by Jack Freeman
Max replied, “Well, we’re not 100% sure the Russians are involved but of course they would keep any involvement well hidden behind a screen of front organisations and countries. Still, if your government was to be overthrown then that could mean trouble for US interests and we like stability generally, so, yes, we want to help some. In particular, we can supply weapons, say small arms and maybe some spotter planes and training. This is a guerrilla war – its not as if Castro has tanks and artillery. We think that covert ops may come in here too. If Castro and his top sidekicks were to fall in the cause maybe the rest would fall apart?”
“You could be right, amigo. It’s worth a try. As you can see from the pins on the map while we hold the main towns Castro is gaining ground throughout the countryside. The peasants naturally like his fairy stories about how they will own all the land after the revolution and are flocking round him. He and Guevara also use the big stick once they have gained a village. Anyone who doesn’t go along is declared an enemy of the people and bumped off. Tell that to the liberal dupes in the US.”
“Well, you and I know the score here, but there is a pretty big liberal constituency in the States that Ike and Dick Nixon can’t totally ignore. The churches, both Protestant and Catholic, are influential with Republicans and Democrats, and their congregations get upset by heavy tactics on your side and they hear a lot more about your crackdowns than they hear about Fidel and Che’s. Maybe, you could have some black propaganda about Castro executing priests and nuns?
Anyway, make up your wish list of arms and I’ll pass it on with a positive recommendation to my superiors. Meanwhile we’d like to send a few special operatives into the countryside to make contact with Castro and company and see if we can’t give them the martyrdom they seem to want. Basically it would be an assassination team of three. All of them would be top marksmen with long range rifles so all we’d need would be a clear shot. We hear Fidel likes to go in for long speeches from the balcony of every town hall he captures with his lieutenants around him. So maybe one time we’ll be in the area when a speech is planned and we can take our chance then of a clear shot form a suitable spot. Your forces could get the credit. We can’t be seen to be involved.”
“I like the sound of this, Senor Blue. I am happy to authorise it. But will you, yourself, be taking part in the action?”
“Yes, that’s right. I would be one of the team. The other two are primed and ready to come over from Miami. We are all fluent Spanish speakers and have done a lot of jungle training. It all looks good. The cover story will be that we are Australians from an Australian mining company prospecting for uranium. We’ll need some papers from your Interior Ministry to back up this story. To keep it as secret as possible, you’ll appreciate that your own cops and military shouldn’t know about the real mission, so we’ll need papers in case they get suspicious. Hopefully, the rebels won’t object if they come across us. After all, if they win, they’re going to need uranium too for the atomic age.”
Within two weeks the team and their equipment were assembled. They would travel by jeep with everything needed for roughing it in the hills for two weeks. They were equipped with Geiger Counters and detailed geological maps. Mingled in with the obscure tools of uranium hunters were the components of two modified M-14 rifles capable of long range use up to 1000 yards.
Max knew the other team members from the time in Viet Nam when they had been together to bolster the early Republic’s special forces after the French had got out. Joe and Mike hadn’t changed too much, but unlike Max, they had gone freelance and hired themselves out as security consultants around the world’s trouble zones.
“Ok, ok, we’re mercenaries but that ain’t a nice word so we don’t say that, except among friends,” laughed Mike when Max put this to them.
Sitting in the lounge of the Havana Hilton, over a large plate of tostadas and guacamole, with bottles of chilled Corona beer, they went over the plan.
“Yes, it looks good. We can do Australian well enough to get by here I’m sure. Australian is good, means native English sort of speakers but not Yankee imperialists. We’ve boned up on uranium prospecting too, so should be able to bluff it. Don’t think too many Cubanos are versed in nuclear matters. We’ve put a bit of time in at the rifle range in Miami on the M-14s and should be ok for up to 500 yards,” said Joe, over beers.
“Ok,” said Max, “Tomorrow, at dawn, we set out. From the way things are going it looks like a place called San Pablo will fall to the rebels soon. So we head over that way and see if we can’t use one of the hills overlooking the town to get a view of the town hall balcony.”
