“Get Taylor out of the wardroom, by himself, and bring him up to the bridge wing. “
“Fraser won’t like you talking to him alone.”
Craig frowned.
“I don’t care. Tell Taylor he’s got a message from his wife. Think of something. Keep the good deputy governor busy. I won’t be long.”
Skiles nodded and left.
Craig climbed the two decks up to the bridge wing and waited, but not for long. Metallic footsteps clattering up the ladder preceded Taylor. The
South African joined him at the railing, his uniform tunic fluttering in the wind.
Taylor’s tone was stiffly formal.
“I came because you requested it, sir, but I will not negotiate with you separately. Mr. Fraser is our sole voice in these matters.”
Craig nodded quietly.
“I understand, Brigadier.”
“And even if I were to come to some sort of separate agreement, I would not have the power to impose it on the civilian authorities.”
“Is that true, Brigadier?” Craig asked.
“After all, you control Cape
Town’s military forces.”
“I will not use those forces to interfere with civil authority again.
“
Taylor’s tone softened.
“I am sure we share a certain dislike for politicians “-he smiled—but they hold the reins, and any other way leads to chaos.”
Craig matched his smile.
“I agree. But I asked you up here because I want you to understand my situation. To
give you information that only a military man can appreciate. “
Taylor arched an eyebrow.
Craig spoke carefully, picking his way through a verbal minefield. He wanted this man as an ally-not pointing a rifle from the other side of the beach.
“I have at my disposal an immense force-more than a division of embarked Marines, air, and artillery. At least two more divisions are at airfields in the States waiting for word that D. F. Malan airport is open. Those men can begin arriving within twenty-four hours of the time
I give that word.”
Taylor nodded. America’s rapid deployment capabilities were widely known.
“You also know we’re on a timetable-a tight one. And that timetable was drawn up in response to allied needs, not the needs of the “Independent
Cape Province’ or the rest of South Africa. We’re burning precious time right now.”
Again Taylor nodded. The Cubans were already hundreds of kilometers inside the Transvaal region. Unless Craig and his men got ashore soon,
Castro’s two remaining armored columns would reach Pretoria,
Johannesburg, and the Witwatersrand minerals complex well ahead of them.
Craig paused. Now for the hard part.
“I’ll be blunt, Brigadier. You know the strengths and abilities of your forces, and you’ve seen some of our capabilities. Now, I want your forces working with us, but if we can’t reach agreement soon, I’ll land my troops without your approval and proceed on my own. “
“We would have to fight you.”
“Yes. And you and I would both lose men. And time, which would cost more lives, later on. And I’d win.”
Taylor nodded, not bothering to hide the truth. His forces, short on everything except confusion, could not stop the Americans. He could slow them down, inflict casualties, and bog them down in house-to-house fighting-but to what end?
Cape Town had always been a beautiful city. He hated the holdouts on
Table Mountain for what they were doing to the city and its people. That would be nothing compared to a full-scale invasion. Unbidden, pictures of the damage the Wisconsin’s shells could cause flashed into his mind.
Craig had been leaning on the rail. He turned now to face Taylor, and he moved half a step toward the younger man.
“The only reason I’ve put up with Fraser’s bullshit this long is because I want to avoid bloodshed between people who should be friends. But I can’t stall out here forever.
We’re getting close to the point where lost time means more than lost lives.”
Taylor stared back at him, his face held rigid.
“All I need is the airfield. I don’t care what shape the rest of the town is in.” Craig paused.
“That sounds cruel, but the alternative is even worse. Brigadier, you’re a professional, and I respect professionals of any nation. You know the score, and you know your duty. But I can’t afford to waste any more time.”
Craig stopped speaking and turned back to the rail. There was a somber expression on his face, and Taylor wrestled with words, looking for the best reply. Finally, he said nothing and turned to go back to the wardroom.
A few seconds after Taylor’s footsteps faded, Skiles appeared on the ladder.
“General, do you need anything?”
“Ask for a recess. Give the South Africans about fifteen minutes alone, then we’ll start again.”
Craig walked into the wardroom at the appointed time to find a circle of expectant faces waiting for him. His staff looked weary but hopeful, confident that he could find some solution. Taylor and Spier were clearly worried. Fraser, on the other hand, seemed genuinely angry, but he also seemed able to control his rage with a politician’s skill.
Craig sat down heavily, and Fraser spoke, carefully choosing each word.
“General Craig, we have been discussing the issue of the Cape Province’s sovereignty. While we feel it is vital to our interests, we do not wish to delay your essential military operations any longer. Are you willing to state that you are at least unopposed to the concept of an independent
Cape Province?”
Craig was tempted to throw him a bone, but he was angered that this politician was still attempting to drag him into some sort of last-minute commitment.
“Mr. Fraser, I will only state that the political status of the Cape Province is of no concern to me, one way or the other. ” He leaned toward Fraser, looking him in the eyes.
“My only responsibility is to my men and the accomplishment of my mission here.”
He leaned back.
“State Department negotiators can discuss the matter with you at length-once we are ashore.”
Craig caught a flash in the man’s eyes, but Fraser only nodded.
“Very well. Then we are agreed.”
There was a sudden bustle in the room. Skiles slipped a typed agenda in front of the general, and Craig spotted Spier handing Taylor a fat folder. Time to get down to business.
DECEMBER 8-C GUN, 1 ST CAPE ARTILLERY, TABLE MOUNTAIN GARRISON
Sgt. Franz Skuller slept next to his gun. It wasn’t devotion to the thing.
After weeks of being besieged, and thousands of rounds fired, the sergeant secretly hoped the blasted piece would break-split its barrel from muzzle to breech, or something else so catastrophic it would be beyond repair.
But the garrison was badly overcrowded, and space was at a premium.
Alerts were constant, and there wasn’t time to run through a maze of passages and still get the first shot off
