Castro's bomb

by Robert Conroy

  All too soon the Willow's boats returned with their awful cargo. Many of the wounded had been horribly mangled and burned, while the dead were almost unrecognizable as having once been human beings. The Wallace was badly hurt but not about to sink, at least not yet. The destroyer was a tough bird and her crew had been trained to a high peak of efficiency after patrolling off Cuba during the earlier crisis that could have exploded at any time. The only thing they'd been unprepared for was a Christmas day bombing attack while at anchor in the U.S. Naval Base at Guantanamo Bay. The hull of the Wallace had been opened like a tin can, which, Watkins thought wryly, was what a destroyer was called.

  The fire was still dramatic but the destroyer’s skipper radioed that he thought it was coming under control. Watkins hoped so, but had serious doubts. A tug was coming to take the Wallace in tow and would arrive in a couple of hours. A dozen wounded sailors from her were now in the Willow's small sick bay and an equal number of corpses were stored in the freezer. Vitale would need a lot of help with the wounded.

  As he said that, another violent explosion suddenly shook the destroyer and lifted her from the water. Broken in half, she sank within a few minutes. Her captain had been terribly wrong. Scores of heads bobbed in the water along with limp and broken bodies. Weeping openly, Watkins ordered his ship to proceed and pick up all they could find. He felt a tug at his sleeve.

  "We got orders, sir," said Harkins. "We're to head for Miami with the wounded."

  Watkins wiped his tears away and nodded sadly. "Good."

  "One last thing, Skipper."

  "What?"

  "Uh, congratulations. You've been promoted to commander."

  Chapter Seven

  It had suddenly ceased to be a normal Christmas morning. All across the United States, people who were happily opening Christmas presents or making phone calls to relatives began to realize something was terribly wrong. They turned on their televisions and radios and got the message that Cuba had attacked the American base in Cuba. Worse, the military had apparently suffered heavy casualties. War on Christmas Day? It was inconceivable except, of course, for the fact that it was happening.

  Frantic phone calls were made to friends and relatives: Did you hear? The Russians just attacked us! People began to pack up and head for the perceived safety of the country. It took a few minutes for many Americans to comprehend that the attack was localized to the eastern end of Cuba. With that, the incipient panic subsided. Still, there was anguish and confusion. What did it mean?

  Many didn't even know where Guantanamo Bay was and others wondered why we were fighting. If it was on Cuba, what were we doing there in the first place? Still, nothing changed the basic facts: just like Pearl Harbor, an American base had been the victim of a surprise attack and hundreds, if not thousands of American servicemen and civilians, were dead, wounded, or captured. It was not lost on most people that the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor had also occurred on a Sunday in December and it had been only twenty-one years ago. Someone born that month in 1941 was just now reaching legal adulthood, and could vote and drink.

  Children continued to open presents with wide-eyed innocence while older family members wondered just what the impact would be. Would the fighting spread to other places, like Korea or Berlin, where American and Communist forces also confronted each other? Was this part of a greater plot that could result in a nuclear holocaust? What had happened to the peace brokered between Russia and the United States? Every young man wondered about his status in the draft and whether he'd be called up to fight a war in a place he'd likely never heard of — Guantanamo.

  Large numbers of people who hadn't planned on going to church this Christmas suddenly changed their minds and all denominations of houses of worship were jammed. Priests and ministers who'd heard about the new war, adjusted their sermons, while those men of God who hadn't heard wondered where all the new people had come from. The crowd was larger than the usual extended Christmas congregation, what was laughingly referred to as the 'pines and palms' Christians, those who came to church only on Christmas and Easter.

  Those people with fallout shelters decided to see if they were stocked with food and water, while others determined to check on how much they cost to build. Families who had them made plans to move into them very quickly. Perhaps right after Christmas dinner was over and the dishes were cleaned.

