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Authors: Charles D. Taylor
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it, I could have blown whatever career I plan to have in the Navy all to hell yesterday. At the time, I don't think I ever hated anyone as much as I hated Captain Carter. He was the coldest, most hardhearted, uncaring, inhuman son of a bitch I ever knew. When I finally got back to the Bagley, I was convinced that Sam Carter was the man who had killed Jorge. There was no doubt of it in my mind.
Today, I know he didn't, and that he was probably hurting as much as I was while I was doing all the arm waving. I really came close to insulting him in front of other people, something he always avoids. As I was falling asleep in my bunk, I wondered to myself if he was going to court-martial me for disobeying orders. I could have been killed along with Palmer and some of the others, but it never occurred to me when we were in the middle of the firing. I think I decided that he might even be right if he did court-martial me.
This morning, when I got up, I knew he wouldn't. And I wondered why not, if I deserved it as much as I think I did. After all, I was literally going against the wishes of the Commander in Chief by staying close to the beach and firing back at the Cubans. For some reason, I had just figured that because we were there we would get into the fight.
It never occurred to me that we were waiting to see whether the Cubans would give up and throw down their arms and welcome the invaders. And we were actually invading someone else's land, and apparently everything we've been hearing wasn't exactly correct. Maybe more Cubans are happy with Castro than we thought.
What really hurts today is losing Jorge. He was a very brave man, and he believed in what he was doing, and made me believe in it, too. He made me believe in it enough to almost go off the deep end and disobey orders completely. What I have to learn is to make my own decisions, without letting anyone else change my mind until I know what I'm doing. Captain Carter was right about power. They never taught us that, and it's something you have to learn yourself, just like making up your own mind.
The other thing I learned yesterday was that maybe I'd make a good Navy officer after all. Once I got used to what was going on, I enjoyed it. I took charge. I was glad Palmer was there because nothing upsets him. But it was almost weird the way I felt when they started shooting at us. That was the part I didn't think I'd ever want to go through unless I had to, and there I was ordering the boat in closer and not worrying about being a target. I'd like to ask some other people about that, but perhaps they wouldn't understand. Anyway, there's hardly anyone in the Navy anymore who's ever been shot at. But I think perhaps I might know a little more about myself if I could understand why I felt that way. Maybe after I find out whether Captain Carter's still pissed at me, I'll ask him about it. If I thought I could be like him, I'd stay in the Navy.
C HAPTER F OUR
M oscow, the Third Rome, was cold that night, very cold. Vice Admiral Robert Collier had stepped outside the embassy earlier in the evening, before the old women had swept the dusting of new-fallen snow from the streets. The snow squeaked underfoot, a sound that brought back memories of his childhood when icy cold weather made the packed snow crunchy. The first walk had been a short one, just to think. He knew that the next time he came outside the snow would have been swept off each sidewalk, piled neatly in the street, waiting for the trucks to come by to pick it up and dump it in the river. Unless there was a nasty storm, it was all very efficient. Every citizen contributed to the city somehow, and in each block there was an old woman or old man who swept the daily light dusting into the gutter. Two slightly stronger ones would then push it into piles, and shortly after it was gone. There certainly was something to say for the Party when the streets were always clean, just like the trains running on time!
Now he
Today, I know he didn't, and that he was probably hurting as much as I was while I was doing all the arm waving. I really came close to insulting him in front of other people, something he always avoids. As I was falling asleep in my bunk, I wondered to myself if he was going to court-martial me for disobeying orders. I could have been killed along with Palmer and some of the others, but it never occurred to me when we were in the middle of the firing. I think I decided that he might even be right if he did court-martial me.
This morning, when I got up, I knew he wouldn't. And I wondered why not, if I deserved it as much as I think I did. After all, I was literally going against the wishes of the Commander in Chief by staying close to the beach and firing back at the Cubans. For some reason, I had just figured that because we were there we would get into the fight.
It never occurred to me that we were waiting to see whether the Cubans would give up and throw down their arms and welcome the invaders. And we were actually invading someone else's land, and apparently everything we've been hearing wasn't exactly correct. Maybe more Cubans are happy with Castro than we thought.
What really hurts today is losing Jorge. He was a very brave man, and he believed in what he was doing, and made me believe in it, too. He made me believe in it enough to almost go off the deep end and disobey orders completely. What I have to learn is to make my own decisions, without letting anyone else change my mind until I know what I'm doing. Captain Carter was right about power. They never taught us that, and it's something you have to learn yourself, just like making up your own mind.
The other thing I learned yesterday was that maybe I'd make a good Navy officer after all. Once I got used to what was going on, I enjoyed it. I took charge. I was glad Palmer was there because nothing upsets him. But it was almost weird the way I felt when they started shooting at us. That was the part I didn't think I'd ever want to go through unless I had to, and there I was ordering the boat in closer and not worrying about being a target. I'd like to ask some other people about that, but perhaps they wouldn't understand. Anyway, there's hardly anyone in the Navy anymore who's ever been shot at. But I think perhaps I might know a little more about myself if I could understand why I felt that way. Maybe after I find out whether Captain Carter's still pissed at me, I'll ask him about it. If I thought I could be like him, I'd stay in the Navy.
C HAPTER F OUR
M oscow, the Third Rome, was cold that night, very cold. Vice Admiral Robert Collier had stepped outside the embassy earlier in the evening, before the old women had swept the dusting of new-fallen snow from the streets. The snow squeaked underfoot, a sound that brought back memories of his childhood when icy cold weather made the packed snow crunchy. The first walk had been a short one, just to think. He knew that the next time he came outside the snow would have been swept off each sidewalk, piled neatly in the street, waiting for the trucks to come by to pick it up and dump it in the river. Unless there was a nasty storm, it was all very efficient. Every citizen contributed to the city somehow, and in each block there was an old woman or old man who swept the daily light dusting into the gutter. Two slightly stronger ones would then push it into piles, and shortly after it was gone. There certainly was something to say for the Party when the streets were always clean, just like the trains running on time!
Now he
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