Vortex

CHAPTER 13 Whirligig

SEPTEMBER 15-NATIONAL SECURITY COUNCIL MEETING, THE WHITE HOUSE

It was one of the fine, crisp mid-September mornings that made summer in the District of Columbia bearable. If you could somehow hang on through the sticky steam-bath days of July and August, a cool, clean breeze was bound to come along to drop the temperature and blow away the smog.

The change in the weather was invigorating, and even two floors below ground level its effects could be seen in the faces of the men and in their conversation as they waited for the Vice President to arrive.

Their upbeat attitudes masked underlying worry. Although this was a regularly scheduled NSC session, there was only one topic on the agenda-the situation in southern Africa. The unspoken sense of crisis was reflected in the names and ranks of those present. WM the sole exceptions of the secretaries of state and defense, all of the NSC’s principal members had come themselves-each accompanied by a small entourage of aides.

The secretary of state was in Europe, consulting directly with America’s

NATO allies over events in southern Africa. The secretary of defense was tied up on a more prosaic task-touring a series of West Coast military bases earmarked for closure and sale. Flying either man home in time for the meeting would only have created unwelcome media attention.

Nevertheless, the majority of the administration’s brain trust sat around a crowded table in the Situation Roomassembled two floors below the green lawns and rose gardens of the White House in an effort to try to unscrew the inscrutable.

A low buzz of conversation and muttered speculation died instantly as

Vice President James Malcolm Forrester strode past the Marine sentries at the door. His manner was hurried as he took his seat and pulled a thick manila folder from his leather portfolio.

“Sorry for the delay, ladies and gentlemen, but I’ve just received additional guidance from the President about the Namibian war and our response to it. ” He turned to the short, bearded man seated across the table.

“Ed, why don’t you bring everybody up-to-date? No sense in going ahead until we’ve all got the same information. “

“Yes, sir.” Assistant Secretary of State Edward Hurley looked collected and organized as he rose from his chair and leaned forward to turn on an overhead projector.

Forrester ignored a disappointed frown from the deputy secretary of state. Whitworth might be Hurley’s immediate superior, but he didn’t have the detailed knowledge necessary to handle the briefing. Besides,

Forrester had long suspected that the State Department’s number two man was one of those “highly placed officials” who enjoyed leaking stories that made him look bad.

An aide near the door dimmed the lights slightly.

Hurley placed his first slide on the glass. Though clearly put together at the last minute, it was also well laid out and clear-a rare quality in Washington, D.C.

“This slide lists

important events that have occurred since our meeting a week ago. As you can see, only three of the fourteen involve military incidents in Namibia.

The rest are political events, guerrilla attacks, or serious civil disturbances.”

Jesus. Forrester scanned the chart while Hurley rattled off a quick summary of each event. At first glance, the fighting in Namibia seemed almost a sideshow compared to what was happening inside South Africa’s own borders. South Africa’s population was at war with itself. Between guerrilla bombings, black-on-black power struggles, and the government’s

I I security measures,” hundreds of people were dying every week.

Hurley replaced the chronology with a map, labeled Top SECRET.

“According to all available sources, this is the present disposition of Cuban and

South African forces in Namibia. Essentially, the military stalemate continues. There have been no significant advances or retreats for weeks.

Just a steady series of artillery bombardments and small-scale, but costly, infantry assaults. “

Forrester nodded somberly. He’d seen the South African casualty estimates produced by the Defense Intelligence Agency. Forty-five dead and more than one hundred and fifty wounded in the past week alone. That didn’t sound like much of a war. Not until you remembered how small South

Africa’s white population really was. On a proportional basis, Pretoria’s

Namibian losses over the last seven days were the equivalent of more than 2,200 dead and 7,500 wounded Americans.

He stared at the unit symbols shown on the map-most clustered in the mountains south of Windhoek. South Africa’s mechanized and motorized battalions were nearly immobile -forced to remain in place while an inadequate logistics system tried desperately to stockpile the fuel reserves needed for a renewed offensive.

