Castro's Bomb (50 page)

Romanski had to be certain it was Che Guevara they'd seen and there was no way he could do that.
 
None of them had ever actually seen the man and the few photos they'd seen were grainy, blurred, and unreliable.
 
Even if he stared the man in the face all he would be able to say was that it was a scrawny little Cuban with a scraggly beard and who wore a beret.

But ignoring the possibility that Guevara was only a few miles away was a chance they could not take.
 
Where Guevara went, there they would likely find the nuke.
 
Romanski's decision was simple, they would locate the Cuban group they'd attacked, and trail them until they knew one way or the other.

Cathy Malone represented a dilemma.
 
As Ross had realized just after the first attacks, the young woman could not simply be abandoned.
 
She was an American and deserved their protection even if, ironically, it meant putting her in greater danger.
 
There was just no safe place to stash her and he couldn't afford to leave her with one or two of his small command.
 
If it came down to a fire-fight over a nuclear rocket, he would need every man and gun he could muster.

Cathy understood and agreed.
 
She also convinced him that she knew how to use the AK47 she now carried.
 
He had his doubts, but she showed she at least knew how to load, aim, and, oh yes, release the safety before pulling the trigger.
 
Ward said he'd let her fire a couple of rounds a few a weeks earlier.
 
Romanski wondered if she'd hit anything other than the earth.
 
Ward grinned and declined to answer.

They moved out slowly.
 
Romanski's leg still wasn't up to par and he wondered if they wouldn't be better off if they left him behind.
 
Another reason they moved out at a slow pace was because they didn't want to blunder into the Cuban camp.
 
The trail was fairly easy to follow and it appeared that the Cubans were making no effort at disguising it from the ground.
 
They were doubtless far more concerned about threats from the air.
 

Nor were they so foolish as to follow straight up the trail.
 
They moved from side to side and kept an eye out for obvious ambush sites.

They all cursed the necessity to be so careful, especially since the vehicle carrying the nuke could easily move much faster than they could.
 
Romanski countered by reminding them that the launcher likely wasn't going to go far, and the tracks indicated it was heading towards Guantanamo Bay where it would have to halt.

Finally, they breasted a hill and looked down on where the tracks ended at a ruined barn, the exterior of which was partly covered by a tarp and tree branches.
 
At least a dozen men were hiding under other tarps and in trenches.

They couldn't see it, but it was now very likely that the nuclear rocket was hidden less than a mile away from them.

"Now what, colonel?" Ross asked.

Now what, indeed.
 
Romanski rubbed his jaw and tried to ignore the throbbing hurt in his leg.
 
They were about two miles north of the coastline and maybe a mile from the boundary of the ruined American base.
 
The Soviet built rocket could hit anywhere on the base or along the near shore line.
 
Guevara, if that really was Guevara, had reached his destination.
 
He would launch from where he was.
 

Romanski turned to the others.
 
"First, we'll try to pinpoint this place and get an air strike or two.
 
If that doesn't work, we'll have to do it the old fashioned way and just kill it ourselves."

Or get ourselves killed, he thought.

Chapter Nineteen

Midge Romanski was not uncomfortable having a three-star general in her living room, mainly because she still wanted Josiah Bunting's head on a platter.
 
Heidi Morton, on the other hand, was very nervous.
 
Even the wives of senior NCOs did not ordinarily visit with brass except on formal and structured occasions.
 
This situation was very unstructured.
 
Bunting was in civilian clothes and it was he who looked truly nervous.

Midge glanced out the window.
 
It was cold and rainy with the temperature in the low forties.
 
It was a reminder of why she hated Fort Benning in particular and the south in general.
 
It was too hot in the summer and clammy cold in the winter.

Bunting finally began.
 
He was pale and his hands trembled.
 
"Ladies, I have submitted my resignation and retirement papers and I expect they will be acted on shortly.
 
In the meantime, I wish to make up for my failures and the deceits that are ongoing.

"Midge, Heidi, I am totally responsible for the situation that took place on Christmas and over Cuba.
 
I overreached and sent those planes and those men on my authority.
 
I pretended that I misunderstood President Kennedy and I hadn't.
 
I knew he only wanted info, and for me to get back to General Taylor with the proper information regarding the unit’s readiness so that somebody higher up could make the decision.
 
But I launched the attack on my own authority and it cost many, many lives.
 
I am truly sorry for that and will have to live with it for the rest of my life."

Midge glared at him.
 
He was having an epiphany and so what? She was missing a husband and a number of other families had also lost loved ones.
 
"Am I supposed to be happy with your confession, general?
 
Do you want me to assign you a penance?"

"No.
 
Later you asked me and then asked the president if we had any further information and we both said no.
 
We weren't lying.
 
We had no further data at that time.
 
That situation has changed."

Midge leaned forward and Heidi gasped.
 
"What?"

"Please understand that I am under strict orders to keep this secret.
 
It's just that I don't agree with them.
 
You have every right to know.
 
I only ask that you keep this to yourselves for the short few days it'll be necessary."

Midge wanted to scream at him.
 
Keep what a secret?

Bunting looked at the two of them.
 
"As of this moment, both your husbands are alive and reasonably well.
 
Sergeant Morton is unhurt, while the colonel has some kind of leg injury, apparently nothing serious."

Midge felt tears welling and tried to stop them.
 
She didn't want to cry in front of Josiah Bunting.
 
