Vince Houghton - Nuking the Moon - And Other Intelligence Schemes and Military Plots Left on the Drawing Board

Against his parents’ wishes, he joined a group forming in the Dominican Republic—the Anti-Communist Legion of the Caribbean. His father didn’t want him to go, saying, “You’re going to get yourself killed. We’re not going to sign your death warrant. We won’t have that on our conscience.” Felix was only seventeen, not old enough to legally sign up, so he forged his father’s signature (right in front of him, just to prove a point) and set off to kill communists.

He’d have to wait a while. While the Anti-Communist Legion did in fact invade Cuba in 1959, Felix wasn’t with them. His commander in the unit was also the father of his close friend Roberto and a friend of his parents. As Felix and his buddy jumped on the helicopter taking off for Cuba, his commander told him to get off, saying only one of them could go—in case the mission was a disaster, the commander couldn’t stand to lose both his son and the boy he thought of as a son. Felix was younger and had less military experience than Roberto, so it was an easy decision. And for Felix, a fortunate one. The mission was an unmitigated disaster. Castro knew they were coming, and all the soldiers were either killed or captured. Roberto was captured and spent the next twenty-eight years in Cuban custody.

After this fiasco, Felix returned to the United States to finish school, and then settled in Miami, the city his family—like so many other Cuban exile families—now called home. It wasn’t long before he began to hear rumblings and rumors about a U.S. government–backed force of Cuban exiles forming to take another run at the Castro regime. This, as we know, would become the ill-fated Bay of Pigs invasion in April 1961. The men who made up the 2506 Assault Brigade were determined to bring freedom back to their home island at whatever cost, and Felix wanted in.

He was eventually assigned to what was known as a “Grey Team,” organized to infiltrate into Cuba on the eve of the invasion to coordinate sabotage and guerrilla operations, in much the same way as the Office of Strategic Services or British Special Operations Executive worked with resistance forces during World War II. Sneak in, link up with resistance operatives/guerrillas, and support the broader invasion with sabotage and small-unit paramilitary attacks.

In the fall of 1960, the brigade was sent to Central America to train for the upcoming invasion. By the end of the year they had been fully immersed in Soviet and East European advanced weapons and equipment, a key skill for infiltration teams who would likely need to live and fight with whatever they could get their hands on. It was around this time, New Year’s 1961, that Felix had an idea. It wasn’t the most unique idea. I’m sure this thought had occurred to just about everyone in the 2506 Assault Brigade at one time or another. It wasn’t even a fully thought-out plan—just some whimsical musings. Hey, if I could sneak into Cuba and shoot Fidel Castro with a rifle, this whole thing would be over before it starts. Why not give it a go? What’s the worst that could happen?

Felix might not have been the first with this idea, but apparently he was the first to vocalize it to the American trainers (read: CIA) who were running the camps. He told his “plan” to the acting camp commander, a man they knew as Larry ( not his real name), and volunteered his services. Send me in to kill Fidel, and I’ll make all our problems go away.

It’s not clear, at least in my mind, if this was a real offer or just soldierly bravado. Lord only knows how many World War II special operators boasted to their buddies (or some girl), “Just get me close to Hitler and I’ll end this war tomorrow.” Sure, pal, sure you will.

Of course, Felix claims he was dead serious… in his memoir written more than two decades after the event. What else would you expect him to say? “I was joking that I could single-handedly end this thing with a single bullet, but then the silly Americans took me up on it?” Not likely.

But then again, maybe he was serious from the beginning. I’ve met the man on several occasions. He’s dedicated and resolute. He’s a force to be reckoned with. I wouldn’t put it past him.

In the end it really didn’t matter if he meant it. The CIA was ready to send him in. In January 1961, Felix and a friend were flown to Miami to link up with another Cuban, who would serve as the team’s radio operator. In Miami, he also got his rifle, and it was love at first sight. “What a weapon it was,” he writes, “a beautiful German bolt-action rifle with a powerful telescopic sight, all neatly packed in a custom-made padded carrying case.” He wouldn’t even need to sight the rifle (adjust it to ensure a straight shot), since it had already been zeroed for him. “Apparently the resistance had obtained a building in Havana facing a location that Castro frequented at the time, and they’d managed to presight the rifle.”

Felix and his team were then sent to Homestead, Florida, a sleepy town just south of Miami, to await the boat that would take them to Cuba. They were put up in what Felix thought might be an old motel, with a pool where the team practiced paddling the rubber rafts they’d use to get from their mother ship to the Cuban shoreline. The obvious gravity of the situation aside, there’s something about picturing these three Cuban men, full of machismo, sitting in a rubber dinghy in a swimming pool, paddling their butts off like they are invading the beaches of Normandy, that makes me laugh. (Sorry. Felix, that’s just funny.)

Once it was time for the mission, they drove down to the Keys to a predetermined location near the shore. As if in a spy movie, the team was instructed to blink their headlights. This would signal a small boat to come ashore, pick them up, and bring them to the ship that would carry them the ninety miles to Cuba.

Also straight out of the movies was their transport ship. This was no clunker steamer used for transporting questionable goods under the radar. No, this was a luxury yacht—apparently owned by John F. Kennedy’s brother-in-law and founding director of the Peace Corps, Sargent Shriver—with air-conditioning, leather seats, and wood-paneled cabins. James Bond would have felt right at home. The captain was an American, likely a CIA contractor, but the crew was made up of tough-looking anticommunist Ukrainians with captured Soviet Bloc weapons. A motley crew indeed.

The yacht was scheduled to meet up with a Cuban boat at a secret location near Varadero Beach—a smart idea, since Felix knew the area well from his childhood. That boat would take them to members of the anti-Castro resistance, who would drive the team to Havana, put them up in a safe house, and then, when the time was right, move them to the room from which they’d take out Fidel.

Then they would try to escape. Best of luck with that. You’ve just shot Fidel Castro in downtown Havana. It’s likely you are not going anywhere.

But according to Felix, escape was the furthest thing from their minds. Sure, this might be more of that famous Cuban machismo, but Rodriguez was adamant: “The truth is that escape meant very little to us. We were young, committed, and idealistic enough to try anything.” Suicide mission or not, it was worth it.

“Three timesmy friends and I tried to infiltrate Cuba with that damn rifle, and three times we failed.”

I guess I just spoiled the ending. Sorry about that, but unless you’ve been living under a rock for the last seventy years, you already know that Felix and his team didn’t assassinate Castro in early 1961.

Why not? The plan was simple enough, the men were trained and motivated, the location was scouted, the resistance was ready, and the rifle was oh so sexy.