat, he had to understand what this meant. Still, he didn’t mind being soothed, and the foreign minister, and ultimately Castro himself, would not be put off. He stood and walked over to the map of the area on the wall.
As chief of his country’s military mission to the Luanda government, Vega commanded the Cuban infantry, armor, and air defense units left in Angola.
It was an army that had been shrinking steadily for the past several years.
Since the signing of the Brazzaville Accords, which promised South African withdrawal from Namibia in return for Cuban withdrawal from Angola, his command had fallen steadily from a high of fifty thousand troops down to its present level of barely ten thousand men.
It was a reduction in strength he felt sure Havana already regretted.
Vega had held his command for four years, fighting Unita-the guerrilla movement opposing Luanda’s Marxist government-and occasionally Unita’s South
African backers. He knew the area, and he knew his friends and his enemies.
And all sides in the conflict recognized him as a brilliant tactician and a courageous combat soldier.
He pondered the map for a moment, conscious of the eyes fixed on his uniformed back. He tapped a road junction circled in red near the bottom.
“Keetmanshoop may be the first step in South Africa’s invasion, but it cannot be the last. ”
His finger traced the road northward and stopped.
“There. That is where they must go to succeed. Windhoek. Namibia’s capital and economic center.”
Vega moved his hand west, to the Namibian coast.
“No competent general would launch a single-pronged attack on such an important objective. There must be a second enemy column moving inland from the enclave at Walvis Bay.
“Two columns. Both converging on Windhoek to trap and crush the Narnibians like this!” He clapped his hands together, startling several of the junior officers in the room.
Others nodded slowly. Vega’s logic was impeccable. With Windhoek in hand and Namibia’s new army smashed or scattered, South Africa would once again control three quarters of its former colony’s mineral wealth and transportation net.
Tejeda looked up from a pad of hastily scribbled notes.
“Did we have any intelligence about South African movements? Was there any warning at all?”
Vega saw every piece of information the
DCI
, the Cuban intelligence service, collected in Africa. He shook his head.
“Nothing that made a pattern or indicated an operation this massive. But naturally, we’ll go back and reevaluate the data to see if any of it falls into place now.” He nodded to one of the officers, who stiffened to attention and then hurriedly left the room.
Tejeda looked even more worried.
“Can the South Africans win?”
“Certainly, if Pretoria commits enough troops. Troop strength is the key.
Namibia may be weak, but it’s still a huge area-seven times larger than all Cuba.” Vega paused, calculating.
“Vorster and his madmen would have to commit virtually all of their regular forces. That would leave them weak everywhere else.” There was a speculative tone to his last sentence.
“So what can we do to counter this aggression, General?” Tejeda asked.
“Right away?” Vega clasped his hands behind his back, staring at the troop dispositions shown on the map.
“Freeze the withdrawal. No more units should be removed until we know what Unita will do. I’m sure that the South
Africans will use their stooges to try to distract us.”
He spun round from the map, looking for his chief of operations.
“Colonel
Oliva, you will put all our units on immediate alert. Tell them to expect increased Unita attacks. And pass the warning on to the Angolans as well.”
Oliva headed for a phone.
Tejeda stepped closer to Vega.
“I’m sure Havana will agree to stopping the withdrawal. We’ve certainly halted it in the past for less.”
Vega nodded, agreeing, and walked back over to a chair. He sat down heavily.
“Another year and I could have been home. The damned Boers just can’t leave anyone alone. And the Americans. They’re behind this, too.” He grimaced.
“As long as the capitalists have an outpost in Africa, there will be no peace in this region.”
Tejeda looked concerned. Vega rarely showed fatigue or strong emotion.
“Do you have any other recommendations, General?”
“Not at the moment, Comrade Ambassador.” Vega suddenly sounded tired, as if the thought of further service in this cursed country had drained him of energy.
“I may have other ideas when we get more information. ”
Tejeda’s secretary entered the Command Center.
“Sir, Minister Fierro is calling.”
Vega left as the ambassador picked up the phone. He had a lot of thinking to do.
CNN
HEADLINE
NEWS
CNN’s Atlanta-based anchorman managed to convey an impression of dispassionate concern with little deliberate effort.
“Our top story this hour, South Africa’s invasion of Namibia. ”
The screen split, showing a stylized map of Namibia in the upper right-hand corner, just over the anchor’s shoulder.
“Roughly eight hours ago, at dawn local time, South African warplanes, paratroops, and tanks struck deep into the newly independent nation of Namibia. Heavy fighting is reported, and there are also unconfirmed reports that UN peacekeeping troops along the
Namibian border have been disarmed and penned in their compounds by units of South Africa’s invasion force. ”
The newsman’s dapper image disappeared, replaced by soundless file footage of one of Vorster’s angry, arm-waving speeches. The invasion took most experts by surprise despite Pretoria’s recent claims that black guerrillas have been using the former colony as a staging area for attacks inside
South Africa. ”
Vorster’s image disappeared, replaced by that of a grave faced man the anchor identified as a spokesman for the Namibian government.
“This attack is clearly aimed at reestablishing Pretoria’s domination over our country.
Namibia will not surrender. We will not yield. Instead, we call on the
United Nations Security Council for immediate assistance in repelling this aggression.”
The anchorman reappeared, flanked this time by a picture of the White
House.
“In Washington, the State Department has issued a short statement condemning South Africa’s military action. The White House is expected to issue its own statement later in the day.