Next day Max, Joe and Mike drove their jeep out of Havana on a hot and humid morning and passed easily through six Government check points in the first twenty miles. The papers signed by Batista himself brought immediate salutes and raised barriers. No bribes were needed when Batista himself was behind the gringos.
As they left the last checkpoint, and drove on down the empty road, Max commented “Batista and his boys are getting worried. Beyond here, it’s no man’s land and not too far away we’re into bandit country. We’ll be cutting off from this road down a track on the left into the hills in a couple of miles. There should be a cantina at the junction according the map.”
Five minutes later, they found the cantina was in ruins and still radiating heat from a fire that had destroyed the useful and harmless roadside facility.
“Just as well we aren’t thirsty. Looks like there was a major fire fight here not long ago,” said Joe. He pointed to a smouldering wrecked vehicle and said, “There’s what’s left of a police van. They were probably stopped here for a free drink and shakedown of the owners when Fidelistas showed up. There’s a fire-fight, the place gets torched and then …zap! Revolutionary justice is dished out. Yep, the bodies are over there I bet in the grass, where the clouds of flies are gathering.”
Checking out the grass, sure enough, they found three bullet riddled corpses in the uniforms of Batista’s much hated rural police corps.
“Well, we can’t do anything about this. It’s a pity about the bar. A cold beer would be good right now. You’d think the Fidelistas could be a bit more considerate. Before, I was neutral, just doing my job, nothing personal. Now, I really don’t like those guys when they can destroy a public utility like a roadside bar that everyone needs,” said Max.
“Especially you, old buddy,” replied Mike.
“Ok. Enough, here. Lets go, Vamos,” said Max, climbing back into the jeep.
The jeep struggled up the rough track into the hills overlooking San Pablo. The track had been made years before for an aborted attempt to grow hardwoods commercially on the higher ground and now was only used by occasional game hunters and mineral prospectors. Suddenly, the sky darkened and a violent wind began to blow and was soon accompanied by torrential rain.
“Shit! Nobody checked the weather forecast, did they! You mighta done that Max, you are the leader type here after all. We’ve walked into a tropical storm or maybe even a hurricane,” said Mike angrily.
“Goddam Cubans,” replied Max, “They told me, no problemos with weather. Maybe nobody saw this coming or maybe they were just hoping for the best…anyway, better pull off, get waterproof sheets up over the jeep and make a shelter for the duration of the storm.”
Struggling against the wind and the rain, the men managed to erect a shelter that would keep them, the jeep and their supplies at least partially dry as the storm rolled over the hills. Once the shelter was secured, they ate tinned corned beef and beans washed down with rum and warm beer and then took turns at sleeping and guarding through the night. The next morning, they were dismayed to find that the path ahead was blocked with fallen trees.
“At least the road back looks ok, but the other way is impassable,” said Max.
“So, what’ll we do boss? Is it abandon mission or keep tryin’?” asked Joe.
“Well, according to the map, we’re not too far from a vantage poin
t overlooking San Pablo. I think we should try hiking up the track with just our rifles, ammo and limited supplies, just what we can carry. We can probably carry a couple of days’ worth of food and drink. We’ll cover up the jeep as best we can and hope its still here for the return ride,” replied Max.
“Ok, Boss,” came back Mike. Joe began loading up rucksacks for the hike ahead.
It was slow going, clambering over the fallen trees, in the stifling heat. The wide range of insects that found their sweat and blood appetising was daunting and the men cursed every foot of the way up the steep and uneven slope. After three hours, the track became clear and flatter as the tree cover became thin on the higher levels. A further hour later they had a view of the large village of San Pablo and found a patch of low bushes that would serve as a hide from which they could observe the village some 400 yards away, below them on the side of a shallow valley. Max scanned the village with his 50 times magnification binoculars and found the balcony on the main square that Castro would likely use to harangue the peasants. From the distance they could hear sounds of a battle some miles away
“OK,” said Max, “There’s the balcony of the local mayor’s office overlooking the main square. From the gunfire we can hear I would say the rebels are close to San Pablo. Maybe they’ll take it soon. That would suit us alright.”
They set up the camouflaged sniper rifles and then took turns observing the village through the binoculars for half an hour at a time.
