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"We cannot be sure of having something to live for unless we are willing to die for it."
Cuba. 1955. A time of darkness and strife. The dictator, Batista, is holding onto power with a vice grip. Viole...
The ceaseless rumble of the motorboats' engines was all anyone could hear. Ahead, through the darkness, floating lantern lights set up by divers beckoned, marking their landing spot. Dario marked the passing of time by counting his breathing. It helped to calm his nerves.
The brigade had been split into two forces to land on two different parts of the bay. The battalions under Dario and Rodrigo, totaling almost 600 men, would land on the inner Western beach of Playa Larga, codenamed "Red Beach", and the other half would land at Playa Giron, codenamed "Blue Beach".
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Dario had agreed to hold the beach while Rodrigo would be tasked to take the nearby town of Palpite.
As the motorboats neared the landing spot, they slowed down. They passed by gangling mangrove trees rising out of the swampy waters, with their roots intertwining to form hideous looking images. In the dark, such images played on the overactive imagination. Dario held his assault rifle tight, looking about for any signs of the enemy. If all things went well, they would land undetected.
The first batch of motorboats reached a short distance from the shore, and the exiles climbed off, plopping into the shallow waters before waddling to shore. Even in the dark, the complex maneuver was being executed flawlessly, as men piled onto shore in an organised manner, keeping their guard on.
Dario ignored the cold seawater seeping into his boots, and trudged his way onto dry land. Through radio, he communicated to his company commanders the need to secure the parameters of the landing site, as their tanks would be arriving on their larger transport boats later on, as well as the men of Rodrigo's 4th battalion.
Slowly, the men of the 3rd battalion spread themselves, creeping up the beach like crawling insects. Dario held his breath as he observed the proceedings with a night camera, hoping against hope that no one noticed them.
That hope was soon vanquished, by a volley of gunshots in front of them. Everyone out on the open sand dropped down to a lying position. The shots came, a measly shot at a time, in a disjointed manner. Instantly, the invaders replied with suppressive fire.
Judging from the sound of the shots and the slow rate of fire, Dario knew that they were facing local militia armed with old rifles, not the regular Cuban armed soldiers. He spat out a mouthful of sand, and said into the radio tucked on the front of his vest.
"Alvarez, these are just militia. Charge them down."
The well-trained exiles overwhelmed the paltry resistance within minutes, as they advanced bound by bound. Even in poor visibility, the superior firepower proved to be enough to force the militia away.
Just a short distance from the beach lay a fishing village, where Dario planned to set up their defenses. It looked deserted at first, as it seemed that the militia had evacuated the villagers. Just to make sure, Dario ordered a full combing of the entire village, which consisted of a few bare streets of huts. Only when they made sure no one was left, did he allow a setting up of defenses.
