JULY 10, 1952
HAVANA, CUBA
"So it's the same deal, just under a different name?""Entonces, ¿es el mismo trato pero con diferente nombre?" The newly-installed President following the coup, Fulgencio Batista, raised an eyebrow.
The man he was sat in front of — quite the gaunt specimen — smiled the toothiest grin he had ever seen. Though he almost instinctually recoiled, Batista was able to stop himself.
"Correct. The Foundation has taken over ASCI interests in Cuba. Our interests here are largely the same. That being said, I would like to talk to you about building a facility on your island."Sí, señor presidente. La Fundación ha asumido los intereses de la IACS en Cuba. Dicho esto, me gustaría charlar con usted sobre la construcción de una instalación en su isla."
"Sure,"Por su puesto," Batista shrugged, sipping at his rum. "Though I was hoping we could use this opportune meeting to discuss the founding of a Cuban-controlled anomalous organization. The world is growing bigger and bigger, and as great as our partnership has been, I don't want to be left behind.""Aunque esperaba que pudiéramos aprovechar esta oportuna reunión para hablar sobre la fundación de una organización anómala controlada por Cuba, el mundo crece cada vez más, y por muy buena que haya sido nuestra colaboración, no quiero quedarme atrás."
The gaunt man took a drag of the cigar the President had gifted him. A breeze flowed through the upper decks of the Havana Presidential Palace, carrying with it the scent of ropa vieja being cooked somewhere nearby. The sounds of the busy city below carried above.
"I assure you, President Batista, that our interests completely align. The Foundation will take care of you.""Le aseguro, presidente Batista, que nuestros intereses coinciden plenamente. La Fundación se ocupará de usted."
"And these interests Mister — sorry, I am atrocious at German names. But yes, these interests, do they still encompass finding that man?""Y estos intereses, señor… lo siento, soy un desastre con los nombres alemanes. Pero sí, estos intereses, ¿aún incluyen encontrar a ese hombre?"
"You can call me Fritz. And yes. We still aim to locate that man who eluded capture in Santiago all those years ago.""Puedes llamarme Fritz. Y sí, señor presidente. Seguimos buscando a ese hombre que evitó la captura en Santiago hace tantos años.""
"I mean no offense, Fritz, but why are you chasing an old man? Surely he is dead by now. What value can one life possibly have to the Foundation's operations?""Sin ánimo de ofender, Fritz, pero ¿por qué persigues a un anciano? Seguro que ya está muerto. ¿Qué valor puede tener una sola vida para las operaciones de la Fundación?""
Fritz merely smiled once more.
"Through the occult, anything is possible, Mister President.""A través de lo oculto todo es posible, señor Presidente."
JULY 13, 1953
CIUDAD DE MÉXICO, MÉXICO
"Scheiße."
"Shit."
"Mierda."
The giftschreiber, wearing a new face, mumbled to himself after accidentally dropping his cup of coffee. He didn't bother bending over to clean up his mess. One of the waitstaff would do it for him. Sidestepping the mess, he walked forward into his room as the scent of coffee filled the air. The hacienda he had been sequestered into by the Insurgents was comfortable, but he had been out of commission for far too long. It wasn't that his machinations were falling apart — far from it. It was more that he had been in this stasis for so long that the ASCI had been allowed to basically conquer Cuba twice over. In the end, it wouldn't matter, however. The day of liberation would soon come upon the world at large.
The room was mostly empty, with a few collected knick knacks here and there, but very few in the ways of personal belongings. The giftschreiber was a man of few things, but one of those things was the precious cargo he had looted from Santiago de Cuba nearly half a century ago.
Though he was aware that the Foundation and the Global Occult Coalition had emerged from the ashes of the latest Occult War, he was not yet familiar with their methodology. He knew the new generation of Insurgents he worked with loathed them both, particularly the Foundation. He did not know why, and frankly, it didn't matter. His alliance with the Insurgents was merely one of convenience.
A thin smile on his face, he looked upon the chest which contained the treasure he had looted all those years ago. It had remained silent for a long time, but this was to be expected. The future wasn't decided in days, but rather over lifetimes. Lifetimes he could afford to expend. Then, he heard it. It stirred, for the first time in years, it stirred.
The Engine would speak to him again soon.
JULY 26, 1953
SANTIAGO, CUBA
Chief Colonel Alberto del Rio Chaviano nearly fell out of his bed at the sound of gunfire outside his private quarters in the officer's lodging of the Moncada Barracks.
He was no stranger to this sound. He had heard it hundreds, if not thousands of times before. What was troubling about this sound was the timing — it was roughly 5 AM. The on-site alarm followed shortly after the gunfire, and then, there was a loud crash. The Chief Colonel leaped into action, grabbing his rifle before kicking his door down. Dozens of men, half-dressed but armed, were scrambling around in the hallway. He stopped one.
"What the hell is going on, soldier?""¿Qué carajo está pasando, soldado?"
"We're under attack, sir!""¡Estamos bajo ataque, señor!" The soldier replied, wide-eyed.
"Of course we are, you moron. I meant — Oh, forget it. I'll find out myself.""Claro que sí, imbécil. Quise decir… Ah, olvídalo. Lo averiguaré yo mismo." Chaviano spat, shoving the soldier aside and marching down the stairs into the courtyard.
