"What the hell is that?" Commander Sam Watkins asked. A score of blips had just appeared on the Coast Guard Cutter Willow's radar. The morning mist on the water hadn't quite burned off so the cutter's long range visibility was zilch. So too was the reliability and accuracy of their radar which had been acting up, either going down altogether or a giving false reads. Just once, he thought, it would be nice to have good equipment like the navy did.
"A bunch of small boats," was the answer. "Or at least that's what the radar says, assuming the radar is working okay."
At least it’s finally up at all, Watkins thought and swore again. Small boats headed for Cuba only twenty miles to the north of them meant only one thing: the damned refugees from Miami were going to invade Cuba and that was truly stupid on their part. His orders were simple. He was to try and keep the fools from making it to Cuba and getting killed.
A few minutes later and the mist had burned off. The swarm of boats was plainly visible. They were jammed with armed men who waved and cheered at the American warship which they assumed was going to protect them and even escort them to Cuba and revenge.
Watkins tried to raise them on the radio but they either didn't have radios or weren't responding. When he was within hailing distance he slowed the ship to barely a crawl and had one of the Spanish speaking crewmen call out over the loudspeaker and tell the boaters to halt and return to Florida. This was met with silence and the small boats continued. They had, however, stopped waving at the Willow. Several men on the boats gave them the finger.
"I think they understood," Lieutenant Harkins said.
Watkins was very uncomfortable. He didn't like for one minute the fact that he was only a couple of minutes flying time from a country they were fighting. He kept looking over his shoulder as if he could see the shoreline of Cuba. A few miles closer and he could. Still, he'd had his orders. The president wanted every effort made to stop the Miami-based Cuban refugees from invading what they thought of as their homeland. Jesus, he thought, this was as crazy as the Jews and the Arabs fighting over the Holy Land. Then he realized that Cuba was their holy land.
Watkins orders were that the large and well armed Coast Guard vessel was to try and herd the boats and turn them back, like a Border Collie corralling sheep, and all without hitting them or hurting anyone. Bullshit, he swore. Dumbest idea he'd ever heard of. You do not corral boats anymore than you can corral cats.
Nor were the Miami refugees cooperating. The Willow got within a few feet of several before they backed off and even scraped the hulls of several others Cuban boats. Now the swearing and screaming was becoming intense.
He heard shots and the sound of metal pinging against the hull. "Godammit, they're shooting at us," Watkins yelled. Everyone was ducking.
"Do we return fire?" Lieutenant Harkins asked.
"Fucked if I know," Watkins snarled. "I thought these guys were on our side. Tell the admiral that the boys from Miami aren't cooperating. They don't want to play nice."
No one had been hit or hurt from the burst of gunfire and he quickly decided that it had been the equivalent of a shot across the bows from the Miami crews. They were warning him to go away and let them recover their homes. Still, he had his orders and, if he tried to carry them out, people could get hurt if the Miami Cubans shot again and actually hit something. If that happened, he would have to return fire.
There was a sudden screeching sound and someone yelled, "MiGs!"
Two enemy planes passed only a few feet over the Willow. The Cuban planes' machine guns were spitting bullets, hitting the boats, and churning up the water with dead and dying exiles.
The Willow's guns opened up on the MiGs, accomplishing nothing. The Cuban planes were too low, too fast. Watkins quickly realized that they'd flown only a few feet above the waves and below his radar, assuming that their piece of shit radar had been working properly anyhow.
"They're coming back!" someone yelled. The MiGs banked and flew side by side toward them, their machine guns flashing. Each MiG carried a pair of bombs and the crew of the Willow watched in horror as they were dropped. Three bombs crashed into the sea in or near the crowd of mauled small boats, sending debris and torn bodies into the sky, while the fourth bomb headed directly towards the Willow.
One of the MiGs burst into flames as anti-aircraft fire from the Willow hit it. A small cheer went up as it cartwheeled into the sea. A second later, the fourth bomb exploded against the hull of the Willow. Watkins felt himself being hurled in the air, and then he was flung down hard on the metal deck. Flames and smoke enveloped him. Arms grabbed him and dragged him away from the fire. He lost consciousness for a moment. He heard someone ask for a tourniquet and wondered why. He looked down before someone could push him back. His left leg was gone. Bloody strands of meat dangled from where his knee had once been and blood was all over the place. Was it all his? If it was, he was a dead man.
He groaned and turned to say something to Lieutenant Harkins who was lying a few feet from him. Harkins would now have to take over. Watkins could speak, but Harkins couldn't. His executive officer was dead, his eyes were blank, and his chest was ripped open by bomb shards. Watkins watched as Harkins' horribly visible heart stopped beating.
"We gotta report this," he mumbled. Vitale was injecting him with morphine. The morphine, combined with loss of blood, was causing him to fade.
"It's done, skipper," Vitale said. "Planes are on the way and so are some ships. Don't you just wonder where they were a few minutes ago?"
"We heading back to Miami?" Watkins managed to ask, his voice weakening.
"As soon as we finish picking up the dead and wounded. We're safe, sir. We're not anywhere near sinking condition and the remaining MiG has disappeared."
