Reitz continued his lecture.
“I want you to see how I deal with this riot.
I’ve been trying to make you and the other officers in the battalion understand my policies for well over two weeks now. If you can’t or won’t understand, it’s not my fault, but I’m going to keep trying until you do-or until I find men who can. If my orders were executed more energetically and with less insubordinate discussion, this would be a very quiet, peaceful city.”
Taylor nodded curtly, hating himself for having to appear to agree even that much.
The Castle of Good Hope was located across from the main train station and near the city center, and the streets were
already packed with cars and pedestrians on their way to lunch or early-afternoon shopping. Reitz scowled, turned on his Land Rover’s siren and flashing light, and began weaving recklessly in and out of traffic.
In minutes, they were headed at high speed along the Western Boulevard toward Green Point-a bulge of level ground pushing northward out into the
Atlantic Ocean. A thousand foot-high rock outcrop called Signal Hill towered above Green Point’s sports grounds, golf course, beaches, and soccer stadium.
Ordinarily, the area would be full of people enjoying the warm spring weather, but barricades, police vehicles, and
SADF
APCs now blocked every road and path. Most Cape Town residents, wise in the ways of such things, were giving the place a wide berth.
As the Land Rover roared past two hospitals built on the eastern edge of
Green Point, the buildings on either side fell away to an open grassy area.
Taylor held on tight to the dashboard as Reitz wheeled the vehicle through a traffic circle and onto a small access road. The soccer stadium was visible now, almost straight ahead and surrounded by hundreds of small figures, vehicles, and wisps of white that had to be tear gas.
Noises filled the air. An amplified voice, with the words confused and indistinguishable, could be heard from the direction of the stadium. Some wild-eyed, impractical agitator, Taylor thought coldly. Some idiot who still believed the Vorster government gave a damn about public opinion in the Cape Province. Shouts and breaking glass, mixed with occasional thumping shots from tear gas launchers and the high-pitched, screaming sirens of arriving ambulances, all added to the overpowering din.
Reitz braked the Land Rover beside a roadblock manned by a squad of armed troops. He had to shout to make himself heard.
“Where’s your captain,
Sergeant?”
The noncom stiffened at the unexpected sight of his battalion’s two most senior officers and pointed toward the company’s command post, set up on an open stretch of ground northeast of the stadium.
Capt. John Hastings stood in the shade of a Buffel armored personnel carrier, surrounded by several lieutenants and sergeants, all studying a city map. They looked tired, and one sergeant had a bandaged forearm.
The gut-twisting, acrid smell of tear gas clung to their rumpled, sweat-stained uniforms.
Reitz leaped from the Land Rover and strode over to the group.
“What the devil’s going on here?” he shouted.
Hastings and his command group spun round, startled. They came to attention and saluted.
“Orders group, sir.” Hastings pulled his blue beret off and ran a nervous hand through tousled red hair.
“We’re trying to determine the best way to clear the stadium.”
Another Buffel pulled up, the wheeled vehicle’s angular armored body towering over them. Andries Kloof, a lean, black-haired officer, climbed out of the troop compartment and ran over to join Reitz. More APCs arrived behind Kloof’s command vehicle and halted, engines still turning over, adding yet more noise to the din all around.
“Captain Kloof and C Company, reporting as ordered, Colonel. ”
Taylor snorted, but quietly. This wasn’t a parade ground, but Reitz returned the younger Afrikaner’s salute with snap and precision-just as though it were.
“Glad you’re here, Kloof. Stand by for a moment.”
The young officer moved closer and studied the map with the rest of the group.
Reitz, looking impatient, turned back to Hastings.
“Well, Captain? What’s this mess you’ve managed to create?”
Hastings’s snub-nosed face paled beneath its light dusting of freckles, and Taylor saw his jaw muscles twitch as he fought to control his temper.
“We estimate there are two to three thousand people in and around the stadium, sir. Mostly white students from the university, but there are a lot of blacks and colored there as well.”
He gestured to the map.
