Castro's Bomb (31 page)

"Midge, until we know otherwise he is considered missing and not dead.
 
We originally told you that he was presumed dead because that's what we believed, and even saying presumed means we really don't know.
 
His plane went down.
 
It exploded in the air.
 
Nobody could have lived through that and nobody did.
 
Later, a couple of the pilots of the surviving planes said they saw a handful of men parachuting from that transport before the explosion and crash."

"Oh, God," she said and doubled over in emotional pain.

"Yeah.
 
Then the Cuban commies decided to be cooperative.
 
They informed the Swiss and the Red Cross that at least four men had indeed jumped from the plane.
 
Two were killed and two were captured.
 
Neither was Ted.
 
The Cubans found the crash site and recovered a number of other bodies.
 
None was Ted.
 
He and one other man, a Master Sergeant Morton, are truly missing and we just don't know where they are or what the hell is going on with them."

Midge almost smiled.
 
She knew who Morton was.
 
"Do you mean he could be wandering around Cuba?"

"Don't get your hopes up.
 
I've got to be frank.
 
It's equally possible, maybe even more than equally, that he was killed and his body hasn't yet been found.
 
Regardless, I sent that lieutenant, and he's twenty-two by the way and not thirteen, to suggest that you hold off on a memorial service.
 
I don't want to get your hopes up, but it is still possible that it would be premature.
 
I hope to God it won't be much longer before we can provide a definitive answer."

She paused a moment, digesting what he'd said.
 
"I have another question and I'm not going to be nice.
 
In a short while, Ted was going to retire and we were going to get on with our lives.
 
So, I'm not going to put up with any more army bullshit from you or anybody else.
 
I simply want to know - who was the flaming asshole who sent him on this stupid mission?"

Bunting winced.
 
He wanted to lie, but she deserved the truth.
 
"I believe that would be me."

"Good God, why?"

He stood and began to pace, his anger and frustration growing.
 
"Because I honestly thought it would help the boys at Guantanamo.
 
We had set up Roman Force during the first crisis and we wound up not needing it because the marines got there with numbers and firepower to defend the base before the situation could get hot.

"When we got last minute word that an attack on Gitmo might be imminent, I told Ted to get Roman Force ready again and wait my orders.
 
When I mentioned it to President Kennedy, he gave me a verbal go-ahead, which he is now managing to forget.
 
Fortunately for me, he and I were not alone in the room, so, if you care, I am not being left hanging out to dry."

Midge shook her head angrily.
 
"Sorry, but I really don't care right now.
 
I am only concerned about Ted."
 

"Midge, we had no idea the Cubans would move so quickly or in such force against us.
 
They overwhelmed the base before the relief force could get there.
 
When I realized what was happening, I called off the effort.
 
I got most of the planes turned around but, obviously, not all of them."
 

There was pain on his face and Midge felt a twinge of sympathy.
 
It went away.

"General, are you telling me that you really thought a few hundred men would stop the Cuban Army?"

"No.
 
We thought it would send a message to Fidel that we were serious."

She laughed bitterly.
 
"Didn't any of you fools in the Pentagon consider that a massive assault on an American base indicated that Fidel was already serious?
 
Don't bother to answer."

She stood and straightened her skirt.
 
"I'll give you a few more days to give me some firm information, one way or the other.
 
After that, all gloves are off.
 
I have friends at various newspapers and I'm sure they'd love to write articles comparing Roman Force's futile efforts to the Charge of the Light Brigade.
 
You can be General Raglan.
 
Do you remember who he was?"

Bunting's face turned red.
 
"I believe he was the flaming asshole who ordered the charge."
 
And, he thought, I think it's time for me to retire as well.

Cathy Malone stretched her arms.
 
"I would like a shower.
 
A nice long hot shower.
 
Maybe half an hour, maybe longer, and with an unlimited supply of shampoo and scented soap."
 

They had all tried to clean up in ponds and streams but those were muddy and contained numerous insects that liked to nibble on human flesh.
 
It was generally accepted that ponds and streams would not really clean anyone.
 
It was not quite the same with rain.
 
Yes rainfall was clean, but it was cold and one other thing Andrew's crew lacked was towels and enough changes of clothing.
 
Body odor had become body stench for all.
 
At least the problem was universal and they were getting used to it.
 

Cathy sighed and continued.
 
"Then I would like my nails done and that includes my toes.
 
I've never had anybody do my toes."

"Me either," Andrew said.
 
"The Corps kinda frowns on it.
 
I think it clashes with the dress uniform.
 
By the way, Happy New Year."

She blinked in surprise.
 
"It's today?"

"Actually, it was a couple of days ago.
 
Remember how time flies when you're having fun?"

"Funny, but I don't remember having all that much fun, but I'm sorry I missed it just the same.
 
In that case, I also wish I'd been at a party with champagne and good food and dancing the night away in my sexy little black dress.
 
And with some people I really like.
 
Maybe next year."

"Would I be invited?"

Cathy squeezed his arm.
 
"Absolutely."

"Would anybody else be there?"

She laughed.
 
"Maybe not.
 
But I would have to do something with the other guys.
 
After all, we've already been through a lot together.
 
Did you hear what Hollis is saying?"

"No, and I'm afraid to ask."