  Events were particularly traumatic in military households. Phone calls had gone out cancelling leaves and ordering reservists to report for duty. Most were told off the record to finish their Christmas and then get to their stations. The world was not going to end in the next twelve or twenty-four hours.

  Or was it?

  On bases all over America's military world, young soldiers who'd either enlisted for four years or been drafted for two, wondered if they were ever going to get out of the service and go home. Extensions had been forced on many of them a year ago over a crisis in Berlin and they could see it happening all over again. They wondered if a two year draft or a four year enlistment had just become a lifetime vocation.

  Radio and television stations broke in and announced that President Kennedy would speak to the nation at ten in the morning, Eastern Standard Time.

  Charles Kraeger sat comfortably in a chair in CIA Director McCone's Conference room and stared at the television. It was a black and white RCA and he wondered why the Director of the CIA couldn't afford a color TV. He thought it was about fucking time Kennedy said something about Cuba. With only the briefest of introductions, Kennedy appeared on the small screen. He looks like hell, Charley thought. He looked like a man who'd been up all night trying to figure a way out of this mess. Charley hoped he had been.

  A reasonably attractive woman in her early thirties came in and took another chair. She had dark hair and tan skin. She nodded. "Elena Santano, agent Kraeger. I'm with the Cuban desk. Director McCone wanted me to talk to you."

  He thought she'd be a knockout if she'd had time to fix herself up before coming in. As it was he elevated his already good early opinion of her. "Right after Kennedy explains this big screw-up."

  The camera moved in on Kennedy. "My fellow Americans. It is with great sadness that I confirm what many of you already know. Communist Cuba, under the command of the Marxist dictator, Fidel Castro, has broken the peace agreement signed only a few weeks ago by representatives of the Soviet Union and the United States of America."

  He paused. What he was about to say was intensely painful and an indictment of his presidency. "Very early this morning, an estimated three Cuban army divisions, more than twenty thousand men, supported by planes and a large number of tanks, launched a savage, brutal, and overwhelming assault against our small garrison at Guantanamo Bay, on the eastern tip of the island of Cuba.

  "Let everyone know that we are at Guantanamo Bay by right of a treaty with the governments of Cuba in the past, and as confirmed by the government of Cuba this fall. Until this morning, Cuba has honored these agreements which have been in place for more than half a century.

  "Thus, the attack this morning was totally unexpected and unprovoked. Hundreds of our brave men have been killed and many, many more have been taken prisoner. Just a couple of hours ago, I ordered the remaining senior officer at Guantanamo to surrender in order to save the lives of his men and those of the hundreds of civilians, including women and children, who were under his protection and in danger of being slaughtered by the Cuban communists.

  "For those of you looking for someone to blame, let me assure you that everything that has occurred is my responsibility. I bear the burden of making the mistake of trusting Castro. I am guilty of believing the word of a Communist dictator, and we are all now paying the price of that guilt. It should also be known that we had a few hours warning that an attack might be forthcoming. Unfortunately, there was no way we could confirm the report and, even if we had, there was no way we could have done anything to help those brave sailors and marines at Guantanamo."

  Kennedy paused
to let that sink in. Yes, he'd had warning, but, no, there wasn't anything he could have done about it. Hopefully, he'd de-fanged his political enemies at least a little bit.

  "I will leave recriminations and finger-pointing to others. There will surely be enough of that in the future. As former President Harry Truman used to say, The Buck Stops Here. I am responsible for all failures and for everything that has and will occur. I and the leaders of this nation, both military and political, will be working tirelessly towards a response that will show Fidel Castro and his criminal henchmen that he cannot attack and murder innocent Americans.

  "Let no one doubt that we will prevail. God bless America,"

  Charley turned to Elena. "Interesting what he said, wasn't it? Almost as interesting as what he didn't say. Like he never used the words invade, or attack, or conquer. And he also never said he was going to ask Congress to declare war. Don't you wonder what he's thinking of?"

