Above and Beyond
Mission: Cuba. Status: Top secret.
- By James Storie
- Air & Space magazine, May 2011
Media coverage of the Bay of Pigs fiasco was unbridled. Far right: the narrator, as a staff sergeant in the Alabama Air National Guard in the 1950s.
Proquest Historical Newspapers; University Of Texas, Austin; George Teichrib; Radio Netherlands; Bay Of Pigs Museum; James Storie; Photo Illustration By Théo
In early 1961, after I had been out of the Air National Guard for five years, I heard that Brigadier General George Reid Doster, commander of the 117th Tactical Reconnaissance Wing at Birmingham Municipal Airport in Alabama, was looking for me.
When I met with him, he laid it on pretty thick. “We have a very important classified mission I’d like you to consider,” he said. “That’s all I can tell you, other than that you can be of great service to your country.” I would attend a series of meetings with other people contacted for this hush-hush mission. Most of the personnel being interviewed were from the Hayes Aircraft Corporation in Birmingham, where I was working at the time; the rest were active Guardsmen.
Back then, few technicians were familiar with the old Douglas B-26 Invader bomber; fewer still were qualified in its maintenance and electronics, as I was. General Doster asked me to make a decision right then and there. Because I knew most of the guys, I figured I was in good company. I took the job.
Some 40 of us were brought on. We used first names only. I was given a picture of a woman and two kids to go in my billfold—I had no idea who they were—along with other documents that would create a fake identity.
At first we were given just a few vague details about our mission. At each step, a candidate remained only if he continued to sign more secrecy documents. I became pretty sure that we were dealing with the CIA, but this was never acknowledged. We were told how we would be paid and that we could tell no one—not a soul—or we would be prosecuted for revealing classified information.
Finally I learned the truth, and why the Guard needed aircraft technicians: We would be training Cuban exiles to fly B-26s for an invasion of Cuba, with the goal of triggering a revolution to overthrow communist dictator Fidel Castro. Since Castro had B-26s in his air force, the theory went, the Cuban population would think that their own military was revolting against Castro and would join the uprising.
After a week of briefings and paperwork, we reported to Eglin Air Force Base near Pensacola, Florida. We left Eglin at midnight in a Douglas C-54 with blacked-out windows, flying 50 feet above the water for a very long time. We still did not know where we were going.
The next morning we landed on a dusty airstrip. This was our base. There was nothing there except the runway. It turned out to be Puerto Cabezas, Nicaragua. I was told that the ground troops for the invasion were being trained in Guatemala while we trained B-26 crews here.
At one time we had as many as 18 B-26s, but the count varied, since airplanes came and went. Where they came from I don’t know. I just did my job, keeping the aircraft operable.
We spent a week or so practicing and preparing, then launched our first bombing mission on the morning of April 15. Eight B-26s, piloted by Cubans we had trained, were tasked to destroy all of Castro’s aircraft on the ground as well as runways and other critical targets. They were then expected to provide close air support to the invasion force. Each aircraft had bomb-release capability and eight .50-caliber nose-mounted machine guns but lacked gun turrets.
We worked all night readying airplanes. When I finished my work and left the flightline, the pilots were just starting their engines. I headed for the shower tent to wash off the grime.
Halfway through my shower a guy came running up, looking for me. “One of the bombers is waiting at the end of the runway and wants you to check their radio now!” he said.
I wrapped a towel around my waist and with shower clogs on my feet rushed out to the runway, where I expected to see a B-26 with its engines shut down. But both propellers were churning. The crew was worried that if they cut the engines, they might not get them restarted, and would I please try to fix their radio?
Due to the canopy arrangement and the proximity of the propellers, the B-26 was a difficult aircraft to climb into and out of—worse if you had to bail out. I wish someone had had a camera that day to take a picture of an idiot—wearing only a towel and shower clogs—climbing up to the cockpit with propeller blades spinning mere inches from his head.
I squirmed into the cockpit and had a look at the radio equipment. The Cuban crew was very tense, probably scared. A submachine gun lay at their feet. I found a loose cannon plug. Once I reconnected it, I asked them to try their radio. It worked, and I managed to get back on the ground without losing my towel or breaking my neck.
After the first bomb run, Washington sent word to stand down until further notice. The lull lasted three days, then another bomb run was attempted. By then Castro had managed to get a Hawker Sea Fury fighter-bomber and an armed T-33 jet trainer airborne. Our B-26s had no chance against them. It was a turkey shoot.
When we resumed the bombing missions, most of the Cuban pilots were shot down. Morale was very low; the Cuban pilots said they would not go back unless Americans flew with them. We learned about the situation at a meeting of all U.S. personnel at Puerto Cabezas and were asked if there was anyone willing to volunteer.
As far as I can recall, eight American advisors stepped up. I wasn’t one of them. As a crew chief, I could offer only moral support and another pair of eyes. I couldn’t see myself sitting there getting shot at with no way to retaliate. But it was not an easy decision. If I had been offered a mounted machine gun, I might have volunteered. But the only guns on our B-26s were in the nose, and those were controlled by the pilot.
The pilots and crew volunteers were people I had worked with at Hayes Aircraft, except for Joe Shannon. In earlier days I had flown with two of them: Riley Shamburger and Pete Ray, whom I considered a friend.