In the meantime, both sides were continuing their troop strength buildups. Total South African strength in Namibia had climbed by nearly a brigade-an increase matched by the Cubans. Castro, unworried by any serious external threat,

evidently felt able to commit an even greater share of his reserves to the region.

Hurley placed another chronology on the projector.

“These are events in the region that either affect or are affected by the war in Namibia. All of the front line states-Mozambique, Zimbabwe, and Botswana-are being forced to cope with dramatically increased guerrilla activity. Most are insurgencies we know are supported by Pretoria. ” He pointed to a separate heading near the bottom.

“Unita has also been very active, almost certainly at South

Africa’s request. Unita guerrillas have been attacking Angolan rail lines and bridges, trying to slow down any Cuban reinforcements on their way south to Namibia.”

Forrester scowled and made a note. Unita’s de facto support for South

Africa’s Namibian adventure was a sore point in Washington. The anticommunist Angolan guerrilla movement happened to be supported by both the United States and South Africa-one of the few places where the foreign policies of the two countries coincided-much to Washington’s chagrin.

Unita’s willingness to complicate Cuba’s troop movements into Namibia was understandable. The guerrillas rightly viewed Castro’s troops as an occupying army. But that didn’t make their aid for South Africa’s invasion any more palatable or wise. Not given the current situation.

Some of the left-wingers in Congress were using the situation to scream for an immediate end to U.S. support for Unita. Forrester snorted. As if that would solve anything. Abandoned by the United States, Unita wouldn’t have any choice but to do everything its sole remaining backer, South Africa, asked. Instead, the CIA had been working behind the scenes, urging Unita to stay neutral in the Namibian conflict. So far, though, all attempts at persuasion had failed. Castro’s troop trains and tank flatcars were targets simply too tempting to pass up.

Hurley’s fourth and final slide showed a grainy, news agency photo of Karl

Vorster at an AWB rally. Every surface was covered with banners

emblazoned with the AWB’s three-armed swastika.

“At home, Vorster continues to integrate members of the AWB and other radical right-wing groups into South Africa’s governmental structure. We don’t have precise numbers, but there have clearly been a tremendous number of personnel changes at all levels-national, provincial, and local. The results are equally clear. Vorster has gained undisputed control over all levels of government. In other words, ladies and gentlemen, he has consolidated his power base and will no longer have to move so cautiously.” The last sentence was heavy with irony.

The room lights came back up as Hurley switched the overhead projector off and slid back into his chair.

Forrester nodded his thanks and looked around the table.

“Right. Even with

Pretoria’s news blackout, smuggled video makes it clear that things over there are bad. Very bad.”

He frowned.

“Let’s not mince words, people. This is killing us politically here in the States. The American people want us to act. They feel that if this administration can’t stop the violence in South Africa, it’s our fault, too. Everyone with an ax. to grind is getting a free fide out of this thing.”

The other members of the NSC nodded sagely. Congressional leaders such as

Steven Travers, press commentators, and other “I told you so” specialists were on the airwaves day in and day out-all hammering away at administration “inaction.” Technically, NSC meetings didn’t revolve around domestic political concerns. In practice, though, domestic politics was all too often inseparably intertwined with national security issues.

Forrester leaned forward.

“That’s bad enough. What’s worse is that Cuba and the other communist states are getting a lot of good press out of their aid for Namibia. They’re sure as hell expanding their influence in the region.”

He fixed his eyes on the small cluster of dark-suited intelligence-agency representatives and uniformed military officers at the other end of the table.

“Now what the President wants to know is, how much worse can we expect this situation to get? Are there any signs that the fighting in

Namibia could escalate?”

“Mr. Vice President, I have some new information on that point. “

Forrester looked at the speaker. Christopher Nicholson, director of the

CIA, looked as smoothly self-confident as ever.

