However, that was already somewhat out of his hands. CIA Director McCone came on line and informed the president that Castro was already on the radio bragging about the attack and the imminent fall of the base that he said was a cancer on Cuban soil.
McCone continued. "Sir, he's saying he attacked with three full divisions and we had no idea it was coming. The obvious implication is that we were stupid."
And he may be right, Kennedy thought. American radio and television news broadcasts had begun to broadcast the reports.
Kennedy shook his head. "Then the base has fallen?"
"No," said Anderson, "or at least not yet. There are several reports that the Cubans have penetrated to the Bay itself, and that's only about five miles from the boundaries of the base. We're looking at a very small piece of real estate, sir, and it won't take long before it is overrun."
There's just a still hope, Kennedy thought. Maybe it can be reinforced and protected. This was quashed almost immediately by General LeMay who sounded both sleepy and angry.
"In an hour I'll have fifty planes over Gitmo and we'll blow their MiG asses right out of the sky. But by that time, the Cuban soldiers will be so mixed in among the Americans on the base that we won't be able to distinguish enemy targets from friendlies. Hell, sir, that’s likely happening already."
The president checked his notes for the names of the commanders at Guantanamo and turned to Dudley. "Where are Colonel Killen and Admiral O'Donnell and what are they saying?"
Dudley shrugged. "We haven't heard a thing from them, sir. They may be killed or captured."
"Then who the devil are we talking to?"
General Shoup answered. The fury in his voice was barely controlled. His men were dying. "A Major Sam Hartford, USMC, is in charge of the backup command post. The primary command post is not responding. Everybody's taking a lot of artillery along with the bombing and the main command center may have been hit." Which would, of course, explain why Killen and O'Donnell weren't talking, Kennedy realized.
JFK was pleased that the executive committee was getting together so quickly, considering the circumstances and if only by telephone. He needed good advice and he needed it now. He wondered if anyone was snooping in on them and decided that, again, he didn't care.
"Can this Major Hartford’s radio be patched into here?" Kennedy asked, and was assured that it could be done. "Then make it happen. And then let's get everybody here as quickly as you can. I don't like all this talking on the phone crap. I want to be able to see people."
JFK had another thought. Castro might be addressing the Cuban people and the world, but he would have to speak to the American people and explain to them just what had happened and just what the devil he was going to do about it.
Of course, he would have to figure out what to do before he said anything. He didn't want to start World War III on Christmas Day, 1962, anymore than he had wanted to just about two months prior. Then, he and the Soviets had managed to back away from the flames. Could they do it again? They would have to. But what was Russia's role in this current mess and what the hell was Khrushchev's involvement in this new crisis? Damn it, the man had to have known what was going on. What the hell did he want?
He would try to stop it, just like before, but, back then, people weren't fighting and dying like they were now. Oh, Jesus. What had happened to a quiet Christmas with Jackie and the kids? He'd been looking forward to playing with the children. He managed a small smile and admitted that he'd been looking forward to playing with their mother as well.
Ross had his few remaining men spread out as they approached the ruins of the bunker and the equally ruined men who lay, burned and shredded, on the ground and inside.
Andrew blanched. He had seen death before but it had been quiet, orderly and dignified death. It had always been death in a casket and an embalmed corpse that everyone insisted that looked like he or she was sleeping. He always thought that was stupid; nobody ever slept in a casket. They were dead. And nobody ever dressed up in a suit or a good dress to take a nap in a casket, either.
This kind of death was new to Andrew and he could tell it was new to his pitifully small command. Even Cullen looked disconcerted. He caught Andrew's eye and shook his head. One of the other Marines started to vomit and a couple of others followed. Andrew felt his stomach churning at the sight of body fragments and raw meat that was already turning black and attracting swarms of flies. Hands and heads, legs and torsos were scattered about what was supposed to have been his home for a quiet weekend on duty.
If this is war, Andrew thought, you can keep it. Let me get the hell out of this and into law school. But in order to get into law school he had to first get out of this mess. He ordered two of his men to watch each way down the road. The Cuban column was long gone, but who knew what might come next. Probably trucks with supplies and reinforcements for the Cubans fighting for control of the base. They could hear the battle that was still raging a couple of miles behind them.
"What are we doing, lieutenant?" asked Cullen.
"Checking for survivors, even though that's probably a lost cause. Then we're going to search for supplies and extra ammo and then we're going to bury the dead."
Cullen shook his head. "The Cubans will come back and realize that we survived. It's ugly, sir, but why not leave the men where they are?"
Andrew bristled. "Because they are Marines, that's why, and we take care of our people, dead or alive. Besides, they might think we buried them and then skedaddled back to the base. Or they might think some of their people did it. Or they might think we escaped and aren't important enough to worry about. Regardless, we're burying them."
Cullen nodded. "Then it's a good plan."
"Gunny, were you testing me?"
Cullen grinned and shrugged. "If I was, you passed."
Incredibly, they found two men alive outside the bunker. One, Lance Corporal Stillman, was badly wounded and unconscious, while the second, Pfc. Levin, was found under debris that had fallen from the bunker. He only had a broken arm and collarbone. Only, Andrew thought ruefully.
A germ a plan was forming in Andrew's mind and he knew it didn't involve caring for wounded, especially when he didn't have the facilities or the skill to do anything. Maybe they could take care of treating Levin, but Stillman had taken shrapnel to the skull and at least one bullet to the chest. The man needed a hospital and soon.
Ross spoke quietly with Levin who paled and then reluctantly agreed. They carried Stillman to the side of the road and rigged a shelter for him and Levin. Andrew gave Levin a pole with part of a reasonably white sheet tied to it. He wished him luck and told Levin they'd be watching and would protect the two of them as best they could if his idea turned bad.
"Trucks are coming from outside the base, from Cuba, sir."
They were coming down the same route as the tanks. He ordered his men back and out of sight and told them not to fire unless he gave the order.
Andrew realized he was holding his breath and forced himself to exhale. He smiled grimly. "Ambulances," he announced unnecessarily. The Red Cross was clearly visible on each of the half dozen vehicles.
As they approached the two wounded Marines, Levin stood and waved the white flag. The trucks stopped. After a few seconds that seemed like an eternity, men carrying stretchers got out of the last truck and approached the two wounded Marines. They placed a motionless Stillman on one and aided Levin on to the other. Once loaded, they continued on their way.
Cullen moved beside Andrew. "Good to know the Cubans aren't savages, lieutenant. Chinese Communists in Korea wouldn't have done that. I heard they bayoneted American wounded."