Forty-five minutes later Desmond pulled his van into a parking lot near the dock. A small, foreign-made boxy car followed and parked next to Desmond’s van. Two large West Indians climbed out, causing the car to rise a half foot.
“I th-think they’ll d-do,” Tommy said with a grin.
“Let’s drive around the area and see what we can find out,” Charlie said.
They climbed into Desmond’s van and left the two big locals to watch the Happy Hobo.
“I want to get closer to the new airport,” Charlie said as soon as they left the parking lot.
“Okay, mon. We can go as close as de Cubans let us go.”
Arlan saw Charlie pull a miniature camera from his shirt pocket and start to take photos. The camera was small—too small to be a commercial model. It was the size of a cigarette lighter and looked like something from a James Bond movie.
Desmond drove north to a busier road and turned west for a few hundred yards. He then turned south, completing three sides of a rectangle. They could see the east end of the airstrip and some warehouses from their elevation. They also saw a roadblock set up by armed Cubans a couple of hundred yards farther down the road, preventing access to the airstrip. Desmond stopped, letting Charlie out to take photos with his miniature camera.
“I can’t see the other side of the landing strip. I’m going for a walk up that hill. Turn the van around and wait for us.”
Who’s us? Arlan wondered.
“Arlan, you’re coming with me.”
Arlan gave Charlie a confused look, and Charlie said, “You’re more nimble than these two brutes. I’ll need you to go up a tree to get photos of the entire airstrip.”
“Oh,” Arlan said and turned to look at Tommy and Captain Jay, who both smiled.
Captain Jay said, “Don’t fall, Rookie.”
Arlan and Charlie walked through thick, thorny brush and came to a large genip tree near the crest of the hill. Grenadians called the large fruit-bearing tree a skinup tree. It was easily forty feet tall and had many branches and handholds, making it an easy climb. Arlan only wished the tree was full of the clusters of sweet, grape-sized pulpy fruit with thin, leathery skin it was famous for. But they’d ripened in mid-summer and were long gone.
“What’s happening down there?” Charlie shouted up to Arlan.
“There’s a lot of military people and vehicles moving in and around construction workers and bulldozers. Looks like an ant colony,” Arlan shouted back.
“Are they parking equipment on the paved runway?”
“Yeah. They don’t have snipers down there, do they?”
“An invasion will come from the sea. They’ll be pointed that way, not up here.”
Pointing out the obvious didn’t make Arlan feel any less exposed.
Charlie shouted, “Take pictures from east to west and come on back down.” As an afterthought Charlie shouted, “Take a shot of the warehouses below us too.”
If the camera had a zoom lens, Arlan would have seen Boiled Bob, Long Bill, Lisa and a few Cubans standing in a fenced area connected to one of the warehouses two hundred yards below the tree. He saw people but, at that distance they were the size of bugs. Had he looked up the next hill to the north he’d have seen anti-aircraft guns being set into place, pointing to the airspace above the new runway.
Arlan and Charlie walked back to the van, and the group spent the rest of the day looking for Boiled Bob and Lisa, with Charlie taking every opportunity to take pictures of everything he thought important. Desmond drove them to every restaurant, bar and boat provisioning store he could think of. He also showed scores of locals the photo of Boiled Bob. Most shook their heads with no recognition. Some frowned and said that he looked familiar. One woman said, “I know dis mon. He was in de newspaper a few years ago. I tink.”
“Tanks,” Desmond said and drove on.
“A lot of people seem to recognize Boiled Bob but not Long Bill. Those two are inseparable. You’d think that, if they spent a lot of time here, Long Bill would be the more memorable,” Arlan said.
“I don’t think Boiled Bob has spent a lot of time on Grenada. I know he takes boats down island, but he and his group of turds are always on St. John. The locals must be mistakin’ him with some other skinny white boy with a beard. We all look alike, don’t we?” Captain Jay said and slapped Desmond’s shoulder.
Desmond hesitated and then let out a loud laugh. “All you white guys look de same,” he said. “Smell de same too.”