“Yes, Chris?”

Nicholson signaled a junior aide, who stepped up to the table and began handing out copies of a two-page document.

“The first page is a report from our people in Israel. They report several C-130 Hercules aircraft are missing from Hatzor airfield, an Israeli Air Force transport base. And we’ve also heard that the Israelis are making discreet enquiries in other countries operating the C-130, looking for spare parts or even surplus aircraft. They’re offering payment in gold. “

Everyone in the room knew where that gold was coming from-Pretoria’s central bank. South Africa and Israel had a long history of joint arms transactions and weapons research programs. Neither country especially liked the other, but both were adept at justifying their relationship on the old “the enemy of my enemy” principle.

Forrester shook his head. Trading gold for needed transport planes made sense, but it would cut dangerously into South Africa’s on-hand reserves.

And that was a good measure of Pretoria’s growing desperation.

“But South Africa isn’t the only one looking for help. Cuba’s out in the arms marketplace, too.” Nicholson flipped to the next page.

“The data on this second page comes from signals intercepts and from satellite photos taken over Libya. Our SIGINT group in Italy has been picking up increased activity at all Libyan Air Force bases, and we’re now seeing only a fraction of the transport planes nonnafly stationed at those bases. “

Nicholson rocked back in his chair, a self-satisfied smile on his face.

“Naturally, that aroused our curiosity. So I ordered a satellite pass over

Libya’s military equipment storage areas, especially the one southwest of

Tripoli. Qaddafi’s always had more hardware than he has troops or pilots hardware he keeps parked out in the desert. “

The CIA director tapped the table with a single, fleshy finger.

“My imagery analysts tell me there are definite indications that equipment is disappearing out of those storage areas. We are still trying to determine exactly how many tanks, APCs, and artillery pieces are missing, but it could be quite a lot. “

Forrester sighed. Somehow Libya’s Colonel Qaddafi always managed to poke his nose into every world hot spot. Bombing raids, attempted coups, and diplomatic isolation nothing seemed to faze the bastard.

“Could the Libyans simply be scrapping obsolete equipment?”

Nicholson shook his head, snatching away that faint possibility.

“Unlikely.

Qaddafi’s a lunatic, but he’s not a wasteful man. He’s much more likely to have sold these missing weapons or to have sent them where they could cause the most trouble. “

“Someplace like Namibia?”

Nicholson nodded.

“Exactly. What little we’ve been able to confirm indicates the missing gear was all second-or third line equipment-T-62s,

BTR-60s, and the like. Precisely the kind of hardware the Cubans are using in Namibia. “

Forrester felt his frown slide into a grimace.

“Wonderful. So both the

South Africans and Cubans are making new friends. Is anyone else getting into the act?”

Nicholson looked suddenly uncertain. It wasn’t a look Forrester was used to seeing on the CIA chief’s face.

“I don’t have anything definite…”

“But you have other information?”

“We’ve identified some other possible weapons shipments, Mr. Vice

President, but the data could support several different conclusions. I’d prefer not to confuse the issue until we’ve been able to obtain confirmation.”

Forrester stared right into Nicholson’s eyes.

“I’ll keep the caveat in mind, Director Nicholson, but I think we should hear what you’ve got. “

“The data is extremely sensitive, sir, and we have no way of knowing if it’s related to the Namibian crisis or not.” Nicholson twisted slightly in his chair. He was uncomfortable with ambiguities and liked to have everything he presented tied up in a nice, neat, typed package. He also hated to be wrong.

“Sensitivity is obviously not an issue here. Please fill us in. “

Although Forrester used the word please, his harsh tone made it clear that he wasn’t asking, he was ordering.

Several of the other NSC members coughed lightly or turned away, hiding sudden grins. Nicholson’s innate Ivy League arrogance often rubbed his colleagues the wrong way.

