Excerpts 5 and 6, Serialized Havana Dawn

Parts 5 and 6, Serialized Havana Dawn

Read below installments 5 and 6 of our series of the first chapter of Havana Dawn, my debut international spy thriller, serialized right here every two days. 

By sampling all of Chapter 1, you get a good feel for the rest of the novel. 

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Chapter 1, Havana Dawn, Excerpt 5

Suddenly three ageing BTR-60 armored personnel carriers (APCs) careened into the popular Parque Central rolling over book kiosks and firing their 12.7mm machine guns into the air scattering the meandering tourists and locals alike in all directions.

Four olive-green trucks came screeching into the square as two MiG-29 (NATO Codename – Fulcrum) ground attack-fighters screamed overhead. A company of the elite Avispas Negras (“black wasps” in Spanish) troops donning their signature red berets spilled into the park and took up positions at its four corners brimming with their PKM machine guns and ASG-17 grenade launchers.

Cade scurried along the broken sidewalk keeping his distance from the military units and dashed to the Gran Teatro de La Habana. He took cover hidden by one of the many stolid stone support columns. The historical theater was an ideal spot to witness the unfolding events.

His smooth fingers flicked the switch on the right-side of the glasses to activate the satellite camera of his Ray Bans to transmit the live images to his bosses and colleagues back in Langley, Virginia. 

“3-2-1 Action!” he spoke into the tiny receiver-recorder in the nose of his glasses. “The Avispas Negras are ready for attack.”

One of the MiGs swooped down thundering low over the plaza and fired two Kornet anti-tank missiles. The pilot guided the two lethal missiles with a laser to kill two T-72 tanks just entering a street near the Parque. Then two T-62 tanks burst onto the scene firing their 115mm main guns and mowing down a number of the elite soldiers and obliterating three coffee cafés. 

Four camouflaged trucks rolled into another side of the Parque and deposited members of the 45th Infantry Division bearing AK-47s, RPG-7s, and 160mm mortars. Cade panned to the heavy armament brought up by the rebel troops. A knot of troops unloaded belt-fed machine guns shooting from behind cover at a distance of fifteen or twenty feet from loyalist forces.  

Another MiG smashed the T-62 tanks with more rockets as easy as taking candy from a baby. Cade stared awestruck at the destruction wrought by the missiles from the jets, and felt a pain deep in his heart of a lost loved one to a similar circumstance. He tried to shake off the bitter memory, and regain focus of the mission at hand.

The molten metal of the crumpled tanks created a stench that began to pervade the Parque as thick choking black clouds of burning oil clouded the natural vision of all. Rapid crossfire and projectiles lit up the advancing dusk and struck almost every building in the square. Cade’s spy glasses allowed him to record and show the whole spectacle to CIA headquarters. The crackle of rifle fire, the thud of mortars, and the roar of grenades plus the booms and flashing lights throughout the park and surrounding streets looked like lightning and sounded like thunder to the untrained ear.

A loyalist T-72 and 130mm cannon joined the BTRs and Avispas Negras in a deafening barrage of suppressive fire on the rebel positions, resulting in a huge fireball that swept the part of the square in front of the Teatro. 

Chapter 1, Havana Dawn, Excerpt 6

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Cade ducked from the heat field that charred nearby book kiosks and fruit stands. “I think that’s it.”

Windows crumpled and glass rained down from the ear-shattering explosion. The commandos abandoned their cover positions and brazenly charged emptying their AKMS assault rifles to round up the remaining opposition soldiers.

“A source says another puny rebellion outside the capital at the Cienfuegos Army base fizzled as well,” Belinda Cooper chimed in, a veteran manager of Cuban affairs from a conference room on the second floor of the sprawling CIA campus.

“Any sign of the Comandante?” asked the owlish CIA Deputy Director of Operations, Brandon Musgrave, tuning into the video feed from his library-like office, reflecting his stuffy professorial days lecturing at Tufts. 

Cheers and bone-chilling howling rang out from adoring comrades as a medium-build, swarthy, athletic figure in fatigues and red beret with the black, red, and yellow emblem of the Avispas Negras proudly hopped atop one of the APCs. 

Cade focused his eyes squarely on the forty-ish medium height bearded man emerging from the black smoke from the burning debris and firing his Makarov 9mm sidearm into the air. “I can report that the one-eyed Comandante Julio Fernando Arroyo is still alive and well. That guy has more lives than a stray cat in Brooklyn.” Cade turned off the cam, bent his head down and clenched his right fist in anger. Murdering bastard!

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