smiled thinly-“I do not entirely trust the abilities of all my hounds.
“No, we must model this operation on a lion hunt. The Citizen Force units and commandos will act as our beaters -driving these traitors south .. toward us. When we face Kruger and his troops, we will face them on ground of our own choosing. Near there.” He circled a spot on the map labeled Skerpionenpunt-Scorpion Point.
Der Merwe looked troubled.
“But how do we know they will come? They may not be able to collect enough petrol even to make it that far. “
Bekker shook his head.
“I’ve heard of this man Kruger. He’s a tough soldier. A real Boer. Don’t you worry, der Merwe, he’ll find a way to get his people south.”
The major’s handsome face twisted into an ugly, sardonic smile.
“And we will be there waiting for them.”
Rolf Bekker contemplated his plans in growing satisfaction. For the time being he would seek victory in his own mission. The rest of Vorster’s shrinking domains would have to look after themselves.
DECEMBER 24-NABOOMSPRUIT
The setting sun fit a battlefield crowded with scenes of death and destruction.
Gen. Antonio Vega looked down out of his Hind gunship at the still-smoldering ruins of Naboomspruit. Burnt- out vehicles blocked almost every intersection, and mangled corpses littered every stretch of open ground. Shell craters pockmarked the highway south.
Naboomspruit and its defenses had fallen to the Cubans.
Better late than never, he thought angrily. Fuel and ammunition shortages caused by Boer commando raids on his supply lines had forced him to postpone his assault against the town. They’d also forced him to send several valuable units back north along the highway in what would probably be a futile effort to crush the elusive commandos. Units he could have used in the battle for Naboomspruit.
It had taken his troops and tanks several hours of hard fighting to clear the Afrikaner-held town, but the outcome had never really been in doubt.
The Boer defenses had been strong but brittle, and once he’d broken through their front line, they hadn’t had any reserves left to launch a counterattack.
Vega had also been forced to fight without a reserve. He hadn’t liked that very much. Combat units held back for use in the right place at the right time were all too often the margin between victory and defeat, but he hadn’t had any choice. His casualties had simply been too high in the six weeks since he’d crossed South Africa’s frontiers.
the Hind gunship landed on the northern edge of Naboomspruit, near a small cluster of officers who stood shielding their eyes from whirling sprays of rotor-blown grit.
Vega debarked to a chorus of greetings and salutes, most of which he ignored. Instead, he walked directly over to Vasquez, who stood off to one side.
“Let’s have a look at these secret weapons of theirs, Comrade.”
With Vasquez at his side and the rest of his officers trailing along behind, he walked about a hundred meters to what appeared to be just a low mound of dirt-at least until one looked closely.
The earthen mound had a regular, shaped appearance, and as they curved around to approach it from the front, Vega saw the long barrel and large muzzle brake of a G-5 155MM artillery piece poking out through a gap in the front.
Vasquez nodded toward the mound.
“Each gun emplacement is completely roofed over, Comrade General, and open only in back and in front. The
Boers knew we could only attack from the northeast, so the opening in front is limited to that arc.”
Vega nodded his understanding. Thus concealed and protected the G-5 was a powerful antitank weapon. Used as an indirect fire weapon, it could fire a high-explosive shell forty kilometers. Used in a direct fire mode, it far outranged the 115mm cannon mounted on his tanks.
Vasquez walked forward far enough to lay a proprietary hand on the G-5’s monstrous barrel.
“As you suspected, Comrade General, the Boers were short on ammunition. They wanted to make every shell count. But these guns aren’t normally rigged for antitank work, so they have separate projectiles and charges.” He inclined his head toward the sandbag-covered magazines visible behind each gun position.
“That makes them fire more slowly than ours. And even a one fifty-five millimeter shell will not stop one of our tanks every time.”
Often enough, though, Vega thought moodily, surveying a field crowded with wrecked T-72s and BTR-60s. Still, the Afrikaner decision to use their G-5s as antitank weapons explained the lack of artillery fire during his approach march. It also indicated a growing sense of desperation. No commander used towed artillery that way unless he had no other option.
Abruptly, he turned toward Suarez.
“What are our casualties?”
The colonel consulted his leather-bound notebook.
“We lost twenty-eight vehicles-ten of which can be repaired.” He cleared his throat.
“Plus about a hundred and fifty men killed, with another two hundred seriously wounded. We believe enemy casualties were very heavy, almost twice ours.
“
Vega sighed. He’d won another victory, and at what Havana would call a reasonable cost. But any price was high when he was this poor in resources. He looked south, wondering if the American Marines fighting their way inland from Durban were faring any better.
CHAPTER Bloody Ridge, Bloody Forest
DECEMBER 25-MOBILE HEADQUARTERS, ALLIED
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE, NEAR THE OCEAN TERMINAL, DURBAN
Trailed by a small security detachment of fully armed U.S. Marines, Lt.
Gen. Jerry Craig made his way through the wreckage littering Durban’s waterfront. What he saw was not making him happy. A freshening sea breeze had blown the stench of cordite and sun-bloated corpses inland, but all the clean salt air in the world couldn’t hide the damage inflicted by days of bitter fighting and deliberate sabotage.
Out in the harbor, oil-coated waves lapped gently against the rusting superstructures of ships sunk to block the main channel. Other burnt-out hulks sagged against the docks themselves, entangled in the torn and twisted skeletons of fallen cargo-handling cranes. Mounds of fire-blackened rubble from bomb-and shell-shattered buildings choked off the spiderweb of streets and rail lines spreading out from the port into
Durban proper.
Bulldozer engines, chain saws, and acetylene torches
?”
roared, howled, and hissed as the nine hundred men of Craig’s Marine combat engineer battalion tried frantically to clear paths through the debris. But the sheer volume of work remaining seemed to make a mockery of all their efforts. Although Diederichs’s garrison troops had failed to hold the city, their stubborn defense had left it a smoking ruin.
Two days after all significant Afrikaner resistance had collapsed, South
Africa’s largest deepwater harbor remained closed to Allied shipping. And until its docks and access roads could be reopened, Craig’s British and
American forces would remain dependent on whatever supplies and equipment could be brought in over the beach or by air. Most of his main battle tanks and self-propelled guns were still parked offshore-crowding the decks and cargo spaces of fast transports waiting impatiently at anchor.
