Marinda and the others stood in the open in a field and carried white flags, which they hoped would be interpreted by the Americans as their intent to surrender. She laughed. They were in for a surprise.
Cuban soldiers who'd been manning the meager coastal defenses moved past them. Many looked disheartened and some were wounded. She wanted to treat them, but she had her orders. She and her sisters in arms would await the arrival of the hated Americans. She looked to see her nephew, but he wasn't among them. She prayed for his safety.
An American plane flew low over the field where they waited. Marinda knew very little about warplanes, but even she recognized that it wasn't a fighter or a bomber, just one of the little scout planes. It wasn’t much bigger than a crop-duster that the rich farmers used, sometimes carelessly dumping pesticide on the workers and making them violently ill. What the American pilot would see was a crowd of several hundred women, and even some children, in plain sight in a field and waving white flags. He would draw the conclusion that they were harmless and radio that information on.
Finally, a scout vehicle, a jeep, appeared. Infantry and a handful of tanks followed slowly, warily moving down the road. The Americans were expanding their beachhead. Marinda signaled her companions and they rose almost as one and moved on to the road.
The jeep stopped a few feet in front of them. A young gringo yelled at them in bad Spanish to get out of the road. They didn't move. He nudged his jeep closer until he was almost touching the lead women. He gunned the motor to scare them, but they didn't scare. He leaned on the horn and that didn't work either. Instead, the women moved forward, surrounding the lead vehicles and lying down in front of them.
"You people better get off the road," the American yelled. His face was getting red with anger. The whole American army was slowing up behind him.
The women booed and yelled back. A couple of the Americans flushed and grinned as they recognized the obscenities being hurled in their direction.
While the Americans looked on, baffled, more Cuban women lay down in front of the jeep, the tanks, and the armored personnel carriers. Some of the soldiers made to push them away, but the women went limp or resisted, whichever worked. Some women climbed into the jeeps or onto the tanks, while others grabbed onto the arms and legs of bewildered Americans.
The American column was stopped cold. Marinda allowed herself a smile. The scene was repeating itself all over the invasion area. The bravery of Cuban women was stopping the invasion.
"Viva Fidel!" they all yelled and Marinda yelled the loudest. The women of Cuba had stopped the Americans.
Chapter Eighteen
President Kennedy took his customary seat in his rocking chair. "Well, gentlemen, how are we doing? Can anyone finally tell me anything definitive? I understand all about that fog of battle crap, but somebody must know something definitive!"
Frustration was evident in his voice. The airborne attack on Cuba had begun during the night. Reports had been fragmentary and inconclusive. In frustration he'd gone back to his private quarters and attempted to get some sleep, or at least relax. Making love to a sleepy and unenthusiastic Jackie had provided some relief, but not much and not for long.
For the first time in his life, he was sending Americans out to be killed. His experiences in World War II were far from similar. While he'd been in combat, the orders were somebody else's, not his. He just obeyed them, didn't initiate them. His role in the Bay of Pigs didn't count. He was following someone else’s plans and, besides, they weren't Americans. They were Cubans out to liberate their own country, while now he was sending Americans to invade another land, Cuba. General Maxwell Taylor stood by the large map of Cuba and commenced. "We finally do have some news and I must admit that not all of it is good. As always, plans fall apart the instant they begin to be implemented and this is no different."
Kennedy nodded impatiently and Taylor continued. "During the night, elements of the 82nd and 101st Airborne Divisions landed at sites inland. The goal was to seize the small airfields and use them to land the rest of the divisions by plane; thus eliminating the need for additional jumps. Sadly, it hasn't worked out that way.
"First, some of the men from the 101st had the bad fortune to land almost directly on top of a battalion of Cuban militia we didn't know existed. Most of the militia either fled right away or put up only a limited resistance, but a number did fight hard and are being reinforced, and we suffered more casualties than anticipated. Worse, when we reached the airfield, the Cubans blew up the runway, which means no planes can land until the craters are filled and the paratroopers on the ground don't have the equipment to do that."
"Shit," Kennedy muttered.
"Sir, we are attempting to reinforce them by air, although that means additional jumps into enemy fire, and we may have to cancel those efforts. Cuban units are moving towards our men who are digging in. Our planes are bombing as best they can."
"And the other site?" the president asked.
"The 82nd jumped closer to the landing beaches and met little or no resistance on the ground; however, they too had the airfield they were to take destroyed by the Cubans. The 82nd suffered most of its casualties in the air when one Cuban MiG got in among the transports and shot them up. None of our planes were destroyed, but a number of them were damaged pretty badly and many men were killed or wounded. One plane had all of its troopers suffer broken bones when it had to duck and dive to escape the Cuban fighter."
Kennedy fidgeted uncomfortably. "Did we at least shoot down the bastard?"
"Yes, sir, but our pilots think the Cuban pilot ejected just before. In which case, he's on the ground laughing at us."
"How many casualties?"
"Rough numbers, sir, but maybe seventy dead and two hundred wounded in total at both locations."
"And our men are simply hanging on? Don’t we have helicopters that can reinforce or relieve them?"
Wheeler disagreed vehemently. "Sir, while we have helicopters on the ground in Cuba, they are small and few in number. Their primary usage is to scout and to ferry out casualties.”
“Can’t we bring more from the states?” Kennedy persisted. “Aren’t we forming a whole division of assault helicopters?”
Taylor responded, “That’s the 11th, and it’s barely in the training stage with only a few hundred men and a few score helicopters at Fort Benning.”
“Then fly them over. That’s feasible, isn’t it?”
“No sir,” said Taylor, “they would have to make long hauls over open waters in fragile choppers. Under the best of circumstances, a number of them would have to land early and that means putting down in the Caribbean. We would lose too many men. Nor is it feasible to place carriers and other ships along the way as staging areas. No sir, we might get the 11th in Cuba in a few weeks at best, and that would be by transports."
Kennedy sighed, "And the landings themselves?"
Taylor continued. "Here the news is somewhat better, sir. Elements of the First Armored and Second Infantry Divisions have landed on the north coast of Cuba, near the town of Moa. Resistance on the beaches has been light and we are expanding the perimeter. However, the men are running into one strange problem."
Kennedy rubbed his forehead. Did he want to hear this? Hell, did he have a choice? "Go on, General."
"Mr. President, thousands of Cuban civilians, mainly women along with some old men and a lot of children, are clogging the roads, lying down and halting traffic just like the civil rights protesters in Alabama, and sometimes actually fighting with our men who are understandably loath to use deadly force on women. The women are using fists, sticks and clubs, not guns."
McCone interrupted. "Havana radio is screaming that our men are molesting and even raping the helpless women. You can bet that the pinkos and Third Worlders at the United Nations will have a field day with this."