Sea Stories

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heart, but also the conscience. i ^_f(ji- tain resolves the problem for his s nates who are sitting on the court ing them that their “private p^t?^nS._e foi" should . . . yield to that imperial o mulated in the code under which dally proceed.”³          _{he s}totf

Yet it is clear by the end ot t

The hardest thing about leadership is teaching it. The second hardest thing is learning it. The third hard­est thing is making it work; and the easi­est thing is improving your own leader­ship performance. Like repeatedly step­ping halfway to the wall, you can keep im­proving and still have farther to go. This is why it is always easy to improve.

The U. S. Navy spends a lot of money training an officer in leadership. It begins before commissioning and, no matter what the source, the young man or woman pinning on those first gold bars has heard about the qualities of a good leader. Yet anyone who has ever been an ensign in the fleet knows that there is a big difference between answering #145 on a 175-question multiple-choice leader­ship exam with “c” for “moral cour­age” and solving the dilemma of whether or not to release a sailor from restriction because a child is sick at home. The mul­tiple choice tests are great for those who write them, proven leaders who are teaching back at our academies, ROTC units, and officer candidate schools. For these officer instructors, the tests make sense because they are drawn from expe­rience. But to the young people working through one of these programs, terms such as “moral courage” or “ integrity” are mere concepts. Applying these con­cepts to the questions on a test is just jumping through another hoop before commissioning.

The boot ensigns, like most officers, will probably learn their lessons the hard way—by sometimes-painful experience. These are the best remembered, and thus the most valuable lessons of all. Looking back, the officers may realize that going to the captain and getting that sailor who does not deserve it temporarily off re­striction to help the sick child called for enough moral courage to buck regula­tions. But in the classroom and on the test, the term is only a concept—just the right answer to a question, not yet some­thing real.

So pass the gouge, and when we get to the fleet we'll learn those lessons the hard way! Right, shipmate? Wrong! Although lessons of experience cannot be passed on in the classroom in any way approaching the effectiveness of learning them first hand, there is room for improvement.

An otherwise conscientious young sea­man, provoked by a petty officer who is out to get him, strikes the petty officer in front of witnesses—a clear violation of military discipline. Yet the officers in­volved know that the petty officer, a ca­reer second class who is going nowhere, was at fault, and the seaman, known by all on board as a man who has mastered his job and performed well, was blame­less. But one cannot change what has happened. There were witnesses. Regu­lations are clear. Good order and disci­pline must be maintained. The good man must be punished. The petty officer will be exonerated.

Situations like this cause real anguish for the officers who lead ships. Readers of this scenario will recognize the story of Billy Budd, Sailor, Herman Melville’s last and one of his greatest. Melville ex­plores the conflict between duty and con­science, a conflict that naval officers are certain to experience throughout their careers. Billy Budd was a foretopman, his world was the highest reach of the tall ships, and he was admired for his skill there. He was loved by all on board—all, that is, except his nemesis Claggart, the shady master-at-arms with an unknown

past and a grudge against Billy- _s.

The story is instructive because ¹j_£(j ents a simple scenario of good, em in the fair-haired Billy, brought do ^ evil, the unrelenting Claggart- ^ wrongfully accused of treason by ^ gart, lashes out and strikes C A- -_n down, killing him with one blow rte ^_a the captain’s cabin, with the c^aP^,alIVj ₀f witness. A drumhead court compo-^s ^ officers from the ship convicts B» > ’ he is hanged at sea.               y fre

Melville wrote about the navies nineteenth century, which nao ^ shaken by mutinies. But ^even "|_vVeen charged atmosphere, the conflict b duty and conscience is not clear ^cul^ ^ tain Vere addresses the members drumhead court:

“Is nothing but . . • [Billy overt act to be considered? • • • jn King’s officers lies our duty • '      .

receiving our commissions ^vvC^[,_en ceased to be natural free agents- -_s, war is declared are we the c sioned fighters previously ^c°^nS-_u(j<ie' We fight at command. If °^ur^_utc0' ments approve the war, that is incidence.”¹      .