Heidi Morton was having no such qualms.
 
Tears streamed down her face.

"And why must it be kept a deep, dark secret?" Midge asked.

"Because they are still almost alone in a combat zone.
 
They are obviously behind enemy lines and are being hunted.
 
On the plus side, they have somehow managed to hitch up with Lieutenant Ross and his small band, including the teacher, but anything bad could happen to them at any time.
 
General Taylor and the others didn't want you to know anything prematurely that might later be snatched away.
 
I disagreed and was told to keep still.
 
I am violating orders by telling you all this."

Bunting stood to rise.
 
He'd had his say and was ready to leave.
 
Midge saw no reason to stop him.
 
"Thank you for stopping by, general, and we appreciate what you are doing for us.
 
Don't worry, we will keep your secret."

Bunting departed and Midge turned to Heidi.
 
"What do you propose we do now?"

"I don't know," she said.
 
“He’s still an asshole, but at least he’s now a contrite asshole.”

"Would you like a drink?"

Heidi smiled.
 
"Very much, thank you."

Midge smiled back.
 
"Perhaps a couple?"

"I'm German.
 
I don't believe in half measures," Heidi said, giggling.

Private Manuel Hidalgo lay down beside his 30caliber machine gun and peered through the firing slit of his bunker.
 
Like so many weapons in Cuba's arsenal it was an American Browning of World War II vintage.
 
This was of no concern to Hidalgo, the thin and near-sighted seventeen year old had only learned how to use the weapon the day before.
 
Despite that, he felt he was ready for the Americans who would come down the road.
 
One probe had been beaten back but they would come again and be taught another lesson.
 
Hidalgo and the others in his platoon would cause damage, stop the gringos if they could and, if they could not, pull back to the next position.
 

The population of Guantanamo City and environs was firmly, solidly, behind Fidel Castro and the revolution.
 
Castro had promised them a better way of life and was beginning to make good on the promises.
 
Already, there was more food, and there were many jobs available working for the government.
 
The Americans wanted all that turned back.
 
The Americans must be stopped.
 

Manuel remembered cheering wildly with his aunt, Marinda, and others when the first attack on the base at Guantanamo Bay began.
 

It had been marvelous to see the long lines of dispirited Americans heading off into captivity.
 
He was sorry that so many of them had to die, and had been stunned by the devastation he'd seen, but that was war and that was the price that had to be paid for Cuban freedom.
 
He was a little sorry that the attack had taken place on Christmas Day.
 
He still had feelings for that holy day.
 
The base was now Cuba's and that was all that counted.

He was also sorry that he’d lost that damned rifle in Santiago.

He spat on the ground just like he remembered his father did every time he thought of Batista and he was outdoors.
 
Hidalgo forgot once and spat in the house and Marinda had nearly killed him, while his father laughed uproariously.
 
The thought of that made him smile.

He hoped today would be as good as yesterday.
 
Today they were about a mile south of where they'd ambushed the American column.
 
Manuel had sprayed the lead vehicle, a jeep, with machine gun fire and was fairly certain he'd hit people since it had suddenly careened wildly and then turned over.
 
This day he was in a sandbagged and well hidden bunker and his lieutenant said his machine gun was positioned to enfilade the road.
 
He and others had to ask what enfilade meant and were told that it meant shooting into the flank of the enemy.
 
Miguel wondered why the lieutenant just didn’t say that.
 

Other bunkers also flanked the road, and a T54 tank was on each side of the road, dug in and hidden.
 
Any jeeps or trucks were his to shoot.
 
Tanks and other armored vehicles would be handled by other soldiers with heavy weapons, especially those two magnificent Russian built tanks.

They'd all been reassured that they were not to stand and die, only fight and kill.
 
And then withdraw so they could fight again.
 
Their job was to bleed the gringo army until the Americans realized that Cuba was too tough a nut to crack and that it would not be worth the blood price to conquer.
 
He was seventeen and proud to be a warrior in the Revolution.
 
He'd been but a boy when Fidel had risen to power, but now he was a man.
 
Long live the Cuban People’s Revolution, he constantly reminded himself whenever he got nervous about the coming fighting.

The radio crackled and the lieutenant hollered that the Americans were coming.
 
Manuel fought off the urge to piss and steadied himself.
 
The sudden smell of urine told him that not all his comrades had been so successful.
 
There was no shame in being scared.
 
Only a fool wasn't.
 
He gulped and cleaned off his glasses for the hundredth time.

 
A few moments later, the head of the enemy column was visible and this time the Americans showed that they had learned something.
 
An M48 tank and not a jeep led the American force.
 
He looked down the American column and smiled.
 
There were a number of trucks in it, although they were at an angle and would be difficult to hit until they got closer.
      

"Open fire!" the lieutenant yelled.
 
Manuel thought it was too soon, but he obeyed orders and began to shoot up the few trucks he could see.
 
He and the others howled in triumph.
 
An anti-tank rocket missed the American tank which began to backtrack, along with the rest of the vehicles in the column.
 
The big gun of the tank fired and missed, the shell apparently going over their position.

The cannon from the T54 tanks boomed and hit near the quickly disappearing American tank enveloping it in dust and debris but causing no apparent damage.
 
The American tank fired again and an explosion followed.
 
Hidalgo wondered if one of the Cuban tanks had just been destroyed.
 
The American tank continued to pull back.