I have already mentioned that on weekends, we, the officers of the regiment’s management, would go to the beach for relaxation. The Cubans were also there relaxing. Relaxation is relaxation, and we drank beer, and perhaps someone left empty beer bottles behind. Whether it was our officers or the Cubans who left them, no one really checked.

At the next party meeting, the agenda was quite serious: “The tasks of the regiment’s communists in providing international assistance to Cuban comrades in mastering combat technology.” According to the agenda, the discussion was supposed to focus on how the training of the Cubans on our combat equipment was going in various party organizations. The speaker was the head of the regiment’s political department, Communist Gevorkyan. Given the importance of the agenda, the head of the division’s political department, Colonel Danilevich G.R., was also present. The agenda was supposed to address how we train the Cubans, where it’s going well, where it’s not, and what needs to be done to improve the training process. But the issue had to be understood. Instead, the speaker, after general phrases about the importance of fulfilling the international task of training the Cubans, launched a devastating critique of our officers. The main point of this so-called report was that the Cubans are more cultured and conscious than our officers because they do not leave beer bottles on the beach. Of course, there is no dispute that one should not leave bottles on the beach; it’s bad. But it’s hardly at the level of beer bottles that the culture of a people is determined.

When my superior finished his speech, I asked to speak. I started by saying that the head of the political department was obliged to coordinate his report with us, the workers of the political department, since his report was made on behalf of the political department. He did not coordinate the report with us, the workers of the political department, and therefore he was only expressing his own understanding of the situation. As a communist, I cannot agree that our Soviet person is less cultured, less educated than a Cuban. We, members of the most advanced party in the world, who came to Cuba to fulfill our international duty, we, representatives of the world’s first socialist state, are some kind of barbarians compared to the Cubans, who only yesterday were freed from American imperialism. My speech was like thunder out of a clear sky. The comrade speaker had nothing to say in response.

After the meeting, the head of the division’s political department, along with my superior, came to my tent. I think that Colonel Danilevich, understanding my state, did not summon me to his office but came to me. I fully understood that to a certain extent, I had been hot-headed. But people were already wound up by the uncertainty of our situation, had been away from their families for a long time, and did not know when they would return to their families, having just experienced one of the sharpest crises in human history. And at the same time, they were being criticized for leaving beer bottles on the beach; it’s not good, but that was not the main issue according to the party meeting’s agenda. The head of the division’s political department agreed with some points of my speech and expressed the thought that I should have said all this to my superior one-on-one, not at the meeting. From this, one could guess how the chief began to treat me, but honestly, I was not afraid of that.

Several years later, he did get his revenge. After returning from Cuba, I ended up in Baku in a regiment that was directly subordinate to the district. And this grey mediocrity, also after Cuba, ended up in the Baku Air Defense District as an inspector of the political administration of the district. So, he came to check my work in the summer of 1966. The outcome was known in advance. He couldn’t really bite me, as my superiors saw my work. Unfortunately, there were too many like Gevorkyan in political worker positions. But that’s a topic for another discussion.

In the summer of 1963, officers who had certain reasons could submit a report requesting to return to the Union. On the one hand, I didn’t want to leave Cuba. Here I started my service as a regimental propagandist, which was very interesting to me. My work here was in high demand. Here I made friends with many officers. Here I had many interesting encounters. I felt that here we were at the peak of contemporary historical events. Besides, I served near the city of Santiago. The city of Santiago is as significant to Cuba as Leningrad, now St. Petersburg, is to us. On July 26, 1953, it was here in Santiago de Cuba, territorio libre de América, that Fidel Castro and his associates began their uprising against the Batista regime. Fidel, with his squad, attacked the Moncada barracks early in the morning on July 26. He wanted the soldiers quartered in the Moncada barracks to join the rebels, but it didn’t happen. Fidel and his supporters fled to the Sierra Maestra mountains. Fidel was arrested and sent to the Isle of Pines, which is somewhat similar to our Siberia. In 1955, under public pressure, Batista was forced to release Fidel and his associates. Fidel and his comrades emigrated to Mexico. There in Mexico, Fidel organized military training with the help of a Mexican general. It was also there that he met a 25-year-old Argentine, Che Guevara, who became his close friend and associate. In 1957, the entire small band of rebels, numbering 82 people, boarded the leisure yacht “Granma,” which could normally accommodate 12 people, and headed for the shores of Cuba. The yacht “Granma” was heading for the shores of the “Oriente” province. On the day of the rebels’ landing in the city of Santiago, one of Fidel Castro’s associates, Frank País, was supposed to organize a demonstration to distract the attention of the coast guard and ensure the safe landing of Fidel’s squad. But due to a storm at sea and the fact that the overloaded yacht could not maneuver freely, the yacht could not arrive at the agreed time. The yacht arrived on the shores of Cuba several days after the agreed time. Frank País’s demonstration was suppressed. The coast guard prepared to meet the yacht “Granma.” And of the 82 members of Fidel’s squad, only 12 people broke through to the Sierra Maestra mountains. The 12 barbudos. The 12 bearded ones. It is said that Fidel vowed not to shave his beard until complete victory. So he remained bearded.

