The ceremonial battalion awaits. They are young, very young, and they march impeccably.
At six o’clock the artillery salutes resound, as if to remind us that there is silence, because they sound louder, they move.
It’s also time to raise the flag. At half-mast, because it’s the moment of a great.
And then, the first lights. It is a calm dawn, cool as if to lull to sleep, because in the bosom of the Homeland, a good son is being sung a lullaby.
Upon leaving the Ministry of the Revolutionary Armed Forces, a friendly escort awaits, compañeros: Army Corps Generals, Leopoldo Cintra Frías, Joaquín Quintas Solá and Ramón Espinosa Martín.
The silence is interrupted with the cry of “Attention!” It’s just after seven on another November 30. It seems that the pages of Cuban history like coincidences, to ensure nothing is forgotten.
Two soldiers carry the treasure, wrapped in the flag of the solitary star, contained within cedar wood, and in gold letters a name is confirmed: Fidel Castro Ruz. A glass urn is placed on top to protect the remains.
Behind them comes Raúl, the brother, the compañero, the family that arrives at the farewell before the departure toward eternity. Also there are friends in the struggle.
The gun carriage that will carry the ashes is dressed with white flowers. The soldiers, as if caressing it, place the urn. The friendly escort is already in position. The command is to mount. And they start moving.
Hundreds of kilometers await ahead, recalling in reverse the Freedom Caravan that then celebrated the triumph. And triumphantly he returns to Santiago, to be close to Martí.
The journey begins first toward the square, then a city, another, the whole of Cuba… Then begins the infinite cry of “Viva!” and “Glory!” to Fidel, to Alejandro, the man who became a people.