The CIA director knew when he’d made a mistake. He swiveled in his seat and took a folder bordered with red and white stripes from a silent aide.

He was careful to keep the folder turned so the label on the front was hidden.

Nicholson flipped the folder open and studied it carefully for a few moments.

“Our agents and monitoring stations in the Far East and northern

Pacific have noted significant increases in back-channel arms purchases.”

He arched an eyebrow at Forrester.

“Naturally, we’re always trying to track who sells and who buys what, but it’s a damned difficult task. Too many middlemen. Too much money. And too many foreign governments too willing to help the arms dealers keep a lid on their activities.”

Forrester nodded politely and motioned him onward.

“Both the North Koreans and Chinese have been making extra shipments of tanks, artillery, and surface-to-surface missiles-apparently in response to orders placed over the past several weeks. In and of itself, that’s not so unusual. Most of the weapons systems being sold are those Beijing and Pyongyang have sold in the past to regular customers like Iran.”

No surprise there. Both North Korea and China were cash poor and willing to sell weapons to anyone willing to pay.

Nicholson shrugged.

“Trouble is … we haven’t been able to spot the hardware arriving at any known transshipment point. ” He closed the folder and looked around the group.

“Now the equipment could simply still be in transit to a regular customer, or on hold in some third country until final transport can be arranged. “

“But there is a chance these tanks, guns, and missiles are going to Cuba or Angola?”

“It’s not impossible, Mr. Vice President,” Nicholson conceded.

Charming. Castro evidently wasn’t content to rely solely on

Soviet-supplied weapons. And by expanding his sources of supply, the

Cuban dictator was also reducing Moscow’s leverage over his actions in southern Africa.

Forrester turned to the lean, square-jawed man in the next chair over.

Hamilton Reid, the secretary of commerce, had the relaxed, confident air that often went with old money invested wisely.

“The President’s also concerned about the economic effects of this damned crisis.”

“And wisely so.” Reid didn’t need to kowtow and didn’t bother trying.

“Prices for key strategic minerals like titanium, chromium, platinum, and the others are showing a steady rise. It’s mostly psychological, so far.

South Africa’s production hasn’t been affected by the fighting in

Namibia. If anything, Pretoria’s actually selling more than it normally would to finance these arms deals the director told us about. But the financial community’s never been entirely rational.”

Several of the men and women around the table laughed softly. They’d all seen the studies suggesting that random dart throws did a better job of forecasting the stock market than any other system.

The secretary of commerce acknowledged their laughter with a slight smile of his own.

“We’ve been working closely with the other major trading nations-especially the British and the Japanese-to do what we can. We’ve all been leaning on our respective commodities exchanges in an effort to slow things down, Highlevel briefings to show there’s no immediate supply problem. Temporary market closings when prices rise too fast. That sort of thing.”

His smile dimmed.

“All with only moderate success. Right now, the commodities exchanges are capable of handling these higher minerals prices. That may not last. There’s a kind of critical mass to these situations.”

Forrester nodded his understanding. In the past month alone, the

Strategic Commodities Index had shot up more than 30 percent. If the prices for key strategic minerals started climbing any faster, they could trigger a wave of panic buying-a kind of feeding frenzy that might send prices soaring through the roof. Scaremongers were already touting the possibility of 300 or 400 percent price rises.

And that could spell disaster for the United States, Great Britain, and almost every other industrialized nation in the world. The minerals largely supplied by South Africa, a few of its neighbors, and the Soviet

Union were vital to a wide range of industries-steel, oil refining, chemicals, and electronics to name just a few. Dramatically higher minerals prices would mean significantly higher production costs for jet engines, gasoline, computers, consumer electronics, and thousands of other products. That, in turn, could send a flood tide of higher prices, lower sales, and lost jobs surging through the economy.

