“
Vega paused briefly, wondering if there was anything else he should add.
Nothing came immediately to mind.
“Send it. And call a staff meeting in five minutes. We have to get this offensive moving again.”
DECEMBER 15-USS MOUNT VsIHITNEY, SIMONS TOWN NAVAL BASE, CAPE TOWN
One thousand miles west of Durban, several anxious-looking staff officers crowded one of the Mount Whitney’s conference rooms. The U.S. and Great
Britain had a secure foothold in the Cape Province, but Cape Town had never been viewed as anything more than a stepping stone toward South Africa’s industrial and political heartland-Pretoria and Johannesburg. Going overland would take too long. Going by sea meant making another landing somewhere farther up the Natal coast-an opposed landing, where they would have to fight their way ashore. The sea route, in spite of its risks, had always been part of the plan, but it might not be fast enough.
“I just don’t see how we can be ready in time, General. The buildup’s just too far behind schedule. ” Brig. Gen. George Skiles, Craig’s chief of staff, was adamant, but also distressed. He was a hard worker, with a “can do” attitude, and it hurt Skiles’s professional pride to admit failure.
Lt. Gen. Jerry Craig sat glowering, a man unhappy with the news he’d received but unable to shoot the messenger. Shipping delays, bad weather in the Atlantic, and tired air crews had already put his buildup nearly three days behind its original schedule. That wasn’t bad when you considered how many tens of thousands of troops and pieces of heavy equipment were en route-streaming across thousands of miles of empty ocean and airspace.
But it wasn’t good enough. Neither the Cubans nor Vorster’s men showed any signs of adhering to the timetable established in Washington.
Photo recon missions over the Potgietersrus area showed massive and unmistakable signs of a Cuban supply buildup. This Vega character was planning to jump-start his own stalled offensive first. At the same time,
Afrikaner commanders up and down the Natal coast were doing what they could to strengthen their own defenses against an allied amphibious assault.
Craig frowned. The schedule for his own planned landing in Durban was looking more and more like a nonstarter.
The original plan called for a full division of U.S. Marines and a Royal
Marine Commando to make the landing, supported by a battalion-sized air assault on Durban’s Luis Botha airfield. Two Army divisions-the 7th Light and the 101st Air Assault-would move in once the airfield had been secured. Heavy armor units still sailing from the U.S. were scheduled to off-load directly at Durban-once its harbor was secure.
The operation was precisely timed and hard to change once the units were in motion. Craig remembered how carefully they’d all considered the date of the landing back in Washington. Tides, weather, and phases of the moon all had to be folded in along with the strategic situation. How quickly could American forces be ready? How fast could the Cubans move?
To allow some flexibility, he’d ordered alternate staff plans prepared.
One assumed landing a day early, one a day late. But by December 24, the planned D day, Vega could be drinking Cape wine in Pretoria, thumbing his nose at the Western allies from the Union Buildings.
Craig lowered his chin onto his chest, thinking hard. Like all good staffs, his people tended to be cautious and conservative-” risk averse” in DOD lingo. They often followed a general rule in putting together operations-figure out how much firepower you thought you’d need and double it. And usually they were right. An amphibious landing was
the riskiest kind of operation in military art. You had to assemble overwhelming firepower, with enough force to shove the bad guys off the beach. But what if your invasion was too late?
Sometimes, you needed to cut corners. Sometimes you had to take more risks. Such as now.
He looked up.
“Okay, here’s the way we play it. We’re landing in Durban on the twentieth, but with only two brigades plus the Commando. The third will have to follow when it can.” He looked at his shocked staff.
“All right, gentlemen. We’re under way in three days for Durban. Start loading. “
DECEMBER 17-HEADQUARTERS, CUBAN EXPEDITIONARY FORCE, POTGIETERSRUS
“Every piece of data we have indicates the imperialists will land at
Durban, Comrade General. ” Colonel Vasquez pointed to the map.
“It has the best beaches and port facilities in all of South Africa. Plus, we know that the Boers have had a very difficult time with civil unrest and guerrillas in the area.”
He hesitated and then went on, “Durban is also too far away for us to do anything to interfere with their invasion.”
“Agreed, Colonel. An excellent analysis.” Vega looked disgusted.
“Now tell me what we can do with this fact.”
Up to now, this war had been fought on land and in the air. By adding a naval dimension, the Western allies had given themselves a freedom that neither Cuba or South Africa could hope to match. Operating without interference off the coast, the Allies could cause both belligerents great pain.
Even the Soviet Navy could not challenge the Western ships off the Natal coast. The Soviets did not want to risk a direct war with America and
Britain. They were willing to spend a few rubles and out-of-date equipment, but spilling Russian blood was out of the question.
Part of their reluctance to confront the West was certainly because of the distance from Russia’s ports. Their navy was structured for operations close to Soviet shores, in combination with land-based aircraft. Their chances of success against two carrier battle groups were just about nil.
Vega suspected that Castro hadn’t even bothered to ask for the Soviet
Union’s help. Just as well, anyway, he thought, They would only have refused us.
Vega pursed his lips.
“The devil of it is, Colonel, that I don’t even know if we should help the Americans or try to stop them.”
Vasquez took his commander’s statement as a request for information.
“Certainly, an Allied landing would draw off some of the Afrikaner troops now facing us.”
The Cuban general nodded sharply.
“Precisely, Colonel.” He slapped a hand down hard on the desk.
“Right! We cannot stop this invasion … so we’ll make use of it for our own ends. We’ll delay our own attack until after the Americans and British land.”
He laughed harshly.
“Let us allow the capitalists to stop Afrikaner bullets for a change. Once they’re ashore, we’ll crush what’s left at
Naboomspruit and drive hard for Pretoria.” He noticed Vasquez’s dutiful smile.
“Something troubles you, Comrade Colonel?”
“Yes, sir.” Vasquez pointed to the waters off South Africa’s southeast coast.
“Soviet satellite photos show that the American carrier
Independence has already left Cape Town to join the Carl Vinson. Soon they will be in easy striking distance of Durban, Pretoria-perhaps even our lines here. If we get too close to Pretoria, planes from those carriers could hit us.”
Vega’s tone was final.
“We are running out of options. All we can do is push as hard as we can and leave the rest to the uncertainties of war.”
DECEMBER 18-PROVISIONAL HEADQUARTERS, NATAL MILITARY COMMAND, DURBAN,
SOUTH AFRICA
Worried-looking men in military uniform hurried back and forth through
the halls and offices of Durban’s fortified police headquarters. Phones rang, maps were updated, and defense plans were changed in a . dizzying cycle of ever increasing urgency. Vorster loyalists still hiding in the Cape Town
