Castro's Bomb (48 page)

For the first time in his life, he was sending Americans out to be killed.
 
His experiences in World War II were far from similar.
 
While he'd been in combat, the orders were somebody else's, not his.
 
He just obeyed them, didn't initiate them.
 
His role in the Bay of Pigs didn't count.
 
He was following someone else’s plans and, besides, they weren't Americans.
 
They were Cubans out to liberate their own country, while now he was sending Americans to invade another land, Cuba. General Maxwell Taylor stood by the large map of Cuba and commenced. "We finally do have some news and I must admit that not all of it is good.
 
As always, plans fall apart the instant they begin to be implemented and this is no different."

Kennedy nodded impatiently and Taylor continued.
 
"During the night, elements of the 82nd and 101st Airborne Divisions landed at sites inland.
 
The goal was to seize the small airfields and use them to land the rest of the divisions by plane; thus eliminating the need for additional jumps.
 
Sadly, it hasn't worked out that way.

"First, some of the men from the 101st had the bad fortune to land almost directly on top of a battalion of Cuban militia we didn't know existed.
 
Most of the militia either fled right away or put up only a limited resistance, but a number did fight hard and are being reinforced, and we suffered more casualties than anticipated.
 
Worse, when we reached the airfield, the Cubans blew up the runway, which means no planes can land until the craters are filled and the paratroopers on the ground don't have the equipment to do that."

"Shit," Kennedy muttered.

"Sir, we are attempting to reinforce them by air, although that means additional jumps into enemy fire, and we may have to cancel those efforts.
 
Cuban units are moving towards our men who are digging in.
 
Our planes are bombing as best they can."

"And the other site?" the president asked.

"The 82nd jumped closer to the landing beaches and met little or no resistance on the ground; however, they too had the airfield they were to take destroyed by the Cubans.
 
The 82nd suffered most of its casualties in the air when one Cuban MiG got in among the transports and shot them up.
 
None of our planes were destroyed, but a number of them were damaged pretty badly and many men were killed or wounded.
 
One plane had all of its troopers suffer broken bones when it had to duck and dive to escape the Cuban fighter."

Kennedy fidgeted uncomfortably.
 
"Did we at least shoot down the bastard?"

"Yes, sir, but our pilots think the Cuban pilot ejected just before.
 
In which case, he's on the ground laughing at us."

"How many casualties?"

"Rough numbers, sir, but maybe seventy dead and two hundred wounded in total at both locations."

"And our men are simply hanging on?
 
Don’t we have helicopters that can reinforce or relieve them?"

Wheeler disagreed vehemently.
 
"Sir, while we have helicopters on the ground in Cuba, they are small and few in number.
 
Their primary usage is to scout and to ferry out casualties.”

“Can’t we bring more from the states?” Kennedy persisted.
 
“Aren’t we forming a whole division of assault helicopters?”

Taylor responded, “That’s the 11th, and it’s barely in the training stage with only a few hundred men and a few score helicopters at Fort Benning.”

“Then fly them over.
 
That’s feasible, isn’t it?”

“No sir,” said Taylor, “they would have to make long hauls over open waters in fragile choppers.
 
Under the best of circumstances, a number of them would have to land early and that means putting down in the Caribbean.
 
We would lose too many men. Nor is it feasible to place carriers and other ships along the way as staging areas.
 
No sir, we might get the 11th in Cuba in a few weeks at best, and that would be by transports."

Kennedy sighed, "And the landings themselves?"

Taylor continued.
 
"Here the news is somewhat better, sir.
 
Elements of the First Armored and Second Infantry Divisions have landed on the north coast of Cuba, near the town of Moa.
 
Resistance on the beaches has been light and we are expanding the perimeter.
 
However, the men are running into one strange problem."

Kennedy rubbed his forehead.
 
Did he want to hear this?
 
Hell, did he have a choice?
 
"Go on, General."

"Mr. President, thousands of Cuban civilians, mainly women along with some old men and a lot of children, are clogging the roads, lying down and halting traffic just like the civil rights protesters in Alabama, and sometimes actually fighting with our men who are understandably loath to use deadly force on women.
 
The women are using fists, sticks and clubs, not guns."

McCone interrupted.
 
"Havana radio is screaming that our men are molesting and even raping the helpless women.
 
You can bet that the pinkos and Third Worlders at the United Nations will have a field day with this."

"Please tell me the women aren't being harmed."

"Sir, we are bending over backwards to not hurt them, at least not seriously.
 
I cannot guaranty that there won't be bruises, cuts, and broken bones as we try to drag them out of the way."

"Can't these women's groups be bypassed?" Kennedy asked.
 
"I mean, if the roads are clogged, why don't our troops go cross-country?"

"That only works sometimes, sir," Taylor answered.
 
"Our tracked vehicles have that capability, but many of the follow-up vehicles are trucks and need to stick to the roads.
 
If the tanks and personnel carriers get too far ahead, they run the risk of running out of supplies and fuel.
 
Our troops are rounding up the women as best they can and sticking them in ad hoc internment camps.
 
It'll get done, but it's definitely delaying our advance by at least a number of hours."

Kennedy felt ill.
 
"And, in the meantime, somebody's out there with a nuke and our paratroops are hanging on."

"Yes sir."

"If there is a major delay, General Taylor, what will happen?"

"The marines will attack as scheduled on the south coast, between Santiago and Guantanamo.
 
The First and Second Marine Divisions are ready and eager."

"Remind me, general, why didn't we hit the south coast in the first place?"

Taylor responded with mild annoyance in his voice.
 
This had all been covered before, many times.
 

