windar
Teller of Tales
Moore, you've been called many things here-I won't review the list-but the one thing no one could ever call you is a dummy...so I am the practice dummy? Or is that football?
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The Agent, The Girl, and the Fidelistas
- Thread starter Praefectus Praetorio
- Start date
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
No, just a dummy!so I am the practice dummy? Or is that football?
AWWWWWW that's the nicest thing you ever said to me, Goldman. Don't think it buys any favors, though ...
windar
Teller of Tales
I wouldn't expect that. I pay cash. Though I would gladly pay you Tuesday for a you-know-what today...
I wouldn't expect that. I pay cash. Though I would gladly pay you Tuesday for a you-know-what today...
I hate guessing games!
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Whimpy from the popeye comic: "I would gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today?" The perfect moocher.I wouldn't expect that. I pay cash. Though I would gladly pay you Tuesday for a you-know-what today...
The mirror image is a bar in Myrtle Beach, SC, named Duffy's, the original home of the band Alabama. They advertise, "Hot Beer, Lousy Food and Bad Service". But the real attraction is a standing promise: "Free Beer Tomorrow"
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Final Chapter followed by an Afterword
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Chapter Fifteen
CIA Censor: Frequent use of classified codenames by Fidelistas indicate they are no longer secret. However, regulations still require redaction.
October 10, 1960 7:57 PM; El Campamento de Dirección General de Inteligencia, Provincia Santa Clara, República de Cuba.
Mal Asiento waved his man away and lifted Barb’s head. She was clearly unconscious. His man brought from the suitcase a large hypodermic needle. Damn! I thought, stimulants to keep her unnaturally conscious and alert as the pain increased.
But just as the needle neared her arm, Mal waved it away.
“No hay prisa,” said the fiend. “I haven’t eaten since lunch. We’ll do a better job on a full stomach, Si?” He smiled and they all laughed.
Mal indicated that his man and one of the other guards would go with him to the mess hall. To the one remaining he said, “Let us know if she comes to. You can play a little with the puta, but DON’T hurt her! That’s our job.”
As they walked way, my heart leapt with hope! Only 4 left, two slackers and the one inside without a weapon in hand. Those were odds I’d try. But shooting would bring the whole camp down on us before I could even untie Barb.
Silently I worked my way to behind a small tree trunk. I pulled out the item that I had brought to even the odds. The boat’s flare gun!
I watched and waited. I didn’t have to wait long, the inside guard went over to fondle Barb’s unconscious body - what a disgusting pig. And the slackers turned to look at her.
As they got wrapped up in that, I held the flare behind the tree and pointed it toward the eastern edge of the camp. Then I fired. The flare arched high in the sky and exploded in a shower of red fireworks over the other side of the camp.
The Fidelistas jerked to life. The one with Barb, I named him, Juan, looked up, but kept his hands on her breasts.
Poncho and Sancho were startled and confused. Pedro, my nemesis peered my way and had his gun pointing right at me.
Then, from the far side of the camp, came a loud explosion. And moments after, automatic weapons fire. Pedro and the others turned their attention around.
I stood and took careful aim with the long barrel Colt. Pedro saw my motion and turned back to me with his Tommy gun. Too late. I drilled him between the eyes with one shot.
Hurrying forward, I shot the still bewildered Poncho and Sancho, they went down fast, slackers to the end. The man inside had let go of Barb’s body (and his own prick) but was nowhere near his gun when the Colt blew away his face.
Sometimes, when I kill four people in rapid succession, I feel a twinge of guilt. After watching these Fidelistas enjoy the cruel torture of my lover, I felt only satisfaction. My only regret was that I couldn’t kill Mal Asiento and his minions.
Working as fast as I could, I lowered {Barbara} and removed the cuffs and cords from her wrists and ankles, scrapped bloody by her struggles. I wrapped a dirty blanket around her nude body and carried her north toward the fence. The weapons fire to the east was intensifying.
All now went according to my plan (I’m a great planner when the plan works); we got under the fence and I walked north with Barb in a fireman’s carry. I had no time to treat her wounds or care if I reopened them. We had to put distance between us and the camp.
I hit a stream that {Windar} had told me about and went 30 yards downstream to cover our trail. Then up the steep bank (did I mention that Barb is not nearly as light as she looks? 115, right!) and up the gentle sloop to a hilltop one-half mile north of camp.
I stopped to catch my breath and look back at the pandemonium in the Fidelistas camp. {Windar} had played his part perfectly. The bomb and his surprise attack on the guards, had drawn most of the Fidelistas to the east, well away from my escape route. Now he needed to get out. I listened for the slowing of fire which would indicate that the Cubans had lost their target.