“In related news, violent incidents inside South Africa have been rising steadily in the wake of President Vorster’s new security measures…. ”
CUBAN
EMBASSY
,
LUANDA
,
ANGOLA
Night had come almost unnoticed to Luanda.
A single hooded lamp cast shadows on the wall as Gen. Antonio Vega sat eating alone in his office, reviewing the latest sketchy intelligence coming out of Windhoek. No clear picture had yet emerged, but one thing was obvious. Namibia’s young army was losing and losing fast. And in a war still less than a day old.
He looked up in intense irritation when Corporal Gomez stuck his head through the door to let him know that the ambassador wanted to see him.
Again.
Vega swore briskly, swept the sheaf of intelligence reports into a neat pile, and strode out the door with Gomez in tow.
Tejeda’s office faced an arc-lit inner courtyard-a safe haven should any of the many Angolans who loathed their country’s nominal protectors decide to turn sniper. The ambassador was now fully and formally dressed, but he looked much worse, plainly a man deprived of needed sleep and having had a very full day.
Tejeda glanced up from the message flimsy he’d been studying carefully.
“We have new orders, General.” His tone was portentous, almost comical, but Vega knew he was serious. The ambassador never joked about orders from Havana. It wasn’t healthy.
Vega took the message from him. It wasn’t long. The important ones never were.
“Cuba has pledged its internationalist support of the Namibian people against South Africa’s imperialist aggression. Under an agreement reached this afternoon with the Swapo government, this will include the deployment of military units in combat operations against Pretoria’s racist invaders.”
Tejeda nodded.
“Radio Havana will broadcast that—he looked at his watch—in about half an hour. I have direct orders for you as well.
Orders from the Defense Ministry.
Another telex message. Longer this time.
“Gen. Antonio Vega’s area of responsibility is expanded to include
Namibia. Use existing forces and reinforcements
(see attached) to assist the Swapo government in defeating South Africa’s invasion force.”
A list of units and estimated arrival times followed. Vega felt lightheaded. Fighters, armor, the best infantry units Fidel was evidently prepared to send the cream of the Cuban armed forces into combat against
South Africa!
But there were problems. He looked up, meeting Tejeda’s watchful gaze.
“Comrade Ambassador, have the Russians agreed to support this?” Vega had to force the question out through clenched teeth. Just asking it seemed to reinforce Cuba’s dependence on an increasingly untrustworthy patron.
The Cuban Army’s presence in Angola was possible only because Soviet cargo planes and ships kept it in supply and up to strength. Cuba itself had only a few ships and a scattering of light transport aircraft. Not enough to support a sizable force outside the island’s own shores. So none of
Castro’s extravagant promises to the Namibian government could be met without extensive Soviet backing. Vega had few illusions left about
Moscow’s continued devotion to its socialist brothers overseas.
Tejeda smiled thinly. He shared the general’s disdain for the USSR’s fair-weather communists.
“Surprising though it may seem, Comrade General,
Moscow’s response to our requests have been very positive. Defense Minister
Petrov himself telephoned Fidel to say that four merchant ships and twenty
Ilyushin cargo aircraft will be transferred to our control. Also, advanced
MiGs are being flown from Russia for use by our pilots. They’re scheduled to arrive within twenty four hours.”
Incredible. It was a generous offer, especially the fighter flights. Cuba’s own MiGs didn’t have the range to fly clear across the Atlantic, and just crating them for seaborne passage would have added a week to the time needed to get them into combat over Namibia.
A generous offer, indeed. And that was strange.
Of late, the Soviet Union’s support for Castro’s African policies had been lukewarm at best. As it foundered in a sea of internal political and economic troubles, the Kremlin had even begun grumbling about the above-market prices it paid for Cuba’s sugar crop. Prices that kept Cuba’s own failing economy afloat.
So what was the catch?
“Just what does Moscow expect in return?”
“Nothing, at least for now.” Tejeda shrugged.
“Apparently they see certain benefits in helping us help the Namibians. As the Americans would say, opposing South Africa is now good PR. ”
“They can afford it. But can we?” Vega countered. Angola paid Cuba in hard cash for every Cuban soldier inside its borders. That money, most of it ironically coming from an American-owned oil refinery, would have been missed after the slated withdrawal from Angola. Cuba was a poor country.
For years, the Americans, the
IMF
, and everyone outside the shrinking communist world had been trying to starve Cuba’s economy into ruin, with marked success. The nation desperately needed foreign exchange. Given that, Vega wasn’t sure his country could bear the cost of a full-fledged war.
Tejeda frowned. Vega’s question wasn’t just defeatist, it could even be interpreted as a criticism of Havana’s decisions. And that wasn’t like the general at all.
“Surely that isn’t your concern, Comrade General, The
Foreign Ministry assures me that they are already negotiating the needed agreements with Windhoek. Finances will not be a problem.”
“Fine,” Vega said, “you broker the deal for Namibian diamonds. Just don’t tell me the money’s run out once I’ve committed my forces.”
Tejeda turned bright red.
“General, please. Fidel has already pledged
Cuba’s support for Namibian independence. A pledge that we will carry out even if we have to impoverish ourselves. ”
Vega looked skeptical. Fidel Castro was a committed revolutionary, but not a madman. Cuba already stood on the brink of poverty. Revolutionary fervor wasn’t an adequate substitute for a steady and expensive stream of munitions, food, and fuel.
The ambassador hurried on.
“Besides, there are important geopolitical considerations at stake here. Considerations that cannot be ignored. We have always tried to lead third-world opinion. Fighting, actually risking