Late in the afternoon, Mike was on surveillance when he spoke quietly, saying “I think this is it. Groups of armed men in olive green fatigues and camouflage, all bearded and it looks like carrying AK-47s coming in to town. No resistance so far. Oh wait, three cops are coming out of the mayor’s building. They’re waving a white flag. Oh, no good, the rebels have just shot them anyway. They are giving the cops a good kicking to make sure and shooting them point blank in the head to make extra double sure. Now, there’s a guy, probably the mayor, emerging, waving a white handkerchief and carrying his chain of office, holding it out to the rebels. He’s giving the chain to the leading rebel who is putting it on and looking very pleased at this. The ex- mayor has been let go on his way. The other rebels are fooling about, bowing and curtseying to the guy with the chain. They are having a ball down there. Now the people are coming out. Its time for flowers and chanting support – they know what to do, ok. Most of the rebels have garlands of flowers now and rum is being thrust on them. No resistance there. Young senoritas are coming out to show their appreciation too. Now the rebels are dancing around the square and shouting “Viva Fidel.” The rebel flag is now up outside the mayor’s office and I guess that’s it. San Pablo has now fallen to the Fidelistas –and that’s official!”
“Ok. Now, we have got to wait on Fidel coming by to address the masses. Maybe it’ll be soon. I think he likes to appear early,” said Max and added, “You guys get in position with the rifles and keep the sights fixed on the balcony about where you’d expect someone to stand and wave graciously to the assembled plebs. I’ll scan the bigger picture with my binoculars and keep you in on what’s going on down there generally.”
Soon after Mike and Joe were in position, with their rifles trained on the balcony, Max whistled softly and said, “Hey, this looks like him. A jeep with the rebel flag flying is coming in to town. There’s a tall bearded man with a cigar standing in the back of the jeep and he is waving to the crowd. It’s got to be Fidel. He’s gone into the town hall building now. He should be on balcony any minute, ok there he is, and there’s a henchman beside him, maybe Guevara. Joe, you go for Fidel, and Mike, you go for the other guy. Let me know when they’re in your sights and you’re ready, then I’ll give the signal.”
“Ready, boss” said Joe, then Mike added “Ready, too”
“Ok, now!”
The bullets flew faster than sound to their targets and the gunshots echoed down the valley immediately after the targets had fallen backwards on the balcony. Loud cries and screams came from the crowd and rebel guerrillas began firing in the general direction of Max, Mike and Joe.
“Got ’em boys! Good shooting. Its ok..we’re well out of range of their pop guns. Now let’s get out,” yelled Max.
They gathered up their equipment and started out back down the track as fast as they could, half running and half walking. From behind they could hear men shouting and dogs barking as the search began for the shooters.
Max and his team made rapid progress down the sloping track. Then, as they came within a mile of where the jeep had been left, there was a sudden flash and roar from the bushes ahead and Mike was on the ground with a fatal head wound. He had surely died instantly as the upper half of his skull and brain had been splattered into the bushes behind him. Reflexively, Max and Joe dived into the ditch by the side of the track away from the enemy guns.
“Shit, they must have called ahead on field telephone to fighters already round the other side. They’re sweeping in faster than we thought. This could be our last stand. I sure don’t want to be caught. You can imagine what they’ll do to the guys who killed Fidel and Che,” said Max.
“Too right. Lets hope there ain’t many of them in this part of the hunting party. Maybe we can outfight them and get out of here. The jeep is probably not there for us anymore, so we’ll have to try to make it cross country. They’ll have taken it or will have it well guarded,” replied Joe.
“The only thing I can think of, is to try crawling down the slope here, go across country and hit the main road to Havana. There, we can maybe hijack a vehicle and get back that way. You go first and I’ll cover your rear. Then you stop after 50 yards and cover me. Ok?”
“You’ve got it,” replied Joe and made his way crouching down the slope. Max kept peering at the bushes from where the shots had come. But no sign of the enemy emerged. When he heard Joe had stopped, Max began down the slope. Joe stood up and then saw three figures appear on the crest where the track was. He fired wide of Max with his pistol and the three figures dropped down.
