Charles Taylor: Show of Force

Even the commanding officer, Captain Carter, never went to the Academy. But he doesn't say much bad about it because he's steamed with a lot of graduates over the years, and he said he's met some pretty good ones. Right after I reported aboard the Bagley, the Monday after, the ship started to look like it was part of the Navy again. Captain Carter came aboard at seven thirty that morning, had an officer's conference at breakfast, and right after quarters he had a meeting with all the chiefs, too. By the end of the day, every space was shiny. All the stanchions had been replaced and the ship was scraped and covered with red lead. By Tuesday, she looked like she was ready for an admiral's inspection. Donovan explained to me that Sam Carter likes to have the fleet see that even the old buckets like the Bagley can hold their own with any new frigate, and that's why she always comes into port showing where she's been. And he always lets the crew off as soon as the brow goes over, and gives the duty section the chance to take it easy for a few days.

There's something special about Captain Carter. I'm not sure what it is yet, but it's obvious not only from the way the officers respect him but the way the crew looks up to him. A lot of mornings will find him having coffee down in chiefs quarters instead of the wardroom, and he doesn't just wander in on his own. Apparently, they gave him a standing invitation, which is pretty rare for any officer. I wouldn't go down there unless I was invited or if I had business with one of the chiefs. And Carter sits down in the spaces and talks with the troops while they're working. He'll stop and shoot the shit with some deck apes chipping paint sometimes, and Donovan says he'll even stick his head into the firebox when the snipes are groveling around inside cleaning the boilers. Sailors don't take to any officer very easily, but I think they'd follow Carter into the middle of the Russian fleet.

One of the first things that made me more comfortable in this old wreck was the talk he had with me that Monday morning. Right after he'd finished with the chiefs, the XO told me to go up to the captain's cabin, Captain Carter told me right away that this was my formal visit with him, that he and his wife didn't need any ensigns making calls on them and leaving cards on their front table. He said I'd get to know them better at the first bash the bachelors threw at their place. Sam Carter said his first job, after the safety of the ship and crew, was training young officers so they'd find the Navy was a good job and stay in. He also wanted to sort out any that should leave. If I was serious about the Navy, I could learn more in my first year than I could learn in ten years at the Academy, He said all of his officers would have every opportunity to do everything possible with the Bagley, and he was just there for the ride and to train officers. He'd drive only when the ship was in danger or he felt the officers on the bridge didn't yet have enough experience.

Everything he said was exactly the way he operates. His officers get the ship underway, take it out of the harbor, con it in fleet exercises, take it alongside tankers or carriers to refuel, and just about any other possible ship's evolution. He's always there, hovering in the background, just in case of an emergency, but he never says a word of criticism until he's alone with whoever made a mistake. No wonder they love him.

And he sure was right about the parties. It's a tight wardroom in more ways than one, and Sam Carter never misses a party. Neither does his wife. After that first one, I realized why they didn't want any ensigns making social calls and leaving cards. If a war had ever started that first night, they would have had to warp Bagley out so the other ships could get underway, and the next day she would have caught up. His wife, Ann, is the belle of the wardroom. I imagine we all secretly love her cause she's everything a Navy officer's wife should be, lovely, charming, dances with everyone, organizes the wives, checks out everybody's date to make sure they're okay, and she loves Sam Carter.

Now that I've had time to sit down and write about the Bagley for a few minutes, I think I'm going to enjoy this tour after all. And I'm going to promise myself to make a lot more entries like this one. I'm finally in the real Navy, and this journal may teach me more about myself and how I want to be part of the Navy than any JO journal ever will.

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.