"Because it’s so close to Guantanamo, the south coast is the obvious place where we felt they would expect us.
 
As a result, intelligence says it's where they have the bulk of their defenses, and, even though suitable landing sites for a large marine invasion force are limited, the Cubans believe we will invade from the south.
 
That and the fact that the Cuban military isn’t large enough to defend everywhere, it was decided that the first landings would be in the relatively undefended north."

"Gentlemen, is there any good news?"

McCone spoke.
 
"Sir, we have re-established contact with Lieutenant Ross and his people, including Miss Malone, although, as we suspected, they were bombed by our planes.
 
Two of the marines with them were killed and just about all the others were injured to some degree.
 
They are pretty well recovered, however. They also informed me that Lt. Col. Romanski of Roman Force has shown up with them along with a Sergeant Morton."

The thought of Americans dying from their own bombs dropped from American planes sickened Kennedy, even though he knew it happened in war, and had happened when he'd been in the navy during World War II.
 
There had never been a war in which soldiers weren't killed by shots fired from their own side.

"Have we at least notified the families that their loved ones are safe?"

"No, Mr. President," Taylor said.

"And why not?" he said angrily.
 
He was thinking that he could inform Mrs. Malone that her daughter was safe and sound.
 
But then he realized what Taylor was implying - - was she?

Taylor continued.
 
"Right now they are fairly safe, but they are in a combat area and anything could happen and at any time.
 
It would be worse than hell for all concerned to tell someone that their loved ones made it through only to have to go back later and tell them that they died from something else.
 
We strongly suggest that we keep a lid on this info until this is all over."

Kennedy grudgingly agreed.
 
He continued to remember the agony on Mrs. Malone's face.
 
He did not wish to compound it.
 
If this was what it was like to be a war leader, he didn't like it at all.
 

Private First Class Jimmy Lawson had mixed emotions about riding point for an armored column that was probing the terrain beyond the landing beaches.
 
The good part was that he got a great view of what was going on and didn't have to eat other people's dust or crawl through the mud that other vehicles churned up when dust wasn't on the menu.

The bad news was that he was in an unarmored jeep and Lieutenant Phillips wanted to make captain by next week and Jimmy thought he was a little bit nuts about pushing forward and getting noticed by the higher brass.
 
Jimmy and his family didn't have all that much money, which was why he'd been drafted.
 
He'd been going to college part time and couldn't get a deferment like the rich kid full time students could.
 
He had mixed emotions about deferments.
 
Didn't deferment mean he'd have to go in sooner or later?
 
He knew of college graduates who'd been drafted after they’d gotten their degrees, so why fight it?
 
Get it over with.
 
Then he could get on with his life.
 

Of course he could have gotten married and knocked up his new wife.
 
That would have kept him out but it would have screwed up his life in other ways.
 
He knew a lot of girls he wanted to screw, but none that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
 
No, being married to a woman he really didn't love and being a parent with diapers to change was too big a price to pay. Besides, the Selective Service people could always change the rules and start calling up fathers.
 
Wouldn't that be a crock?
 
Married, a father, and in the army anyhow?
 

What the hell, he thought.
 
No use complaining about anything.
 
He was in the army and only had four more months to go before he got discharged, unless, of course, this stupid fucking war with the Cubans lasted a while and he got his tour extended. At least he was stuck for only two years, while the enlistees, the so-called regular army were in for four years.
 
Good for them.
 
The difference in tour times was a cause of rivalry and not all of it good natured.
 
The regulars thought the draftees were a bunch of candy-asses, while the draftees thought the regulars were knuckle dragging illiterates who’d joined up because they were too dumb to do anything else.

Nothing he could do about it, he thought as he scanned the road and the trees and bushes along it.
 
What was it the guys said?
 
Oh yeah, if rape is inevitable, lie down and enjoy it.

Funny, but the farther away from the beach he got, the less damage from American shells and bombs he saw.
 
So much for everything in Cuba being either bombed or shelled, or both, he thought.

Yesterday had been a hoot when the Cuban women had swarmed the jeep and the vehicles behind it.
 
Phillips had just about gone bonkers and wanted to shoot them.
 
Lawson had convinced the lieutenant that killing unarmed civilians was not a good career move.
 
Instead, they and others in the column had grabbed the women and dragged them out of the way, one screaming spic bitch at a time.
 
It had taken hours to get the absurd scene under control.
 

The women had cursed at the Americans who retaliated by calling them
putas,
which they'd been told meant whore in Spanish.
 
The women called the GI's pricks and dicks which they guys found an amusing cultural exchange.
 
A couple of the guys managed to grab a little tit and ass during the scuffle, but no such luck for PFC Jimmy Lawson.
 
All the women he pushed and shoved were too much like his grandmother.

Lawson was heading up a small column of new M113 armored personnel carriers, and older M48 tanks.
 
They were all from the Second Infantry Division that, until a few weeks ago, had been in training at Fort Benning, Georgia.
 
When the shit hit the fan in Cuba, it was obvious that the Second would be one of the first regular divisions to go.
 
After all, wasn't Georgia just a hop, skip, and a jump from Cuba?

Lieutenant Phillips told him to drive faster.
 
He said the rest of the column was catching up and he didn't want tanks tailgating him.
 
Lawson thought that they should catch up, but kept quiet and concentrated on his driving.
 
Jeeps were slow, thin-skinned, and had a disturbing tendency to roll over when they hit a bump.
 
And, in the case of Jimmy's jeep, they only had a thirty-caliber machine gun for protection.
 
Stemple, the gunner, kept swinging the damn thing from side to side.
 
He was nervous and who could blame him.
 
They were ahead of the column and might as well be alone in Indian country.