The floodlights up on all of the watchtowers had been trained on the entrance to the barracks, illuminating the carnage. The gates had been plowed open by a car, the particular culprit laid just ahead with two corpses in it. Three more vehicles had poured into the courtyard and were functioning as cover for their assailants in blue, while a handful of them were out in the open firing at anyone they saw.
Chaviano ducked behind the doorway to stay out of sight. He readied his weapon and peeked the corner, spotting one of the men in blue approaching, signaling for others to follow him. Three by his count. Before he could jump out and mow them down he heard the roaring of helicopter blades flying above. He could hear the men screaming in a panic, to which he peeked the corner again only to spot a fireball descending from the heavens and reducing them to ashes.
"Retreat!""¡Retrocedan! a voice screamed out. The barrack's assailants quickly thinned out into the nearby jungle as several other fireballs descended upon the attackers from above, leaving behind the smell of burning flesh and lighting up the sky.
Chaviano emerged from his hiding spot as the helicopter touched down in the open lot of the barracks. He spotted a three-pronged logo on the tail of the transport and on the uniforms of the men who poured out of it. It was that American group that the President had spoken so charitably of. One of the men who had disembarked from the helicopter approached him.
"Who is in charge here?""¿Quién manda aquí? the man asked.
"Me. Chief Colonel Alberto del Rio Chaviano. How did you know to come?""Yo. Coronel Jefe Alberto del Río Chaviano. ¿Cómo sabían que debían venir?"
"Prophecy,""Profecía, the man replied matter-of-factly.
"Very funny. You Americans think you're hilarious, but I know you're a bunch of glory-hounds. You'll stop at nothing to—""Muy gracioso. Ustedes los americanos se creen divertidísimos, pero sé que son unos buscadores de gloria. No se detendrán ante nada para…" Chaviano roared.
"Sir, the Foundation will not seek to claim credit for what transpired here tonight. You will be properly commended to President Batista for fighting off the attackers. In fact, you will not even remember we were here.""Señor, la Fundación no se atribuirá el mérito de lo ocurrido aquí esta noche. Recibirá elogios del presidente Batista por combatir a los atacantes. De hecho, ni siquiera recordará que estuvimos aquí.
EE-0726
Event Description: A plotted attack on the Moncada Barracks by 136 local communist rebels opposed to Cuban President Batista occurring at 5:15 AM local time across all observable timelines, which would endanger Foundation operations in the area for the foreseeable future.
Date of Occurrence: 26/07/1953
Location: Santiago de Cuba, Cuba
Follow-up Actions Taken: Area-305 Director Robert Noble ordered a detachment of forces dispatched to the Moncada Barracks to fend off the rebels. Responding forces administered Class-B amnestics to all individuals present, and created a falsified report that overseeing Chief Colonel Chaviano successfully rebuked the attack.
Currently, the involvement of PoI-005, "The Engineer", is suspected.
Effects of repelling the attack remain unknown, Temporal Anomalies Division remains unresponsive.
OCTOBER 6, 1953
SANTIAGO, CUBA
Memories of that fateful night had been haunting him. No matter how hard he tried, he could not forget. No matter how hard those strange Americans tried, they could not make him forget. They fed him all sorts of bitter pills and snake oils trying to make him forget, but he just not, could not, would not forget.
The young man sat at the trial, waiting for his turn to speak. It had been a long time coming, but he knew what was going to happen. He knew what would happen from the moment he first picked up a gun and opposed the government last year. Despite knowing what was going to happen to him now, he did not, however, know what was going to happen to him moving forward. Life had a funny way of working out like that. He and his brother had found that out recently, what with the failed attack.
The room fell silent. It was his turn to speak. The young man got up.
"Never has a lawyer had to practice his profession under such difficult conditions; never has such a number of overwhelming irregularities been committed against an accused man," "Nunca un abogado ha tenido que ejercer su oficio en tan difíciles condiciones: nunca contra un acusado se había cometido tal cúmulo de abrumadoras irregularidades," he began, fiery and full of fervor. As he spoke, some of the wives and mothers of his other accused men grew teary-eyed, knowing damn well the young man would be going down on this particular hill.
He spoke for a long time, the entire time remembering the magic he had been witness to on that fateful night. Men palming fire as if they were baseballs, tossing them down casually from their helicopters. His co-conspirators forgetting everything they had seen. Only he and his brother remained mindful of what had happened. It was terrifying. He had lied through the skin of his teeth to save his own hide, telling them that after a few extra rounds of pills and snake oil, he agreed with their recollection of events from that night. Finally, his speech came to a close.
"I know that imprisonment will be harder for me than it has ever been for anyone, filled with cowardly threats and hideous cruelty. But I do not fear prison, as I do not fear the fury of the miserable tyrant who took the lives of 70 of my comrades. Condemn me. It does not matter. History will absolve me." "En cuanto a mí, sé que la cárcel será dura como no la ha sido nunca para nadie, preñada de amenazas, de ruin y cobarde ensañamiento, pero no la temo, como no temo la furia del tirano miserable que arrancó la vida a setenta hermanos míos. Condenadme, no importa, La historia me absolverá."
Fidel Alejandro Castro Ruz was then charged with armed insurrection and trying to overthrow the government.
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Museo_de_la_Revoluci%C3%B2n_05.jpg
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Zocalo_1940s.jpg
https://www.flickr.com/photos/marika_bortolami/13748772965/
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Palacio_provincial_Santiago_de_Cuba_05.jpg