Watkins had no idea which of his surviving officers was skippering the Willow and didn't care. They were all good men. They would definitely make it to Miami. As he lost consciousness he wondered what the hell would he do with only one leg.
Captain Miguel Rojas listened to his radio. The two planes he'd sent to attack the American warship had actually managed to hit her with one of their bombs, which was a totally unexpected bonus. When their spies in Florida radioed that a force of Miami based exiles was departing and would attempt to land near Havana, it created a dilemma and an opportunity. His superiors had been certain that the Americans would try to stop the exiles, and they also felt there was a tremendous opportunity to hurt both the United States and the growing exile community.
Thus, they’d devised the plan to attack the ship they know knew was called the Willow, along with killing a large number of exiles. It would require the Americans to launch fighters from Florida to protect them all, which would then provide a distraction to the Cuban main effort, an attack on Miami International Airport.
Rojas' flight of six swept-wing MiG 17 fighters was headed to Florida to bloody John F. Kennedy's nose. The planes were the best the Cuban air force had. They each had a 37mm nose cannon and a pair of 23mm guns in the wings, along with a 500 pound bomb. With external fuel tanks they would have no difficulty flying from Havana to Miami, along with engaging the enemy if they had to. Better, it was now very likely that the Americans were focused on rescuing their damaged ship.
Rojas was pleased at the opportunity to strike back, even though he was reasonably certain they would never again have the opportunity. Even though American carriers had not yet arrived, there were too many enemy planes in the air. The Cuban air force had suffered grievously and, after this attack, would go into hiding.
Rojas had been in on the discussions regarding their target. Homestead had been ruled out because it was already military and likely heavily defended. Therefore, Miami International with its brand new circular terminal was the target. Originally there had been a military presence, but it had been moved to nearby Homestead. Now, the airport was being re-configured to handle military traffic to fight Cuba, which made it a legitimate target.
They flew low over the lush Florid
a countryside, hoping they would not be sighted or picked up on radar. The MiG 17 had a passing resemblance to the American F86 and the new F4 fighters, and it was hoped that any ground observers might be confused or misled that their planes were American.
Rojas had flown over the area several times when there had been peace and he quickly located the Tamiami Canal leading from the Everglades to Miami. He clicked on his radio and the planes followed as he headed them in.
Moments later, the runways were in sight and, yes, they were lined with military transports and fighters, and there were few civilian planes near them. As planned, the planes broke into three pairs and began their runs. Only now did American anti-aircraft fire begin. It was too late. The MiGs strafed the neat lines of planes, their shells ripping into the fragile hulls. Explosions billowed into the sky and Rojas saw men running around in panic as they streaked by.
It only took a few seconds to use up their ammunition, and they dropped their bombs on what appeared to be fuel storage facilities. They were rewarded with a series of gigantic and fiery explosions.
Rojas ordered them to return to Cuba, only this time they would not go to Havana. So far it seemed to be off limits to American bombers, so the decision had been made to not tempt fate. They would land at a hastily built base farther east at Santa Clara where waiting crews would camouflage and hide their planes.
Rojas counted his planes. He had four left. The men he'd lost were among the best and they would be missed, but war caused casualties. He hoped that Castro was happy that they'd again humiliated the mighty United States.
When Rojas landed, he expected to be swarmed over by admiring mechanics and others not fortunate enough to fly planes. Instead, one soldier ran up as he started to climb down and receive their congratulations and simply yelled, "Run for your life!"
Rojas jumped to the ground and raced as quickly as he ever had for the thick woods nearby. A few minutes later, a jet screamed overhead and then others quickly followed. Bombs dropped and the field behind him erupted in explosions. What had happened was obvious. He'd been followed back to his so-called hidden base by a bunch of very pissed off Americans who'd either followed him visually or on radar. He sagged to the ground and lit a cigarette. His plane was now burning brightly and the Cuban Air Force, for all practical purposes, had ceased to exist. Still, he laughed, he had truly stuck it to the damned Americans. Better, he’d managed to survive.
John Kennedy, Bobby Kennedy, and Lyndon Johnson had been discussing matters in the Oval Office when word was flashed that Miami was under attack. Within minutes, a grainy black and white picture was being shown on television and Walter Cronkite was trying manfully to decipher what was going on from his base in New York. The three men in the Oval Office were aghast at the flames and smoke billowing from Miami's airport.
Another camera angle showed near panic in the streets as civilians rushed to get away from an unseen enemy. Another shot showed ambulances racing towards the airport. CBS was using their new portable Ikegami television cameras to record the event. JFK couldn’t help but wonder if portable television was going to be the new face of war.
A quick phone call from the Pentagon confirmed what they were seeing. A small force of Cuban planes had strafed and bombed the airport. An unknown number of Air Force personnel were dead or wounded and a large number of planes had been destroyed. Also, a major fuel storage area had been set on fire and was burning dramatically. On the positive side, if there was one JFK ruefully noted, civilian casualties were minimal if any.
The Pentagon aide also said that the Coast Guard Cutter Willow had been attacked by other enemy planes and had been severely damaged. Casualties on the ship were heavy.
"When was the last time the continental United States was bombed or shelled by an enemy?" Bobby asked.