“We’ve sealed off all entrances and exits to the commons area… ”
Taylor listened intently. Hastings and his company were following standard crowd control tactics designed to minimize
civilian casualties and protect his own men at the same time. They were using tear gas to break up organized groups of demonstrators outside the stadium. Once the demonstrators were dispersed and fleeing the gas, a platoon armed with Plexiglas riot shields and batons moved in to haul them off to waiting trucks.
Unfortunately, it was a slow and tedious process. The soldiers carried more gear than the protestors and were finding it difficult to capture more than a handful with each sally. Most managed to evade arrest and reformed-only to be dispersed by new salvos of tear gas grenades. It was a frustrating cycle that seemed to go on and on.
“And what about the stadium itself?” Reitz asked.
Hastings shook his head.
“I haven’t wanted to fire tear gas inside because of the panic it would create. Too many people could be trampled.
We’ve been using loudspeakers to order them to disperse or face detention.”
“And whenever they are ready to leave, you’ll arrest them?” Reitz’s voice was laced with sarcasm.
“Your concern for these hooligans is touching, but misplaced. These people are breaking the law and should be treated as such.
“Now listen to me closely, Captain! I will not have you”Reitz raised his voice-or any man in this battalion babying these troublemakers.”
He jabbed the map.
“Have your grenadiers start firing tear gas into the stadium. And form the rest of your men into a cordon. Once the gas goes in, start sweeping the area on this side of the stadium. Arrest everyone, and if they run, shoot them!”
Hastings stared at Reitz, shocked, but he quickly concealed it. Taylor noticed the captain’s eyes flicker in his direction. He controlled his own expression, masking his true feelings behind an impassive countenance.
Reitz smiled for the first time.
“You will see, gentlemen. A few bullets will convince these ruffians to stop running and surrender. ”
For an instant, Taylor thought about protesting the triggerhappy order to open fire without serious provocation. It would be a useless gesture, though. Even at the best of times, South African law enforcement was a pretty brutal business. And Reitz was within his rights as commander on the scene.
But that didn’t mean Taylor liked the situation. It also didn’t mean that he could forget that Colonel Ferguson had never found it necessary to have unarmed civilians shot. He stiffened.
Reitz’s smile faded and he glared at the group.
“Well?”
Galvanized into action, A Company’s lieutenants and sergeants went flying off under a new string of orders from Captain Hastings.
The colonel turned to C Company’s eager commander. Kloof take your men to the far side of the stadium and clear these communists away. Arrest anyone who stops, shoot anyone who moves.”
The younger man saluted again and ran off to his waiting
APC
. Taylor heard him shouting orders in a high-pitched, excited voice.
Reitz strolled over to Taylor’s side. His tone was pleasant, almost light.
“There, Major, that’s what I mean by my orders being energetically executed.”
He glanced at his watch.
“I expect we’ll have this little tea party broken up in an hour or so. ” His voice turned harsher.
“When we get back to the office, I want you to draw up court-martial papers for Hastings.
He’s obviously incompetent and may actually be in sympathy with these rioters.”
Reitz frowned at his stunned look.
“I will not have anyone under my command who harbors soft feelings for these people. Our president has made it quite clear that we should use strong measures to maintain law and order.”
Taylor said softly, “The president has also admitted seizing power illegally.”
“That will be enough, Major!” Reitz shouted, outraged.
“I won’t have you questioning our government’s authority, or mine. You are here to learn how to do your job, which I should think is humbling enough. A court-martial would be even more humbling.”
Taylor heard Kloof’s shouted command to move out and
turned to see C Company’s three platoons formed in a giant wedge. With assault rifles at port arms, they started trotting toward the far side of the oval soccer stadium.
A panting corporal ran up to Taylor and saluted.
“Sir, Captain Hastings says his men are in position and he’s ready to fire the tear gas.”
Taylor started to speak, but Reitz cut him off.
“Well, what does he want us to say? What is he waiting for? Tell that incompetent fool to fire.
Let’s get to it.”
My God. This Afrikaner bastard was insulting his fellow officers in front of enlisted men. Taylor felt his rage returning, overcoming the fear his erstwhile colonel had tried to instill by threatening him with a court-martial.
