by Larry Bond
“Captain Kloof and C Company, reporting as ordered, Colonel. “
Taylor snorted, but quietly. This wasn’t a parade ground, but Reitz returned the younger Afrikaner’s salute with snap and precision-just as though it were.
“Glad you’re here, Kloof. Stand by for a moment.”
The young officer moved closer and studied the map with the rest of the group.
Reitz, looking impatient, turned back to Hastings.
“Well, Captain? What’s this mess you’ve managed to create?”
Hastings’s snub-nosed face paled beneath its light dusting of freckles, and Taylor saw his jaw muscles twitch as he fought to control his temper.
“We estimate there are two to three thousand people in and around the stadium, sir. Mostly white students from the university, but there are a lot of blacks and colored there as well.”
He gestured to the map.
“We’ve sealed off all entrances and exits to the commons area… “
Taylor listened intently. Hastings and his company were following standard crowd control tactics designed to minimize
civilian casualties and protect his own men at the same time. They were using tear gas to break up organized groups of demonstrators outside the stadium. Once the demonstrators were dispersed and fleeing the gas, a platoon armed with Plexiglas riot shields and batons moved in to haul them off to waiting trucks.
Unfortunately, it was a slow and tedious process. The soldiers carried more gear than the protestors and were finding it difficult to capture more than a handful with each sally. Most managed to evade arrest and reformed-only to be dispersed by new salvos of tear gas grenades. It was a frustrating cycle that seemed to go on and on.
“And what about the stadium itself?” Reitz asked.
Hastings shook his head.
“I haven’t wanted to fire tear gas inside because of the panic it would create. Too many people could be trampled.
We’ve been using loudspeakers to order them to disperse or face detention.”
“And whenever they are ready to leave, you’ll arrest them?” Reitz’s voice was laced with sarcasm.
“Your concern for these hooligans is touching, but misplaced. These people are breaking the law and should be treated as such.
“Now listen to me closely, Captain! I will not have you”-Reitz raised his voice—or any man in this battalion babying these troublemakers.”
He jabbed the map.
“Have your grenadiers start firing tear gas into the stadium. And form the rest of your men into a cordon. Once the gas goes in, start sweeping the area on this side of the stadium. Arrest everyone, and if they run, shoot them!”
Hastings stared at Reitz, shocked, but he quickly concealed it. Taylor noticed the captain’s eyes flicker in his direction. He controlled his own expression, masking his true feelings behind an impassive countenance.
Reitz smiled for the first time.
“You will see, gentlemen. A few bullets will convince these ruffians to stop running and surrender. “
For an instant, Taylor thought about protesting the triggerhappy order to open fire without serious provocation. It would be a useless gesture, though. Even at the best of times, South African law enforcement was a pretty brutal business. And Reitz was within his rights as commander on the scene.
But that didn’t mean Taylor liked the situation. It also didn’t mean that he could forget that Colonel Ferguson had never found it necessary to have unarmed civilians shot. He stiffened.
Reitz’s smile faded and he glared at the group.
“Well?”
Galvanized into action, A Company’s lieutenants and sergeants went flying off under a new string of orders from Captain Hastings.
The colonel turned to C Company’s eager commander. Kloof take your men to the far side of the stadium and clear these communists away. Arrest anyone who stops, shoot anyone who moves.”
The younger man saluted again and ran off to his waiting APC. Taylor heard him shouting orders in a high-pitched, excited voice.
Reitz strolled over to Taylor’s side. His tone was pleasant, almost light.
“There, Major, that’s what I mean by my orders being energetically executed.”
He glanced at his watch.
“I expect we’ll have this little tea party broken up in an hour or so. ” His voice turned harsher.
“When we get back to the office, I want you to draw up court-martial papers for Hastings.
He’s obviously incompetent and may actually be in sympathy with these rioters.”
Reitz frowned at his stunned look.
“I will not have anyone under my command who harbors soft feelings for these people. Our president has made it quite clear that we should use strong measures to maintain law and order.”
Taylor said softly, “The president has also admitted seizing power illegally.”
“That will be enough, Major!” Reitz shouted, outraged.
“I won’t have you questioning our government’s authority, or mine. You are here to learn how to do your job, which I should think is humbling enough. A court-martial would be even more humbling.”
Taylor heard Kloof’s shouted command to move out and
turned to see C Company’s three platoons formed in a giant wedge. With assault rifles at port arms, they started trotting toward the far side of the oval soccer stadium.
A panting corporal ran up to Taylor and saluted.
“Sir, Captain Hastings says his men are in position and he’s ready to fire the tear gas.”
Taylor started to speak, but Reitz cut him off.
“Well, what does he want us to say? What is he waiting for? Tell that incompetent fool to fire.
Let’s get to it.”
My God. This Afrikaner bastard was insulting his fellow officers in front of enlisted men. Taylor felt his rage returning, overcoming the fear his erstwhile colonel had tried to instill by threatening him with a court-martial.
