It was a kill shot, executed with the marksmanship of a U.S. Army soldier trained for war with an unseen enemy. Sgt. Salvador Bonilla is hunting on the reef, kicking over coral outcrops and swooping down tight canyons of fire coral like an F15 on a bombing run. He holds to the cover tightly, a dark shadow at around 50 feet, darting between shoals of parrot fish with silent, deadly intent. He fins with a rhythmic, unwavering pulse. The wheeze from his regulator is kept to a minimum. His spear gun, with its deadly five foot shaft cocked with three thick rubber bands, is held out in front of him like a revolver. On land it would fire the spear a good hundred meters. Underwater at 15 feet it would drive a hole through tough shark hide with ease.
Hugging a finger of coral, beyond which the reef dropped off to cloudy blue sand and a ghostly nothingness, his prey swims into his peripheral vision from the right. A grouper, 20 to 30 pounds, noses along the reef, hunting. Bonilla stops kicking, lets the fish pull ahead, and then holding his breath and halting the stream of bubbles from his regulator, beats a silent pursuit. Just as the big black eyes in the grouper's skull begin to pivot, registering a survival instinct, Bonilla squeezes the trigger. There's a watery clink and then a "fssskkk" as the spear rockets from the gun and streams like a torpedo to its mark. The spear drives through the fish's brain. Stone dead, it upends and sinks to a coral shelf with the weight of the spear. Blood trails from its side, a green smoke dissipating in the water.
JONATHAN GREENSpearfishing has become a passion for military personnel stationed at Guantanamo.
We grab our dinner, swim back northward as far as the air in our scuba tanks will allow and then surface, unloading our guns at one of the most controversial places on earth.
WELCOME TO GUANTANAMO BAY
The U.S. Naval base at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, is home to hundreds of U.S. prisoners and the 10,000 military personnel who are there to guard them. It is a controversial place – the name itself can spark fierce political debate – and the base itself is a forbidding sight from the ocean. We swim back, past an eroded bluff atop of which sits Camp Iguana, a compound encircled by green wire. To the left is a white observation tower, or MOP (Military Observation Post). A Marine patrols the outer perimeter with an Alsatian the size of a small bear.
As we near Windmill Beach, a group of GI's are shooting hoops at sunset to the rap of Lil' John's 'Get Low,' which blasts from a stereo nearby. They are tuned to Blitz 101, Guantanamo Bay's radio station, which broadcasts segments of rap, country and classic rock round the clock. A few sun-bleached palm and seagrape trees wave in the fresh salty air. A humvee with a 50 caliber machine gun mounted on a turret crawls past.
It's an oppressive atmosphere, yet the only battle around here is with boredom. There is no escape from the dusty, barren scrub landscape for R&R, certainly not in Cuba. The only respite is the ocean. Thus, Bonilla like many GIs on the base, dive and spearfish every day. Here thousands of soldiers normally landlocked on dusty army bases around the world, fresh from the hell of war in Iraq and Afghanistan, scuba dive. As such, tales of wrestling big fish up from the deep has become a Guantanamo Bay tradition.
"Diving is the only thing that has kept my sanity while I have been here," says Bonilla, slinging his grouper over his shoulder.
He proceeds to show me why.
'DRINK AND SLEEP'
We head up the road, past two heavily manned checkpoints with staggered orange concrete blocks. Beyond is a makeshift complex. On one side of the track is Camp Delta, known to soldiers as "The Wire." Inside are suspected Al Quaeda members from places like Afghanistan and Iraq. There are four perimeters, bristling with razor wire and guard towers made from plywood, some draped with American flags. At night the lights are so bright it's like daylight. Over the entrance a sign reads "Honor Bound to Defend Freedom."
