David watched the shells hit just prior to the sharp explosions. Long shots landed in the water, throwing up great clouds of spray. But they were becoming fewer as pointers found their range. Then he saw people thrown into the air, landing awkwardly, rarely moving afterward. He had briefly known some of the ones that now lay there., although he couldn't distinguish faces through his binoculars. Only hours before some of them had been aboard the Bagley, nervously pacing the deck in their fatigues, chattering sporadically in Spanish with each other and sometimes joking in broken English with the crew. In such a short time the Bay of Pigs' invasion force had become a ragged gang, hiding from the withering fire behind broken palms or even the bodies of their comrades.
"Reverse your course, Palmer," Ensign Charles ordered his boatswain. By looking at the groups of palms that still stood he knew that they were near the end of that invisible line that marked his sector, five hundred yards from the beach. The sun was already high enough in the sky to make the life jackets and helmets uncomfortable.
"Op orders are like party platforms," David thought. "No one ever pays attention to them after they're written." He had read carefully through Operation Order 8 — I6. After all, it had come out of the Joint Chiefs of Staff on the orders of the President. There were over two hundred pages — of details, starting with designation of the task force and ending after interminable pages of detail with even the call sign of his unit — Lucky Duck. Lucky Duck, like many of the other whaleboats from the parent destroyers sitting another three thousand yards beyond the small craft, was just a number among the elements of that huge force that had set out a few days before. At sea, it was magnificent.
There were carriers, cruisers, destroyers, amphibs, LST's full of marines, and aircraft of all types overhead.
And not one unit had done a thing. The order from Washington, the one that had been promised, never came. Men like David were to follow the landing force close to the beach to provide fire-support targets for the larger ships. The carriers would launch flight after flight of jets to provide close in-support after the beachhead was established. The LST's would land supplies, food, ammunition, blood for the wounded, and they would take back those who could fight no more. The troop carriers circled overhead with the trained men who would parachute behind enemy lines to help surround Castro's army. It was planned to be over in three days or less, except for mopping, up in a few of the mountain areas. The Communists were said to be ill-trained and would run at the first sight of the landing— perhaps into the paratroops' arms. They were not expected to support Castro. They were said to be waiting for this liberating force, the one that would free them.
Within half an hour, David knew it was a sham. Not one shell whistled overhead toward land. Not one jet shattered the air. Not one parachute blossomed over the beaches. And Castro's army wasn't running.
"Good morning, Senor Charles, or should I start calling you Lucky Duck." It was Jorge Melendez, the commander of the troops that would be landing in David's sector.
"Good morning, Jorge," he replied. The sun was just coloring the horizon to the east. Cuba was a darkened smudge to the north, still too distant in the early dawn to pick out landmarks. He had become close to Melendez during the three days they had been at sea together.
As soon as the Bagley had gotten underway, Carter called him to his cabin and introduced the young ensign and the short, swarthy Cuban. They shook hands, the jungle fighter staring deeply into David's eyes, looking for that desire that so many of his small army had. Instead, he had seen a self-assurance that was uncommon among young men. There was then no understanding of the Cuban's problems, but Melendez had been told often by the C.I.A. that few Americans knew of the plans or the part the American military would take in recapturing their island 'home.
"David," Sam Carter had said, "I'm going to put you in charge of a call-fire team for Colonel Melendez." At the same time, he handed over a copy of the heavy op order that was to be their bible. "The colonel and his staff will be quartered aboard this ship until we reach our position. Their men are aboard the amphibs behind us, and they will join each other only when they get close to the beaches."
"Excuse me, Captain Carter," Melendez interrupted in only slightly accented English, "Does this young man understand what we are here for?"
"He understands only what my crew has been told since we got underway — that there will be an invasion of Cuba by a trained army of exiles, that the U.S. government is in full support, and that we will likely assist, once the invasion is underway."
"Your word 'likely' makes me nervous, Captain. All our training has been built around support from your forces. It would be senseless to appear off the coast with this armada, and then send in an army with no assistance."
"You are correct, Colonel, but I can only follow the orders I have received to date. I am assigning Ensign Charles to you because most of our other officers have been trained as a shipboard team for just the type of support I hope we can give you. He also has just come from a gunnery school with the training necessary to back you up with call fire. I think you will find him a pleasant and serious officer to work with."
Melendez found that Carter was correct. The young American was serious about his assignment, read every page of the order, asked many questions about Melendez and his army, and also became attached to the team that would go ashore.
The Cuban's hair was longer than the American sailors', and he had a thick, black moustache. His dress was casual" from the Navy's point of view, and he did not look like a military man. But David learned rapidly that his friend, Jorge, as he soon called him, was very much a fighter and a leader. He was fiercely devoted to his men, whom he missed on the amphibs. He and David spent many long hours during the day discussing the invasion plans and how the necessary support would get them from the beaches into the trees where more safety was available. They wandered in various parts of the ship, sometimes leaning on the depth-charge racks on the fantail, or stretching out on the deck by the bow, watching the flying fish leap in front of the rising and falling bow and listening to the Caribbean race by through the hawse pipes.
David developed a deep respect for the Cuban. The pride in country and the determination to liberate it were something unfamiliar to his young mind. Americans were not subject to this deep nationalism, and he was just beginning to learn it through his immersion in his military life. Jorge was willing to die on the beaches of his native land, if necessary, to bring back the world that he had grown up in. He wanted it for his wife and children in Miami, and for the many other families who also waited back in Florida not knowing where their men had gone or when they would be back. Cuba became a nation to David, home of a fiercely emotional people whom one could easily become attached to. And he was suddenly worried for them.
He had gone to the bridge the night before to talk with Carter. "Captain, is there any chance we won't help Jorge when they hit the beach? He seems to be the only one concerned. The others feel there's no problem. They're sure that Castro's army will join them within a few hours after they see us behind them."
"I wish I could answer that, David. The orders say 'yes.' Enterprise is out there now with enough firepower to take Cuba without troops. Long Beach is joining up tonight with missiles that could knock down anything Castro could put in the air. Our squadron is ready to lay down enough five-inch gunfire so they could walk up the beach a mile undisturbed, but I don't know what's going to happen." He paused for a moment, picking out a bright star in the clear sky, enjoying the tropical breeze running over his face. "The orders come from Washington."