  Elena found herself smiling. She was thirty-four and had a doctorate in Latin American studies and, for the past six years, had been solely assigned to work on Cuba. She thought all field agents were nothing but glorified thugs. At least the ones she'd met seemed that way. On the other hand, this Charley Kraeger seemed cut from a different cloth. Interesting.

  She stood and wished she'd worn something nicer than an old baggy sweater and slacks, but McCone's orders had been specific: Get the hell in here as fast as you can. Now that she was here, of course, she was sitting and waiting.

  "Agent Kraeger, I believe the cafeteria is open. How about we discuss this over some coffee?"

  Charley grinned, happy that his voice had mostly returned. "How about over lunch?"

  Vice President Lyndon Baines Johnson glared at the president. There was some respect but little love lost between the two men who had both chased the presidency in 1960. LBJ as Vice President was purely a marriage of convenience. He still thought he would have made a far better president than Kennedy, a man he thought was too young and weak. Sure as hell, the commies wouldn't be pushing him around like they were Kennedy.

  "Why the hell didn't you say that we were going to blow Castro’s ass from here to China if he didn't return our base and our people and, oh yeah, surrender Cuba to us?"

  General Maxwell Taylor, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, stifled a grin. The vice president had just asked the question all the military men had wanted to ask but hadn't. The other chiefs looked quizzically at Kennedy, their Commander in Chief, a man still in his early forties. They all wondered the same thing. Would he act like a real commander or would he behave a spoiled rich kid? Had the events of the last few months taught him anything?

  "We will do what we have to," JFK said, "and if that includes a direct assault on Cuba, then that is what will happen. Still, as you fine gentlemen have all said, and as events earlier this fall showed, we cannot conjure up an invasion force overnight, or even in the next couple of weeks. Therefore, while we are building our strength and gathering our weapons, we will utilize every other means at our disposal to solve this situation and, if we can solve it without further bloodshed, then I am duty bound to attempt it."

  Johnson looked incredulous. "You actually expect the United fucking Nations to come running to our aid and help push Castro out?"

  "Probably not," Kennedy admitted glumly, "but we have to make the effort so the world can see the UN failing while we try our best. By the time we go in, assuming we do go in, I want as much of the world on our side as possible."

  "And what about the Russians," General Maxwell Taylor asked. He'd commanded the 101st Airborne in World War II and the Eighth Army during the final days of Korea. He'd been appointed Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff on October 2, 1962, only a couple of months earlier. One of his first tasks was to determine why the Bay of Pigs invasion had been such a fiasco. The chairmanship was a job he'd always wanted, but now he wondered why.

  "Especially the Russians," President Kennedy responded in a loud clear voice. Taylor was becoming hard of hearing and, like so many older men, refusing to admit it.

  The president continued. "I seriously wonder if Khrushchev had any knowledge of this. Secretary Rusk has his people in Moscow almost literally beating on the doors of the Kremlin and the only reaction we are getting anybody willing to talk with us is puzzlement and confusion. The same with the CIA contacts with their Soviet counterparts and getting nothing but surprise. Nor is there any indication of anything really abnormal in Berlin or Korea, or, for that matter, anywhere else in the world, which I suppose is good news.

  "Castro has a reputation as a loose cannon and he may have chosen this way of sticking it up our asses without telling the Soviets who might have stopped him.”

  Johnson snorted. "Forgive me if I don't share your belief."

  Kennedy grinned. "I'm not too sure I share it with myself, Lyndon. I really do find it hard to believe that Khrushchev didn't know anything about this."

  General Taylor turned to the president. "In the meantime, we will be working hard and fast to reconstitute the forces we had ready to invade Cuba two months ago. That's the easy part, even though it will take some time, perhaps even more time since we are in the middle of the holidays. Admiral Anderson and General LeMay want to know just when they can start hitting Cuban targets with their planes, with what weapons, and what targets, if any, are off limits?"