Forrester frowned. Most Americans didn’t realize it, but much of their nation’s prosperity depended on a steady flow of reasonably priced minerals from overseas. Some of the percentages spoke for themselves-98 percent of all manganese, 92 percent of all chromium, and 91 percent of all the platinum-group metals consumed by American industry were imported. All told, the U’S. was critically dependent on foreign suppliers for twenty-two of the thirty-odd minerals government planners viewed as essential for industrial and defense needs. And America’s allies weren’t in much better shape. Preliminary figures showed the nation’s trade deficit and inflation rate both starting to climb again.

Forrester looked up at the rest of the NSC and ran his eyes over a roomful of newly gloom-filled faces.

“Right. We’re in something of an economic box. But we’re not alone. That’s why I’ve asked Hamilton to have his staff prepare an analysis of South Africa’s own economic picture.”

Reid didn’t bother with papers or projectors.

“Put simply, South Africa’s economy cannot survive the current situation. Pretoria is caught between an increasingly expensive foreign war and a steadily less productive domestic economy. Many of the country’s white workers are now in uniform, and those few skilled black laborers who might have replaced them are either dead, in prison, or barred from filling them. Nothing short of complete peace can significantly alter the situation. “

The commerce secretary looked carefully from face to face.

“If conditions do not change, our analysis indicates we can expect a total South African economic collapse in less than a year. Even the harshest imaginable austerity measures can delay such a collapse by a year beyond that at most.”

The chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Air Force General Walter

Hickman, had been silent up to this point. As the commerce secretary paused, he broke in.

“I think that assessment may be a little extreme, Mr.

Vice President. I remember several predictions that Iran’s economy would completely collapse in the 1980s, during its war with Iraq. None of them came true. Massive inflation and unemployment, sure. But not total chaos.”

Reid showed no signs of being disturbed by Hickman’s disagreement.

“The difference, General, is that Iran’s population wholeheartedly supported the war with Iraq. Fanaticism can feed people for quite a while.” He shook his head slowly.

“But South Africa is much more divided-even the white community is split over Vorster’s racial policies and the Namibian war.

There is no one flag that everyone can rally around. “

Hurley pressed hint.

“What exactly do you mean by ‘collapse’?”

“Reduced production from the mines and factories, followed by food and fuel shortages. At first, those shortages will only affect the poorest, most vulnerable segments of South Africa’s population-the blacks, coloreds,

Indians, and other nonwhite ethnic groups. But the country’s whites won’t be immune for long. As things get steadily worse, anyone who can leave, will-draining South Africa of the skilled people most needed to keep its economy running. ” Reid looked suddenly grim.

“In the final stages, we could expect widespread violence and looting-with daily death tolls that would make what we’ve seen so far look like a picnic. And add this factor-there is no country willing to come to South Africa’s aid, no source of outside assistance to stop a headlong slide into chaos.”

My God. Forrester winced at the horrific images conjured up by the commerce secretary’s matter-of-fact words. Idle, abandoned factories and shops. Burning homes. Floods of refugees fleeing starving cities. Bodies littering the streets. Genocide. Race war. Unbidden, the term popped into his brain-Armageddon in South Africa.

He turned to Hickman.

“General, could this goddamned war go on for this year or two the secretary’s talking about?”

Hickman nodded slowly, reluctantly.

“Yes, sir, easily that long. Barring internal collapse in either Cuba or South Africa, this could be another bloody stalemate. Neither side holds a clear military advantage. The communist forces are at the end of a long supply line, and Soviet-style logistics are nothing to brag about. Hell, we’d have trouble fighting down there ourselves!”

Hickman stared moodily at a wall map showing the world.

“On the other hand, South Africa’s increasingly isolated and bogged down in a racial mess of its own creation. ” He looked up at Forrester.

“Nope, Mr. Vice

President. As things stand now, these people can keep killing each other from now until doomsday without achieving much of anything.”

Hurley added the final kicker.