Unnerved by the dispute between his superiors, the corporal backed away and then ran off carrying Reitz’s message. The colonel watched him go and then muttered, “I wish it were nerve gas. Just wipe out the lot of them, that’s what we should do. “
A Company was deployed about fifty meters away, facing the stadium. A long line of men knelt on one knee with face shields down. Alternating soldiers carried assault rifles and riot batons, held at the ready. One group of four men armed with grenade launchers waited behind the line.
Hastings and his company sergeant had posted themselves near the four grenadiers.
Taylor watched as the corporal rejoined them and saw Hastings’s head snap in their direction before turning back to his men. The captain’s arm lifted and then dropped sharply.
Thummp! Thummp! Thummp! Thummp! Tear gas projectiles arced through the air and fell into the soccer stadium, trailing a thin white haze behind them. Wisps of gas started to rise slowly, drifting inland on a light breeze.
“The troops stood and started to move forward at a trot.
Reitz was beside himself.
“Four grenades? My God, that’s a stadium, not a public toilet!”
“He’s trying to give them a warning, a chance to leave without causing a panic.”
“Damn it, man, I want them panicked!” Reitz exclaimed.
“I want them terrified, especially of us!”
Still swearing, the colonel ran after the advancing company, and when he was in earshot, he started shouting, “Fire more tear gas. Fire now!”
Screams and the sounds of dozens of people choking and retching almost in unison were drowning out the muddy, indistinct voice bellowing over the stadium’s public address system.
Hastings looked over his shoulder when he heard Reitz, scowled, and passed the order on to the four men carrying grenade launchers. Another salvo of tear gas grenades arced into the air and fell inside the crowded stadium.
The colonel grabbed Hastings by the arm and swung him around.
Hastings nodded silently and after half a beat, saluted. Reitz ignored him. Instead, he turned away and followed the advancing troops, staying about five meters behind the command group.
More grenades soared through the air and fell into a growing haze. A few scattered and landed outside the stadium walls, but most went straight in. Taylor noticed that the loud voice on the loudspeaker had stopped, but that the screams and half-choked shouts from inside kept growing in volume.
Small bands of brown, black, and white protestors milled in confusion around the entrances to the soccer field-still unsure of the Army’s exact intentions.
Suddenly the screaming in the stadium moved outside. A mass of people, individuals indistinct at a hundred meters’ distance, surged out the door nearest to Hastings’s troops. Other throngs of fleeing demonstrators were pouring out the other exits, eager to escape what must be chaos among the tear gas-filled bleachers and soccer field.
Hastings motioned to a sergeant, who raised a bullhorn and yelled, first in Afrikaans and then in English, “Halt and surrender! If you flee, you will be shot.” As if to add substance to this threat, Taylor heard rifle fire from the far side of the stadium. That bastard Kloof and his men were already at work.
The mob ignored the sergeant’s warning. A few men and women near the edges seemed to hear, but even they ran. Taylor could see several people with bloodied limbs or heads, undoubtedly injured in the crush to get out through the narrow, body-packed exits. He shook his head slowly in dismay.
The colonel’s tear gas barrage had driven this crowd beyond reason.
A few rocks and bottles flew in the soldiers’ direction as some of the more militant protestors tried to retaliate. None landed very close.
Reitz took it all in and smiled thinly again.
“That’s one way to stop a show. Now fire a warning burst over their heads. “
Tight-lipped, Hastings nodded and gave the order. His men lifted their assault rifles and fired a ragged volley into the air. The stone throwers fled, but panicked protestors continued to stream out of the exits and away from the soldiers.
That was enough for Reitz, who shouted, “Fire again, damn it, and this time aim for the crowd!”
What? Till now, Taylor had hoped against all the evidence that the colonel’s ugly threats were mere bravado and bluster. Too late, he realized that Reitz had meant every word. He stepped forward to countermand the order….
A hundred rifles cracked as one, this time pointed straight at the disordered mass of people streaming out of the stadium.
Almost every bullet struck home-puncturing lungs, shattering bones, or ripping through arms and legs. Taylor saw dozens of people jerk and fall as they were hit. Hundreds of others fell flat as well, trying desperately to find cover on the open ground. A few people kept running, but most stopped, shocked and stunned by the blood and death around them. Ominously, in the sudden silence after the volley, they could still hear steady firing from the other side of the stadium.
Taylor stared from Reitz to the broken and bleeding bodies littering the trampled green grass and back again. Incredibly, the Afrikaner wore a small, pleased smile. Enough!
He moved in front of Reitz and yelled, “Cease fire!” Hastings immediately echoed him.
“These poor people are no further threat to us or anyone,
Colonel. ” Taylor ground the man’s rank out between clenched teeth.
“I’ll order the men to move in and start making arrests.” Taylor turned to issue
Hastings new orders and felt himself spun back round.
the colonel’s face was red, almost purple with rage.
“Rooinek swine! I will not have one of my orders countermanded. You and Hastings are both under arrest! Report to headquarters at once and stay there until I have time to deal with you!”
Then, his voice rising, he shouted, “Since you love these people so much, you can join them in prison! I’m taking personal command of this company, and I’ll do what you are apparently unable and unwilling to do-put an end to this lawbreaking! “
Taylor stared at Reitz in amazement. Had the man gone utterly mad?