The guerrilla war against the Batista regime began in the Sierra Maestra mountains in 1957. On January 1, 1959, Fidel’s troops entered Havana. Batista fled. Initially, America did not pay attention to another “scuffle” in Latin America. There are about ten such “scuffles” in Latin America every year. But when Fidel began to nationalize large capital, including American capital, they started to stir. At first, they wanted to buy Fidel, as they now buy some leaders from the CIS countries. Fidel did not sell out. Then America imposed an economic blockade on Cuba, and only timely assistance from the Soviet Union saved the Cuban revolution.

While carrying out the revolution, Fidel was far from Marxism-Leninism. I have already said that the spiritual leader for the progressive youth of Cuba and, of course, for Fidel, was and remains José Martí. Fidel, like all revolutionary idealists, wanted to do good for everyone immediately, but unfortunately, these “good intentions” were mercilessly shattered by harsh reality. Unfortunately, I too have often heard from many “well-wishers” how they love the people and want good for the people. But when they come to power, their concept of “the people” narrows down to their relatives, friends, and necessary people. For this “people,” life indeed becomes good. As for the rest, they are just “ordinary people,” cattle. What to think about them? So, 20-30 million “ordinary people” will die. So what? There are many of them, aren’t there? But the rest, the necessary people, will live well. Even then, in 1962/63, a lot of good was planned for the ordinary people. Something was indeed done, but no fundamental change for the better occurred in the life of the ordinary Cuban people. America also bears some blame for the difficult situation of the Cuban people, as the economic blockade declared against Cuba in 1962 has not been lifted to this day. But no matter how hard America tries, it cannot bring the heroic Cuban people to their knees. Yes, I did not want to leave Cuba, but my wife, children, and studies outweighed, and I decided to return to the Union. Although somewhere, even now, I regret such a decision. Nevertheless, I am proud that in the most difficult days for the wonderful Cuban people, I was with them and was ready to fight for the freedom and independence of Cuba.

“Patria o muerte. Venceremos.” Homeland or death. We will win.

The “Caribbean Crisis” will go down in history as the most dangerous line to which humanity has approached. We were on the brink of the start of a thermonuclear war. The next war would have begun with a club. But no one was held responsible for the fact that, thanks to the adventurous politics of some leaders, the whole world was put on the brink of destruction.

On September 20, 1963, early in the morning, I left the regiment’s location in a cargo truck heading for Havana. A journey across the whole of Cuba lay ahead. I was saying goodbye to this beautiful island. On the second day, all of us leaving the island of freedom boarded the rather comfortable ship “Georgia.” I had no luggage with me, just my military uniform and a few seashells to give to loved ones. We sailed through the northern part of the Atlantic. Near the Azores, we encountered a storm. For the first time in my life, I saw how a huge ocean wave crashed onto the ship up to the very top deck. I showed signs of “seasickness.” A slight nausea. Indeed, many lay in their cabins unable to make it to the dining room. Ordinary mustard helped. It relieved the nausea. On October 8, the ship “Georgia” arrived in Leningrad. We, the military, changed into our uniforms. In Leningrad, we were detained for a few days while paperwork was processed and money was issued. I took this opportunity to visit the Piskaryovskoye Cemetery. And it just so happened that when I entered the cemetery, the local radio station was broadcasting the overture of my favorite opera by Z. Paliashvili, “Daisi,” the evening glow. The tender, sad sound of the clarinet and the thunderous rolls of the orchestra. I myself had lived through the war, and for me, those years were too heavy to say the least. But what I saw and heard at the Piskaryovskoye Cemetery shook me to the core of my soul. Neither Hitler nor Stalin can be forgiven for this.

Having received the money and documents, I left through Moscow to Kapustin Yar, where my wife and children had been waiting for me for over a year.

As the final chapter of this journey comes to a close, I hope it has resonated with you as much as it has with me. May the echoes of this tale inspire thoughts and conversations long after the last word is read. Thank you for joining me on this adventure.