Charles Taylor - Show of Force

It was a sunny, warm Sunday in London, the kind that brings Londoners out in droves to stroll, listen to the speakers in Hyde Park, visit Regent's Park Zoo, feed the ducks and geese at St. James, or just stretch out on the green expanse of Kensington Gardens. The Russian Embassy is on the northern fringe of the Gardens where Bayswater becomes Netting Hill Gate. It is a forbidding building behind high walls, a satisfactory design for Soviet politicians, but it was less appealing to Tasha Kupinsky. She had ensured, shortly after their arrival for Alex's embassy duty, that they be allowed to take a flat not far from that uninviting building. Often there was a bobby on duty outside to keep an eye out for fringe types who might want to embarrass the British government. She didn't want her son, Pietr, named after Alex's stepfather, to be brought up under guard. The flat was close to the embassy, but still far enough so that she had to approach the building only when Alex indicated they were required officially. Instead, she found a new place just off Bayswater where she could see the park and take young Pietr for walks. She loved to wander over to the sunken gardens by the Kensington Palace or sit on the grass by the flower walk, or just stretch out with the other mothers and nurses as the children chased the birds by the Round Pond or the Serpentine.

This Sunday, Maria Charles had called her, and they had agreed to meet at another of little Pietr's favorite spots, the Peter Pan statue by The Long Water in Kensington Gardens. It was a lovely warm day, one of those rare days when there is not a cloud in the London sky, and each person in the park smiles at strangers. Pietr and young Sam Charles, both about four, were unable to communicate in each other's language, but they were satisfied to chase the pigeons together or marvel at the high flying kites. While Maria and Tasha happily renewed distant ties, the two men found themselves much more at ease with each other, dressed now in casual clothes. Leaving the others for a while, they wondered through the vast park, discussing the naval history and theory that they both knew so well, but not yet comfortable with discussion of each other's navy.

By the time they had returned to a picnic and some wine their wives had brought, mutual respect was loosening their tongues. In every relationship, whether between husband and wife, parent and child, or very close friends, there is a certain tie established, and the two men found it that afternoon almost by accident. David had questioned casually, "Have you always been in the surface navy, Alex?"

"No," Tasha answered for him, patting her husband's knee. "Before I knew him, he was a submariner and we almost lost him. It was a good thing for me they chased him out of those frightful things, or I never would have met, him." She looked over at Alex. "I would have always been afraid when you went off in those things. But you didn't hate them like I do, did you?"

"No. I loved them.… And I was very good at them also," he added, an earlier trace of a smile gone from his face. "I miss that duty." He nodded toward David. "I think you understand. Did you have a first love?"

The American remembered also. "Destroyers. The old ones. My first ship was an old bucket from World War II days, one that we used to say turned into a submarine in a storm. It was old as hell and badly dated, but it was just as fast as the day it was built, and we had a captain that could sail that ship around the moon if he had to, Sam Carter."

"I have heard the name," said Alex.

"You'll hear it even more in the future. He'll go a long way in the Navy. He might even be Chief of Naval Operations someday." He shook his head, "But what a sailor. I'll tell you a story, Alex, one that may hurt a bit because some Russians were involved, but that will give you an idea of why I loved that ship and Sam Carter."

He went on to describe the period before the Cuban quarantine, the endless training they went through, the time Carter spent personally with him to help in the young ensign's qualifications, the lessons on how it was more important how you handled that ship than how modern it was. He explained the part Bagley took in the Cuban operations, how one of the aircraft spotted a Soviet sub, arid how Bagley became a major part of that night when the submarine was finally surfaced.

David became so involved in the story that only the women noticed the change in the other man's expression, his eyes also looking back to that same time long ago that David was recounting. At the same time, Tasha dredged her memory to try and remember the story that Alex had told, only once, years ago when they had first been married. It was this same story she now remembered that had frightened her so much. Then she knew. She had only to look deep into her husband's saddened eyes.

David has just arrived at the part of his story where the Soviet submarine had been forced to the surface and he had found himself wondering what the commander of that boat had been thinking when Tasha interrupted, "Why don't you ask him, Captain?" She held out her hand in mock introduction. "Meet Captain Lieutenant Alexander Kupinsky."

Her statement was followed by silence. No one wanted to speak. Finally, Alex looked steadily at the other man. "She is correct, David. You have described the action exactly as it happened." Silence again.

Then David said, "We could have killed you." He shuddered visibly, as if chilled. "You don't know how close you came that night." His voice echoed his shock. "There was one captain who wanted to fire torpedoes. It was so close." He paused for just a second, then said, "Captain Carter turned our ship right down your bearing to prove you had not fired at us."

"The way I felt then, he might just as well have sunk us." Alex added, "But I had my men to think about. There were about seventy others for whom I was responsible. Can you imagine what my country might have done if you had sunk us?"

"I hate to think about it, Alex. One night, not so many years ago, Sam and I were drinking together and he brought that up.

Thank God he was there."

"Thank God," echoed Tasha. Her mood had changed. "I think I would like to go home now," she said to Alex. She turned to the others. "It is not because of you. We were all much younger then, and none of us knew the other. But tales like that scare me. I do not like my husband to go near danger, Maria… to become involved in war," she added. "Let us meet again soon. I would like that." As they stood up, she put her hand on Maria's. "Please do not be insulted because I leave so quickly. I just want to be alone for a while with my husband."

"I understand," replied Maria. "It means the same to us to be here. London is almost like an island." She squeezed the hand that engaged her own. The two men quietly shook hands, that long-ago night unexpectedly relived, a certain allegiance forming through a shared experience.

Admiral David Charles was seated at his mess table, dreams of London behind him. After spreading jam on his toast, he used that slice to push some scrambled eggs onto his fork. "Looks powdered to me," he remarked to Bill Dailey. After tasting them, he unhappily agreed with his analysis, "They are. We've been at sea too long." He made a sour face, then grinned at the other, "I learned to hate these as an ensign, along with grits, shit on a shingle, and every other goddamn thing the Navy decided belonged on a breakfast table. Sam Carter said I'd never be a good officer if I didn't learn to like them." He slid another forkful into his mouth and added, "I can't stand black-eyed peas either or some of the other crap the South has inflicted on us under the general term of — military tradition. But I eat them all, and every once in a while I remind Sam of what he said."