Captain Jay feigned smelling his armpits and said, “Not me. I’m beige.”
Desmond laughed louder.
Charlie said, “It’s almost dark. Let’s get back to the boat. We can send Desmond’s men home and watch the Happy Hobo ourselves.”
Charlie used one of the radios to contact the colonel on the USS Trenton to tell him what they’d seen at Point Salines.
Charlie said, “You may have a tough time landing. They’re parking all kinds of equipment on the runway.” After a thirty-second pause Charlie said, “I hope you’ll be jumping in the dark. They’ll be gunning for your troopers as soon as they leave the plane.”
After a few more seconds of truncated dialogue Charlie signed off.
“What is the plan for tomorrow?” Arlan asked.
Charlie smiled and said, “We wait—and duck.”
Chapter 15
Day 12: October 25 (Morning)
BOOM! Boom! Rat-tat-tat –tat! Boom! Rat-tat-tat!
“What the fuck?” Arlan shouted.
He bolted upright in the bunk he’d slept on, looked through the porthole and saw that the sky was dark, with just a hint of daylight in the east. He heard Charlie stomping around on deck giving orders to Desmond. Tommy and Captain Jay had stayed the night on the other side of the dock on the Happy Hobo. Captain Jay was there to jump Boiled Bob if he returned, Tommy to jump Captain Jay if his anger got out of control while jumping Boiled Bob.
Within a minute all were on the dock watching the sky above the Point Salines airstrip, over the hill to the west. Even in the dark grey sky they could see the black puffs of anti-aircraft ordnance exploding several hundred feet above the runway. Mixed with the booms of the anti-aircraft fire was intermittent automatic gunfire from AK-47s, which were useless against an onslaught of US aircraft but could pick off paratroopers as they jumped.
BOOM! Rat-tat-tat-tat! BOOM!
Arlan strained to see the planes they could hear coming in from the west.
“We’ve got to get closer,” Charlie said.
“Why?” Arlan asked.
Charlie ignored him.
“Desmond, is there anything between us and the other side of that hill?” Charlie asked and pointed west.
“Just a couple of homes and bush. From de top yo can see de airport.”
“Stay here to watch for Boiled Bob. Whoever wants to come with me, let’s go.”
Charlie walked toward the hill. Tommy and Captain Jay followed. Arlan looked at Desmond, who shrugged and said, “You go ahead. I’ll watch fo Boil Bob.”
Arlan nodded and followed the others up the hill.
The sky had lightened by the time they arrived at the top of the hill and found a clearing that allowed them to see the airstrip. The east end of the runway was below them and about eight hundred feet away. The far end of the runway seemed to Arlan to be a couple of miles away. To their right, several hundred yards away, they could see a bank of three or four anti-aircraft guns firing into the sky above the runway. The runway had scores of bulldozers, trucks and other vehicles parked randomly along its entire length. Below them, near the warehouses Arlan had taken photos of the day before, soldiers fired rifles into the sky above the western end of the runway.
Charlie punched his handheld radio and made contact with the colonel. After listening for two minutes Charlie said, “John, I know you
’re busy with your own invasion up north, but can you relay my report to the USS Guam?” He paused and then said, “I know we don’t have maps with grid lines or coordinates, but you need to strafe the hillside to the north of the east end of the runway. That’s where the anti-aircraft guns are. You should send in your Cobras before you drop paratroopers. They’ll be sitting ducks if you don’t.”
Thirty seconds later Charlie signed off.
Arlan heard distant bombing that must have been closer to or in St. George’s, three miles to the north.
“Wh-what’s going on?” Tommy asked Charlie.
“The colonel spread the news of what we saw yesterday but, with so damn many chiefs involved with this fiasco, they sent Army Special Forces and the Navy SEALs in for a look see. The seas were too rough, and some of the men died in the water. Rangers were sent from Florida on transport planes at three this morning, expecting to touch down on that runway before dawn.”
“T-that’s not going to h-happen.”