“And neither side has much reason to seek a political settlement. Having started this thing, Vorster can’t afford to settle for anything less than all of Namibia. And Castro’s pride won’t let him aim for anything less than driving every single Afrikaner back across the South African frontier. Every bit of international support he’s gained will disappear unless he ends the war with a clear victory.”

Forrester understood the implications. It was going to be a long war.

Worse than that, the conflict showed signs of spreading like a virus, affecting any country that bordered on South Africa or Namibia. The

United States could not afford to let that happen. Besides the economic considerations, the loss of life would be tremendous. America would have to act, and act effectively, or she would be blamed for her inaction.

Forrester tapped his notepad impatiently with his pen.

“All right, people, what can we do? The President is looking for specific recommendations.”

Nicholson spoke first.

“The Namibian invasion is the source of the problem.

Stop the war and things will loosen up. “

Hurley countered, “That’s a noble sentiment, but how exactly do you propose we go about doing that soon enough to matter? It took eight years of trying and we never did pull the Iranians and the Iraqis apart. We don’t have that kind of time here.”

General Hickman snorted.

“The key to this situation is that bastard

Vorster. He’s the one who started this friggin’ Namibian war. Now we’ve gotta find a way to make him call it off.”

“I’d have better luck teaching my cat to tap-dance. ” Hurley replaced his tortoiseshell glasses.

“Hold on, Ed. The general may have something there.

Forrester sat back in his chair, head tilted up slightly toward the low ceiling.

“Vorster’s a stubborn son of a bitch, but he might listen to reason if we can find a way to cut him off at the knees. We know the military’s in good shape, but South Africa can’t go on fighting a foreign war if its civilian economy starts failing apart. “

“You mean South Africa’s whites won’t be so interested in foreign conquests if they start going hungry,” Hurley said.

Forrester hesitated and then nodded.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.

Let’s speed up the process.”

It seemed strange to contemplate accelerating South Africa’s economic collapse in order to stave off a larger, bloodier catastrophe. Something like innoculating people with a weakened version of a deadly virus to protect them from the disease itself.

Forrester turned to the secretary of commerce.

“Hamilton, I’d like your people to prepare an analysis of South Africa’s greatest vulnerabilities.

Where can we really turn up the heat on these people? As a start, we’ll recommend to the President that we freeze South African assets in this country.

“I need something I can show the President within the week. Clear?”

The commerce secretary was obviously more comfortable with fixing an economy than fouling one up, but he nodded and took notes.

Forrester glanced around the crowded, suddenly silent table.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are no longer talking about simple sanctions. Those are designed to show a government how we feel, or as a mild form of coercion.

What we need is a hook we can sink into Vorster himself.” He bared his teeth.

“And I suspect the best kind of hook would be the threat that his own supporters will vote him out of office because they can’t work and can’t eat.”

He looked across the table at Nicholson.

“Chris, we may need to consider active measures by your people. Use Hamilton’s list as a starting point, but have your Covert Action folks put together their own ideas as well.

Again, we’ll need to see whatever they can put together ASAP.

The CIA director nodded once, his high forehead creased by a worried frown.

Covert operations were notoriously dangerous for any intelligence chief with political ambitions. Disgruntled political opponents and press cynics loved nothing better than to expose them to public scrutiny and congressional ridicule. Nicholson already knew that no covert action would survive the rigid test he planned to apply-risk of failure.

Hurley caught Forrester’s eye.

“I’d suggest additional consultations with some of our allies on these proposals. Especially with the United Kingdom.

It has substantial military and economic interests in the region. ” He glanced in Nicholson’s direction.

“It also has a top-notch intelligence service. They may even have data we’ve missed.”

The CIA director frowned slightly at that, but nodded his reluctant agreement.

Forrester held up a hand.

“Let’s hold off on that for a week or so, Ed.

Just until I’ve had a chance to get some feedback from the President.”

He scanned the table one last time.

“Anyone else?”

General Hickman cleared his throat and leaned forward.