Vere goes on to point out that ^t/^llS₍,_oUn' ordinary matter, and notices *ⁿ. ,._s0lnf' tenances of the court that there is _>)2 j\i thing exceptional that moves you- ^ judges correctly that the P^r°b th^c court is wrestling with is not jujj^ _c3p-

c_Crs ^Vere, alone among the ship’s offi- “ ^rea^‘^zes ^e full import of what they done and regrets the circumstances _S,₀ Stated their actions. The officers, ⁿ to uphold their commissions (as ,,«■ of us today), seem to have no &j]|^Ce' So evil triumphs over good and ‘V ^ls executed. Earlier, we see Vere H_e ^r'd'ng alone on the weather side of rjg ^<t^Uarterdeck, one hand holding by the bC8 • . . absently gaz[ing] off at the bo_re ^sea.”⁴ This contemplative man full burden of Billy’s execution iru, ^Very much regretted a decision seem- A's V ^Ut °i his control. Melville exoner­ate, ^{ere near} the end of the tale when he Cjj ' “Forty years after a battle it is hoty . ^a noncombatant to reason about 3H₀ 't ought to have been fought. It is ti5_Ve ^er thing personally and under fire to iri ^to direct the fighting while involved pl,_es^e obscuring smoke of it.”⁵ He im- tti_a 'hat second-guessing the com- ^ is difficult, because we do not ifijj. ^al> that he faces: “Little ween the ^sft)h ^Card Players in the cabin of the re­tire 'oilities of the sleepless man on the ⁶ ^°’ ^t00> ^was the situation for ^ain Vere in the matter of Billy Budd.

What can this tale teach? First, that all choices are not as clear as they may seem. Second, that when you raise your right arm and take the oath, you take on an obligation that might someday run counter to your own feelings. “What al­ternatives existed for Vere?” one might ask. Rear Admiral James Calvert, speak­ing at the U. S. Naval Academy in the 1970s, answered this question by saying that Vere lacked “the force of personal­ity” needed to maintain discipline and ignore regulations at the same time.⁷ Ig­noring Billy’s crime would have required a leader capable of enforcing the rules and breaking them at the same time.

The leadership lesson here is neither clear nor simple. It will not provide any­one with an answer to a multiple-choice test question. But the real value of this story is its affirmation that the situations that require leadership in the fleet are often not clear and that the interplay of the right choice and the wrong one is rarely simple.

Many other stories have pursued the interplay between duty and conscience. In Flight of the Intruder, Jake Grafton grows frustrated with his own govern­ment and with himself as he deals with the death of his bombardier-navigator and his own conscience after the realization that he has killed many Vietnamese. He responds by independently bombing Hanoi, an act of defiance against both his Vietnamese enemies and against the gov­ernment he is duty bound to serve. Con­science and duty are pulling him in differ­ent directions. Neither leaves him a clear

One day you’re a young, sheltered midshipman, the next an officer lead­ing an 18-year-old father! Gads! Getting into the literary characters who faced other leadership challenges might make the transition less pain­ful for everyone.

choice. Following both is impossible.

In Run Silent, Run Deep, the young skipper, Lieutenant Edward Richardson, is constantly battling with conflicting urges of his sense of responsibility for his boat and his loyalty to his friend and ex­ecutive officer (XO), Jim Bledsoe. Early in the book Richardson refuses to qualify Jim as a skipper, thereby ensuring his own failure to gain quick appointment as commanding officer (CO) of a brand new boat—and at the same time earning the perpetual enmity of his XO. Guilt thick­ens the plot, when Richardson realizes that he is in love with Bledsoe’s wife.

As in real life, duty and conscience do not clash in a vacuum. Friendship, guilt, and ambition are all real motives that real people experience—motives that can af­fect one’s performance.

