Charles Taylor - Show of Force

Apparently we have to prove it to ourselves each time, just in case something might be balanced in our favor. I know how hard it is to turn the other cheek. We were well prepared, and I suppose we can say the day is ours. But is that what they're saying right now? I think so.

I wouldn't be sitting here now, making this entry, if I hadn't gone to the captain's cabin to borrow some clothes. The only item I took with me from Nimitz was this log, wrapped in the old watertight case that Maria gave me. I remember her card: "To the next Mahan." I had the log under my arm when I came in here, and decided I had to write even as I sit here in my skivvies. It just hit me. Who won and what was won? I kept staring back at Nimitz engulfed in flames. Over and over in my mind, I kept thinking of Chief Joseph as we pulled away.

I've made my decision. It's time for new warriors. The old ones are tired.

TASHA, MY LOVE,

There is a loneliness in command that goes beyond what any book has ever been able to describe. I cannot put it into words myself, but you would know it if I were beside you now, for my eyes must be telling that awful truth. Most of all, I want my father to know, even though I am not sure he would understand.

You must insist that my father tell you what has happened here on the Indian Ocean. You will not be able to read it thoroughly in the papers, but I want you to know my part in it. Briefly, we have fought over a period of a few days a vast sea battle, possibly one of the greatest in history. It was against the Americans, and my enemy (even-briefly in my own mind, I think) was David Charles. I say "briefly" for that arrogance on my part passed quickly. I believe I have accomplished much for my country, but I am not sure what I have given up to do so. While we have proven to the world that in less than half a century we have been able to stand up to the greatest seapower in history, I find little to take personal pride in. The person that I had been trained to think I was is no longer me. While written words can't describe these feelings, perhaps you, in your own special way, will understand when I return.

The only way I can describe the feelings I have is to remind you of that American politician David told us about once. The man probably lived in the wrong era, for when asked what he wanted to do after literally giving his waking moments to his country, he said, "I want to sip red wine and watch the people dance," or something to that effect. He died before he could ever achieve that dream, and I don't want to. I want to sip the wine with the people, and I want to dance with them.

I count the moments until I am home with you and can give the love that has too often been bottled up inside me. Tell Pietr that he, too, is constantly in my thoughts.

With love,

Alex

DEAREST MARIA,

It is entirely possible that by the time this letter arrives, we may already be together again. You will have read in the newspapers and watched on television what I have been involved in. Whatever is twisted by the media can be corrected by Sam Carter.

I have always felt a deep pride for my Navy and my own small contribution to it. There is now a deep, deep hurt that will forever dig at me for my intensity in trying to destroy Alex's force and even Alex himself. There is something ingrained in most of us from childhood that brings out love or faith in country, an abiding nationalism perhaps, that I now know takes precedence over friendship. I have been increasingly concerned about that the last few days as I led my men directly at the Soviet force. Beyond Sam Carter, Alex, a Russian naval officer, may be one of the men I am closest to emotionally and intellectually. I can't describe it beyond that, and I don't know if I will ever be able to describe such a feeling to you.

Should anything happen to me before we are together again, I want you to know I am ashamed of nothing I have done. While the Navy may say what I am about to do is contrary to my oath, I followed orders and served my country as best I could. To me, choosing the military as a career never meant that I was choosing war — that I accepted, if there was no other alternative. While I may have some misgivings as I write this note, I can say with certainty that my concept of duty will eventually overcome any self-doubt.

You have been able to understand me when I can't express myself well, and feel what I feel when I say nothing. Then you know as you read this how you and the children are with me always, and that our own love becomes stronger each day.

With love,

David

A haggard David Charles listened to Bill Dailey's casualty reports. The Chief of Staff was subdued, his eyes more tired than ever" before, his shoulders a bit more rounded, his voice without its normal crispness.

"… fuel for the gas turbine ships is dangerously low. We were unable to top off each one when we spent the night in the Seychelles, and some of the small boys have been operating at flank speed since then. They haven't got more than a day before it's critical."

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.