Show of Force by Charles D. Taylor Page A

he splashed in. When he was a little over ankle deep, he dove, landing on his belly in the too-shallow water. Realizing he way still not far enough out, he rose first to his knees, then stood up to run again. It was then that the hidden gunner brought him down.
    David dropped the binoculars to his chest and looked back at Palmer, who had also been watching. They had gradually gotten close enough to the beach so that the other men didn't need the glasses to see what was happening.
    The sailor who had first called to him now shouted wildly, “We've got to get out of here, sir. We're not supposed to be here by ourselves.” This time he stood up, rocking the whaleboat even more violently than it already was. David looked back at Palmer, pointing at the sailor and mouthed unheard words as another shell showered them with water. Palmer simply yelled something to the engineman who calmly reached for a canteen that had fallen loose in the bottom of the boat. He stood for just a moment as he swung the canteen behind his shoulder, then brought it down on the sailor's head. He cushioned the falling body to avoid it hitting the edge of the boat.
    Palmer grinned in response to David's surprise at their efficient method of calming the frantic man. Then he again shouted as loudly as he could before he threw the rudder over sharply to turn closer to the beach, and then run parallel to it.
    Farther down the shoreline, one of the landing teams had managed to make it into the shattered palm trees. Now they could be seen retreating from that shelter, this time followed by their enemy. It was the first time David had seen any of the Cuban army, and he found himself glad to see some of them falling from the return fire of the pathetic little groups.
    They had momentarily slowed the steady hail of bullets from the tree line, and more of the invaders now began to run for the water. They waded in up to their knees, dropping their weapons as they dove, frantically thrashing the water as they swam straight out. Many would stop to wave their arms over their heads, apparently imploring the American boats not to leave them.
    Now that the invaders were turning their backs, more Cuban soldiers were moving from the safety of the palms, this time stopping to take aim as they fired at the retreating band. While the boat again rocked to a new course, David searched through his binoculars until he found Melendez. The man was on one knee, firing his BAR at a group of soldiers, stopping them in their tracks. The lucky ones threw themselves to the ground, rolling over and over, away from the hail of bullets. One in particular kept rolling until he was far enough away to come to a sitting position. He raised his gun quickly in Jorge's direction, firing rapidly at the little colonel, who was by now all but deserted by his men. One bullet found its home, and Melendez fell backward, his gun flying through the air.
    David cried out as his friend rolled over twice. His assailant then turned his fire in another direction. David watched Jorge roll over onto his knees, looking in the direction of the man who had brought him down. When he found he was alone for a moment he rose to his feet, stumbling to the water's edge, wading in almost too casually. At knee's depth, he fell forward and began a slow, erratic stroke toward deeper water.
    Almost at the same time David thought, We have to save them, Palmer had brought the rudder around again and was heading toward the closest swimming men.
    Now the shells from the coastal batteries were more accurate. They no longer had to search for their targets. This was the remainder of an army in complete retreat, frantically thrashing the water in desperate efforts to escape certain death or capture ashore, and instead swimming among a hail of artillery shells rupturing the water around them.
    My God, thought David, This is what Dunkirk must have been like! And in a way, it probably was for the ensign who had only just been born at the