At that moment, there was an almighty explosion on the road in front of the mansion gates. All the soldiers poured out of the house to investigate. No one saw the dozen shadowy figures landing on the back lawn of the mansion, rapidly rolling up their parachutes.
There was an old van on fire. Once the local fire engine had attended and put it out, the soldiers made their way back to their posts. It was a relief from the boredom of the drudgery of waiting for international reaction.
It was the Major who first noticed that all was not well. Some soldiers who should have remained at their posts were not there. Initially, he was angry with these dumb locals, but then he noted that some of his own men were missing, so he became more worried.
He didn’t have time to worry, for at that moment the General appeared.
“Come with me, Major, and bring all your men, I have just been informed that two planeloads of important Russian military advisers are arriving at the airport,” he said.
Major Hernandez frowned, as he should have been informed first. However, with all the excitement with the exploding vehicle and everything, it was reasonable that the communications officer sought out the General first, in his absence.
Ten minutes later, the small convoy set off, the General riding in an old Humber, with the others in a strange assortment of Land Rovers and borrowed trucks. It was almost the entire vehicle fleet of the island.
They arrived at the Airport just as two approaching planes could be heard. Nothing could be seen, so dark was the night, but the General had the soldiers all line up in review order.
“We need to impress our Russian friends that we are not just a bunch of peasants,” he said
The Cubans all thought that that was exactly what they were.
The two cargo planes came in low, as the Cuban officer in the tower tried repeatedly to get a response from the pilots, yet nothing came back. He was not happy, but he glanced down to see the welcoming committee and shrugged. They obviously knew something he didn’t.
The first plane landed, and as it taxied through the gloom towards the waiting lines of soldiers, Major Hernandez became more than alarmed. These weren’t the Russian planes he’d been expecting, they were Hercules transports, as used by the US and British forces. They were painted in camouflage greens and browns, but he just made out the blue and red RAF roundel on the fuselage where he expected the red Russian star.
He was about to say something, but at that time, the two Hercules disgorged their cargo of British paratroopers, and the waiting Cuban and local soldiers were helpless.
Few shots were fired, while one of the Cubans in the tower called the communications centre in the mansion, to be met by a clipped English accent telling him, in passable Spanish, that the mansion was now in British hands once more. He looked towards the mansion, in time to see a British helicopter landing in the grounds. A British paratrooper poked his weapon round the door, and all thoughts of resisting suddenly vanished. The Cubans were led out to join the others.
The British rounded up all the Cuban soldiers and local revolutionaries, taking them to a hanger. They stripped them of all weapons, and placed them upon the floor with their hands on their heads. The British soldiers said little; their faces darkened with camouflage cream, but their calm professionalism apparent with every move. Major Hernandez admired them, shaking his head sadly. It was all too easy. If only he’d had some men like them. He sighed as he was prodded towards a truck by a young British soldier.
The General was back in the Humber, accompanied this time by two British officers and a British driver. They returned to the mansion, where all the remainder of the Cubans and rebels were now sitting on the lawn with their hands on their heads, very much like their companions at the airport. The dozen paratroopers were watching them, their red berets at rakish angles; their confidence and professionalism once again a marked contrast to the second rate local soldiers on the lawn. The British had taken the mansion without a shot fired!
They escorted the General inside the house and up to his previously private quarters.
A young British lieutenant opened the door, as the small group entered.
Ex-General Abraham Jones looked up at the party in amazement from his position tied to the bed. He was wearing only his underwear and a shocked expression.
The target of his shock was his exact replica, dressed in the uniform he had taken off a few minutes ago, in anticipation of having sex with his mistress. He remembered looking at the girl, as she lay almost naked on the bed, but then he had passed out. He awoke, finding himself tied to the bed, dressed only in his underwear. The British paratroopers had said nothing, just smiling arrogantly at him, holding their Sterling SMGs as if they meant business.
Spellbound and shocked beyond words, he watched as his double removed the uniform to stand stark naked before him. He was an exact double, even down to the size of his penis. A British soldier passed the impostor a silk dressing gown, which the man put on.
To Abraham’s horror, with his skin rippling alarmingly, his double changed from being a large black man into his mistress, and then into a very attractive white girl in her middle twenties. She had long golden hair, almost like the colour of amber and a lovely smile. Her amazing eyes flashed at him, mockingly. They were the strangest hazel eyes, almost golden, perfectly matching her hair. She turned and went into the bathroom. She returned a few minutes later without the robe, but dressed in a black, one-piece military-style jumpsuit. She wore a belt with a holstered Browning 9mm pistol. She was tying her hair in a ponytail and she wore military boots. She still managed to look very desirable and yet very feminine.
The British Major laughed.
“Bloody hell, Amber, now I’ve seen you do this I still can’t believe it.”
“Believe it, Archie, the alternative is worse.”
“What are you? A Witch?” the ex-general stammered, finding his voice but shaking with real fear.
She turned and looked at him. Her strange eyes seemed to look deep into his soul. He felt the icy fingers of fear grip his heart.
“A witch? Oh no, I’m much worse than a witch,” she said with a delightful laugh.
“General Jones, meet Agent Amber, British intelligence. Not that you will remember her,” said the Major.
Jones frowned, but suddenly his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped back onto the bed. He began to snore, as Amber smiled.
“Okay, that’s it, my job is done. He won’t remember anything about the last hour,” she said, turning and walking out, followed by the Major.
They went downstairs and out the front door. A second British warship was entering the harbour, its siren whooping. One could just see small inflatable assault boats on the beach, signifying that more Royal Marines were now ashore. There were distant cheers from the tourists as the Marines freed them from the hotels. Amber stood and looked out across the bay and the silvery reflection of the moon on the calm water. It looked idyllic.
The Major joined her on the lawn.
“What next, Amber?”
“Oh, Archie, I don’t know, but I’m sure London will think of something.”
“You deserve a holiday.”
“Yes, I do, don’t I? Perhaps I’ll take some time and see a bit of the States.”
“I owe you a drink,” he said, passing her a small silver hip flask.
“Why?” she asked, but accepting the flask and taking a mouthful of the smooth malt whisky all the same.
“I said you couldn’t do it, remember?”
She laughed. “We both know you knew I could, but you just wanted to take me for a drink.”
He chuckled. “Must you always read my mind?”
She looked at him. “I didn’t have to, Archie. At least, not this time,” she said, taking another swig before handing the flask back.