Before David realized that his last clip was empty and that he was squeezing an unresponsive trigger, Palmer had turned the boat back to the sea. They were attracting too much attention and now sporadic rifle fire was coming in their direction.
They came upon the first two men in the water. The engine was throttled down as arms reached out to pull them in. One man almost pulled a sailor into the water as he grabbed the arm reaching down to him. The other was too badly injured to help himself and the boat had to come to a stop for a few precious seconds. Again, rifle fire began to concentrate on them.
"Don't stop next time," David shouted. "If they can't get in themselves, go on to the next ones." He was shocked at his own callousness.
Two more were picked up, but three others who were severely wounded were given a wide berth as the boat edged back into artillery range again. The big shells were coming more steadily and too close. David knew many of those in the water wouldn't survive the explosions anyway.
And then he saw Jorge Melendez's head bobbing just thirty yards away as they pulled in almost the last man they had room for into the boat. Jorge waved an arm.
Palmer didn't need to be told as he swung the boat in the swimmer's direction, motioning to throttle down the engine as they came close. Not fifteen yards away, a shell landed in the water, exploding in a deafening roar. As the spout subsided, David saw his friend's face twisted in pain. The boat ran alongside the man, and David reached out to grab his hand.
"Take my arm," he yelled to the man in the water. Jorge just looked back at him and shook his head. "Goddamn it, Jorge, grab me."
Melendez again shook his head, this time in more agony. "Now, David," he cried, "Where is your U.S. Navy?" His head bobbed beneath the surface for a moment, then rose. "Where is your Navy?"
Then he sank below the surface, not slowly, but as a dead weight. Another shell exploded in the water, this time close enough to almost upset the sturdy little whaleboat. Palmer put his rudder over sharply, at the same time making the motion for full speed, fearing the next shot would be a hit.
David turned from the side of the boat, looking back in tears at his boatswain. Palmer pointed at the Bagley, nodding his head that he was returning to the ship. Saying nothing, David slumped back in the bottom of the boat, vaguely aware of the noise around him and the men still in the water waving at the boat as their last chance pulled away.
The first indication he had of their return to the Bagley was the whaleboat bumping heavily against its hull. There was water in the bottom of the boat, and he was wet. He looked up to see familiar faces staring down at them. He became aware of many people in the boat, probably fifteen who had been lucky enough to be pulled from the water.
They edged beside the ladder. Palmer motioned for the young officer to be the first up the side. David shook his head. The few wounded they had were taken up first, followed by the still limp form of the sailor who had succumbed to the canteen. David looked up to the bridge and saw Sam Carter waving down at him, but he did not return the wave.
When just he and Palmer remained, the sailor reached down and gave him a hand, pulling him shakily to his feet. At the foot of the ladder, David motioned Palmer to step up first as he looked back at the boat, now taking on water more rapidly. "No, sir." He put out his hand and shook David's firmly. "I'd like to follow you:"
The young officer nodded at the other man and stepped up the ladder to the main deck of the Bagley. It was solid, a secure feeling after the wild antics of their little boat. A messenger was waiting for him. i" The captain would like you to report to the bridge, if you're okay, sir."
"I am," David replied. As a corpsman handed him something cool to drink, the messenger wheeled about and headed back to the bridge to report to Carter.
David finished his drink, handed the glass to someone nearby, and strode to the ladder leading to the 01 level. He calmly walked forward on that deck and swung up two more levels to the signal bridge, nodding at sailors who stared at him silently. He moved past the flag bags at the rear of the open bridge to where Carter was waiting for him, standing beside his chair on the starboard wing. He saluted the captain.
"You wanted to see me, sir." David had suddenly become very tired. He decided he didn't particularly care what anyone else was going to say, even this captain before him.
Carter returned the salute. "You did a hell of a job in there, David, but you didn't follow my last orders."
David looked back at him. "No, sir," he said very calmly.
"Do you mind telling me why? You could have lost some good men, including yourself."
"You don't seem to understand. A lot of people were being killed. They were being slaughtered." He was very tired now.
"I know that, David. I've been there before."
"I saw Jorge in the water. He asked where my Navy was." He looked closely at Carter, tears forming in his eyes again. "Do you know where our Navy was, sir?"
"We may never know where it was, David. It wasn't out here today, and we may never know why either. But I don't ever want you to forget what I told you last night. And I think you may already have started to forget some of it. Whoever made this decision doesn't know you, or me, or even Jorge, but he or they taught you a lot about power today. And power doesn't always make the decision you think is right. But power can do that because it can do anything it wants. And if you're going to sail with me, you're going to have to remember that."
"And can it lie to men like Jorge?"
"You'll have to decide that for yourself some day, David." He looked closely at the young man, and remembered another young man, a Lieutenant Sam Carter, who had had a similar experience when he was commanding an LST at Inchon. More men had been lost then. "You've done a fine job today, and now I want you to go aft to your room. You're tired. Get some sleep, and then we'll talk some more." He smiled at David for a brief second, then turned, moving into the pilothouse.
The executive officer was at the chart table. "He was a little brusque there, Captain. I'll talk with him later."
"No, that's all right," replied Carter. "He just had to learn a tough lesson that most people are lucky enough to miss. He'll be okay."
DEAR SAM,
You never fail to make me feel like I'm the only woman in the world. I never suspected a thing last weekend when you suggested we take a weekend in North Carolina, "like a second honeymoon," you said. Now I know that I'm married to one of the world's great con men. And maybe I'm the most easily conned woman in the world, or maybe I just want to believe you'll never be in danger. Now, I can only say thank you, my love, for reminding me how important we are to each other.
And I also want to say "damn you" for conning me so beautifully. I had such a lovely time knowing I was the only woman in the world that had ever been loved so well, and I couldn't believe it when I turned on the radio this morning. Before they'd even finished reporting the Bay of Pigs invasion, I knew you were right in the middle of it. Now I realize part of the reason for the lovely weekend was that you had been worried enough that you might be gone for a long time — or even worse. So now you know,' you con artist, that I will be forever suspicious of you whenever you decide that we should have a second honeymoon.
You know that when Bagley gets back, I'm going to want to know everything you did, where the ship was, everything you saw, what everyone in the wardroom did. I want it to be like I was there with you because you can't imagine how lonely it can get back here alone. I plan teas for the wives and get everyone involved over at the "O" Club. And the other night I even had a dinner for the wives and invited over some of the girl friends, only the serious ones, not some of those others that you get such a kick out of. It was fun, but the younger wives either work or have little children. They're all busy and talk about all those things, and that's when I worry about you the most. I can call my family, and I do sometimes, but you know how my father can get when I start talking about you. He's so pompous about the days of the "black coal" navy when they were gone for months at a time, and my mother stayed home and kept quiet while he took his ships all over the world. And then he always wonders whether you're going to amount to anything, even though he says he throws around so much weight for you at Supers. I have to keep reminding him that you're one of the youngest destroyer captains in Norfolk, and that's when he makes me so mad by saying that he's part of the reason you've gotten as far as you have. You seem to take all of that so much better than I do. I just don't have the even temperament you have.