Show of Force

by Charles D. Taylor

  “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.”

  -'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 supp
osed 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.

  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 t
he 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.