October 26, 1962
Cuba, outside Havana
He was growing angrier by the day. He had no real complaint with the men in the field, the soldiers who had served more as workers, since there were still no Cubans allowed near the missile sites. But he had lost patience with the officers, those who seemed to drag behind their men. For weeks now, he had stewed about their poor performance, that even with his strict orders that they supervise their men personally, too often the officers behaved as though Cuba was their prime vacation home.
He stood in the shadow of the largest launcher, the officers gathered nearby, waiting, as usual, for his harangue.
“How long will it require for you to make this missile ready for launch? Keeping in mind, of course, that it should have been ready weeks ago.”
One man stepped forward, unwisely defiant.
“Sir, conditions here do not allow us to prepare the missiles as we would have back home. These launchers are prepared to fire, but we do not yet have the nuclear warheads affixed, and, as you certainly know, sir, it requires most of a full day to fuel the missiles for launch.”
Pliyev forced himself to ignore the man’s insolence, knew he was right about the miserable conditions. For weeks now, a steady stream of men had drifted into the medical facilities, most struck down by the never-ending heat. He had accepted that as a fact of life here, that most of these men were Russian, were accustomed to Russian Octobers, where, already, snow was blanketing the military bases where these men had once been stationed.
He stared up at the missile, perched in the wide open, thought of the American observation planes, the invisible U-2s, and the jets screaming through the treetops nearly every hour. All they see is missiles, he thought. They don’t know how toothless these weapons are, mere statues to Soviet strength. If they come, and by God, they will come, these launchers are helpless, will never stand up to a bombing attack. Why will they not allow me to bring the warheads close, position them at each launch site? At least then, we can be prepared, strike back at the Americans with genuine power. If they insist on starting a world war, we can oblige them.
He ignored the officers, moved back to his truck, his driver pulling open the door. He looked back at the colonel, said, “I will secure permission to relocate some of the warheads, bring them closer. You will respond accordingly, treat this operation with the seriousness it deserves. You command enormous power here. Behave like you understand that. Perhaps fewer hours lying on the beach.”
HE FINISHED A hasty lunch, had grown used to some of the more tropical foods, sampling some of what the Cubans around his headquarters seemed to believe were delicacies. The fruit was unusual enough, oranges and limes, eaten whole, or blended into a variety of alcoholic drinks, usually with rum. He had made that mistake early on, a hefty tumbler of some particularly satisfying liquid, fruity and sweet, only to find that within a half hour, he couldn’t feel his legs. Now, he kept his beverages more conservative, rarely strayed from his private stock of vodka, though he knew the men around his headquarters still enjoyed a good party.
He pushed the plate away, tugged at the napkin stuffed into the top of his shirt, said, “This was exceptional, thank you.”
Pliyev wasn’t sure if his Cuban servant understood Russian at all, but the old man was always smiling, removed his empty plates with a cheerful nod. I wonder if he’s a spy, he thought. Castro probably has a dozen of them scattered around my headquarters, assumes we’re keeping secrets from him on a regular basis. Well, maybe we are. I have my orders, after all.
He stood, moved to the open window, a soft breeze keeping away the heat. I must go out to San Cristóbal, push those people yet again to complete their work. It is certainly more important now. It was an odd feeling, the strange sense that the entire American military was staring at him, waiting for … what? Are they coming? Castro thinks so. If Castro had a genuine navy, he’d be attacking Miami right now. Damned fool. Just let us do our work, whether the Americans are watching or not. And for whatever reason, the Americans haven’t tried to stop us. That’s the most important thing, at least right now. They found our missiles, they set up their blockade, they send their recon jets over every couple of hours, but they haven’t done anything to stop our progress. Castro wants to shoot them down, every jet. Good luck, sir. American pilots are superior to Cuban gunners.
Since Kennedy’s speech, broadcast throughout Cuba, Pliyev had kept his men on high alert, but just what they were alert for didn’t seem to matter, at least not yet. For all the activity surrounding Cuba, the American navy setting up into position for … something, Pliyev could only do his job. There were officers out in the field, the men whose armament included the Luna artillery and the cruise missiles, who seemed almost eager for the Americans to come. He had wondered about American intelligence. It is one thing to photograph a missile launcher, but what do you know about our troops on the ground, the weapons they carry? Surely, if you come, if you try to sweep us away, it will be you who is swept away. Would I even need the nuclear Lunas? I might never find out.
It was a source of frustration for him that Moscow had emphasized repeatedly that even though he should heighten the alert for his forces, he was not to engage the nuclear artillery, or any nuclear warheads at all, without express orders from Moscow. That was a change from his original orders, when Khrushchev had granted him the power to deploy the nuclear artillery, especially since any assault from the Americans would likely sever his lines of communication with Moscow. Things have gotten much hotter, he thought, and so, they’ve clamped down on me. I’m not sure how that’s supposed to work. If the Americans come, they will come hard and fast, they will strike our vulnerable missile launchers, and there will be no time to reach out halfway across the world, for permission to use my strongest weapons.
He moved to his desk, sat, no breeze here, the office stifling. His orders were in thick folders, separated by category, the nuclear options the most important. But there were other orders as well, some of them uselessly redundant, some simply annoying. He scanned a paper now, shook his head. It was a directive that, in the event of an American invasion, his field officers and soldiers were to work closely alongside the Cubans, to coordinate their defenses. The Cubans, after all, would be defending their own country. Moscow seemed to believe that the Cubans would fight as ferociously as the Soviet forces under Pliyev’s command. Castro would certainly believe that. Pliyev did not.