In The Odyssey, the granddaddy of all sea stories, Odysseus feels the heat of this conflict too. As he prepares to guide his boat through the dangerous waters inhab­ited by the six-headed monster, Scylla, he grapples with the moral question of forewarning his crew. Athena has ad­vised him against this, warning Odysseus that if his men stop rowing to fight, they will all become the monster’s prey. Ac­cordingly, Odysseus tells his men only

andlub^ber,

Id o'

,ve^f

to “leader of leaders” has been to form a rich tradition, encompassing

Good sea stories (and the films made from them) reflect real-life dilemmas, such as whether or not to recom­mend your buddy for advancement (Run Silent, Run Deep, right) or the difficulty a young city slicker has adapting to sea life (Captains Coura­geous, below right).

“Well, I walked up and down from bow to stem, trying to put heart into them, standing over every oarsman, saying gently,

Now I say by hook or by crook this peril too shall be something that we remember.

As Odysseus and his men stand into danger, he reflects almost remorsefully on his exortation and on the burden of leadership:

“That was all, and it brought them around to action. But as I sent them on toward Scylla, 1 told them nothing, as they could do nothing.”⁹

Duty requires him to think of his mis­sion and ensure the safety of his boat; conscience forces his mind to those who will die. Almost three thousand years later, the tale of Odysseus’s handling of the conflict between duty and conscience remains meaningful. Nevertheless, dif­ferent leaders have resolved this problem in different ways—and that is a lesson for all of us.

The young ensign hoarding the ship knows only a few things. First, that everything lies ahead—the excitement, romance, challenge, and danger of going to sea, the first cruise in the Mediterra­nean or Western Pacific, the thrill of suc­ceeding to higher levels of responsibility, having the conn or the deck, earning his pin, being a department head, XO, even captain of a ship. He knows that by the time he reaches those positions he’ll be different, that he’ll grow and learn along the way. He sees the swagger of the lieu­tenants on board, who are not much older than he is, yet different—because they have passed those initial tests, ruf­fled their feathers, earned their wings. He believes he will make it, although he questions whether he has the right stuff, whether he's ready to be a leader.

He will find out soon enough. He will undertake a rite of passage, through the wickets the untried must clear on their way to higher position, whether it be rank, responsibility, prestige, the respect of others, or merely self-satisfaction. Naval officers must always strive for the next higher rung on the ladder. At sea, the highest rung is embodied by the cap­tain, the leader of leaders. The lowest rung is reached by casting off all lines and becoming a mariner, rather than a

landlubber. At the outset, this            fof

volve a mail buoy watch or a ^sea!" _nd^ the elusive bucket of steam, . _earin? monkey wrench, or relative              ₀f

grease. It is no surprise that this passage, the passage from “la and over through the ages. ^ln. „^t\1

aspects of the process of develop¹¹¹® faring leaders.   . gud'

Jack London’s The Sea Wolf^an

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Giy ^rnest Hemingway’s The Old Man loiw ^e Rea, the battle for the fish be- ^t*^{1e man}’ Santiago, but the ^C!l,f|Pa^^aSSag^C '^{S trave}*^ed by bis spiritual

to

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endure at least a mild version of Captain Ahab or Plain Queeg; it is a sacred naval tradition. In military

tions aren't always forthcoming when books explore of­ficer-enlisted relationships, perhaps because of the au­thor’s baggage of personal experience.

Love and family: More often than not, Cupid has a way of slipping into a good war story, given the reality of separations and deployments in the naval service. Whether it is the romantic intensity of From Here to Eternity or the almost platonic, soul-mate love expressed in Run Silent, Run Deep, familiarity with these ancient tuggings could prove beneficial to the reader—at least from a counseling viewpoint. Young love is the most common theme in stories with a military setting, but concerns of established families are explored, as well. James Michener's The Bridges at Toko-Ri deals with the marital turmoil wrought by wartime recall into the active forces. Later, Pat Conroy broke new ground with The Great Santini, a well-crafted novel that was acclaimed not so much for its portrayal of a Marine Corps fighter pilot as for its sensitive, sometimes jolting look at the nomadic lifestyle of military families.