The sky lightening, they watched as two helicopter gunships engaged with the anti-aircraft guns to their north. They also saw the first transport carrier fly in from the sea at about five hundred feet elevation, dropping dozens of paratroopers, who fell out of the plane in a constant rhythm. Their chutes opened seconds before impact and they were immediately fired on from the warehouse area and the hills above them to the north. Arlan noticed muzzle flashes coming from the beach on the south side of the runway, closer to the western tip.
Charlie clicked his mike and said into it, “The warehouses at the east end of the runway. Small arms fire aiming at the paratroopers. Looks like more is coming from the beach to the south.”
Charlie listened for a while and signed off. Nothing happened until two more transport planes dropped their paratroopers. Finally, two fixed, upper-winged planes with four engines came in low from the west. One flew directly at the warehouses; the other peeled off and flew at the beach. Both showered their targets with a hailstorm of lead.
The noise was deafening, and the concussions of bombs caused Arlan to pinch his nose and blow out, just as he would do while descending on a dive. He saw the others do the same.
“I’d hate to be where those beaners are about now,” Captain Jay said.
“Th-things are pretty r-rough down there. Wh-what’s going on with the r-rest of the invasion?” Tommy asked Charlie.
“John’s up on the northeast side of the island securing Pearls Airport. He says they don’t have much resistance up there. All he can do is relay what I tell him to the Guam group…” He pointed out to sea to the northwest. “Somewhere out there. The dickheads in the army didn’t believe our report of vehicles and debris on the runway. Instead of landing at night, like they’d planned, the Rangers had to fly in a holding pattern and get everybody geared up to jump. That’s why they jumped in daylight. The first pilot saw where the anti-aircraft guns were and reported them about the same time we did.”
“Might have saved them some headache if they’d listened to you and the colonel,” Arlan said.
Charlie shrugged and said, “It’s the military. Lots of ego involved as you get higher up. Everybody wants to be the hero.”
Most of the paratroopers had landed and were grouped on the west side of the runway, fanning out on either side, moving east. The lead units took out resistance while other units started to move vehicles from the airstrip. Those that were disabled and wouldn’t start were pushed to the side. Arlan saw some of the Cuban bulldozers come to life and move down the runway, operated by American troops. They pushed parked vehicles out of the way and used the big steel dozer blades to protect troops that gathered behind them from small arms fire still coming from the east end of the runway.
Within an hour all of the resistance on the beach died down, and most of the runway was cleared. An hour later several hundred Rangers had pushed the Cubans back to the warehouses. A hundred or more surrendered. Arlan saw scores of Cubans and local militia run up the hill to the north trying to escape. It was just after nine in the morning. The stiff resistance for Point Salines had lasted about two hours.
Charlie said, “Let’s go.”
They walked back down the hill to the dock where they found Desmond talking to the two men who’d watched the boats the day before.
Desmond said, “I aks dese men to come back to watch de boats so I can take you round de island to look fo Boil Bob. I know which roads we can take to stay out of de way of de Grenadian military and de Cubans. De phones still workin, and I’ve been in contact wit my friends around de island all mornin.”
“Okay. First, take us back to the airport,” Charlie said. He then used the radio to contact Lieutenant Colonel Hagler, who was in charge of the Rangers who had just secured Point Salines.
* * *
BOOM! Boom! Rat-tat-tat!
Boiled Bob was jolted out of his cot when the first anti-aircraft shells exploded. He stood and then ducked when the sound of very close AK-47s started firing. He looked over at Lisa, who’d slid off her cot and was huddled in a corner of the small room. Long Bill and Skandar were gone. The room they’d slept in had two doors, one that led to the warehouse interior and another that led to a fenced warehouse yard full of beat-up construction and military equipment, some with Russian labels in large block letters painted on the sides. Others had Spanish labels painted on them. Boiled Bob made his way to the door that led to the warehouse yard and opened it. It was dark with the sky just beginning to lighten. He could see nothing from that side of the building.
Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat! BOOM!
“What the hell is going on?” Lisa shouted.
“Don’t know. Sounds like a war out there.”