He heard footsteps on the wooden floor, turned, was surprised to see Colonel Beloborodov. Beloborodov commanded the nuclear stockpiles, including the missiles, most stored at the main depot at Bejucal.
“Colonel, come in. I did not expect to see you. Did you have lunch? I can arrange a plate for you.”
“No, sir. I mean, yes, I had lunch. Forgive the intrusion. I just needed to see you … to confirm once more my orders, if there are any changes. As you know, I command the storage of all the nuclear warheads on the island. I am receiving questions from some of the battlefield commanders, when we will distribute these warheads into the field. There is great concern that with so much tension, with the Americans preparing to invade, a rapid deployment might be called for.”
“Your orders have not changed, Colonel. But, refresh my memory. What exactly do you now have in your arsenal?”
“At Bejucal, sir, we have nuclear warheads for thirty-six R-12 missiles, forty short-range cruise missiles, and twelve Luna artillery rockets. I am also safeguarding forty additional warheads, plus six atomic bombs to be fitted to the Ilyushin bombers. These are parked right now at Santa Clara.”
Pliyev’s first thought rolled through his mind. Then, what the hell are you doing here?
“Colonel, as you know, there can be no firing of any nuclear missiles under my command without orders from Moscow. That order has been emphasized to me yet again. However, I agree that tensions have reached a point where we must prepare for the worst. I have it on some authority, Cuban authority, that the Americans will invade here as early as tomorrow. They will certainly begin with an overwhelming bombing campaign, for which we can do little. But maintaining a stockpile of our warheads mostly in one location is unwise. I do not believe it would cause problems in Moscow if I authorize you to relocate some of the mobile technical support bases nearer to the rocket launchers where they could be used. This you will do after dark and as discreetly as possible. Neither the Americans nor the Cubans need to be informed just what you are doing.”
Beloborodov smiled, obviously pleased.
“It shall be done, General. This should put minds at ease at many of the launch sites. Though the work is progressing rapidly, there is still much to do, and knowing their warheads are nearby will add incentive to the officers to complete their work.”
“I wish they did not require additional incentive. Never mind. You may begin distributing the warheads to the depot areas to which they have been assigned. Now, Colonel, if there is nothing else, I must travel out to San Cristóbal.”
“Nothing else, sir. Thank you.”
Beloborodov left quickly, and Pliyev thought, that’s all it takes, I suppose. Give them something important to do, and they snap to.
October 26, 1962
San Cristóbal, Cuba
Pliyev was surprised to see the truck, plastered with the insignia of the Cuban army. He climbed from his own truck, saw their uniforms now, the only ones in sight, sagged slightly under the smiling gaze of General Ramos.
“Ah, General Pliyev, a fine coincidence. I was sent here by Fidel, to check on the progress of the launch sites. Things are coming along nicely, eh?”
Ramos’s Russian language skills were about halfway understandable, and he made up for a lack of comprehension by backslapping good cheer, which Pliyev had never trusted.
Pliyev spoke slowly, tried to enunciate carefully.
“Very nice to see you again, General.”
“Yes. To the point. Fidel is suggesting your men now wear their uniforms. With invasion certain any day now, it will help morale.”
Pliyev glanced toward his own men, the ridiculous checked shirts, some men with no shirts at all, a lapse of discipline Pliyev had ignored.
“General Ramos, my men require no additional morale. They know the dangers we face here, and they will respond. Unless, of course, you mean that the Cuban soldiers require a boost in morale.”
Ramos digested his words, frowned.
“Certainly not. The Cuban army is prepared to annihilate the Americans on our beaches. If your men wish to accompany us, we shall share the glory. How many men can you now provide?”
Pliyev felt caution, but he knew it would be no secret in Havana, that Castro was well aware how many Russians were on his island.
“I command forty thousand men here, General. And, yes, we would gladly share your glory.”
Ramos seemed satisfied, offered a crisp salute, didn’t wait for a response, climbed into his truck. The engine turned over, a cloud of black smoke, and the Cubans were quickly gone.
Pliyev breathed through the choking exhaust, moved away, now saw the man he sought, Colonel Ivanov, who approached him with a salute, and Ivanov said, “Thank you for your timely arrival. That man … he asks so many questions. He says he speaks for Fidel, reports directly to him, all of that. But our orders are to keep such talk to ourselves…”
“Yes, I know your orders. They have not changed. But, we must tolerate the questions. Despite all of their boasting, Havana is full of fear right now. Castro understands that his days might be numbered, and he continues to insist that we prepare the nuclear warheads for immediate launch. We are in a dangerous situation as it is, Colonel, we don’t need to be pushed from behind by the Cubans. I will report to Moscow that the Cubans want to know every detail.”
Ivanov seemed to hesitate, said, “Sir, my officers are greatly concerned. The Cubans we’ve dealt with insist that the Americans have a great naval force offshore, and they are preparing to bomb us.” He looked toward the missile launchers now. “We are not yet prepared for a full response to such an assault. It will require eighteen hours to fuel the missiles, and additional time to place the warheads. I am concerned, sir, that we will be caught unprepared. What else can be done?”
Pliyev hated the question.
“You are asking me if we will respond with nuclear force to any action by the Americans. I cannot answer that. The trigger to such weapons lies in Moscow. But I would caution you, Colonel. Do not be in such a rush to destroy the world.”