Sailor as tourist: Whether pictured as an insensitive “Ugly American” or as just another happy-go-lucky ser­viceman on liberty, here is a theme that always hits home, particularly for the sea services. The astute reader can learn about the nuances of life in a foreign country, and note that there is sometimes a cause-and-effect rela­tionship between barroom brawls and diplomatic rup­tures. Invariably, the storyline will include a kid, or a girl, or both. The little boy is adopted by the good- hearted platoon; the girl introduces the American to her parents, who politely tolerate his attempts at fitting in (or run him out of the village with a samurai sword).

The moment of truth: At long last come the hell-for- leather heroics—probably the reason you picked up the book in the first place. Does the cool-headed man of action win the day, as does Tom Clancy's Jack Ryan?

Or are we dealing with an Ensign Pulver type, who cow­ers at the captain’s shadow? Will the bomber pilot take out the bridge in time or will he freeze completely, hounded by an earlier failure? With the odds stacked heavily against him, can the special operations wizard spring his comrades from the enemy camp or does his lack of attention to some detail bring about disaster?

By placing themselves into the hero’s jungle boots, the readers turn the war novel into a kind of literary war game; they are fully engaged, intellectually and emotion­ally, playing “what if.” Played hard enough and often enough, such games could eventually save lives.

, ^l°n, the commanding officer is not always portrayed ^as a buffoon or a Simon Legree, but he (or someone ^Se who outranks the nalve-yet-principled hero) is likely ⁰ cast as the principal antagonist. Tales of command ^a°nflict are good for a junior officer’s spirit; he may still ^Lfr- but it will be on the side of boldness.

, Conflicts with subordinates: If the tussle in question is ^,ween a boot ensign and a master chief, the ensign ^ai)uld think himself involved in a “run-in with a se- j^l0r- The officer may never admit to such feelings of ^adequacy, but he does not need to—dozens of fiction fiters already have. In books, two classic problems |. ^Ilh enlisted are the we-don’t-do-it-that-way-out-here- ,tenant syndrome, and the leading of a junior officer °Wri the primrose path (often involving either a jungle- ^lce still or major supply system irregularities). Solu­

Read Ail About It . . .________

% Captain Keith Oliver, U. S. Marine Corps

Aside from the deeper examinations of rites of passage ^m,d the eternal conflict between duty and conscience, Coders of military fiction can sample years of wartime ^and peacetime experience, encompassing a vast range of ^lu,nan triumph and tragedy. Sometimes such reading is 'ⁿstructive; sometimes it provides no more (in the words °f a senior Marine) than “the comfort of knowing that °thers reacted the same way you did’ ’ to the vicissitudes °f military life. In either case, the reader usually en- ^c°unters a handful of recurring, stereotypical themes:

Reporting aboard: Does the scene of a new ensign or ^Sec°nd lieutenant checking in seem overworked because ¹¹ ’^s so familiar, or does it seem familiar because it is so °^verworked? This is perhaps the most universal manifes­tation of newness. The fledgling leader need not always ^{e s}queaky-voiced and clumsy, but authors (often ^autobiographically) seem to prefer him that way. In any p'ent, welcome-aboard butterflies are commonplace. One “ng-service Marine officer recalled picking up his first Ptatoon: “1 was thinking, standing with my back to my seasoned men in our first company formation, ‘I'm going ⁰ lead them?' And I could feel thirty pairs of eyeballs ^0ring a hole in the back of my neck, all thinking, 'He’s ^going to lead us?^[1] ”

Run-Ins with seniors: Everyone fancies that he has had

_ri ^'Pling’s Captains Courageous are ^cfea_rtl ^about pampered young men, itit^ii puff ^c'^ly boys^usec*^{to r}'^c^^{es anc}* tr_e ^ect> who fall overboard at sea and S>        up by fishing boats. The

%!]^ma-ⁿ characters undergo profound *** *ⁿ voyages that ensue, and ¹ >ⁿto men by triumphing over the In c!P^{s anc}! challenges of the sea.