Max made it to Joe’s position.
“I maybe got one of them,” said Joe “but couldn’t tell for sure. Now you go down 50 yards and I cover you”
Max nodded and set off. After 25 yards he heard loud cracks from behind. On reaching the 50 yard spot he turned and saw Joe was down and not moving. His head appeared to have largely disappeared. God, thought Max, maybe hollow pointed ammo, and took off part running and part rolling down the slope to reach cover at the bottom.
Once in the bushes at the foot of the slope, Max looked back again but could see no sign of his pursuers. It was now sunset in the Tropic of Cancer and within minutes the hills were completely dark. After a few minutes more, his eyes were dark adapted and there was enough moonlight to slowly pick his way through the undergrowth.
Four hours later he found himself in sight of the main road and came across a small cantina from which flew the rebel flag. He was surprised to hear the sounds of celebration coming from within and saw a clearly drunk guerrilla leaning against a battered truck while raising a bottle of rum towards the moon and calling out “Viva la revolucion!”
Why, Max wondered weren’t they downhearted at the assassination of their leaders? Maybe they hadn’t heard yet?
Max decided to get closer. The truck looked eminently open to hijacking and the drunk guerrilla’s forage cap and gun might be useful too.
As he approached the back of the cantina, Max heard a radio broadcast coming from inside the building. Max’s Spanish was good and he was able to understand from the broadcast that the revolutionaries had captured a radio station and were spreading the good news that Fidel and Che had escaped an evil plot to assassinate them. In a case of mistaken identities, their deputies had perished in la causa, but the two assassins had been dealt with. They looked like gringos but no identification was found. The fight was going well and Havana would fall any day now. So, thought Max, two good men had fallen for no benefit and this wouldn’t be an
op to boast about. I can only hope the operation stays deniable. It sounds like the pursuit party has decided to claim complete success and to have eliminated all the assassins, so letting Max, the third man, have a clear run, now that nobody was looking for him.
Within minutes, Max knocked out the drunk guerrilla with a handy rock from the side of the road while the man was urinating in the bushes by the parking area. Max then relieved the now unconscious drunk guerrilla of the truck keys, his forage cap with the five-pointed star of the revolution and his gun. Max stowed the unconscious man in bushes at the back of the cantina, inside which the celebrations were in lively progress, before driving off in the truck towards Havana. As he neared the city and its security cordon, he abandoned the truck, stuffed the cap in a pocket and made his way on foot, taking deserted backstreets and skirting around any checkpoints.
In the centre, near the new 14 storey hotel and casino, he found a payphone and got through to his Embassy contact to arrange his collection. The contact, long time Agency man, Jack Johnson, came to the payphone in minutes in a sleek black Cadillac with diplomatic plates. He had heard of Max Blue but this was to be their first meeting.
“Ok, Blue, get in quick. It’s safe in here. This car is officially US territory. Anyway, Havana is still in Government hands and Batista won’t be after you, except maybe for incompetence, of course. What the hell went wrong? We picked up the gist from rebel broadcasts and gathered one of the team had maybe got away. I am glad it was you. The freelancers could be denied by the US, we just say they were mercenaries hired by Batista and his boys, but if the rebels got you, especially alive that might have been very awkward. Oh and I’m Jack Johnson, Company, attached to the Embassy here.
“Glad you’re happy for me for my own sake, Jack! It could certainly have been me. It was pure chance who got wasted and who got away back there. All these guys with big black beards and green fatigues look the same. We had no idea Castro and Che used deputies sometimes to oversee the handover of towns. That is a big intel failure. Maybe the Havana Station should be worried about that being investigated. Fidel and Che are a cunning pair ok. They’re going to be trouble for a while, unless harder liners in their ranks bump them off eventually, after the revolution. Anyway, it turned out the rebels had already got in our rear and they were in touch by field phones with San Pablo, so they were waiting for us near the jeep, which we had had to leave behind, due to that storm bringing down trees across the route. I think it was bad luck more than bad judgment. But, whoever gave us the dud weather forecast should be strung up. That was the start of our troubles.”
