"Yes, we would ultimately prevail against Havana, just as the Soviets would ultimately prevail and take Berlin as part of a bloody quid pro quo, and we might just find ourselves up to our asses in trouble in Korea if the North Koreans and Chinese march south. And what would we have accomplished beyond the loss of thousands of American lives? And that reminds me, how many Americans are dead in this invasion?"
"About a thousand," Taylor said. "And several thousand more are wounded."
"Any estimate of Cuban casualties?" Kennedy asked.
"At least ten times that," Taylor answered.
Kennedy sat back in his chair. "So many dead and wounded on top of the casualties we've already suffered during their attack on Gitmo, and how many thousands more would be necessary to actually topple Castro? I have finally, belatedly, come to the obvious conclusion that the Cuban people actually support Castro and will fight to keep him in power. Maybe they'll get tired of him some time in the future, but it isn't going to happen anytime soon."
LeMay snarled. "Then let's confront them with our bombers. The Strategic Air Command's B52s can wipe out any Cuban or Russian threat in Cuba."
The other military leaders looked aghast. Maxwell Taylor said, "The president is right. I will not support anything that threatens to escalate into an all-out nuclear war, or even a limited one. Limited wars get out of hand very quickly as history has repeatedly shown us. I for one do not wish to imperil millions of American citizens for the dubious pleasure of kicking Castro off his throne."
Admiral Anderson added his two cents. "General LeMay, as much as I would like to see Castro deposed, I too worry about the price. Have you forgotten about the Soviet navy's surface squadron and the presence of a large number of submarines in the area? What if we had to fight them as well? We'd win, of course, but at what price and for what reason?"
LeMay shook his head in disbelief. "Admiral, that surface squadron consists of three aging, World War II vintage cruisers and their submarines, which, based on previous experiences, are pieces of shit."
"But they all have nukes," Anderson insisted. "And those submarines off the coast of Cuba are only the tip of the Soviet Union’s naval strength. Of course we'd destroy them, but, again, at what price?"
"And what about the exiles in Florida?" LeMay insisted. "Don't they deserve justice?"
"We don't always get justice in this life," Kennedy said softly, silently wondering if there would be justice in the next. "If we do take even a large portion of Cuba and decide to hold it, the exiles will insist on returning to the area we occupy, and it will foment a civil war in Cuba with us in the middle, or, worse, with us on one side and the Russians on the other. You may consider my decision unjust and I won't argue the point, but the exiles cannot be permitted to return to Cuba, at least not at this time. You can argue all you want that it isn't fair, but life isn't fair."
LeMay turned as if to leave the room, then thought better of it and sat down.
"Therefore," Kennedy continued, "we will do nothing more than expand the perimeter of the base at Gitmo to make it more defensible. We will not even take Santiago. However close and tempting it might be, Santiago is a hotbed of support for Castro and we'd be inviting armed resistance from within the city and guerilla warfare later."
LeMay remained incredulous. "I just cannot believe we aren't even considering using the Strategic Air Command's bombers. Why the hell do we have those weapons if we're not going to use them?"
"Because I consider them deterrents, not first strike weapons," Kennedy said. "They are for defense, not offense."
"The exiles are going to be furious," McCone commented softly. Behind him, Charley and Elena sat in rapt fascination. Their knees touched slightly as if they were trying to communicate their thoughts as they sat watching history being made. Someday, it'd be a helluva tale to tell the grandkids.
"I know," said the president. "A few days after the fighting stops and the situation in Cuba stabilizes, I'll send Lyndon Johnson down to Miami to mollify them. He'll do that by telling the exiles what a no-good prick I am for betraying them and what a great good friend they have in Lyndon Johnson if he should ever decide to run for president." Kennedy smiled tightly. "Since Lyndon believes that I am a no good prick and he does want to replace me, he will be a very compelling speaker."
"I still can't live with this," LeMay said and stood. "You'll have my resignation as soon as this crisis is over."
Kennedy glared at him. "General, there was an Air Force before you and there'll be an Air Force after you. If that is how you genuinely feel, resign now."
"Then I resign," snarled LeMay.
"Accepted, now get the hell out of here."
The president stood and walked angrily out of the meeting and returned to the Oval Office. Bobby Kennedy awaited him, a stunned look on his face. Dear God, JFK thought, what the hell is it now?
Chapter Twenty-one
Emilio Esteban hated Haiti and the Haitians almost as much as he hated Fidel Castro. Castro had taken his parent's business, a department store, nationalized it, and driven them away from it. Castro hadn't even given them the opportunity to manage it for the state. No, Castro’s representatives said they were capitalist pigs who'd oppressed the Cuban people and deserved to live in poverty. That the Esteban family had started with nothing and worked hard to reach a level of prosperity in Cuba meant nothing to Castro and those Emilia considered his thugs. Nor did it matter that his parents had never cheated anyone. They were capitalists and needed to go.
Of course, none of the Esteban family had ever directly met Fidel Castro. His minions were the ones who'd done the deeds. Emilio's parents had tried to endure state-sanctioned poverty in Cuba, but had finally immigrated to Miami with little more than the clothing on their backs. Castro's police had even stolen their watches and jewelry.
Fortunately, the now thirty-year old Emilio had preceded them to Miami where he'd made contact with the exile community. Even more fortunately, he hadn't been part of the tragic attempt to liberate his beloved homeland in the Bay of Pigs fiasco. Still, he learned from the experience not to trust the United States and, in particular, not to trust the Central Intelligence Agency. He was not worried about the FBI. A bunch of pasty-faced white guys in dark suits who stood out like sore thumbs when observing Cubans in Miami was not going to infiltrate his new organization.
The Haitians, under their dictator, the evil Papa Doc Duvalier, were corrupt, brutal and never to be trusted. They knew that he had plans involving Castro and Cuba and, under ordinary circumstances would have stopped him or betrayed him. This time, Emilio thought, Duvalier was angry with the United States for butting into his fiefdom and with Castro for threatening to export his revolution to Haiti. This meant that anyone who wanted to hurt both and who paid cash was acceptable.
For the moment, that is. Emilio and his associates knew that Duvalier could change his mind in a heartbeat and attack either their camp or the rusting freighter they’d bought through a dummy corporation. They'd renamed the ship the Marti, after Jose Marti the legendary Cuban freedom fighter who'd been killed by the Spaniards in 1895. If they were betrayed and attacked by the Haitians, Emilio and those of his men taken prisoner would be sold to the highest bidder, probably Castro, if they were lucky, and shot outright if they weren't. Of course, being turned over to Castro might not count as luck, he thought grimly. He'd heard too many tales of life and excruciatingly painful death in Castro's dungeons.
That Emilio now had nearly a thousand well-armed men at his disposal was also deterring the avaricious Duvalier. Emilio thought it was too late for Duvalier's brutal but inept and rag-tag army to make a move against him. One nice thing about dictators like Duvalier or Batista, they ordinarily had lousy armies. Good armies were a threat to their regime, but not bad ones. Duvalier's army existed as a palace guard to protect Papa Doc, not fight an enemy force.