I stood panting, whispering, “Get out {Windar}, get out!” but the fire continued at a high rate. I knew he wanted to kill as many as he could for his sister. I had to turn and continue our escape. After about five more minutes, the fire suddenly stopped completely. I knew what that meant. {Windar} had proved his quality and had made them pay for {Eula}. He was the hero of the evening. A dead hero!
April 20, 1961 8:02 AM; Base Naval de la Bahía de Guantánamo, República de Cuba.
Barb and I waited in the locked conference room at the main gate of Guantanamo Naval Base. The 192 day journey to here from Playa Larga was behind us. The help, compassion and bravery of the anti-Castro peasants that got us here is too much to tell.
In my usual daring way, we had walked right up to the main gate. The marine guards looked a bit taken aback by two Anglos, ragged and dirty, sauntering up to the military base. I was surprised by the greatly increased size and arming of the perimeter guards. But I calmly said,
“We’re here to see Rear Admiral Edward J. O'Donnell. Tell E.J. it’s Jewels.”
Overcoming his inclination to deck me with his rifle butt for insolence, the Marine Captain shoed us into the secure room where we waited. Few people referred to the soft spoken, but hard as nails, Commander of Guantanamo as E.J. Now in his mid-50’s, E.J. was the gunnery officer on the aircraft carrier Lexington when she sank in the Battle of Coral Sea, the United States' first major sea engagement of the Second World War. A tough man to kill. A tough man anyway.
After about twenty minutes of listening to Barb complain about our welcome and continually asking me if I really knew the guy or would we end up in the brig, E.J. walked in and greeted us.
“Jewels, we were told you and your partner had been lost, presumed dead, in Cuba! But here you are. And today! Is your timing that good!”
I asked what he meant by timing and he laughed.
“Don’t you know! The last four days have been crazy! Your CIA helped a band of Cuban exiles to launch an invasion to overthrow Castro!’ I heard Barb catch her breath.
“Over at Bahía de Cochinos! But somehow Castro was ready for them. They had tanks and artillery in the hills and pounded the daylights out of them. Kennedy didn’t have the guts to support them with US airpower and let them be slaughtered! Just got the word late last night, all killed or surrendered.”
I gave E.J. my best naïve look, “I wouldn’t know anything about that.” We both laughed (surprisingly I was mostly honest. I knew almost nothing. But I’d bet my partner knew more.)
“Well, let’s get you squared away. You look awful. Not you miss, you are exceptionally lovely.” (E.J. was always a lady’s man). While E.J. left to make arrangements for us, I quickly turned and whispered to Barb. “You don’t need to tell me anything about the invasion plans. But tell me and I swear it will go no further. You said something to Mal Asiento during your torture. Was it about the invasion?”
Barb turned deadly pale and her eyes were very wide. “I don’t know, Jewels! I have tried to remember, but I can’t! All I can remember is the pain. I am so scared I might have given it away! Those poor men! All those men!!!!” and she began to cry.
I knew the truth at once.
I held her tight. “There’s no way you told him, dear. I saw you. You were hysterical. You couldn’t have told him your own name, let alone plans. Don’t think it for another minute. Its not true. Swear that you will never bring it up again. I swear I won’t!”
As I have thought back to that moment we shared in a room in Guantanamo, finally safe, I have come to believe Barb never betrayed anyone. It was those bastards back safe and sound at Langley, who sent an untrained, inexperienced 20-year-old girl (yes girl!) into Cuba with invasion plans. And they and I left her to suffer horrible torture trying to keep faith! They are the ones who betrayed!
That brings to an end my story of the mission.
Except; a magazine later got the story of {Eula}’s prostitutes, her “Commie-killing Joy Girls.” They had taken their arms and fought to help the landing. Again {Eula} had influence beyond the grave.
I heard that {Windar} was killed as I thought. {Eula} had a little sister somewhere named Julia. I’ll try to find her someday and help her.
CIA Censor: Frequent use of classified codenames by Fidelistas indicate they are no longer secret. However, regulations still require redaction.
October 10, 1960 7:57 PM; El Campamento de Dirección General de Inteligencia, Provincia Santa Clara, República de Cuba.
Mal Asiento waved his man away and lifted Barb’s head. She was clearly unconscious. His man brought from the suitcase a large hypodermic needle. Damn! I thought, stimulants to keep her unnaturally conscious and alert as the pain increased.
But just as the needle neared her arm, Mal waved it away.
“No hay prisa,” said the fiend. “I haven’t eaten since lunch. We’ll do a better job on a full stomach, Si?” He smiled and they all laughed.
Mal indicated that his man and one of the other guards would go with him to the mess hall. To the one remaining he said, “Let us know if she comes to. You can play a little with the puta, but DON’T hurt her! That’s our job.”
As they walked way, my heart leapt with hope! Only 4 left, two slackers and the one inside without a weapon in hand. Those were odds I’d try. But shooting would bring the whole camp down on us before I could even untie Barb.