“What lawbreaking?” He pointed toward the bloodsoaked lawns and gravel paths outside the stadium.
“It’s over! Finished! My God, can’t you see that?”
Reitz was still in a rage.
“Major, I don’t want to hear any more from you! You don’t know how to deal with these criminals, and you don’t want to learn. Get out of my sight-and take that weakling Hastings with you!
By the time I’m through, you’ll both be lucky if you’re not hanged!”
Taylor stared at his colonel a moment longer before trained reflexes and ingrained discipline took over. He stiffened to attention, turned, and started walking back to the command post with Hastings trudging silently at his side. He felt strangely empty of emotion, unsure of whether he should feel shock at the slaughter he had just witnessed, anger at Reitz, or shame at his relief. No, not shame. He’d done nothing wrong.
Behind him, the demonstrators were beginning to stir. Many knelt weeping by dead or dying friends. Others sat shaking, unable to move. A few were crawling away in a futile search for better cover or escape. People were still trying to get out of the gas-filled stadium, but those in front, who saw the horror before them, were trying to turn around. Being choked and blinded by tear gas must have seemed preferrable to being butchered on the open ground.
The long, thin line of South African soldiers looked numbly at the carnage in front of them, each obviously trying to reconcile his own actions with his conscience. Murder was not a part of the soldier’s code, and this had been a kind of murder. Their lieutenants and noncoms glanced uneasily at each other-shocked by the open break between their colonel and the battalion’s secondin-command. Taylor was one of them-a fellow reservist and a peacetime neighbor.
Reitz swept the formation with an ice-cold glare, and they all turned to face forward, Deliberately, he called out, “A Company, at the rioters, fire!”
Taylor turned in horror. Reitz was not satisfied. He intended to kill and go on killing.
Obedient under orders, most of the men raised their rifles, aiming at the crowd. But when only one of the company’s lieutenants echoed the colonel’s order, instead of all three as was customary, they lowered their weapons again and looked back at their officers in confusion.
Reitz walked closer to the line. He drew his pistol, worked the slide, and held it in front of him, muzzle pointing up.
“Damn it, I gave an order, and I’ll shoot the next man who doesn’t obey instantly! Now fire!”
“No!” Taylor shouted. He sprinted toward the colonel. The personal consequences and discipline be damned. Discipline meant following lawful orders, not committing coldblooded murder at the whim of a madman.
He was still ten meters away when Reitz turned and saw him coming.
Pure hatred on his face, the Afrikaner swung his pistol in Taylor’s direction. Without thinking, he fumbled for his own sidearm as Reitz aimed and fired.
Automatically, he threw himself to the ground, thumb cocking the hammer of his own weapon. The pistol’s blinding flash and the crack of a bullet racing close overhead reached Taylor at almost the same instant. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hastings charging forward, and Reitz turned, drawing down on the running officer.
No! Taylor squeezed the trigger, something inside him seeming to leap out along with the bullet.
Reitz staggered back, agony on his face as bright-red blood spread across the chest of his uniform jacket. He tried to hold his aim on Hastings and failed. Then his legs folded and he crumpled to the grass. One hand clawed briefly at the sky and then fell back.
Hastings skidded to a stop and knelt beside the fallen Afrikaner.
Taylor rose to one kn
ee, stunned by the speed with which he’d moved from officer to prisoner to mutineer. He wanted to stop and think, to understand what he had done, but there wasn’t time. He levered himself to his feet and ran toward Reitz, shouting, “Get an ambulance!”
It struck him as odd that nobody was calling for help for all the protestors who’d been shot, but that the colonel’s wounding brought an instant reaction from him.
Hastings laid the colonel’s head down on the ground.
“We don’t need an ambulance, Major.”
Taylor could see Reitz’s unseeing, open eyes and shuddered. But he didn’t feel ashamed, or even sorry. He’d killed before, in battle, and this felt no different. Reitz had been bent on murdering unarmed civilians, not because of what they had done, but because of who they were.
He looked from the corpse to find many of Hastings’s soldiers and all of
A Company’s officers surrounding him. One of the lieutenants, Kenhardt, said, “You’re in command now, Major. What are your orders?”
The other officers and noncoms nodded eagerly.
Again, Taylor had the sensation of being pulled along by events instead of shaping them. Was he in command? Despite shooting his own colonel? He shook his head, trying to clear it. Someone had to take charge. In the circumstances, the battalion’s senior captain would be a better choice-but that was Kloof. The crackle of automatic weapons fire drew his attention to the far side of the stadium. Kloof and his men were still shooting unarmed protestors.
Right, first things first. He grabbed the nearest enlisted man and ordered, “Tell Captain Kloof to cease fire and report back here on the double. Nothing more than that, understand?”
The private nodded and ran off.
Hastings looked troubled.
“Chris, that damned Afrikaner will just order you, me, and everyone else in reach arrested. We’d probably be shot after the kind of trial these people would give us. ” His junior officers nodded their agreement.