Boiled Bob closed the door and felt his way to the door that led into the warehouse area. He cracked it open to see if the guard that had been stationed there the previous night was still at his post. The room was dark, the only light coming from one dim overhead light that allowed Boiled Bob to see that there was nobody in the warehouse.
The sky brightened a little, and Boiled Bob turned toward Lisa. He said, “Don’t worry. I’ll get you out of here.”
He heard Lisa snicker and say, “Right.”
BOOM! BOOM!
“We’re definitely in a war zone,” Boiled Bob said.
Lisa said, “I hope you’re the first casualty, asshole.”
Rat-tat-tat! BOOM!
“Thanks for bringing me to a first-row seat of a war,” Lisa said. A moment later she added, “Along with stealing my father’s boat and holding me hostage. Do you have any more fuckups in mind today?”
Bob said, “You’re pretty mouthy for someone who’s stuck in this warehouse, surrounded by Cubans and me.”
“You’re the least of my worries.”
Boiled Bob fumed but had no intention of wasting time arguing with Lisa. He wanted to find Long Bill, get back to the boat and sail the hell away from this crazy place. He walked to the door that led into the warehouse and opened it. The sound of gunfire was louder and more frequent. Distant shells erupted every few seconds, shaking the metal building and causing Boiled Bob to duck. He half-crawled to an exterior door and looked out. The eastern end of the runway was a hundred yards away. Between Boiled Bob and the runway were a couple of hundred armed Cubans. Many were in sandbag defense bunkers, some manned machine guns and most were running from other warehouses to take up defensive positions nearby.
The sky had brightened a little more, and Boiled Bob could see a large plane fly in from the west, dropping things from the rear of the plane. As the things fell close to the ground, parachutes opened. The things were paratroopers. Within seconds Boiled Bob saw muzzle flashes and heard bullets hit the warehouse. The Cubans fired back. The cacophony of the sounds of war was deafening. Boiled Bob retreated into the warehouse just as the first shell hit near the doorway where he’d been standing. He hit the floo
r as pieces of the building were ripped apart. Within moments he heard and felt several more shells explode throughout the Cuban defenses. Boiled Bob ran to the small room where he’d left Lisa. She was gone. The door to the yard was open, and Boiled Bob could see through the doorway that half the yard and the surrounding fence had been obliterated. He took a last look to the front of the building and wondered if he should try to find Long Bill. Fuck him, he thought as he ran through the destroyed warehouse yard, up the hill and toward the dock in the bay that he knew was on the other side.
Boiled Bob made it about fifty yards up the hill when he spotted the first group of armed Cubans behind him. He ducked under some brush. They passed him going the same direction—up the hill and away from the action. He didn’t know if they were looking for other Cubans trying to flee the battlefield or if they were fleeing themselves. He was about to crawl out of the bush and continue uphill when a trio of Cubans, stragglers from the first group, hiked up the hill. After they passed, Boiled Bob rose and cautiously climbed the hill, ducking for cover every time he heard voices.
It took Boiled Bob hours to sneak to the top of the hill and start the easy climb down to the dock.
* * *
Arlan sat in the back of the van as Desmond retraced his route from the day before when he had driven Charlie to get a closer look at the Point Salines runway. Sporadic gunfire echoed through the hillsides behind them. The Caribbean’s blue sky was filled with white, billowing clouds and whispery-black smoke from exploded ordnance. Heat inside the van, combined with the acrid smell of exploded ordnance was nauseating, and Arlan was glad that the ride was short. The Cuban-manned roadblocks he saw the previous day were now manned by American soldiers. Charlie used the radio the colonel had given him to contact the lieutenant colonel in charge of the Rangers who’d taken the airport and told him that they’d be arriving in a white van. After a brief discussion amongst themselves on one of their radios, the soldiers manning the roadblock told them where to find the lieutenant colonel and let them pass. The van zigzagged along the side of the runway, which was cluttered with construction debris, overturned vehicles and equipment that had been shoved off the runway by American soldiers on Cuban bulldozers.
A Fortnight of Fury Page 18