"But, sir…"
He was cut off by David. "They'll expect us to turn out. Move," he shouted.
It took just a second for the rudder of the small craft to respond, and then it swung toward the beach. It had moved only thirty yards or so when another shell whistled overhead, landing this time where the whaleboat might have been had they turned toward Bagley. Palmer looked over at the young ensign and nodded, offering a thumbs-up approval.
After they had gone about a hundred yards, David ordered the whaleboat back on its original course so he could concentrate on the group ashore. As he put his binoculars to his eyes, he told Palmer, "They're going to keep trying to pinpoint us. Zigzag whenever you want, but for Christ's sake sound off before you do!"
He tried to call Melendez on his radio, first on the private circuit, then on the secondary, but there was no answer. He looked back to the beach where he had last seen them and thought he caught sight of the man for a second. They were that much closer so he could make but faces a bit better. A man waved out to him frantically from among a group crouched in a hole blasted in the sand. A few were firing their rifles toward the palm-tree area. But many more were not moving at all. He recognized Jorge as the one who had waved. Obviously, the last shell had knocked out his radio.
"Mr. Charles, we're not supposed to be this close," a voice called to him as another explosion bracketed their little boat. "I heard the captain ask us to come back." It was one of the seamen sent along in the party to assist Palmer. He was crouched in the bottom of the whaleboat, making himself as small as possible, a terrified look in his eyes.
David paid no attention to him. Palmer shouted just before he threw the rudder over and the boat heeled in the direction of the shore as it reversed course. David put the binoculars to his eyes again, trying to see what the men on land were doing as the boat rocked wildly on its new track. Two. of the men beside Melendez leaped up to run toward the water. The sand around them lifted in lazy puffs as the machine-gun bullets bit in. The one who was running the safer zigzag was the first one to be hit. The other, probably in terror, simply raced toward the water, somehow avoiding the bullets that became little spurts of water as he splashed in. When he was a little over ankle deep, he dove, landing on his belly in the too-shallow water. Realizing he way still not far enough out, he rose first to his knees, then stood up to run again. It was then that the hidden gunner brought him down.
David dropped the binoculars to his chest and looked back at Palmer, who had also been watching. They had gradually gotten close enough to the beach so that the other men didn't need the glasses to see what was happening.
The sailor who had first called to him now shouted wildly, "We've got to get out of here, sir. We're not supposed to be here by ourselves." This time he stood up, rocking the whaleboat even more violently than it already was. David looked back at Palmer, pointing at the sailor and mouthed unheard words as another shell showered them with water. Palmer simply yelled something to the engineman who calmly reached for a canteen that had fallen loose in the bottom of the boat. He stood for just a moment as he swung the canteen behind his shoulder, then brought it down on the sailor's head. He cushioned the falling body to avoid it hitting the edge of the boat.
Palmer grinned in response to David's surprise at their efficient method of calming the frantic man. Then he again shouted as loudly as he could before he threw the rudder over sharply to turn closer to the beach, and then run parallel to it.
Farther down the shoreline, one of the landing teams had managed to make it into the shattered palm trees. Now they could be seen retreating from that shelter, this time followed by their enemy. It was the first time David had seen any of the Cuban army, and he found himself glad to see some of them falling from the return fire of the pathetic little groups.
They had momentarily slowed the steady hail of bullets from the tree line, and more of the invaders now began to run for the water. They waded in up to their knees, dropping their weapons as they dove, frantically thrashing the water as they swam straight out. Many would stop to wave their arms over their heads, apparently imploring the American boats not to leave them.
Now that the invaders were turning their backs, more Cuban soldiers were moving from the safety of the palms, this time stopping to take aim as they fired at the retreating band. While the boat again rocked to a new course, David searched through his binoculars until he found Melendez. The man was on one knee, firing his BAR at a group of soldiers, stopping them in their tracks. The lucky ones threw themselves to the ground, rolling over and over, away from the hail of bullets. One in particular kept rolling until he was far enough away to come to a sitting position. He raised his gun quickly in Jorge's direction, firing rapidly at the little colonel, who was by now all but deserted by his men. One bullet found its home, and Melendez fell backward, his gun flying through the air.
David cried out as his friend rolled over twice. His assailant then turned his fire in another direction. David watched Jorge roll over onto his knees, looking in the direction of the man who had brought him down. When he found he was alone for a moment he rose to his feet, stumbling to the water's edge, wading in almost too casually. At knee's depth, he fell forward and began a slow, erratic stroke toward deeper water.
Almost at the same time David thought, We have to save them, Palmer had brought the rudder around again and was heading toward the closest swimming men.
Now the shells from the coastal batteries were more accurate. They no longer had to search for their targets. This was the remainder of an army in complete retreat, frantically thrashing the water in desperate efforts to escape certain death or capture ashore, and instead swimming among a hail of artillery shells rupturing the water around them.
My God, thought David, This is what Dunkirk must have been like! And in a way, it probably was for the ensign who had only just been born at the time the British army had fled the coast of France. His little whaleboat played much the same part twenty years later as it edged toward shore to try to save some of the men who had landed only hours earlier.
There was a sputtering in the water around the boat. Machine-gun bullets etched a pattern in front of them. Palmer, seeing the fifty-caliber gun that had been set up at the edge of the palms, again reversed his rudder away from a group of men they had almost reached. The splashing bullets paused for a moment among the swimmers.
Palmer's engineman had now picked up a BAR from the supply of weapons that had been lowered to them before they had pulled away from the Bagley. He handed another to the signalman crouched beside him. They ripped open the bag containing clips for the weapons, pouring them on the deck.
"Turn in again," David shouted to Palmer, pointing in the direction of the Cuban machine gun. The boat again heeled as Palmer sent it directly toward the gun firing at them, making the whaleboat a smaller target. David picked up another BAR, grabbing some clips in the same motion. Together, the three of them concentrated their fire at the machine gun. They had already passed many of the swimmers in their rush for the shore.
David vaguely noticed the water turning lighter, and then realized they were only forty or fifty yards from the beach. The water was probably only waist deep. He was looking down at Cuban sand. Palmer brought the whaleboat parallel to the beach, allowing his gunners an easy shot at their target for just a moment. The water around them was alive with bullets, some cracking into the side of the boat and others passing over their heads. They were now too close to shore for the artillery fire, which was hitting the water a hundred yards behind the whale-boat. First, it was the man beside the machine gun who half rose and began to turn before he fell. Even before he hit the sand the pressure on the trigger had stopped as his gunner fell backward.