"He didn't have a family. He was spawned from the slime of the sea. Just like Castro."
The statement about Alleesandro was a clear indication that Cordero had friends who were as deeply opposed to Castro as Esteban and the idiots from Miami who had landed south of Havana and were now steaming away as fast as their decrepit ship could take them.
Kraeger handed Cordero a valise filled with Russian rubles. American dollars would have been a dead giveaway if Ortega had tried to spend them in a communist Cuba.
"I know you don't need this and didn't ask for it, but maybe you can put it to good use."
Cordero took the bag. A little too eagerly, Kraeger thought. "If I can find a way to use it to help get rid of Fidel, I will. Otherwise, it might help feed my family or, if things really go to hell, help me get the fuck out of here."
They shook hands and Kraeger departed. The bombardment to the west of Santiago had ceased. In a little while the Cubans would realize that there wouldn't be a landing in that area to cut off Santiago from the rest of Cuba. Instead, the marines would be landing directly at Gitmo.
The once proud Guantanamo Bay Naval Base more resembled a ruined German city from World War II than an American military facility. Scarcely a building remained that hadn't been at least seriously damaged and most were totally destroyed. In many cases only charred and fractured walls and piles of debris were left. Craters from bombs and artillery had chewed up the roads and made driving an adventure for those heading inland in their jeeps and M59 armored personnel carriers.
Everything useful had either been destroyed in the fighting or by Castro's forces after the takeover. Castro had sworn he would wipe the base off the face of the earth and, for all intents and purposes, he'd succeeded.
Ross recalled pictures he'd seen of the devastation in Europe after World War II and thought this was a microcosm of that destruction. It would take a hell of a lot of time, money, and effort to rebuild Gitmo, but, apparently, the United States government was going to do exactly that. Was the base worth it? Who knew? Was it necessary, or would it be done simply to prove it could be done and further aggravate Castro? It was another good question that he wasn't in a position to answer.
Cathy had been unable to find much of her apartment and that disappointed her. She had left a lot of clothing and items of jewelry in it and now they were all gone. Sure, the jewelry wasn't all that valuable, mainly costume stuff, and it could be replaced, but it was part of her life and it just seemed so frustrating and insulting for her possessions to have disappeared. She wondered if some Cuban women were parading around their villages in her stuff. She rooted through the rubble for a little while longer and gave up. At least she hadn't brought down any family valuables or anything else that was truly important. She reluctantly decided that pictures and trinkets could be replaced.
Ross had much the same situation, but, as a marine, he had little in the way of personal possessions on the base. He was not going digging in the ruins of his quarters like an archeologist and Cathy, finally grinning and accepting her own losses, concurred.
Andrew Ross's small band of soldiers and marines was disappearing. Morton had taken Romanski to a field hospital to get his leg treated. After that, they planned to hitch a flight up to the states and, hopefully, to Fort Benning where their families awaited. Their wives had been notified of their survival. Romanski had grinned wickedly and mentioned something about he and his wife going for pony rides. Cathy wondered why they didn't just stay home and celebrate.
Cullen, Ward and Groth had attached themselves to a marine unit and were going to show them the graves where the men killed in the first assault on their bunker had been buried. Andrew had thought about going with him, but had been overruled by some general, and wasn't quite certain why.
As suspected, Andrew hadn't really been shot. One of Che's bullets must have ricochet off of something, maybe his carbine, and struck him in the chest, stunning him. A medic told him he had a bad bruise and possibly a cracked rib, and that time would be the best way to heal. The pain was far from unbearable and he would deal with it, as if he had a choice. It did make walking and deep breathing difficult, another good excuse for staying put. It hadn't stopped him from enjoying the pressure of Cathy's slender body against his when she'd hugged him tightly. Some pains could easily be endured, he decided.
A few yards away, a column of marines moved by, single file on each side of the road. Jeeps and the occasional armored personnel carrier drove down the middle. Curiously, there hadn't been any tanks yet. They would come, he assumed. But did it matter? The Cuban army was doing a fine job of making itself scarce. Those who hadn't gone home were in full retreat to the west and Havana.
Scuttlebutt said that the marines heading north had linked up with the army coming south; thus trapping any Cuban forces that hadn't made it westward. It was also said that large numbers of Cuban prisoners were being bagged.
Every now and then, a passing marine would recognize Cathy and wave or holler encouragement. Others would then cheer. Obviously, she was famous, if only for a little while. She bemoaned the fact that she looked like hell. Her hair was a mess and her clothing was filthy. Andrew assured her that he thought she was beautiful.
She reached over and grabbed his hand. "What's the saying — this too shall pass?" she said.
"Just let's not us pass," Andrew responded.
She sat closer to him. "Don't worry about that. I'm just curious as to why they said to stay put and wait?"
He laughed. "Maybe it's because we're two civilians. My discharge should have come through a couple of weeks ago and you never were in the military. Maybe you'll get paid for all the time you spent with us? Of course, if it's military scale it won't amount to much."
He said it lightly, but he thought he knew why the brass wanted him isolated. Washington had also told them to avoid any contact with the press. Apparently, there would be no mention of any Russian nuke in Cuban hands. That was just fine by both of them. They would wait and see what played out.
Ross had sent a fairly detailed report to Washington in which he told of Guevara's death and the re-taking of the nuke by what appeared to be Soviet Special Forces. He had the feeling that Washington was most confused and disturbed — even more than usual.
A jeep pulled up and a man and a woman in plain army fatigues got out. Charley Kraeger and Elena Sandano showed their CIA identification and introduced themselves. Cathy hugged both of them, especially Elena as she recalled the gift package.
"Unless you guys have other plans," Elena said we're here to take you home."
They agreed that it sounded like a splendid idea.
Chapter Twenty-three
Summer in our nation's capital meant steamy, stifling weather that was oppressive even on good days. Only mad dogs and tourists would chose to go out in the noonday sun of Washington. An air conditioned restaurant, therefore, was an oasis and most had long lines at lunchtime.
However, many tourists were unaware that the cafeteria in the Supreme Court building was open to the public and, along with good food — bean soup was their specialty — and reasonable prices, it was comfortable.
The four of them, Elena, Cathy, Charley, and Andrew, liked to meet at least every couple of weeks and go over what was transpiring. First, each couple was planning a fall wedding. Not a double wedding. Instead, the ceremonies would be a couple of weeks apart so that each could attend. Nor was either person going to be a groomsman or maid of honor for the other. That was preserved for relatives, even though, in Cathy's case, it meant involving some really distant cousins that she hardly knew along, along with her sister and Andrew's two sisters. Andrew had a couple of marine buddies along with friends from back home to stand up for him.