the battalion should have been seen only as series of low mounds, and the turrets of its dug-in armored vehicles.
Instead, the uneven, churned-up earth showed no sign of plant or animal life, or anything of human construction. The smoke and dust cleared a little more, and Vega could see the individual craters made by the bombs.
They were huge, each almost a dozen meters across. More disturbingly, in the near distance he could see the shattered remains of an AK-47.
Vega heard voices behind him-exclamations, gasps, a few shouted orders.
His staff was also emerging from their barely adequate bomb shelter.
Ignoring them, he started to walk toward the 25this command post, a few hundred meters away.
A mild breeze was moving the dust, clearing the air. As it did so, the outlines of the landscape became harsher, and more details, all of them horrible, were visible.
Vega had taken no more than a few steps past the shattered weapon when he found a leg, half-buried in the dirt. The exposed hip joint was covered with dust. Moving forward more slowly, the general found more body parts, whether from the same man or another it was impossible to tell.
Vega had to pick his way carefully. A layer of loose earth, perhaps half a meter deep, covered everything. He remembered walking in freshly plowed fields back home, and this dirt had the same consistency.
He stepped and felt something solid under the surface. A rock, a man, or some piece of equipment, it was impossible to tell. Carefully picking his way in the uncertain footing, he almost bumped into the metal side of what had been an armored personnel carrier.
The vehicle was fairly intact, but was nearly covered with loose dirt.
Lying on its side, it was at least fifty or a hundred meters from the nearest spot APCs could have been em placed
Vega reached for a hatch, intending to check the crew, then dropped his hand. There was no point.
His staff found him there five minutes later. Looking out to the west, he made no move to turn to face them as they approached. When they stopped, sharing his silence, he said, “Send a messenger to the South
Africans.”
He turned to face them.
“We’re going home.”
CHAPTER
Retreat
JANUARY 14-CLOSE-UP FLIGHT, OVER NATIONAL ROUTE I
“Ice” Isaacs fought his instincts and flew straight and level, following the road. Below him stretched the entire Cuban Army, or the remains of it, at least.
Lacking anything else to do, Ice checked on Spike Faber. His wingman was in position, and when he saw Ice turn his head to face him, he waved cheerfully, then slow-rolled his Hornet in place.
Isaacs fought the urge to give him at least a mild chewing out.
Acrobatics such as that on a combat mission were strictly forbidden, for good reason, but this was like no combat mission he’d ever flown.
Thousands of armed Cubans passed beneath his wings, and then the road was empty. Isaacs continued north, extending the distance before his turn.
At three hundred feet and slow speed, every detail of the column was visible. The trucks, the long lines of men on foot, some of them limping, and best from his point of view, not a weapon raised against them.
Isaac pulled the Hornet up in a long, graceful curve, taking the time to enjoy the sensation. This was no five-g turn designed to bend the airplane onto a new course as quickly as possible. There was no hurry, and nothing more dangerous than the afternoon thermals to occupy his attention.
Lieutenant Isaacs was a little relieved, actually. He had of course been briefed that the Cubans would not fire, and that they were expecting close overflights, but there was always the chance some hothead would take a potshot at them. He smiled. Maybe the flight of A-6 Intruders a thousand feet up and a mile off to the left had cooled any hot tempers.
Ice finished his turn and lined up on the road again. The long shadows were going to make the photo interpreters’ lives a lot easier. In a few hours headquarters would have an excellent idea of the retreating Cubans’ strength.
He triggered the cameras and started a second pass.
General Vega looked up at the jets, sure the pilots were laughing at him and his men. The urge to shoot, to lash out at his enemies, was almost as great as his shame, but the certainty of death was too great.
He was proud of his men, and his sole goal was to ensure that they all reached home successfully. The thought of Cuba pulled him forward, even as the American tanks and troops pushed from behind.
The enemy had been generous. Victors can afford to be. He and his men, stunned from the massive bomber raid, had spent the morning digging out survivors, then at noon had started out on the long march home.
Along the way, they would meet supply convoys, en route before the great reversal. Like a snake eating its own tail, Vega’s army would march back unopposed, but unassisted.
JANUARY 15-DEFENSE COUNCIL, THE KREMLIN, RSFSR
Marshal Kamenev stood before the council, holding the message as if were news of a loved one’s death.
Tumansky. the foreign minister, asked, “Is there no action we can take, no promise that will make him stop this retreat?”
Kamenev shook his head.
“I have met General Vega and have read his messages over the months. I know him. He is beaten. “
Reading aloud, the marshal said, “
“The correlation of forces is too great for any conceivable force to overcome. Even with Cuba’s whole armed forces, I could not stand against the Western alliance.”
“
Kamenev looked up from the paper.
“He rebukes us, comrades. He is implying that he stands alone against the West, and that Cuba cannot stand, but that we could.”
“Could we, comrade?” Tumansky’s face was a mask of concern.
“Our goal was clear. The socialist forces fought a real enemy, the last capitalist power in Africa. World opinion was on our side.”
“More importantly,” the President added, “we could have put a noose around the Western economies’ necks, while ours grew strong. ” He turned to Kamenev.
“What military options are open to us?”
The marshal sighed.
“If we wish to continue fighting, we would have to land Soviet troops, in division strength, in Mozambique and Zimbabwe.
Vega’s men are finished. We would have to provide the forces ourselves.
Once secure airheads had been established, we could then begin advancing south, along the same routes used by Vega’s forces.”
The chairman of the KGB nodded.
“The prize might be worth a risk of war with the Americans.”
The President and other members of the Defense Council did not appear to share his feelings.
“How long to execute such a plan, comrade?”
“I could have airborne forces moving in twenty-four to forty-eight hours.” The marshal’s positive words did not match his reluctant tone.
“Category A divisions could be taken from the strategic reserve. It would take a minimum of two weeks to build up, then a campaign of several months before we would reach
Pretoria, if at all.”
The President prompted, “And the chance of success?”