"Well, he's comparing us to the cast of a bad war movie in which every ethnic group is represented.
 
Then he realizes there's no Italian or Pole, and that the only Jew, Levin, was surrendered to the Cubans.
 
He's happy we have Ward, who's black.
 
Ward said he has an aunt who's Italian and that confused Hollis because that means there's an inter-racial marriage involved.
 
He was happy when I told him my mother is half Polish."

"I am absolutely thrilled for Hollis and the fact that he has so much time on his hands.
 
What else is he saying?"

"He says I am the movie's damsel in distress.
 
I always wanted to be a lovely damsel, although distress is turning out to be very unappealing.
 
So he changed it to us being Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.
 
I like being Snow White.
 
I always liked that movie even though it scared me what with the wicked witch and the trees in the forest grabbing at Snow White.
 
As a little girl I wanted to be a princess.
 
Almost as good as being a damsel, don't you think?"

"Dear God.
 
And all of this is going on behind my back?"

She laughed.
 
"Command is so lonely, isn't it?"

"Wait, if you're Snow White, which of the damned dwarfs am I?"

She looked at him in mock surprise.
 
"Why Grumpy, of course."

Andrew Ross laughed like he hadn't in a long time.
 
Here they were, sleeping and living in the open, wearing clothing and uniforms that were becoming more filthy and ragged each day, and becoming personally filthier each day, and all the while trying to survive in a hostile nation, and yet his men had time to think of nonsense like that.
 

"Yeah," he said, "invite the guys to the party and I'll make sure they leave early.
 
I just hope it happens soon.
 
I just wish we could do more to help ourselves get out of here.
 
I wish we'd been able to find where they're hiding those tanks so we'd be useful and get them blasted before the invasion."

Ward strolled by.
 
"Lieutenant, I have a really serious question for you?"

"Okay."

"We are so in the dark here about the world outside.
 
Do you have any idea who won the Rose Bowl?
 
I've got ten bucks on it and I gave fourteen points to Wisconsin."

Ross made a mental note to let the men listen to scores, rather than just the news.
 
It was bad enough missing their favorite television shows, like Ed Sullivan or Lucille Ball, even though she'd divorced from Desi Arnaz.
 
"Then you're out ten, Ward.
 
It was Southern Cal 42 and Wisconsin 37."

Ward shook his head in mock sadness.
 
"I really didn't think people from cheese country could play USC that close.
 
Damn."

The attempt to follow the camouflaged tank had failed when Cullen had come across a series of patrols and checkpoints that stymied him.
 
Obviously the tanks were hidden somewhere behind them, but precisely where they couldn't tell anybody in the States.
 
Other vehicles, armored and wheeled, had gone down the road similarly hidden and equally untraceable.
 
Somewhere there was a tank park that deserved to be bombed and they couldn't say exactly where.
 

They'd also found dummy tanks made of wood and canvas in open fields.
 
Obviously, they were there to be bombed and maybe to ambush American planes.
 
They'd relayed that info back home and hoped somebody was paying attention. Regardless, it was nice to be able to transmit even vague information now that they had the radio and had actually figured out how to use the codes.

The bad news was that the Cubans now knew they existed and would be looking for them.
 
They had been careful and made certain they changed location every day and now they would have to be even more alert.
 
They'd made a habit of digging two man fox holes so they would be less visible during the day.
 
In case of attack, they would serve as defensive points.
 

It would be relatively easy to move away from the Gitmo area, but how would they be able to do their part to help the US retake it?
 
Granted, whatever they did would certainly be small, but there was the unspoken determination to do something, anything.

Sergeant Cullen came back to their camp from a little scouting which had resulted in him finding some fresh fruit.
 
He saw the lieutenant sitting with Cathy and stifled a smile.
 
Good luck, he thought.
 
And they were going to need it.
 
He thought Cathy was cute enough but he preferred his women a little more voluptuous.
 
Like Marilyn Monroe.
 
Too bad she'd gone and killed herself the past summer.
 
What a waste.
 
Yeah, like he was ever going to meet her.

He looked around.
 
Okay, he thought, where is everybody?
 
The lieutenant and Cathy were huddled by a tree and Williams and Groth were on sentry duty.
 
He'd just checked on them so that was fine.
 
So where were Hollis and Anders?
 
He kicked a sleeping Ward on the sole of his foot.
 
Ward was alert in an instant.

"Where are your buddies?"

Ward yawned.
 
"They said they were going down the road to check out a damaged truck.
 
They said they saw boxes that might contain food and stuff."

Cullen felt his anger rising.
 
"Did either of those yo-yos even think to ask permission?"

"No, gunnery sergeant," Ward stammered.

"You know where that damned truck is, don't you, and stop saying gunnery sergeant."

"Yes, Gunny."

"Wonderful.
 
Grab your weapon and follow me."

The two men walked, half trotted, through the underbrush.
 
Cullen led and he kept an eye out for trouble.
 
Ward told Cullen that the wreck was maybe two miles away and they thought it had been strafed by American planes.
 
There were containers on the road and Hollis thought they might contain something useful.

"Assholes," Cullen snarled.
 
"Did it ever occur to them that it might be an ambush, just like the dummy tanks might be?
 
Or have you forgotten that the Cuban fucks know we're out here?"