On April 19, we launched six B-26s, four of them piloted by U.S. crews. Wade Gray was flying with Shamburger and was the first American to go down, in the water. The B-26 piloted by Pete Ray and Leo Baker was the second, going down on land. Both airmen survived but were shot by Castro’s soldiers. Only Shannon returned in one piece. The Cuban exiles were unable to sustain the beachhead at the Bay of Pigs and surrendered to Castro’s forces.
The Bay of Pigs invasion failed because the air armada wasn’t used effectively. The plan required air superiority. We were supposed to bomb our targets continuously to prevent Castro from having anything to fly—and even if some of his aircraft survived, his runways were supposed to be so damaged that the aircraft wouldn’t be able to take off.
At Puerto Cabezas, we started to close things down. We had to turn in our Colt .45 automatic pistols, but we could keep the other items we’d been issued. Our baggage was searched at departure.
We returned to Florida in much the same manner we arrived, on a C-54. But the transport’s windows weren’t blacked out and it flew at a much higher altitude. We were reminded that the operation and our involvement in it were still top secret. We were to use the cover stories originally given us and had the name of a person with the Air Guard to contact in case we thought we were being watched or noticed something unusual. Otherwise, we were told to keep quiet and go on with our regular routines.
While I was in Puerto Cabezas, a Cuban technician I had been training came to my tent and told me he did not know my real name but he was going to tell me his, and if I was ever in Miami, I should contact him. “I want to give you something,” he told me. “It’s all I have to give.” He presented me with a brand-new G.I. winter coat. I told him how much I admired him and would gladly accept it.
Today, 50 years after the Bay of Pigs, I still have the coat. I could never tell him who I was—we had been warned that Castro might try to track us down if our real names were ever known. That Cuban technician was a real hero. I wish I knew what happened to him. At least he knew I cared.
James Storie as told to Allan T. Duffin
Comments (5)
Half-hearted intervention can be worse than taking no action at all -- imagine what could have happened, had the invasion taken place fully (it might have succeeded) or not taken place (better US-Cuban relations, and perhaps no Cuban Missile Crisis)!
Posted by Michel S. on March 17,2011 | 09:27 AM
Reference your May 2011, article Above and Beyond, Mission: Cuba. I was pleased to read the article because it solved a mystery for me. I was a Sergeant in the19th Special Forces Group, Utah National Guard and worked for the Utah Road Commission. We listened to President Kennedy’ speech, concerning Russian missiles in Cuba as we returned to the office from a day of surveying. When I arrived at home I had a phone call waiting for me telling me to go to Camp Williams (National Guard facility) and draw a duce and a half (2 ½ ton) truck. Then go over to the parachute rigger’s shed and load all our main and reserve parachutes (300+) and drive them to Hill Air Force Base (Next to Layton , Utah). When I arrived at Hill Field, there were armed guards everywhere, not only at the front gate but around base ops and on the flight line. A C-119 (flying boxcar-we called them “shakeys,”) was on the ramp with the clam shells open, and we backed up toe the plane and loaded the chutes. We were told they were headed to Florida. The mystery for me was the Douglas A-26’s all over the field. I thought I was seeing things. One of the guards told me they had just been brought out of moth balls. It wasn’t until I read the article about the A-26’s being used to bomb the airfields in Cuba that everything fell into place. I was later stationed at Readiness Command, later Special Operations Command at McDill AFB, and also spent time at Eglin (Hurlbert Field AFB), but could never get anyone to verify what had happened or where during crazy days of the missile crises. Appreciate if you could share this with the Articles' author, James Storie.
Mike Margetts COL(R) UTARNG
9585 Pendleton Way
South Jordan, Utah 84095
Posted by Mike Margetts on March 21,2011 | 06:52 PM
I was one of the Cuban pilots in the cockpits of those B26’s during the Bay of Pigs Invasion. USAF trained as part of Class 59-E in Reese AFB, Lubbock, Texas., along with Mat Farias, Lucio Garcia (KIA) and several other classmates.
How proud we were and still are of our brothers of the Alabama National Guard, that took our cause as theirs and disobeying orders took off into the skies to help us and some of them perished in the endeavor.
The gratitude and brotherhood love of this band of brothers will be there until the end of our lives and perhaps beyond.
Posted by Esteban L Bovo on March 28,2011 | 06:24 PM
While based at Davis-Montham AFB, AZ., I came to know a Cuban exile that had enlisted in the USAF. He confided many details about his family and life in Cuba before Castro ousted batista.
I will always remember the determination in his voice and the intense look in his eyes when he told me "If you ever hear of anything to do with taking out Castro, know that I will be there!".
I think of that interlude with him from time to time and wonder if he was true to his word - and if he was - did he survive.
Posted by A;l Sorensen on March 31,2011 | 06:44 PM
Hi James,
Thank you for the honour of using and crediting my photo of the Cuban Airforce Douglas B-26 Invader in you article. It was taken in 2002 at the Museo del Aire, La Habana, Cuba.
George,
Vancouver, British Columbia
Posted by George N. Teichrib on May 17,2013 | 02:59 AM