Santa Domingo

[duns23]

July 28th, 1963

 

The noise outside the upturned car was deafening as President Jose Manuel Fernando Batista Alonso began to pull himself up from the roof of his car. He could hear screaming, gunfire, and the sound of the fleeing crowds that not two minutes ago lined the street to welcome him as President. Alonso tunred to see pieces of his wife next to him. Before time could allow him a moment to grieve, however, he was pulled from the car by his sultry, long black hair and into the full glare of the unforgiving Caribbean sun.

 

He struggled to make out a face against the light, but, eventually, he realised that the hardened, scarred face of Hiraldo Martinez was glaring down at him. Alonso knew he was about to die, and he looked around frantically to see that, most unhelpfully in view of his increasingly frantic dismay, his guards lay dead around him. 'Not bad Martinez' he managed to stutter. The communist smiled, a smile that chilled to the bone without making any fuss. He raised his AK-47, pushed it down Alonso's vile, capitalist throat, and shot.

 

Seeing round after round pumping into Alonso was exhilirating for Martinez. He had waited a long time for this. Without much difficulty, he tore the head from the body and raised it in the air. He could have sworn the eyes were still darting around as his comrades cheered their victory. But it wasn't over yet.

 

Scores of reinforcements met with Hiraldo's men as they climbed the steep hills of Santa Domingo. As they walked, shooting into the air, Bitanga, the capital, almost sang to them in praise of their accomplishment. As they reached Federation Square, the Congress building looming ahead of them, they saw that their comrades had already rounded up the Senators and Representatives.

 

And for the next ten minutes of his life, Hiraldo shot every one of them, squarely in the back of the head. Point blank range. Just like Papa Domingo had shown them all, over the years in the forests of Mount Prima. With disdain, Hiraldo spat at the foot of the Congress building, and made his way to his new home, the Presidential Palace.

 

Bitanga looked beautiful as Hiraldo swigged rum on his new balcony. The sun set slowly over the rich caribbean sea. But he couldn't help notice that the sun was sullen. It knew what had happened on Santa Domingo that day. It was almost warning Hiraldo of the hardships to come. He knew tomorrow he would have to deal directly with Kennedy. He knew the CIA were probably on the island already. And MI5. And no doubt the KGB. He sighed as he took another swig, and entered the bedroom to contemplate his victory.

[LanceVanceDance07]

I'm not normally on this part of the forums, but I like this story. Hiraldo looks like that typical revolutionary figure, fighting for what he believes.

[duns23]

August 3rd, 1963

 

It had been a week since Hiraldo Martinez had installed himself as the President of Santa Domingo. He gazed over Bitanga from his new favourite spot, the Presidential balcony. To look at the city, you would never guess that a week earlier there had been a war in the streets between the two greatest enemies of modern times. But, indeed, there had, and Hiraldo was still shocked by the ease of his revolution.

 

Kennedy had already been on the phone, with his typical, American style rantings about democracy and communism. Hiraldo had dismissed the most powerful man in the world without much regard, but deep down he was scared rigid of an American invasion.

 

'Mr. President, we fear neither you nor your armies. And with your country's election looming, surely you do not thing an incursion onto my island would benefit you?'

 

'You think me invading Santa Domingo would lose me an election? The only thing I'd need to do to win is to blow your brains out in Times Square then walk into Nathan's and buy a hot dog'.

 

He threw his bottle of rum over the side of the balcony in a moment of rage, and he heard it shatter as it landed in Federation Square, silently wishing it hadn't hit anybody.

 

***

 

Juanita Rodriguez was a battle axe. Plain and simple, there was no other description for her. She was feared and loved in equal measure throughout Bitanga and the outlying towns, but there was no doubt in anyone's mind that she was a vital necessity in the small Caribbean capital. She had inherited all three of the city's pharmacies, and her businesses were the only avaliable outlet for medicine on the island. She was a staunch capitalist, and she made it her business to inform everyone that she was going to make Hiraldo Martinez's life a living hell.

 

She was perhaps regretful of this when the country's new republican guard broke down her door one night. She was beaten in her own bed, and forced to watch her husband murdered in front of her. Her daughter, not yet twelve, was dragged into her bedroom, and Juanita's eyes were held open as each of the four guards raped the child. She had a black bag placed over her head, and was taken far away from her home to some unknown death in a very dark, very lonely section of the island.

 

As dawn broke over Bitanga, and the first shoppers of the day piled into Bitanga's small central shopping plaza, they noticed a sign they had never seen before. 'Rodriguez Pharmacies: Under New Management. Your Government Will Now Be Caring For You'.

 

[duns23]

November 23rd, 1963

 

Bitanga awoke this particular morning, much like the rest of the World, to the news that President Kennedy was dead. Hiraldo Martinez was saddened by this. He deeply respected Kennedy. Even though they were of two different worlds, he honestly believed that Kennedy had a certain respect for what Hiraldo had done on this island.

 

It was clear to everyone that Alonso had been elected with American help. After all, another Cuba was exactly what the Americans didn't want. Hiraldo predicted correctly, however, that on this day, as the world was reeling from shock, that he would hear from the Kremlin.

 

The headquarters of the Soviet Superstate had been surprisingly quiet since Hiraldo had taken power, he had expected to hear from them much sooner, but, at about 7 a.m., a call did indeed come through.

 

'President Martinez, this is Premier Khrushchev of the Soviet Union'.

 

'I had considered that you may have called today, amid the confusion over the shooting'.

 

'It is regretful that President Kennedy has left this world. He was a capitalist pig dog, but a fine one at that'.

 

'Indeed. What is it I can do for you Premier?'

 

'Simple. Allow the Soviet Union to place forces on your island'.

 

...

 

'I... I assume we will be compensated?'

 

'Of course. And you have the added knowledge that the United States will not risk an invasion of your island. Don't forget, Santa Domingo is one of the smallest Caribbean Islands. The US could overun it within a day'.

 

'I see your point. Allow me to consider this...'