That time I got reincarnated as the president of a superpower

The voice of the unheard

31 October, 1962.
Republic of Cuba, somewhere near Havana.

I firmly gripped my M14 as the helicopter flew over the treetops. We flew so close to the trees that the tips sometimes hit the bellies of the helicopters. That seriously freaked out me and my squad a few days ago, but we were used to it by now.

As I looked at the dense jungle below me, I tried to notice any signs of activity. We were flying over some sort of dirt path, and it was not entirely impossible that there was somewhere walking beneath us.

"So, how long do you wager this war will last for? Those commies ain't gonna last long I bet, not with their capital occupied!" Bill said, the soldier next to me. "I wager you talk too damn much, and that you should keep your eyes on the damn jungle!" I responded harshly. Bill was about to respond, when a shot rang out, and his face exploded, his blood splattering onto me.

August 5, 1960.
United States of America, Montgomery.

We went through the back exit, my body guards brought me to a secret service car waiting for me. I felt horrible as we walked towards the exit. In a spur of anger, I had said something I knew would start a riot, but I had said it anyway.

As if Samantha was reading my face, she spoke up: "Hey. Don't worry about it, they were looking for a reason to start causing trouble anyway." She said. Although she had seemed a bit nervous just seconds ago, she seemed entirely calm now.

"But still, I gave them the reason." I said as I looked down. "...You did. But when you come to office, you'll also be the one to throw them into jail." She said with determination, as if it was already set in stone I would become president.

The secret service guards opened the backdoors for me. Luckily there weren't many people at this side of the Cityhall, although smoke could already be seen rising from the other side. The hot sun was still pounding down on me. In the distance, various sirens could be heard.

As I stepped into the backseat of the car, I imagined the fighting that was currently happening on the other side. I just could not understand it. In my world, everyone in the village helped each other against threats from outside. Everyone was there for each other. Shouldn't this nation form itself as a village to the threats of outside? Why did they fight each other so much?

The more I thought about it, the more I got convinced that I should help these people that are insulted as 'niggers'. I would make sure everyone was equal, so this nation could become something beautiful, so this nation could become the village of freedom. All this hostility could be directed at the communists much better.

Then I realized something. Why bother campaigning in the south? I do not need the dixies to win elections, I do not want the dixies to help me win the election. I will do this without them. Finally, I promised myself that I would come back here to this city.

And when I do, I will have an army with me.

With that thought, the car started up. Escorted by police motorbikes, my small motorcade drove out of the city, which was burning behind me.

31 October, 1962
Republic of Cuba, somewhere near Havana.

I had jumped back into my foxhole, and was firing into the enormous steel beasts above me. The rotor wash of the American helicopters made the jungle shake as if a typhoon was passing over. I almost expected feeling water splash over me.

The Americans seemed to be as surprised as us, perhaps even more. Their helicopters moved left and right to evade our fire, two almost crashing into each other. This made me realize we could actually win this battle, and in a wave of excitement I climbed out of my foxhole, and opened fire on the belly of an American huey right above me.