Silently I worked my way to behind a small tree trunk. I pulled out the item that I had brought to even the odds. The boat’s flare gun!
I watched and waited. I didn’t have to wait long, the inside guard went over to fondle Barb’s unconscious body - what a disgusting pig. And the slackers turned to look at her.
As they got wrapped up in that, I held the flare behind the tree and pointed it toward the eastern edge of the camp. Then I fired. The flare arched high in the sky and exploded in a shower of red fireworks over the other side of the camp.
The Fidelistas jerked to life. The one with Barb, I named him, Juan, looked up, but kept his hands on her breasts.
Poncho and Sancho were startled and confused. Pedro, my nemesis peered my way and had his gun pointing right at me.
Then, from the far side of the camp, came a loud explosion. And moments after, automatic weapons fire. Pedro and the others turned their attention around.
I stood and took careful aim with the long barrel Colt. Pedro saw my motion and turned back to me with his Tommy gun. Too late. I drilled him between the eyes with one shot.
Hurrying forward, I shot the still bewildered Poncho and Sancho, they went down fast, slackers to the end. The man inside had let go of Barb’s body (and his own prick) but was nowhere near his gun when the Colt blew away his face.
Sometimes, when I kill four people in rapid succession, I feel a twinge of guilt. After watching these Fidelistas enjoy the cruel torture of my lover, I felt only satisfaction. My only regret was that I couldn’t kill Mal Asiento and his minions.
Working as fast as I could, I lowered {Barbara} and removed the cuffs and cords from her wrists and ankles, scrapped bloody by her struggles. I wrapped a dirty blanket around her nude body and carried her north toward the fence. The weapons fire to the east was intensifying.
All now went according to my plan (I’m a great planner when the plan works); we got under the fence and I walked north with Barb in a fireman’s carry. I had no time to treat her wounds or care if I reopened them. We had to put distance between us and the camp.
I hit a stream that {Windar} had told me about and went 30 yards downstream to cover our trail. Then up the steep bank (did I mention that Barb is not nearly as light as she looks? 115, right!) and up the gentle sloop to a hilltop one-half mile north of camp.
I stopped to catch my breath and look back at the pandemonium in the Fidelistas camp. {Windar} had played his part perfectly. The bomb and his surprise attack on the guards, had drawn most of the Fidelistas to the east, well away from my escape route. Now he needed to get out. I listened for the slowing of fire which would indicate that the Cubans had lost their target.
I stood panting, whispering, “Get out {Windar}, get out!” but the fire continued at a high rate. I knew he wanted to kill as many as he could for his sister. I had to turn and continue our escape. After about five more minutes, the fire suddenly stopped completely. I knew what that meant. {Windar} had proved his quality and had made them pay for {Eula}. He was the hero of the evening. A dead hero!
April 20, 1961 8:02 AM; Base Naval de la Bahía de Guantánamo, República de Cuba.
Barb and I waited in the locked conference room at the main gate of Guantanamo Naval Base. The 192 day journey to here from Playa Larga was behind us. The help, compassion and bravery of the anti-Castro peasants that got us here is too much to tell.
In my usual daring way, we had walked right up to the main gate. The marine guards looked a bit taken aback by two Anglos, ragged and dirty, sauntering up to the military base. I was surprised by the greatly increased size and arming of the perimeter guards. But I calmly said,
“We’re here to see Rear Admiral Edward J. O'Donnell. Tell E.J. it’s Jewels.”
Overcoming his inclination to deck me with his rifle butt for insolence, the Marine Captain shoed us into the secure room where we waited. Few people referred to the soft spoken, but hard as nails, Commander of Guantanamo as E.J. Now in his mid-50’s, E.J. was the gunnery officer on the aircraft carrier Lexington when she sank in the Battle of Coral Sea, the United States' first major sea engagement of the Second World War. A tough man to kill. A tough man anyway.
After about twenty minutes of listening to Barb complain about our welcome and continually asking me if I really knew the guy or would we end up in the brig, E.J. walked in and greeted us.
“Jewels, we were told you and your partner had been lost, presumed dead, in Cuba! But here you are. And today! Is your timing that good!”
I asked what he meant by timing and he laughed.
“Don’t you know! The last four days have been crazy! Your CIA helped a band of Cuban exiles to launch an invasion to overthrow Castro!’ I heard Barb catch her breath.
“Over at Bahía de Cochinos! But somehow Castro was ready for them. They had tanks and artillery in the hills and pounded the daylights out of them. Kennedy didn’t have the guts to support them with US airpower and let them be slaughtered! Just got the word late last night, all killed or surrendered.”
I gave E.J. my best naïve look, “I wouldn’t know anything about that.” We both laughed (surprisingly I was mostly honest. I knew almost nothing. But I’d bet my partner knew more.)
