Dailey was continuing with the report, but David was hearing only what shocked him most. The personnel casualty reports were the items that stunned him particularly. Too many burn cases from Nimitz needed shore care. So many ships had been sunk that those 'still afloat were unable to provide adequate medical care or food for the survivors and their own men. Loss of his Nimitz had been a catastrophe, but the number of smaller cruisers, destroyers, frigates, even the stealthy submarines, that were lost was staggering.
He wondered if any other naval leader had ever suffered such losses as Dailey continued, "… it doesn't look like we can save Texas, ."He had forgotten her. She had taken two missile hits, the second penetrating forward magazines between the missile launcher and her five-inch gun. Personnel losses had been exceptionally high from exploding ammunition, yet her crew had never given up fighting the fires. Now that her damage-control parties were gaining, her captain had just reported that he might have to abandon ship. He conjured up a picture of Larry Waterman and his family. Before he had been given Texas, he had lived in the same neighborhood with David and Maria Charles. Their children had played together and gone to the same school. The wives had been in the P.T.A., and the two couples had gotten along well, backyard barbecues and that sort of thing. When Larry had received orders for Texas, it was the Charles family that had thrown the celebration and good-bye party, for the Watermans would be moving to the ship's home port.
Texas was down by the bow, still taking on water too fast. "Captain Waterman says he'd like to stay on board Texas with volunteers, that maybe they can hold their own if someone can get more pumps to her.…"
David held up his hand. "What is the exact casualty count among the men?"
Dailey looked up from his notes. "I can't say exactly, Admiral. Some ships don't know how many men they have left to operate. And it will be another four hours or so before we can start to get an accurate count of survivors picked up by other ships."
"This is all crazy, Bill." David Charles stared at an invisible spot on the bulkhead before he turned to the other to continue. "We were out here for a display of power," his hands raised in despair, "a military show of force to back up a political decision." He shook his head and repeated, "It's all crazy, Bill. We were supposed to dig a couple of trenches out here to keep the Russians away while we finished the work on that island. This wasn't supposed to be Trafalgar or Jutland or Midway or Leyte, yet this was probably the largest sea battle in history… after surface battles were supposed to be finished." He stood and paced the tiny stateroom that the cruiser California called the admiral's cabin. "Christ, Bill, say something. Don't stare at me like that. Don't you think the whole thing is crazy, this wholesale slaughter, this, this…" He shrugged his shoulders, searching for the right words.
"I don't quite know what to say, Admiral. I didn't expect this either." He stopped to gather his thoughts, could think of little to say, then, "But the Russians have taken tremendous losses themselves. It's not all on our side."
"That's just it, Bill. Each of us has clobbered the other. Why? What have we got to show for it? I don't even know if Alex is alive to know or even perhaps be pleased with what he's done to us." He turned to look directly at Dailey. "I'm not proud of what we've done to him." He jammed an index finger at his chest. "Not me. Hell, I'd have to show something for it to be proud. A victory. Or whatever the hell you call it these days." He raised his brows, wrinkling his forehead. "But what do I have to show for it, Bill?"
"I'm afraid I don't know what to say, sir. We've heard so little from Washington the last few hours. I assume they've had everything relayed to them."
There was a sharp knock on the door.
"Come," David called out.
A sailor with a message board entered, saluting as he shut the door with his other hand. "Two emergency messages, sir."
David took them and scanned the contents, frowning. Initialing them, he passed the board to Dailey. "I guess things can't get any worse."
Dailey's jaw dropped perceptibly as he read first about the loss of Prince of Peace and then the ill-fated invasion of Islas Piedras. He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head slightly, his brows raised in a what-the-hell-do-we-do-now look.
"I'm going to get hold of Alex."
"Sir?"
"I'm going to contact Alex. For Christ's sake, Bill, we've reached a stalemate. He can't get through to Islas Piedras, so we'll probably be able to finish the work there. But, on the other hand, Gorenko seems to have secured the Middle East. It's a trade-off!" The expression on his face seemed to say that it was all so simple now. "We get Africa. They get the Arabs. We. protect the South Atlantic. They get their warm-water port."
"Don't you feel we should wait for further orders, sir?"
In a voice very unlike his usually conservative demeanor, David replied, "Shit no, Bill. Those sons of bitches in Washington must be so goddamn scared of what everybody's saying about them that they're1 going to worry about saving their own hides. Sam Carter won't be able to get a word in edgewise. Shit, when he mentions us, all those scurvy politicians are going to say, 'Who?' When it comes down to your neck, they could care less what's happened out here." He was pacing more rapidly now in the confined space. "Same with Alex, I'll bet." For just a moment, he returned to the Admiral Charles of the previous day. "Hell, Bill, I'll put five on it right now the Party Secretary won't even let Gorenko talk about Alex's ships. After that great speech about protecting the Third World from American aggressors, he's only thinking about how he's going to explain an armed invasion — that didn't work — and that goddamn tanker. Christ, Bill, anyone in the world who isn't white ought to be pretty happy now. For once, we didn't drag everybody else in. We just blasted away at each other, which must have made them feel damn good." He stopped, looked at Dailey politely listening, and sat back down.
"Want me to go on, Bill?" He grinned.
"If you'd like, sir."
"Forget it. I guess everybody in the service feels used at one time or another, but we've been drawing pay for years just for this day, haven't we?"
"You could put it that way."
"Well, that's why I'm going to call Alex. We could continue to shoot at each other, and we probably might once we get finished licking our wounds, so I want to stop it before it starts again. Why should we kill any more Russians?"
"And why should we let them kill any more of us?" The Chief of Staff looked thoughtfully at David. "Point well taken… especially mine."
"Okay. Step number one, Bill. Issue orders to anyone afloat that they are not to fire unless fired upon first. Number two, get one of your comm officers up here on the double. I want direct voice contact with Alex somehow. Number three, get a message off to Washington that we feel Islas Piedras is safe for the time being, and that we are dropping back to regroup. Tell 'em casualties are extreme, just in case they've forgotten, and that if they want to fight anyone, they'd better get some more ships out here fast. And see if you can find a fresh set of whites my size in this ship. Like the lady said, 'I don't have a thing to wear.'"
"Aye, aye, sir. I'll get that comm officer for you first."
Svedrov was crushed, emotionally exhausted. The first message that his Admiral handed him simply stated that the landing on Islas Piedras had failed. It had come from the submarines, not from the landing force. The second slip of paper he had picked off the deck, where it had slipped from Alex Kupinsky's hands. It told of the Prince of Peace. "I will contact David."