“Let me get one thing straight, sir. Is our basic assumption now that things in South

Africa are going to get a lot worse than they presently are?”

” Yes. “

“Then I recommend we start moving out any U.S. citizens we can. Without delay. They could be a real liability for us if we have to take direct action against these bastards. “

The room fell silent. Direct action. Nobody wanted to ask exactly what the chairman of the Joint Chiefs meant by that. Forrester wondered if the

Pentagon had finished working up the contingency plans he’d asked for.

He made a mental note to check later-when there weren’t so many prying ears around.

Hurley frowned.

“I’m not sure how much more we can do to persuade our tourists and businessmen to stay out of South Africa. We’ve already issued a travel advisory for the whole region. Anything more, like an outright ban on travel or a forced evacuation, would require either congressional action or a presidential National Security Decision Directive. “

Forrester matched the shorter man’s frown. A travel ban made military sense, but it might also fan the flames of hysteria in the world’s financial markets. He turned to Hickman.

“Look, General, your point’s well taken. We certainly don’t want too many of our people getting caught in the cross fire over there. I’ll raise the issue with the President next time I see him. Fair enough?”

Hickman shrugged as though he hadn’t expected immediate agreement.

“All right. Does anyone else have anything to add?”

Silence.

“Fine.” Forrester flipped a small leather date book open and scanned it for a moment.

“We’ll meet again in a week unless events dictate a change in schedule. In the meantime, keep me posted on all significant developments. And let’s move ahead at full speed on those options packages. The President’ll expect us to have some concrete recommendations by then.”

He looked up at the cluster of grim, worried faces around the table. Time for a quick pep talk.

“Relax, people. I agree that what’s happening in southern Africa isn’t very reassuring.

But at least we have some idea of what’s coming for a change. “

He was wrong.

SEPTEMBER 17-ARMY HEADQUARTERS, AVENIDA SAMORA MACH EL MAPUTO,

MOZAMBIQUE

The old stone fortress left by the Portuguese-Mozambique’s former colonial masters-now housed the Army’s main headquarters. Sentries carrying AK-47s ceaselessly patrolled the fortress’s ramparts and bastions-looking strangely out of place on walls originally built to fend off muzzle-loading muskets and cannon.

Capt. Jorge de Sousa returned the crisp salutes of the guards and limped briskly into the fort’s shadowy interior. A small, square-faced man with a tired smile, he had fought the Portuguese, and now Renamo. Although only in his early thirties, he had been a soldier for fifteen years.

The summons to appear at headquarters had come as no surprise. His convalescence was nearly over, and experienced officers were badly needed with a war going on. But he’d expected an interview with the staff flunkies of Officer Command, the bureau responsible for assigning officers to active duty posts. Not a personal interview with General

Cuellar himself.

De Sousa was confused. His wounding in a failed ambush had been honorable, and he knew of no cause for a reprimand-or for any special praise. Like many combat veterans, the Mozambican captain was a fatalist, so he decided to wait and see what the general wanted. After all, he didn’t have long to wait.

Even in the Mozambican Army, which was small and poor, the chief of staff’s office was richly appointed, almost to the point of opulence. De

Sousa saw nothing wrong in such inequity. The general wielded almost absolute power over the Army, and such power was entitled to its rewards.

Cuellar wasn’t alone. Another man stood at ease near the

chief of staff’s beautifully polished teak desk-an item “liberated” from

Mozambique’s last colonial governor. Tall, with a swarthy complexion and a thick mustache, the man wore a civilian suit and tie. Nevertheless, his erect bearing marked him as a military man.

De Sousa saluted and Cuellar waved him in.

“Greetings, Jorge, I am glad to see that you are active again. You are recovered, then?”

“Completely, General.” De Sousa was lying, but it was the only answer he would give. His left leg hurt when it rained, and it rained a lot in

Mozambique.

Cuellar arched an eyebrow in polite disbelief. He mentioned toward the man standing by his desk.

