"I know that, sir."
"We don't move a goddamn muscle until we're told to."
"Yes, sir."
Sam Carter picked out the same star again, cautiously selecting his next words. He often worked that way when he was serious, and tonight he wanted to make a point. His blue baseball cap was in his lap and the moon reflected vaguely on his bald head. Carter was one of those men who lost his hair early, and in his late thirties he had already had ten years to get used to the reddish fringe that grew around his head. It never really bothered him and at no time had he even considered the old ploy of growing it long on one side and sweeping it across his head. He was short, too, about five and a half feet tall, but that hadn't particularly bothered him either. Size wasn't important in the Navy. It hadn't seemed to concern his wife, and he had accomplished so much in his short career that most professional acquaintances probably couldn't have remembered how tall he was. His sharp, dark eyes commanded his face whether he was laughing at a party or angrily chewing out a subordinate. But he never did or said anything without thinking about it first, and he wasn't about to now.
Finally, his thoughts in order, he said, "David." Carter pushed himself upright in the bridge chair and turned to look the young man directly in the eyes. "You're now a naval officer. A lot of money has been spent on putting you through Annapolis and graduating a young man who will learn to make the right decisions in a time of crisis. Often, the decisions you make will be based on orders from Washington, from people who don't know you and don't want to know you because they might hesitate to give those orders if they did. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"Yes, sir. You don't want me to say anything more."
Carter's eyes looked back at his, glistening in the dark night. "More than that, David. Jorge Melendez is a soldier of his country, and that's how he will act when he goes ashore. You are an American sailor, and this may be the time you'll be hurt if you don't stand back a little. I know you've gotten attached to Jorge. This is your first real combat assignment, and I want you to carry it out without the emotional concern that you're worrying about now. I like Jorge, too. He's a very brave man. I'd like to march into Havana behind him, but my place is on the bridge of the Bagley. Yours will be in a whaleboat five hundred-yards off the beach, trying to help Jorge march into Havana. But," and he pointed his finger at a place above David's head, "you must remember whom you work for." The finger turned around and pointed at his own chest. "Me."
"I understand what you're saying, Captain."
"Good. Go below to your bunk and get some sleep if you can."
David did go below, but he found Melendez in the wardroom, and he spent time drinking coffee and talking with the man about his home outside of Havana, and how much he wanted to take his family back. And then, before they both tried to sleep, they went over the plans for the hundredth time. They discussed the circuits they would use, the primary one for calling in fire, and the secondary one if they lost contact. They went over each of the words again in English that were new to Melendez, so there would be no mistaking what he wanted when he called David. Then they went to their bunks and slept fitfully.
Nothing was going right. David.saw through his binoculars how the landing party almost made the tree line, only to fall back from what was probably machine-gun fire. That's when Jorge had first called him. "Goddamn, David. What are they waiting for? I need a couple of well-placed shells. That's all. They just have fifty calibers now, and we can move in if you'll help." He had said that word—you. David could do nothing but watch.
He called the Bagley. "Captain, Jorge says he can move his men into safety if we can just hit those machine guns."
"I can see that, David," came the response.
"Just five shots, Captain. One gun. I'll have you on target after the first two." He paused. "They're being torn apart, sir."
"Remember what I said, David." The voice was firm, and David remembered.
Overhead, well offshore and at a high, safe altitude, the 82nd Airborne sat on benches in full battle gear while the huge aircraft that carried them circled a preplanned point in the sky. David looked at the armada beginning a few thousand yards away. Squadrons of fast little destroyers, old ones like the Bagley and new ones with missiles pointed skyward, steamed back and forth in neat squares. Behind them were the amphibians, ungainly ships with holds full of marines, tanks, trucks, food, and ammunition. He could see three cruisers set farther back, because their giant guns could throw larger shells greater distances to cause more devastation. And, out beyond the two small carriers they had escorted down the Atlantic coast, he could see the huge island of the Enterprise, whose planes could clear a path to safety for Jorge and his men in a few short minutes.
Up and down the beach he had seen the same thing happening to Jorge's comrades, the race up the beach toward the trees, the faltering as more men began to fall, the regrouping as they came together in their retreat, and then another race up the beach. David was sure some of them hardly had the chance to fire their own guns. Amid the chaos, Jorge was quiet and his calmness deceptive. "David, can you tell me what your captain has said?"
David could only explain what he was told.
"If we don't get support soon, they will have time to bring up their heavy guns, and then they will slaughter us. All I want you to do is ask for a chance. Ask.Captain Carter to radio to his commanders what is happening. Perhaps that will help. Better yet, tell him we don't need planes or even paratroops. If they'll just give us some fire support, we'll move in and join with the other groups. Just tell them that."
Twice he called Carter with Melendez's requests and each time he received the same answer. Then the defenders were able to move in the larger guns. At first, their shot was erratic. They needed spotters of their own. But once they learned where their shells were falling, they became more accurate. Soon the little groups on the beach were shattered.
First it was just one man, running back to the water. David saw him race almost directly toward his whaleboat. The water was shallow and he seemed to stop for a moment when he was up to his knees, faltered and then fell forward. Others were luckier. They got far enough out so they could swim, but some were unlucky enough to have misplaced shells land near them.
Another call from Jorge: "David, I am having trouble keeping my men together. Some of the other teams have already been wiped out or are trying to get back in the water. I don't think I can keep my men together for long.…" Then his voice stopped.
David looked up quickly through the binoculars and saw that a shell had landed near the group around Melendez. Some died in the air, others lay still where they had fallen, and David saw some get up and move quickly to another crater in the beach.
Then there was a high, loud whistling sound. Instinctively, the men in the boat threw themselves to the deck. A shell landed near enough to shake the boat as it exploded with an ear-shattering sound, more frightening than the impact itself. They were showered with water.
"Get the hell out of there, David," came Carter's voice over the radio.
"I can't yet, Captain. I've lost contact with Jorge."
"You are responsible for the men in your boat. You will take evasive action and you will return them safely to the ship," Carter responded firmly. Another shell landed near them, not as closely as before, but on the other side and close enough to bring from Carter, "Damn it, David, move that boat. They've got your range."
Palmer, who had been face down in the boat after the last explosion, returned to the tiller quickly, looking up at David. For just a second he hesitated, then said, "Turn into the beach. Make your own course."