Unnerved by the dispute between his superiors, the corporal backed away and then ran off carrying Reitz’s message. The colonel watched him go and then muttered, “I wish it were nerve gas. Just wipe out the lot of them, that’s what we should do. ”
A Company was deployed about fifty meters away, facing the stadium. A long line of men knelt on one knee with face shields down. Alternating soldiers carried assault rifles and riot batons, held at the ready. One group of four men armed with grenade launchers waited behind the line.
Hastings and his company sergeant had posted themselves near the four grenadiers.
Taylor watched as the corporal rejoined them and saw Hastings’s head snap in their direction before turning back to his men. The captain’s arm lifted and then dropped sharply.
Thummp! Thummp! Thummp! Thummp! Tear gas projectiles arced through the air and fell into the soccer stadium, trailing a thin white haze behind them. Wisps of gas started to rise slowly, drifting inland on a light breeze.
“The troops stood and started to move forward at a trot.
Reitz was beside himself.
“Four grenades? My God, that’s a stadium, not a public toilet!”
“He’s trying to give them a warning, a chance to leave without causing a panic.”
“Damn it, man, I want them panicked!” Reitz exclaimed.
“I want them terrified, especially of us!”
Still swearing, the colonel ran after the advancing company, and when he was in earshot, he started shouting, “Fire more tear gas. Fire now!”
Screams and the sounds of dozens of people choking and retching almost in unison were drowning out the muddy, indistinct voice bellowing over the stadium’s public address system.
Hastings looked over his shoulder when he heard Reitz, scowled, and passed the order on to the four men carrying grenade launchers. Another salvo of tear gas grenades arced into the air and fell inside the crowded stadium.
The colonel grabbed Hastings by the arm and swung him around.
“Have these men fire and fire again until they do not have any more projectiles! Then tell me and I will find more for them to use! Is that clear?”
Hastings nodded silently and after half a beat, saluted. Reitz ignored him. Instead, he turned away and followed the advancing troops, staying about five meters behind the command group.
More grenades soared through the air and fell into a growing haze. A few scattered and landed outside the stadium walls, but most went straight in. Taylor noticed that the loud voice on the loudspeaker had stopped, but that the screams and half-choked shouts from inside kept growing in volume.
Small bands of brown, black, and white protestors milled in confusion around the entrances to the soccer field-still unsure of the Army’s exact intentions.
Suddenly the screaming in the stadium moved outside. A mass of people, individuals indistinct at a hundred meters’ distance, surged out the door nearest to Hastings’s troops. Other throngs of fleeing demonstrators were pouring out the other exits, eager to escape what must be chaos among the tear gas-filled bleachers and soccer field.
Hastings motioned to a sergeant, who raised a bullhorn and yelled, first in Afrikaans and then in English, “Halt and surrender! If you flee, you will be shot.” As if to add substance to this threat, Taylor heard rifle fire from the far side of the stadium. That bastard Kloof and his men were already at work.
The mob ignored the sergeant’s warning. A few men and women near the edges seemed to hear, but even they ran. Taylor could see several people with bloodied limbs or heads, undoubtedly injured in the crush to get out through the narrow, body-packed exits. He shook his head slowly in dismay.
The colonel’s tear gas barrage had driven this crowd beyond reason.
A few rocks and bottles flew in the soldiers’ direction as some of the more militant protestors tried to retaliate. None landed very close.
Reitz took it all in and smiled thinly again.
“That’s one way to stop a show. Now fire a warning burst over their heads. ”
Tight-lipped, Hastings nodded and gave the order. His men lifted their assault rifles and fired a ragged volley into the air. The stone throwers fled, but panicked protestors continued to stream out of the exits and away from the soldiers.
That was enough for Reitz, who shouted, “Fire again, damn it, and this time aim for the crowd!”
What? Till now, Taylor had hoped against all the evidence that the colonel’s ugly threats were mere bravado and bluster. Too late, he realized that Reitz had meant every word. He stepped forward to countermand the order….