Invasion

The invasion of Costa Rica began in a matter of hours after President Jose Figueres had called upon the Organization of American States for help. Under a waning moon, a band of armed Costa Rican exiles landed before dawn from two planes at Villa Quesada (pop. 3,500), 40 miles from the Nicaraguan border. About the same time several hundred invaders, afoot or in small boats, moved into the cattle land on the Nicaraguan border near La Cruz. It was a daring challenge to the O.A.S., recognized peacekeeper of the Americas. But early this week, O.A.S. was resolutely measuring up.

O.A.S. first rushed a five-nation investigating team to Costa Rica. In San Jose, bank clerks and teachers pulled on volunteer reserve uniforms with panther-head shoulder patches; under command of the Minister of Public Works, they took off through the picture-book coffee country in trucks and jeeps. Stalking through Villa Quesada's shuttered streets, they retook the place, capturing 20 insurgents.

Raiders & Rebels. The air war also began with a light jab and counterpunch. A twin-engined fighter swept San Jose the day after the invasion, chipping up the sidewalks; nine other towns were strafed, but no one was injured. Lacking fighters of her own, Costa Rica mounted a machine gun in the cargo door of a commercial DC-3 and sent the transport lumbering into the air in futile pursuit.

In Managua, Teodoro Picado, the Costa Rican President that Figueres toppled in 1948 and since then the ward of Nicaragua's President Anastasio ("Tacho") Somoza, readily admitted that the attackers were headed by his son Teodoro Jr., a 1951 graduate of West Point. It was an open secret that anti-Figueres expatriates had been training on Somoza's roomy estates for months. Geography indicated, moreover, that the air raiders came from one of Nicaragua's bases. For the record, however, Somoza emphatically denied it.

Dishwashing & Diplomacy. Costa Rica went to war with zooming spirits to fight what Figueres called "the unhappy mercenaries from Nicaragua." Boy Scouts took over traffic direction to set the cops free, and the Civil Guard freely handed out Mausers and officers' commissions (instead of pay) to the volunteers. The President's U.S. -born wife Karen lent a hand with the dishwashing at the general staff headquarters mess, and President Figueres himself broadcast a heads-up message to the people: "We don't scare with the splattering of bullets."

To try to heal the breach of peace, the O.A.S. used energy, speed and a historic new tool: armed observation planes supplied by the U.S. Navy from the Canal Zone. Sent on the sole authority of the U.S., such police planes would have been unthinkable Yankee intervention, but the O.A.S. as an international body was able with heightened prestige to accept the offer of Assistant Secretary of State Henry Holland, U.S. Latin American affairs chief. Flying over rebel territory, the investigation commission learned enough to dispose firmly of Somoza's claim that his country had nothing to do with the invasion. They reported that "a substantial part of the [rebel] war materiel was introduced over [Costa Rica's] northern border." Figueres leaped at the logical opening: If that were so, would the O.A.S. supply Costa Rica with weapons?

The investigators were considering the request when another event took the decision out of their hands. The rebels sent out a P47 Thunderbolt that impudently buzzed an O.A.S. observer plane and went on to bomb and strafe the town of Liberia. At the same time, invaders' infantry and Figueres' volunteers met in a clash just north of Liberia. A few hours later, at 2 o'clock one morning this week, the council met again in emergency session and grimly voted to ask the U.S. to sell Costa Rica four P-51 Mustang fighters. That afternoon the planes were winging toward Costa Rica from Texas. Next problem for the O.A.S.: would that be enough to put out the fire?

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