  Kennedy took a deep breath. The eyes of the military were on him. It was another damn test. "First, no nukes. Don't even think of using nukes. Second, you will not hit the Russians. We know they are mainly to the west of Havana and those areas are off limits for the foreseeable future. As long as they are in their enclaves, they are safe."

  "Accidents happen," LeMay said with a sly grin.

  Kennedy glared at him. "There will be no accidents, General LeMay. If the Soviet enclaves get hit, I will have the stars and the balls of whoever is responsible. Additionally, Havana is off limits as are other purely civilian targets that will be named shortly. Havana has no military significance at this time, and there would be too many civilian casualties from a population we believe would support us if given half a chance. If we get an opportunity to bounce a bomb off Castro's thick skull, I may okay a strike, but there will be no attacks on Havana or other essentially civilian areas without my say so."

  Admiral Anderson smiled tightly. "Then nothing else is off limits, sir?"

  Kennedy nodded. He had to show strength, both to the joint chiefs and the American people. "The American public has to see that we are hitting them back and that has to start happening real soon. Whether we will need an actual invasion is another matter." He glanced at a map of Cuba. "Keep the attacks east of Santiago."

  General Taylor interrupted. "Sir, there must be coordination and planning. We simply cannot have both the Air Force and the Navy throwing planes at Cuban targets. Unless we're careful, some places will be missed and others will be hit redundantly. We need an overall commander, and, unless you change your mind, that will be me. In the meantime, Admiral Anderson and General LeMay will work with me to coordinate their attacks from Florida while our carriers close in on Cuba. Further, Mr. President, do you really wish to begin an American response on Christmas Day?"

  Kennedy winced. "I believe Castro started it, General, although you make a good point. Still, the Cubans are doubtless now disbursing and hiding their men and their weapons. We stand a good chance of getting at least some of them while they're on the move. Let the attacks begin immediately."

  General LeMay stood and smiled. This was not like the first Cuban Crisis where fighting was planned but never happened. The gloves were off. At least part of the way. "Then, Mister President, I would like to leave now and get my people started on killing people and breaking things, and wishing a Merry Christmas to Comrade Fidel."

  Nikita Khrushchev's always volatile emotions this day ran between anger, fury, and a sense of betrayal. One of his puppets had cut his strings and was trying to walk like a real man. That could not hap
pen. Soviet puppets did nothing on their own was the Kremlin's policy even though that policy was not always obeyed, and today's problem was a huge case in point.

  "Damn it," he bellowed, his volcanic temper almost at the breaking point. "Does anyone know what exactly is going on in that pigsty of a country? What the god damn hell does that pig fucker Castro think he is doing?"

  Khrushchev was considered a crude man, even by Russian standards. He was always disheveled, and some of his enemies thought he bore a striking resemblance to a hog that was able to walk upright. Although nowhere as ruthless as Josef Stalin — he had stunned the world by daring to criticize the monstrous Soviet leader of World War II — he was still a very deadly adversary. Like most Russian men he was a heavy drinker, which made him even less stable. By this time, Khrushchev had already had several shots of vodka and this did not help his turbulent disposition.

  Nor did anyone one else in the room possess enough power to argue with him. It was apparent, however, that there had been a massive intelligence failure. There were forty thousand Red Army personnel in and around Havana, along with a large number of KGB operatives on hand to help Castro keep control of the Cuban population. Also, the Red Army had its own intelligence arm, the GRU, and they too had been silent regarding the Castro's unexpected operation.

  Khrushchev accepted that neither the military nor his intelligence units had known anything, and that was most shocking. Either that or that someone had been complicit in this Cuban operation in order to embarrass him and possibly lead the Soviet Union down a new and possibly very dangerous path.

  That the attack on Guantanamo had taken place hundreds of miles from the still active fleshpots of Havana where Soviet agents congregated might also have been a factor. Besides, he thought, who the hell would be dumb enough to think that Castro was so crazy that he would try something like this on his own. What did that raggedy-ass Cuban want and what the hell could the Soviet Union do about it?