Ross looked and blinked. "What the hell is that?"
Cullen laughed softly. "At first I thought it looked like something from a really bad horror or science fiction movie, but then I realized what those commie fuckers are up to."
On the road below them, a large blob moved slowly. It was shapeless and formless. At least it would be to anyone flying above; thus it was unidentifiable and unthreatening. It was the same color as the dirt road on which it moved. Andrew looked through his binoculars.
"Why those clever bastards," he said.
It was a tank. Across and on top of the tank lengths of lumber had been laid to form a framework and, on top of the framework, brown and green cloths had been laid. The camouflaged tank moved slowly and raised no dust. Just behind the tank, a couple of men with brooms cleaned up the tracks. The tank was hidden in plain sight and slowly moving south. From the air and in the night, the whole thing was invisible.
"What're you thinking, Lieutenant?"
Ross put away the binoculars. "A couple of things, sergeant. First, where there's one there have to be others. Second, where the hell are they going? To Gitmo for sure, but they must have a staging area someplace and we need to find it so we can let the flyboys know where to bomb, and third, we have to figure out some way of contacting our people."
"I suppose another phone call is out?" Cullen asked.
"Yeah."
They'd attempted another call, but this time the operator tried to string them along and they realized that the Cuban military was trying to get a fix on their location. Cathy had hung up quickly and they'd disconnected the line and moved away rapidly.
Cullen nodded. "Why don't I have Ward and Groth tail this beast from a distance. It isn't like they'd lose sight of it and maybe tonight will be the night we hear from mama or the reverend in Washington."
As LBJ said with a bitter laugh, ExComm’s collective ass was in an uproar. The cumulative disasters befalling the Miami Cubans, the Coast Guard Cutter Willow, and now the city of Miami were creating shockwaves that were reverberating across the nation. Secrecy regarding the defeats had proven impossible to maintain. Ham radio operators had picked up on pleas for help from those few Miami Cubans who had managed to land on Cuban soil, or whose boats had been attacked by Cuban air and artillery.
A television showed black and white pictures of rioting in Miami resulting from what the exile community considered yet another betrayal by Washington. People were getting hurt, perhaps killed, fighting the police. Looting had begun with vandals smashing store windows and carting off appliances, televisions, and jewelry. Announcers, including Walter Cronkite, wondered just when the United States was going to do something. JFK wondered just what the hell Cronkite and the others wanted him to do. Attack right now when they weren’t ready? Permanently surrender Gitmo to the Cubans; thus admitting defeat? What? Kennedy thought it must be easy to sit behind a desk, stare into a camera, and pontificate without any care or responsibility for what might really happen.
At least the rioting in Miami had pushed the MiG raid onto the back burner. Many of the rioters carried signs denouncing both JFK and LBJ for betraying them to Castro. Johnson was surprised since he’d worked so hard to cultivate the Cuban refugees in Miami.
President Kennedy noted that all the chiefs were represented except the CIA. Where was McCone this time? He took a deep breath. "First off, tell me about the ship."
Again, Shoup was the spokesman. "The Coast Guard Cutter Willow was trying to halt a number of Cuban bound boats when they and she were attacked by MiGS flying low and fast out of Cuba. They were so low they weren't picked up by the cutter's radar, which was old and may have been malfunctioning. She shot down one of the MiGS but was hit by a bomb which killed at least twenty men and badly wounded another fifty, including her skipper. He lost a leg. The small boats were strafed and bombed with at least a hundred killed and many more than that wounded. We won't know exactly for a while and perhaps never. Apparently, nobody knows exactly who was on the boats."
JFK wondered just what a Coast Guard vessel was doing down there so close to Cuba until he recalled her earlier involvement. She was down there because nobody had ordered her out and because enough navy assets weren't there.
"And what went wrong with the exiles invasion this time," he asked.
"Everything under the sun," Shoup responded. "Despite the tragedy involving the Willow, a number of other groups made it through. Maybe three thousand poorly armed and poorly trained refugees landed at a half dozen places on the north coast of Cuba just east of Havana, where they were immediately attacked and overwhelmed by local Communist forces. We provided air cover where we could, but we had a hard time telling who the bad guys and the good guys were. They got all mixed up real fast which was probably the Commies plan."
"Did any local Cubans rise up to help them?" the president asked, half knowing what the answer would be.
"Not a damn one that we could tell, Mr. President. In fact, there are unconfirmed reports of civilians attacking the invaders and beating them or even killing them. Maybe some Cubans wanted to help out, but discretion ruled over valor."
Kennedy nodded thoughtfully. Just like that lovely lady from the CIA had said. They adore Fidel and hate us. Just wonderful.
"And the attack on the Miami airport?" he asked and watched as Curtis LeMay turned beet red.
"We lost a dozen planes destroyed and another twenty damaged along with a lot of fuel. All can and will be replaced quickly. Casualties were surprisingly light, even minimal. No more than six dead and a couple of dozen wounded, and no civilians were hurt in that shameful episode. I will also be crucifying those assholes who are responsible for assuming that we were impervious to attack by those sons of bitches."
Kennedy decided he did not want to be on the receiving end of a career ending tongue lashing from the fiery Air Force chief of staff. Heads would roll and they should. The nation had been embarrassed and insulted.
"Do we have any good news?" he asked.
General Maxwell Taylor answered. "All the land forces necessary to invade Cuba are now pretty much in place and only await your word. The southern ports of Mobile, New Orleans, Tampa, Miami, and Charleston are rapidly filling with troops. Civilian airports have been commandeered and are filled with transports for our airborne divisions as well as for re-supply. Two of our carriers and their escorts are expected on station within hours. All we need from you is the decision — Havana or Guantanamo?"
Kennedy noticed that CIA Director McCone had slipped in; he looked anxious. "We will liberate Guantanamo. The rest of Cuba will have to wait for another time."
The chiefs nodded. Perhaps they didn't agree, and LeMay clearly didn't, but they would obey.
McCone gestured. He looked distressed. "Anything to add?" the President asked McCone.
"May I speak to you alone?"
"Is it a military issue?"
"Yes, although it is political as well."
Kennedy shrugged. "Then let's have it now. These gentlemen will find out about it soon enough."
"I strongly urge that the invasion of Cuba be delayed until further notice."
"What the hell for?" LeMay roared as he lunged from his seat. "First we can't hit Havana, and now you want us to back off? Hell, let's grab them by the balls and squeeze until they squeal."
McCone looked around the room like a man wanting a place to hide. "Mr. President, the Communist Cuban army now has nuclear weapons."
McCone had their full and undivided attention. Even LeMay was shocked into silence. The CIA Director quickly and concisely brought them up to speed regarding the fact that a defector had brought them the information that Fidel's men had raided an area where the weapons had been stored.