I was in Playa Girón [Bay of Pigs] like thousands of Cubans who had the privilege of living those heroic days in the defense of the socialist Revolution, with weapons in our hands, confronting imperialist aggression against our people.

I had the advantage of having participated in the war of liberation against the dictatorship and had some combat experience acquired during the guerrilla war; nevertheless, today I remember how the number of casualties we were suffering impressed me.

Progress was very difficult. Every meter of terrain was conquered at the cost of valuable lives, young soldiers with no combat experience at all, but with an enormous desire to defend, at any price, the already proclaimed socialist Revolution.

The 'old-timers' were there, too. Captain Luis Carbó Ricardo died there, while leading his men. He was the older brother of Sergio Eugenio, Papiro, who had died fighting in Guanina, Mayarí, wearing the glorious uniform of the Rebel Army, December 31, 1958, one of the bravest soldiers in Pedro Sotto Alba Company B of the José Tey Column 19, whom I had the privilege of leading in the Frank País Second Eastern Front and who was mortally wounded on the last day of the war of liberation.

On Wednesday, April 19, at 5:30 pm, our tank tracks reached the shores of Playa Girón. That night the forces were reorganized to repel a possible landing of U.S. troops – we could see their fleet from the coastline – and to clear all the surrounding area of enemies. We were able to eat something thanks to the support of the Revolutionary National Police battalion which, led by Comandante Efigenio Ameijeiras, was the first to reach Girón.

I slept there; there were two dead mercenaries in the same house. Accompanying me was the Soviet military journalist Yury Gaidar, who had insisted to me, from the moment that we left the Presidential Palace in response to President Osvaldo Dorticós Torrado's orders to move to the zone of operations in the southern part of Matanzas, that he wanted to be in the front line of battle.

At dawn, the Comandante en Jefe reached Girón. With him were Gamonal, Abraham Maciques, Santiago Castro, Seoane and the rest of his entourage. He asked for Pardito (Captain Joel Pardo) and his tanks. Captain Jorge García Cartaya responded by starting the motors of the T-34's. I told him that Fidel wanted the tanks on the coastal road from Girón to Cienfuegos; I noticed that the Comandante had already mounted some bazookas on his three Oldsmobiles and, without waiting for anybody, was taking off in that direction. Without losing a minute, I ran to my car to catch up with him.

A group of us – including the captains Paco Cabrera, Gregorio Junco and Rey Insula, Rebel Army Sergeant Jacinto Toledo, with members of Column 1, who had been fighting tooth and nail under the command of Captain Harold Ferrer; police from Comandante Samuel Rodiles’ valiant battalion; as well as militia, among whom I saw 'old'

Fernando Aceña, the legendary Cuban boxer, and Rolando Rubio, the judo champion, firmly holding their Czech machineguns – managed to pass Fidel while he was adjusting the bazookas so that, at a 54- degree angle, they would fire into the wetlands where the mercenaries had taken refuge as they fled.

We advanced rapidly, trying to make time and prevent the mercenaries from reorganizing and also trying to get ahead of the Comandante en Jefe, who was fearlessly following us, right on our heels.

During the advance, we frequently came upon groups of mercenaries, who we captured after exchanging a few furious shots. We continued this way, having skirmishes and encountering quick battles.

Suddenly, we hit a group which put up more resistance and the firing began. We were right in the middle of the road, they, in the scrub brush, camouflaged. I opened fire with my FAL, from my waist toward where they were hiding, counting the shots I took.

During the war of liberation, we chose the time and places in which to fight. In those days, I only had two clips for my machine gun, so when I went into a battle, I would strap them together with adhesive tape and while firing with one, could fill the other.

I had a FAL at this point and eight cartridges in the magazine, but "what is well learned is not forgotten" and, just like in the days of the Second Front, I was keeping track of the number of shots as I fired, while I moved away from the road toward the ditch, to reload in a less dangerous spot and avoid giving myself up as an easy target.