One girl about four years of age was found with her throat slit. Pregnant women were found with large bruises on their abdomens, indicating they had been stomped to death.
Defence Ministry officials were hard pressed to speculate on what provoked the attack. All the victims were civilians. The nearest military installation is 12 miles away.
Until now, the African Army of Revolution, led by American expatriate Hiram Jones, who now calls himself Hiram Lusana, has fought a strict military war, attacking only South African Defence Forces and facilities.
Barbaric assaults by other insurgent groups have been commonplace along South Africa's northern borders. Defence leaders find this new pattern most puzzling.
The only previous type of massacre involving the AAR occurred during the Fawkes farm raid in Umkano, Natal, in which 32 were killed.
It is known that Hiram Jones-Lusana is currently in Washington soliciting support for the AAR.
Lusana could not accept the article's impact until he had read it through four times. Finally he looked up, shaken, and opened his palms in a gesture of amazement.
"This is not my doing," he said.
Daggat looked up from the book. "I believe you, Hiram. I am quite aware that gross stupidity is not one of your virtues. However, as commanding officer, you are responsible for the conduct of your troops." "Jumana!" Lusana blurted as full realization dawned on him. "You're mistaken, Congressman, I am stupid. Tom Machita tried to warn me of Jumana's renegade leanings, but I refused to listen."
"The heavyset colonel weighted down with medals," said Daggat. "I remember him from your cocktail party. A leader of a prominent tribe, I believe you said."
Lusana nodded. "A 'favorite son' of the Srona tribe. He spent over eight years in South African prisons before I arranged his escape. He has strong support throughout Transvaal province. Politically, I thought it an expedient move to name him my second-in-command."
"As with too many Africans who are suddenly thrust into a position of power, he apparently conjured up fantasies of grandeur."
Lusana stood and leaned wearily against a shelf of books. "The idiot," he muttered, almost to himself. "Can't he understand that he's destroying the very cause he's fighting for?"
Daggat rose and put his hand on Lusana's shoulder. "I suggest you catch the fast flight back to Mozambique, Hiram, and regain control of your movement. Issue news releases denying the AAR's involvement in the massacre. Blame it on the other insurgent groups, if you have to, but get out from under and put your house in order. I'll do what I can to soften adverse reaction at this end. "
Lusana extended his hand. "Thank you, Congressman. I'm grateful for all you've done."
Daggat shook his hand warmly.
"And your subcommittee. How will they vote now?" Lusana said.
Daggat smiled confidently. "Three to two in favor of aid to the AAR, providing you offer a convincing performance in front of the news cameras when you deny any involvement with the Tazareen massacre."
Colonel Joris Zeegler had taken over the basement of a schoolhouse ten miles from the boundary separating Natal province and Mozambique. While class continued on the top two floors, Zeegler and several ranking officers of the Defence Forces studied aerial maps and a scale mock-up of the AAR headquarters, not twenty-five miles away, across the border.
Zeegler squinted through a wisp of smoke curling from the cigarette that dangled in his mouth and tapped a pointer on a miniature building in the center of the mock-up.
"The former university-administration building," he said, "is used by Lusana as his nerve center. A Chinese-supplied communications network, field-staff offices, intelligence section, indoctrination rooms they're all housed there. They've gone too bloody far this time. Destroy it and everyone in it and you cut off the head of the AAR. 11
"Begging your pardon, sir" — this from a big red-faced captain with a bushy mustache — "but it was my understanding that Lusana was in America."
"Quite correct. He's in Washington this very minute, on his hands and knees, begging the Yanks for financial support."
"Then what bloody good is cutting off the serpent's head if the brain lies elsewhere? Why not wait until he returns and bag the head bugger as well?"
Zeegler gave him a cold, condescending stare. "Your metaphor needs refining, Captain. However, to answer your question… it will not be practical to await Lusana's return. Our intelligence sources have confirmed that Colonel Randolph jumana has engineered a mutiny within the ranks of the AAR."
Surprised looks were exchanged among the officers clustered around the model. It was the first they'd heard of Lusana's ouster.
"Now is the time to strike," he went on. "By brutally murdering helpless women and children at Tazareen, jumana has thrown open the door for retaliation. An across-the-border raid on AAR headquarters has been approved by the Prime Minister. The usual diplomatic protests from Third World countries are to be expected, of course. A formality, nothing more."
A tough-looking customer with the rank of major and dressed in camouflage fatigues raised his hand. Zeegler acknowledged him.
"Your intelligence report also mentions the presence of Vietnamese advisers and possibly a few Chinese observers. Surely our government will suffer repercussions if we snuff the bastards."
"Accidents happen," Zeegler said. "If a foreign national by chance stumbles into your line of fire, do not lose sleep if a stray bullet sends him straightaway to Buddhaland. They have no business being in Africa. Defence Minister De Vaal is aware of the likelihood and has consented to let that particular problem rest on his shoulders."
Zeegler turned his attention back to the mock-up.
"Now. gentlemen, for the final phase of the attack. We have decided to take a page from the AAR handbook on the policing of a battlefield." He smiled without humor. "Except we intend to go them one better."
Thomas Machita shivered in his cell. He couldn't remember when he had felt so cold. The temperature of the African interior had run its normal course, from ninety degrees the previous afternoon to a frosty thirty in the hours prior to dawn.
Jumana's goons had dragged Machita from the radio room before he could send a message of warning to Lusana in Washington. They savagely pulverized his face before stripping away his clothes and throwing him in a damp little cell in the building's basement. One eye was swollen shut; a deep gash above the other eyebrow had coagulated during the night, and he had vision after wiping away the clotted blood. His lips were swollen and two teeth were missing, courtesy of a well-aimed rifle butt. He shifted his position on a filthy pile of dried leaves, gasping at the pain that stabbed his cracked ribs.
Machita lay in dark frustration, gazing vacantly at the concrete walls of his prison as the new day's light filtered through a small barred window above his head. The cell was no more than a cube, five by five by five feet, and barely allowed enough room for Machita to lie down, provided he raised his knees. The low arched door to the basement hall was three-inch-thick mahogany and had no latch or handle on the inside.
He heard voices through the window and painfully pulled himself to a stooped position and looked out. The window faced the camp's parade ground at eye level. Elite commando sections were lining up for roll call and inspection. Across the way, messhall roof vents emitted shimmering waves of heat as the cooks stoked their stoves to life. A company of recruits from Angola and Zimbabwe crawled sleepily from their tents at the prodding of their veteran section leaders.