Kennedy ended the calls with directions for the others to be ready to come to the White House at a moment's notice and to otherwise stay near their phones. He thanked Bunting for filling in for General Wheeler and hoped that the Army Chief of Staff would be located shortly. Bunting said he sincerely hoped so too, and Kennedy laughed. There wasn't much else to laugh about this day.
The president looked at his brother. There was dismay on both men's faces. This could easily be the greatest test in the first term of a Kennedy presidency and, if mishandled, could easily result in there not being a second term. If the Cubans attacked and the base was overwhelmed, then he would be blamed, and rightly so. If he cried wolf and nothing happened, he'd be taken for a fool. Either way and barring a miracle, there was a good chance that he was looking at being a one term president.
That is, if he wasn't impeached for criminal negligence.
Chapter Four
Andrew Ross was sound asleep when he was awakened by Gunnery Sergeant Cullen's none too gentle shaking. "Better get up pretty quick, sir. We just got word from on high that the base has been warned to look out for Cuban saboteurs and they think they are coming tonight and maybe down this road."
Andrew got up and re-oriented himself. He'd been sleeping on a bunk outside one of the tents where it was marginally cooler. A mosquito net had kept the bugs at bay. He had an erection and hoped Cullen didn't see it. He gratefully took a cup of coffee from Cullen and took a sip. Typical military coffee — it tasted like tar. "What do you suggest, gunny?"
"First, lieutenant, I think we should change the sleep rotation. I think we should go with half and half, one man awake while another rests, until the threat or the weekend is over."
"Good."
"Then I suggest we send a couple of men up the road a few hundred yards to see if they can spot anybody before any saboteurs get too close. The way the road bends, we don't have great line of sight to the border."
"Let's do it," Andrew said and wondered why he hadn't thought of the ideas himself. Perhaps because he wasn't a good Marine, he thought sadly. He checked his watch. It was after midnight. Merry Christmas and ho-ho-ho.
A few minutes later, Andrew and Cullen watched through a firing slit as the two Marines who'd been volunteered for the listening post, Hollis and Ward, moved up the road as quietly as they could. In the stillness of the night, Ross thought they were very loud and that he could hear them breathing. They were cognizant that the area to either side of the road had been mined, which meant they had to stay on the exposed road itself. The weather was partly cloudy which meant the darkness did not help hide them.
Their orders were not to go farther than the line of barbed wire that marked the end of the base. Everything beyond the wire belonged to Cuba and trespassing was not allowed. Their job was to listen and, if they heard anything, identify it if they could and scoot back as quickly as possible.
Andrew was nervous. "You were in combat, weren't you Gunny?"
Cullen laughed. "Yeah, if you can call it that. After boot camp and advanced training I got to Korea and spent a few days in a front-line trench before the shooting ended. I heard artillery in the distance and no one shot at me. If pushed I will admit to being scared. It hardly makes me a combat vet."
Andrew thought that over. He'd been hoping Cullen had more experience if it came to actual shooting since he had none whatsoever.
"And what about the men? How good are they?"
"I have no idea, lieutenant. This is a scratch group made up of guys who either got unlucky enough to have to pull guard duty on Christmas, or got paid to do it so somebody else could have a nice holiday. Some of them are, like me, in Lieutenant Hannigan's platoon, but half of them don't even know each other, and the only reason I know their names is because they're wearing name tags."
Andrew chuckled. He only knew a couple of them and none of them very well. "Now I don't feel so bad."
"But at least they're all Marines, lieutenant, which makes them a helluva lot better than anybody else, especially Castro's boys. If our guys were army and not marines, then we'd really be fucked."
True enough, Andrew thought. "And what about me, gunny?"
It was Cullen's turn to chuckle. "Word has it you're a decent guy and a pretty good marine for an accountant, or is it the other way around? Seriously, sir, it's common knowledge that you're playing out the string until your time's up and there's nothing wrong with that. Someday I'll be doing it, too. Still, there is no way this little mob can be mistaken for a hard-ass combat unit.”
"One last comment, gunny. Do you believe what they're telling us about saboteurs?"
"Uh, do you, sir?"
"Nope. I believe that about as much as I believe in the tooth fairy. I think it's a bunch of bullshit and that something really big might be happening really soon and we're maybe at the pointy end of the stick. Lucky us, gunny."
In the darkness, Andrew sensed rather than saw Cullen nod. "My thoughts exactly, lieutenant."
For Cathy Malone, Christmas Eve had been pleasant but not noteworthy. Dinner with the Petty Officer Pachulski, his wife, and their two little kids had been fun, especially since her Polish-American hosts traditionally celebrated Christmas on the Eve, which meant she got a chance to watch the kids open presents and generally make a mess of the Pachulski's small quarters. The fact that she liked kielbasa, kapusta, and all the other ethnic Polish items on the table had made it a very pleasant time.
She'd gotten back to her apartment a little too early and a little too full to go to sleep. She would try to run the meal off in the morning, although the idea of going for a run on Christmas Day seemed just slightly blasphemous for a reasonably good Catholic girl, which was what she still considered herself. She still planned on a second Mass and try for a dinner invite, although maybe this one wouldn't be Polish.
She and her roommate, Alice Stockton, had stayed up to talk and allow their respective meals to digest. While this was happening, they'd had several glasses of very cheap wine and Cathy knew she'd regret it a little bit in the morning. Cheap wine gave her sinus headaches and maybe she wouldn’t go for a run tomorrow. Still, it was fun and funny when Alice got drunk enough to admit that she was sleeping with her boyfriend, a sailor stationed at Gitmo as a mechanic, and how much she liked screwing him and what she and he specifically liked to do best. Cathy had to admit she never thought people could be so creative and acrobatic. Her post graduate education was increasing. She now knew that oral sex worked both ways. Amazing.
Cathy'd dated one guy fairly seriously in college, but that had fallen apart when she wouldn't go all the way with him. Part of the way, yes, but not completely, and certainly not orally, which he told her he would happily accept as second choice. She sometimes wondered if she was being a fool. At least she was getting an education of sorts here in Gitmo. The nuns she'd had in high school would crap if they knew what she was learning about in the real world.
It was well after midnight when she finally tumbled into bed. She would not go running. She would sleep in. Thank God for holidays. With a little luck she would find someone else to feed her.