“This is Colonel Jose6 Suarez of the Cuban

People’s Army.”

A Cuban, eh? Interesting. De Sousa stepped forward and shook hands with the colonel. He was genuinely glad to meet the Cuban officer. Castro’s long opposition to South Africa and Western imperialism made him something of a folk hero in lands where censorship suppressed unpleasant truths.

Suarez responded in kind. The two men had time to exchange compliments and a few pleasantries before Cuellar coughed lightly, cleared his throat, and came to the heart of the matter.

He motioned them into two leather-backed chairs placed squarely in front of his desk.

“Captain de Sousa, while you were in hospital, the Cuban government approached us with a proposal that would dramatically alter our strategy against Renamo. ” He glanced sideways at Colonel Suarez.

“I

reveal no secrets when I say that this proposal has prompted considerable debate at the highest levels of our country’s leadership.

“

Suarez nodded once, a thin, meaningless smile fixed on his narrow face.

Cuellar folded his hands.

“Cuba’s recent victories in Namibia made us want to listen. And South Africa’s recent aggressions against us have compelled us to agree to President Castro’s proposal. “

De Sousa’s questioning look was all the prompting the general needed to continue. His voice grew deeper, more dramatic.

“Essentially, Captain, we are going to cooperate with the Cubans and their other socialist allies in launching an attack against South Africa. We shall advance into their territory, capture their capital, and knock

Vorster and his racist cronies from their thrones.”

Stunned, de Sousa sat up sharply, ignoring the pain in his leg. The

Mozambican Army was in a pitiful state, only able to mount occasional raids against Renamo strongholds. The idea of invading South Africa with such a ragtag force was so outlandish that Cuellar might as well have talked of invading Russia or North America.

Colonel Suarez saw his dismay and hastened to reassure him.

“Cuban and other troops will be used to make the actual assault, Captain. Your men are needed too badly here, close to their homes. We understand this. But we do need your country’s cooperation for bases, intelligence, and security. In return, we offer the material and training cadres needed to upgrade your forces. In addition, President Castro has promised that

Mozambique will receive significant trade concessions from the new South

African government-once we have installed it in power.”

De Sousa stared from the Cuban back to his general, scarcely able to believe what he was hearing.

Cuellar’s voice changed again, becoming sterner, less the voice of persuasion and more the voice of command.

“Captain de Sousa, this decision has been ratified by both the President and the party leadership. You do not question their wisdom, I hope?”

“Of course not, General. ” De Sousa shook his head. Questioning orders was a fast track to oblivion, even for a proven combat veteran.

Cuellar smiled.

“Good.” He gestured toward the Cuban colonel.

“You will serve as Colonel Suarez’s liaison with our forces. We must arrange transport and security for all the Cuban and other military forces who will shortly begin arriving by air and sea. It will be a massive undertaking, Captain. A great responsibility.”

De Sousa nodded, intrigued despite his misgivings. He’d never imagined having the opportunities now being laid out before him.

“For the moment, most of the Army will know nothing of this upcoming operation. They will be told that the Cuban forces are arriving to assist us in counterinsurgency operations and training. Other cover stories will be used to deceive outside ‘observers. ” Cuellar didn’t bother to conceal his contempt. The general never bothered to distinguish between diplomats, journalists, businessmen, and spies. They were all variations on the same theme as far as he was concerned.

Cuellar picked up a thick folder and pushed it across the desk.

“This is the operational plan conceived in Havana. Study it with care. Your new office is two doors down from mine. “

Thinking he had been dismissed, de Sousa started to get up from the chair, but Cuellar waved him down.

“One final item, Jorge. This new assignment is too important to leave to a mere captain. Accordingly, you are now a major. Congratulations.

“

A major? Careful to keep a tight rein on his conflicting emotions, de

Sousa shook hands with both men, saluted the general, and got out as quickly as he could.