"No, and I'm afraid to ask."
"Well, he's comparing us to the cast of a bad war movie in which every ethnic group is represented. Then he realizes there's no Italian or Pole, and that the only Jew, Levin, was surrendered to the Cubans. He's happy we have Ward, who's black. Ward said he has an aunt who's Italian and that confused Hollis because that means there's an inter-racial marriage involved. He was happy when I told him my mother is half Polish."
"I am absolutely thrilled for Hollis and the fact that he has so much time on his hands. What else is he saying?"
"He says I am the movie's damsel in distress. I always wanted to be a lovely damsel, although distress is turning out to be very unappealing. So he changed it to us being Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. I like being Snow White. I always liked that movie even though it scared me what with the wicked witch and the trees in the forest grabbing at Snow White. As a little girl I wanted to be a princess. Almost as good as being a damsel, don't you think?"
"Dear God. And all of this is going on behind my back?"
She laughed. "Command is so lonely, isn't it?"
"Wait, if you're Snow White, which of the damned dwarfs am I?"
She looked at him in mock surprise. "Why Grumpy, of course."
Andrew Ross laughed like he hadn't in a long time. Here they were, sleeping and living in the open, wearing clothing and uniforms that were becoming more filthy and ragged each day, and becoming personally filthier each day, and all the while trying to survive in a hostile nation, and yet his men had time to think of nonsense like that.
"Yeah," he said, "invite the guys to the party and I'll make sure they leave early. I just hope it happens soon. I just wish we could do more to help ourselves get out of here. I wish we'd been able to find where they're hiding those tanks so we'd be useful and get them blasted before the invasion."
Ward strolled by. "Lieutenant, I have a really serious question for you?"
"Okay."
"We are so in the dark here about the world outside. Do you have any idea who won the Rose Bowl? I've got ten bucks on it and I gave fourteen points to Wisconsin."
Ross made a mental note to let the men listen to scores, rather than just the news. It was bad enough missing their favorite television shows, like Ed Sullivan or Lucille Ball, even though she'd divorced from Desi Arnaz. "Then you're out ten, Ward. It was Southern Cal 42 and Wisconsin 37."
Ward shook his head in mock sadness. "I really didn't think people from cheese country could play USC that close. Damn."
The attempt to follow the camouflaged tank had failed when Cullen had come across a series of patrols and checkpoints that stymied him. Obviously the tanks were hidden somewhere behind them, but precisely where they couldn't tell anybody in the States. Other vehicles, armored and wheeled, had gone down the road similarly hidden and equally untraceable. Somewhere there was a tank park that deserved to be bombed and they couldn't say exactly where.
They'd also found dummy tanks made of wood and canvas in open fields. Obviously, they were there to be bombed and maybe to ambush American planes. They'd relayed that info back home and hoped somebody was paying attention. Regardless, it was nice to be able to transmit even vague information now that they had the radio and had actually figured out how to use the codes.
The bad news was that the Cubans now knew they existed and would be looking for them. They had been careful and made certain they changed location every day and now they would have to be even more alert. They'd made a habit of digging two man fox holes so they would be less visible during the day. In case of attack, they would serve as defensive points.
It would be relatively easy to move away from the Gitmo area, but how would they be able to do their part to help the US retake it? Granted, whatever they did would certainly be small, but there was the unspoken determination to do something, anything.
Sergeant Cullen came back to their camp from a little scouting which had resulted in him finding some fresh fruit. He saw the lieutenant sitting with Cathy and stifled a smile. Good luck, he thought. And they were going to need it. He thought Cathy was cute enough but he preferred his women a little more voluptuous. Like Marilyn Monroe. Too bad she'd gone and killed herself the past summer. What a waste. Yeah, like he was ever going to meet her.
He looked around. Okay, he thought, where is everybody? The lieutenant and Cathy were huddled by a tree and Williams and Groth were on sentry duty. He'd just checked on them so that was fine. So where were Hollis and Anders? He kicked a sleeping Ward on the sole of his foot. Ward was alert in an instant.
"Where are your buddies?"
Ward yawned. "They said they were going down the road to check out a damaged truck. They said they saw boxes that might contain food and stuff."
Cullen felt his anger rising. "Did either of those yo-yos even think to ask permission?"
"No, gunnery sergeant," Ward stammered.
"You know where that damned truck is, don't you, and stop saying gunnery sergeant."
"Yes, Gunny."
"Wonderful. Grab your weapon and follow me."
The two men walked, half trotted, through the underbrush. Cullen led and he kept an eye out for trouble. Ward told Cullen that the wreck was maybe two miles away and they thought it had been strafed by American planes. There were containers on the road and Hollis thought they might contain something useful.
"Assholes," Cullen snarled. "Did it ever occur to them that it might be an ambush, just like the dummy tanks might be? Or have you forgotten that the Cuban fucks know we're out here?"
Ward's jaw dropped, "Oh, Christ."
When they were about a half mile away from where Ward thought the truck was, they heard the distant pop-pop sounds of gunfire. When they got much closer, they were able to differentiate between the sounds of an M1 Garand and other, different, weapons, but they didn't hear the lethal chatter of AK47s.
The two marines crawled to the top of a low hill. The truck was a quarter mile away and more than a dozen Cuban soldiers were between them and the truck and were crawling towards it. The Cubans had divided into two groups. One was advancing on the truck and the other was providing covering fire. The Cubans were militia and carried what appeared to be old bolt-action rifles. Nor did they seem to be firing with any kind of accuracy. Thank God for small favors, Cullen thought. He and Ward slid over the crest and ducked behind a curve in the earth. They were behind the Cubans and he was confident they could not be seen.
"Ward, you a good shot?"
"I'm a marine, gunny."
"Don't be a smartass. Can you start picking off those Cubans?"
"Yes."
"Good. So can I. Now, start killing them from the left and I'll begin from the right."
The Cubans were about two hundred yards away, well within killing range for good shooters using their own weapons and firing from a stable, prone position.
The two marines aimed and fired, slowly, steadily, and accurately. Cubans spun and dropped. Not every shot hit but enough did. Nor did the Cubans immediately realize what was happening. They were fixated on overwhelming whoever was by the truck with numbers and gunfire. Very quickly a half dozen Cubans either lay still or writhed on the ground.
The remaining Cubans now realized their peril, wheeled, and fired on the two marines but without effect. Cullen and Ward were almost invisible.
A Cuban soldier gestured and the survivors began to break off. Ward and Cullen continued to shoot as did whoever was behind the truck and another pair of Cubans fell lifeless, including the one who'd ordered them to pull back. Always knock off the leaders, Cullen thought. When a couple of Cubans picked up wounded comrades, Cullen told Ward to hold off. The fight was over.