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JUMP
Emilio Adolfo Rivero
I jumped into the night and immediately felt the jerk of
the parachute opening. I looked for the plane and saw it clearly as it raced
across scattered clouds, the stars, and a waning moon. "They didn't jump," I
thought, when I could see no other parachutes*. Just then, I saw two men drop
from the plane, and right after them came the container of weapons and
ammunition. I looked down to see the ground rushing up at me. The hip-deep paraná grass in which I landed cushioned the shock like a mattress. When the
breeze caught my canopy and began to drag me across the field, I pulled the
right riser with both hands and collapsed the canopy, which abruptly ended my
ride. I stood up, pressed the quick release plate, shed the harness, saddle, and
straps, and pulled in the parachute. Within minutes, I had removed my helmet,
folded my parachute into a bundle, and was ready to rejoin my friends. I kept on
my boots and jump suit to cover a suit and necktie, which I wore for some reason
that I no longer recall.
With a sucking sort of kiss against the palm of my hand, I made a loud
screeching sound that approximated the call of a wild animal, the signal we had
agreed to use to locate each other in the darkness. My friends responded and
converged on my position within minutes. We shook hands heartily, pleased that
things had gone smoothly so far. There had been no injuries, although Adolfo,
the tallest of our band of three, had pulled on his risers so vigorously that
one elbow had driven into his ribs and knocked the wind out of him. Jorge, the
youngest and sturdiest of us, had had a perfect jump. Both were excited and in
high spirits. I had expected nothing less from them.
I told them not to move from that spot while I searched for the reception team.
With my .45 caliber Colt pistol in hand, I pushed through the grass in what I
hoped was the direction of the fire. By design, it had burned for only a minute
or two to confirm the presence of the reception committee and to serve as a
reference point for the drop, so no flicker remained to betray the location of
our contacts. Moreover, I had completely lost my bearings in the jump and could
only hope that by marching out a ways and then circling I might encounter them.
If they had noted the place where we had dropped, then I would find them there
on my return. With extraordinary luck, however, I immediately noticed a white
spot in the distance. Within minutes, I was close enough to see the spot resolve
into two men and three horses. As I approached, I called out the pseudonym of my
contact, "Ernesto?" "No," someone answered, "but we come from "Ernesto"." With
that, he handed me a match and a toothpick, the identification signal that was
to be presented by anyone sent by "Ernesto." Assured that these men were our
reception team, I replaced my pistol in its holster and again smacked my hands
as a signal for Jorge and Adolfo to join me.
Once Adolfo and Jorge had linked up with us, I asked one of our contacts whether
he knew where the weapon container was. "We saw it falling," he replied, "and we
think we know more or less where to find it." Fortunately, he was right. By
retracing our steps, we located our parachutes and shortly thereafter the
container, which we packed on one of the horses. After stashing the parachutes,
I instructed our contacts to hide the weapon container in a safe place, then
asked where we were going. "Nearby," one of them said, "come with us." In about
fifteen minutes, we had reached a sugar cane field. Pushing through the canes,
we walked a short distance in and emerged into a small clearing about the size
of a dressing closet, barely large enough for three men to lie down. Our
contacts told us that we were to stay there for the night and that they would
return in the morning with food.
We lay down to sleep with our pistols by our sides, as we had learned to do.
Although pistols are no match for rifles and machine guns, sometimes the shock
of pistol fire will give a conspirator a moment to escape. Also, on some
missions, a conspirator can count on being killed if captured. When death is
certain, along with torture, one may prefer to use a pistol to seize on even the
smallest chance of defeating attackers. In the end, the pistol may provide the
only certain way to avoid capture.
Jorge and Adolfo woke me several times during the night because they had been
alarmed by rustling sounds in the cane. I heard the noises, too, but thought
they were made by rats and small, nocturnal animals foraging for food. I was
pleased to be awakened by my compatriots, however, as it proved that they were
alert. As promised, our contacts brought food to us in the morning. Breakfast
was welcome, and we ate voraciously. We also learned that "Ernesto", a leader of
the resistance, knew of our arrival and would arrange to meet us.
By afternoon, the heat in the open field was intense. We sought relief in a
nearby brook, where we bathed and swam. We spent the rest of the day and that
night awaiting "Ernesto", all the while discussing the activities we would
undertake in Havana. The conversations with Jorge and Adolfo were lively,
because, besides being radio operators, they also had acquired extensive
knowledge in irregular warfare. They could be extremely useful in the
underground.
On the second morning, our contacts brought more food and the information that
"Ernesto" was on his way and should arrive late in the day. At dusk, they
returned with "Ernesto". He had prepared everything for our move, which would be
accomplished with a jeep parked only fifteen minutes away from the canefield.
Toward dusk, we walked to the jeep, then drove for about an hour to a country
house, where we bathed and enjoyed a hearty peasant dinner. Over the meal,
Ernesto told us that the container already had been hidden in a safe place and
that the parachutes had been retrieved and buried. Very early in the morning, we
would travel separately to Havana, "Ernesto", Jorge, and I in one car and Adolfo
in another driven by a fellow conspirator*. By mid day we would be making
contacts in Havana. Time to put the pieces together again!
* Twenty-seven years later, "Ernesto" mentioned to
me, in Miami that, in any case, my friends would have had no choice in the
decision whether to jump. Had they balked, the highly professional men in the
plane were prepared to push them out. Our two previous tries in another
province, Pinar del Río, had been aborted because our contacts on the ground had
not appeared, perhaps due to hostile activity.
**The man who drove Adolfo into Havana was Octavio Barroso Gómez, a highly
regarded member of the resistance who was captured later and executed by firing
squad on February 2, 1962. |
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