"Not counting a few puny attempts by Japanese subs in World War II, not since the War of 1812," the president answered.
"This is an absolute disaster," said Johnson, "and I mean at many levels. The Republicans are going to kill us with this. If we don't do something, we might as well concede the 1964 election to Barry Goldwater right now. That son of a bitch is going to claim that we Democrats have lost another country, along with not being able to defend ourselves, and he might just be right."
JFK winced. The conservative senator from Arizona, and presumptive Republican presidential candidate, had called for a more immediate response to what he considered outrages by an enemy and alluding to incompetence by the very young Democratic president. A call from the president had informed him as to the reasons for not bombing Havana and, so far, he had bought on to them. This, however, might change Goldwater’s mind.
Rightly or wrongly, the Republicans had been claiming for years that the Democrats were soft on Communism and had let the Reds gobble up country after country.
First was the "loss" of China that had occurred when Truman had been president just after World War II. It didn't matter that the loss was the result of Chiang Kai Shek's utterly corrupt Nationalist government now ensconced on Formosa and protected by American warships.
This was followed by the surprise attack on Korea in 1950 and the realization that the U.S. was utterly unprepared to defend her. The result had been a three year war that ending in a stalemate. Again, Harry Truman had been president. Hard-liners were furious that the war had not ended in an American victory. Some even called it America’s first defeat.
The aging but outspoken former commander of American forces in Korea, Douglas MacArthur, was again calling for an attack on the Chinese mainland after first annihilating the Cuban forces. Kennedy thought it ironic since he felt that the debacle in Korea had largely been MacArthur’s fault. It was his troops who were so totally unprepared in 1950 and it was the general who had disobeyed orders and caused a major defeat before the situation could be stabilized.
In 1961, the Soviets had built a wall separating their part of Europe from the west and the U.S. had done nothing about it.
Nor had the U.S. done anything when the Red Army had crushed a rebellion in Hungary, although that had occurred when Eisenhower, a Republican, had been in the White House.
Large NATO and Soviet armies now confronted each other in Germany, while American forces stared at North Koreans, and an American fleet protected Formosa, now Taiwan, from the Red Chinese.
Then came Castro's revolution in neighboring Cuba and his turning the country into a satellite of Moscow, all while Kennedy had been president. China was one thing, and so was Korea, but Cuba was next door, not halfway around the world. This had resulted in the Bay of Pigs fiasco, Kennedy's humiliating confrontation with Khrushchev in Moscow, and the grand finale, the Cuban Missile Crisis that was supposed to have shown the world Kennedy's bravery under stress. Instead, Kennedy was now confronting a new and potentially disastrous war.
To further complicate matters, he was also being urged to send more troops to protect a sympathetic government in Vietnam, a country he was convinced most of America's citizens couldn't locate on a map at gunpoint. Where would it ever stop, he wondered.
The war with Cuba was also a war he could not afford to lose if he had any thoughts of being a two term president.
JFK shook his head. "I will go on the air and apologize for the failure to protect Miami. I will take responsibility because it is my responsibility. However, we will not change our strategy. We will not attack Havana or anyplace where Soviet troops might be just out of spite or revenge. That is just far too dangerous. We have been provoked and insulted by the Cubans, and they wish us to rise to the bait and do something foolish. We will not do that."
Johnson scoffed. "Goldwater's gonna take you apart if something good doesn't happen and damn soon."
Chapter Eleven
Although Lieutenant Andrew Ross was young and a man, he wasn't totally stupid about the mysteries of being a woman. He had two older sisters, and, as a boy and a young teenager, had listened in on a number of their furtive conversations regarding what t
hey referred to as “woman problems.” He had no idea why they couldn't just say they were having their period or refer to it as menstruation, but no, they always used euphemisms. At least they didn’t say they were on the rag, like some guys said about their girlfriends. Later, he realized his mother talked the same way, which probably explained his sisters' behavior.
What he did know about a woman's period was that it occurred approximately once a month, was uncomfortable at best and debilitatingly painful at worst, was frequently messy, and was not a cause for rejoicing when it occurred.
Except, he later understood, when the recipient of woman's curse realized that its arrival meant she wasn't pregnant. His older sister had been relieved to find that she hadn’t been knocked up, and Andrew had been shocked to realize she'd been having sex with her boyfriend, a guy he hadn't like in the first place because he was such a smug prick. He’d felt like clobbering the guy for screwing his sister until he realized that his sister had been fully cooperative with the carnal acts.
He now thought he understood exactly why Cathy Malone was so pleased when her period happened. She hadn't actually told him — they weren't that frank with each other yet — but he figured it out from her emotional behavior and some oblique comments.
He had always sensed that her story of a "friend" being raped by a Cuban soldier and traumatizing her was a little too facile. It was almost like someone saying they had a "friend" who was an alcoholic. No, it was Cathy who had been raped and who was ashamed that it had occurred and was scared witless that, along with being violated, might have made her pregnant.
It put Andrew firmly on the horns of a dilemma. He was very fond of Cathy and wanted to help and comfort her. But how and when did he let her know that he understood what she felt she had to keep secret?
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