“Well, let’s get you squared away. You look awful. Not you miss, you are exceptionally lovely.” (E.J. was always a lady’s man). While E.J. left to make arrangements for us, I quickly turned and whispered to Barb. “You don’t need to tell me anything about the invasion plans. But tell me and I swear it will go no further. You said something to Mal Asiento during your torture. Was it about the invasion?”
Barb turned deadly pale and her eyes were very wide. “I don’t know, Jewels! I have tried to remember, but I can’t! All I can remember is the pain. I am so scared I might have given it away! Those poor men! All those men!!!!” and she began to cry.
I knew the truth at once.
I held her tight. “There’s no way you told him, dear. I saw you. You were hysterical. You couldn’t have told him your own name, let alone plans. Don’t think it for another minute. Its not true. Swear that you will never bring it up again. I swear I won’t!”
As I have thought back to that moment we shared in a room in Guantanamo, finally safe, I have come to believe Barb never betrayed anyone. It was those bastards back safe and sound at Langley, who sent an untrained, inexperienced 20-year-old girl (yes girl!) into Cuba with invasion plans. And they and I left her to suffer horrible torture trying to keep faith! They are the ones who betrayed!
That brings to an end my story of the mission.
Except; a magazine later got the story of {Eula}’s prostitutes, her “Commie-killing Joy Girls.” They had taken their arms and fought to help the landing. Again {Eula} had influence beyond the grave.
I heard that {Windar} was killed as I thought. {Eula} had a little sister somewhere named Julia. I’ll try to find her someday and help her.
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Afterword
In July 1974, 31 stars were chiseled into the marble wall just inside the main entrance to the CIA. Underneath a simple inscription:
“In honor of those members of the Central Intelligence Agency who gave their lives in the service of their country.”
No ceremony was held.
This year, 1987, the first ceremony was held. The number of stars had grown to 50. {Eula}’s star was among them. I had to argue long and hard to have her included – “Not American” – “Not a direct employee of the Agency”, etc. In the end I prevailed.
I also insisted that the music be a Scots Pipe and Drum Band. I chose “Flowers of the Forest” for the tune (not the overused “Amazing Grace”, which is wonderful). It is an ancient Scottish folk tune commemorating the great Scots defeat at the Battle of Flodden 1513. Scottish losses are reported at 10,000 to 18,000, along with the King, James IV (the last reigning British King to die in battle) and the majority of the Scottish Nobility (5 bishops or abbots, 10 Earls, 9 Lords of Parliament including my ancestor, Robert Erskine, 4th Lord Erskine)
What made me insist in this tune was a dozen years ago, a poet touring Flanders Wrote a song referencing ‘Flowers” Some of the words speak to {Eula}. Listen to the first stanza and chorus:
Well how do you do, Private William McBride?
Do you mind if I sit here down by your graveside,
And I'll rest for a while in the warm summer sun?
I've been walkin' all day long, and I'm nearly done.
I see by your gravestone you were only 19
When you joined the glorious fallen in 1916
Well, I hope you died quick, and I hope you died clean,
Or Willie McBride, was it slow and obscene?
Chorus:
Did they beat the drums slowly,
Did they sound the fife lowly,
Did the rifles fire o' ye as they lowered you down?
Did the bugle sing The Last Post in chorus?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?
Do you mind if I sit here down by your graveside,
And I'll rest for a while in the warm summer sun?
I've been walkin' all day long, and I'm nearly done.
I see by your gravestone you were only 19
When you joined the glorious fallen in 1916
Well, I hope you died quick, and I hope you died clean,
Or Willie McBride, was it slow and obscene?
Chorus:
Did they beat the drums slowly,
Did they sound the fife lowly,
Did the rifles fire o' ye as they lowered you down?
Did the bugle sing The Last Post in chorus?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?
You might wonder how I got my way on these things for a major Agency ceremony? Well, the DDO is one of the “guys up top.”
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Eric Bogle performing his song, "The Green Fields of Flanders" -for {Eula}
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Most pipers will not play Flowers of the Forest, except at memorials and funerals. The memory of Flodden is too sacred.
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Last Post
windar
Teller of Tales
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
So I Say!If you say so ....
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Only the good die young!
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Come out Virginia, don't let 'em wait
You Catholic girls start much too late
Aw but sooner or later it comes down to faith
Oh I might as well be the one
Well, they showed you a statue, told you to pray
They built you a temple and locked you away
Aw, but they never told you the price that you pay
For things that you might have done
Only the good die young
That's what I said
Only the good die young
Only the good die young
You might have heard I run with a dangerous crowd
We ain't too pretty we ain't too proud
We might be laughing a bit too loud
Aw but that never hurt no one
So come on Virginia show me a sign
Send up a signal and I'll throw you the line
The stained-glass curtain you're hiding behind
Never let's in the sun
Darlin' only the good die young
Woah