More of his tanks and APCs were burning now. The progress of the battalion could be followed by a widening wedge of flickering fires, and
Vega knew that for every burning vehicle there were probably two more that had been knocked out.
He hoped the men had escaped from their metal traps. More importantly, he hoped they would have the wit and the will to advance in the right direction in the swirling, lethal confusion.
A whooshing roar was followed by a hollow crump sound. His artillery was shelling the Afrikaner line, but the shells were smoke, not high explosive. Landing at right angles to the Boer positions, and lying across the center, the smoke would make the dark night darker, effectively isolating one third of the battlefield from the rest. It would not block all of the Boer fire, but it would reduce its effectiveness and slow any movement to that area.
The artillery stopped, and Vega knew they were moving again. American air power, even if not directed by the South Africans, was driving his tactics. Like weather or terrain, it had to be considered, but it could be dealt with.
“The assistant battalion commander says that his tanks have penetrated the line and are swinging left!” Gomez’s report was almost a cheer, and
Vega was glad that the darkness hid his grin. Then he stopped worrying about it.
With the tanks behind them and on their flank, the South
Africans would have to quickly retreat or face utter destruction. Vega almost hoped they didn’t. He imaged the panicked Boer infantry, turning their heads to see shadowed steel monsters emerging from the smoke almost on top of them.
Still, it had not been without cost. Obviously the battalion commander was unable to report. His tank was in the front rank, and Vega could only hope that his vehicle’s problems were limited to a broken radio,
The trick now was to seize the Afrikaner positions, dig in, and be ready for the morning light and a new round of air attacks. By the time the
Americans knew he was here, he wanted his men secure.
He stood up slowly, weakly, but victorious. He was a heartbeat away from
Pretoria. He and his men had survived nuclear weapons, guerrilla attacks,
American air power, all in addition to a dangerous enemy and a harsh landscape. Nothing could stop him.
JANUARY 13
Vega slept in that morning, unusual but quite reasonable. He was used to rising early and liked attacking difficult problems first thing, but that was before his wound, and before his forces had shifted to their new nighttime pattern.
His room, a former office in the back of the bookstore, was dark when he awoke. In his disorientation, for a moment he thought it was still before dawn, but he felt rested. Then, panicking, he thought he had passed the whole day asleep. There was another night attack to organize, and when he caught Suarez, he was…
He heard voices out in the front rooms, saw sunlight streaming through the shuttered windows, and finally looked at his watch. It was eleven o’clock.
He’d slept for eight hours, and even though his leg hurt like hell, he felt better than he had in weeks. It was time to plan the next battle, before the South Africans had time to dig in too deeply.
Vega dressed himself quietly, carefully, favoring his leg. He missed
Gomez’s presence, but the corporal was now
needed for other tasks at headquarters and could not be spared for orderly duty.
Drawing himself upright, he opened the door and stepped out into the main room, which was a common office for the headquarters staff.
Vasquez, Suarez, and several of the reconnaissance platoon officers were engaged in a heated, although not angry, discussion. Books and maps were scattered everywhere. They were so intent that they did not notice Vega’s presence until he was almost next to them.
Vasquez sensed his presence first and turning, gasped when he saw the general standing over him. The rest of the staff, embarrassed and a little frightened at not noticing Vega’s entrance, quickly came to attention.
The general responded to their muttered good mornings and gratefully sat down in the chair offered to him. Rustlings behind him soon resolved into a breakfast of bread and jam, some tinned meat, and strong coffee. As they handed him the plate, Vega remembered that fancy dinner in the Strand
Hotel. It seemed as if it had been years ago, but he remembered the elegant food clearly. He liked this much better.
“What is our situation, Colonel?” asked Vega as he picked up his coffee cup.
“Based on prisoners and other information, we believe the battalion we faced last night was a composite of several understrength units. They suffered at least twenty-five percent casualties, based on the bodies and destroyed equipment we have found.”
Suarez added, “Our casualties were closer to fifteen percent, including
Colonel Oliva.”
Vega nodded somberly. Night actions were always fought at close range, which meant a lot of hits and a lot of casualties. All the maneuvering and preparation in the world finally resolved into a hugger-mugger encounter where a bayonet was as good as an antitank missile. He was willing to sustain those losses, though, if he could reach Pretoria. A big victory would force the Russians to shorten his supply lines, pull in more of the socialist world as allies…
He realized he was drifting. Vasquez had gone on to describe the next most likely Boer position, the town of Temba.
A small mining settlement, scouts following the retreating South Africans had seen them retreat into it. A minor road junction, it had the added complication of lying across a small river. The terrain was definitely tricky.
Vasquez pointed to a sketchy map, which had been heavily annotated.
“Although the setup is more complex, I have reconnaissance personnel scouting the terrain for dead zones and potential approach routes. They should be back in this afternoon. We are also trying to build up a picture of the enemy’s order of battle, but—the colonel, paused, hesitating-“we are having some difficulty doing so.”
Vega nodded, a little impatiently. Vasquez had done well in a job that had grown harder and harder. Reconnaissance assets had been scarce to begin with, and now American aircraft made any movement dangerous. The chance of any aerial reconnaissance was also nil, especially after two of his precious reconnaissance aircraft had been shot down by carrier-based fighters.
Still, everyone knew the problems, and also the solutions, or the best ones that could be found. He looked at the colonel.
“Well?”
“We are seeing massive movement, not only in the town but on the roads leading to it.”
“That only makes sense,” Vega countered.
“It is the South Africans’ next defensive position, and we are getting closer to the capital all the time.
It’s only natural-“
“Sir, my worst-case estimate for the Afrikaner defenses was a composite battalion of armor, two understrength infantry battalions, and two batteries of artillery.” Everyone on the staff who heard the list winced.
Such a strong defense would make Temba nearly impossible to take.
“We have hard information about two battalions of armor, both stronger than we expected. One of them appears to be made up exclusively of tanks!”
“What?” Vega’s look of puzzlement was natural. The entire South African
Army didn’t have a complete battalion of tanks left anywhere.
“We’ve had several reconnaissance vehicles killed at long range, in excess of three thousand meters, by antitank missiles. the launchers were masked, but appeared to be deployed around the flanks of the town.”
The intelligence officer continued, “We are also seeing helicopters operating near Temba. They are not approaching close enough for us to make them out, but my scouts cannot recognize the type.”
Vega was intrigued.
“What do you think they are up to, Colonel?”
