DEAR DAVID,
I can't tell you how thrilled we were to receive your recent letter and at last get some word of where you are. The letter took almost three weeks to get here and, of course, everything has quieted down where you are now. When everything suddenly happened, the worst thing was not knowing where you were. We knew you had gone down to the Caribbean for those exercises, from your letter early in October, and we had expected to hear from you when the Bagley returned.
You can't imagine the shock when President Kennedy announced on television about the Russian missiles in Cuba and how the Navy was already in position to set up a blockade. You know we have never experienced anything like this since the Korean War (you were only twelve then), but the real fear was that it was happening in our own backyard. And when we think of blockades, your father said there hasn't been anything like that in this country since the Civil War. The whole country really lived in a state of terror for three days before we were a little more sure that there would be no missiles fired or bombs dropped. And we can all imagine what Mr. Kennedy must have been going through.
Since you have been at sea all this time and probably haven't seen a paper, I'm enclosing some clippings you all might like to see of what it was like back here. One of the most frightening things to us here is seeing the pictures from down south where the marines and paratroops are walking around the streets in fatigues and battle dress. Apparently they didn't have time to pack before they were flown down south to be in position. Again, we just haven't seen anything like that in this country for so long.
Another clipping that I hope you'll especially like is one that your father wrote that's going to appear in the local paper after Thanksgiving. It's about the meaning of Christmas, and they asked some of the local business leaders to write what they thought was most important after we were so close to war. I'll tell you the parts I like the best:
Most of us… take for granted the air we breathe, the water we drink, the friends we cherish, the delightful countryside we live in. It is only when we are faced with the specter, however tenuous, of our separation from such things or their very loss that the realization is brought home to us that many-other items heretofore high on our list of "wishes" are really quite inconsequential. And so it may be with what, we fervently hope, may be referred to by the time this appears in print as "the recent Cuban Incident." If it has served to remind us that material assets, however desirable in normal life, are as nothing when weighed against those that really matter, it will not have happened in vain. If it has prompted us to give thanks that the blessings of peace are still ours, it will not have been without profit. And if it has brought home to us anew that there are those principles we hold so tightly that we are willing to exchange even the priceless boon of peace for them— because without them there can be no peace — then it will have served some constructive purpose.
He goes on to say some nice things about Christmas and fellowship and the things you'd normally expect to read about at Christmas, but I thought you might understand better how everyone at home felt while you boys were out there. Knowing where you are and what you're doing, I guess, would have made us all feel a lot better.
We have sent you a separate package with the sports section out of the Sunday New York Times, as you asked in your letter, and we'll send anything else you need if you'll let us know. Perhaps this will all be over soon and you can be here at Christmas. As soon as you get into port anywhere, please call us, and make it a collect call. We want very much to hear from you.
We do hope the Bagley has been far away from any trouble and that you haven't been Involved in anything dangerous. Again, please call collect as soon as you can.
Love from all of us, Mom
CHAPTER SEVEN
You're not really going to write yourself orders to go there?" It was a question asked with a tone of incredulity, backed by a facial expression of absolute disbelief.
"You bet your ass I am."
"Hell, David, you won't have one left to bet. Some little yellow man in black pajamas is going to blow it off for you." The speaker was a young, happy-looking lieutenant with a brush cut, about David's age, looking freshly pressed in his tropical whites. But he also looked somewhat undressed to many of his companions. He lacked the colorful chest ribbons displayed by the many returning Vietnam vets.
"Well, they didn't last time, and they're not going to have any better chances this time either. Look outside," he gestured toward the windows that looked out on the crowded streets. "Saigon can't be any hotter than Washington this time of year. And I'd much rather be cruising on one of those Swift boats than commuting to Virginia in that damned traffic." His friend gazed back at him uncomprehendingly.
"I'll tell you what," David Charles continued, "I'll cut some orders for you right now. We can go over together, be in the same squadron together. Think of the extra combat skins, the leaves in Bangkok, Taipei, Hong Kong, Sydney," he waved his arm toward the other. "You're just going to waste away here chasing secretaries and drinking too much and wishing you could have some excitement. You can't say no."
"No." It was emphatic.
"Okay. It's your choice. Right here," he pointed at some papers on his desk, "right here, I've picked out my billet. XO of a riverboat squadron. I know the CO from my last tour, and we had a great time there. As a matter of fact, that's who convinced me to go. Old Phil Mezey called me a few weeks ago, 'cause he remembered I'd gotten orders to Bupers, and asked if I could fix him up with a riverboat squadron. When I found one and called him back, that's when he asked me if I'd like to be his XO. Boy, was he happy to be going back over."
"Who the hell is this other crazy man?"
"He was one of the officers-in-charge with me during my last tour in the FT boat squadron. Nastys they were called. We bought them from the Norwegians. Phil and I used to race them up and down the "coast after these junks that used to smuggle weapons, people, anything they could get their hands on."
"And you really want to go back?" The other officer, Dan Mundy, leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, the same quizzical look of disbelief in his eyes. "You lifers are all the same. You don't know how to relax." Then he looked over at David more seriously. "You know, things are a hell of a lot different than when you first went over there. That was 1965 when everyone wanted to get there before the war was over. Remember, you had to go get a little combat under your belt if you were going to stay in. Now, you know, there's more people getting killed in a week than got killed in six months when you were there."
"That's the chance you got to take if you're going to make CNO in this man's navy," David grinned. "You would have loved it if you'd been on those Nastys. Damn," he emphasized, "we could wind those things up to forty-five knots. Just skip over the surface. Get up a little sea, and you could just about leap all eighty-five tons of them out of the water at full speed if you hit a swell right. We figured those little yellow people used to fill their pants seeing us coming in at them. Of course, that was part of the idea, according to our squadron commander. Psychological warfare, he called it. He said it would scare them enough so that we'd control those waters and cut off all the arms shipments from up north."
"And did it?"
"Nope. Not really." He folded his arms. "You know we caught an awful lot of them. But I think even more of them got through, 'cause we never heard of gooks running.out of ammunition. Those little mothers were always well armed, and they knew how to use those things. It makes me awful glad I'm not a marine," he finished.