ⁿⁱ°n, the young boy who had pre­viously fished with him. At the beginning of the story, Santiago has not caught a fish for 84 days. The young boy had fished with him the first 40 days, but his parents had pulled him out of Santiago’s boat. After the old man’s ordeal with the marlin, the boy makes his own decision— he will fish with Santiago from now on.

Joseph Conrad dealt with the theme of personal growth on several occasions. In “Youth,” the young Marlow goes to sea on his first voyage to the East in an old, rattletrap 400-ton steamer with the words “Do or Die” emblazoned on the hull. ¹⁽¹

The old Marlow tells the story, and he remembers that the motto “took my fancy immensely.” “Do or die” is what it took for him to reach the Far East, be­cause the ship leaked and almost sank in a gale. Later it caught fire and the water that they had previously pumped over­board to keep from sinking had to be pumped back in to keep the ship from burning to the waterline. When they went into port for repairs, even the rats left the ship! Eventually their cargo of coal ex­ploded, blowing the ship to bits. But Marlow, undaunted, pressed on, finally

73

typhoon because he does not know ^a better. During the storm, he demonstra for the first time the true qualities o captain, keeping his head when all o are looking to him for leadership- the storm, the sailors, who had P^re ously made fun of him, praise him- In “The Secret Sharer,” Conrau ^ an in-depth psychological exploratio^

ship

as they are, they have one ^L thread that offers insight to the ) ^ to ente*

man or woman preparing

reaching the mysterious East in his first command—a life boat. Throughout the story, the older Marlow, recounting the tale of his youth, repeats the refrain, “Ah youth, . . . pass the bottle!” He is com­menting on the change that has taken place. He is older and wiser, but he rec­ognizes that while he has lost some

You report on board your first ship only to find that your CO is over­bearing, cowardly and incompetent— a real snake. Take comfort: others have faced this situation. Read Mr. Roberts (top) and The Caine Mutiny (below).

things, he has gained others.

This is a good lesson for either end of the leadership ladder—the youthful en­sign at one end of the wardroom table or the experienced captain at the other. In traveling from one end of the table to the other, some things—enthusiasm, ro­mance, and youth—are lost while others— experience, wisdom, and maturity—are gained. If this is understood at both ends of the table, it will be easier for these mariners to work together and lead the rest of the ship.

Two of Conrad’s stories deal with the specific problems of command. In “Ty­phoon,” Captain Mac Whirr is as ordi­nary as men get. He sails straight into a

the problems of assuming command■ new captain, who is on his fi^{rst s} m out I f one’s - ^

personality every man sets up for bin's secretly.”¹¹                .               ^

This is the problem any officer fe^ce ,_s living up to that ideal conception of⁰ j_n self. This is what leadership is ^a*^>°₁^-jiful Conrad’s story, the captain’s ^slcl maneuvering of his ship through d^aIJ-^._s ous waters earns him the respect t crew, which, in turn, enables him to off the self-doubts that had plagued At the end of the story, he feels the feet communion of a seaman with his command.”¹²

These are many examples of the fleet: the new leader will be tested an will grow.

i • He b ^

The whole ship admires him■             ^

good officer, one of the best. Bid on

^subordinates. Whether through igno-

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by

^or just bad luck, this problem can ^lQes occur. Usually, it results from a ^ln not treating his crew well, either

Two

_Cr ^erts, is a “bom leader. . . . The _a Worshipped him .... Devotion of bj ^{11 c}an be bought or commanded or

but it was accorded Roberts

ttnai

^■'^eves otherwise. The captain. How did ^^Srr,an ^t to be a captain? All the crew _Co ^lvs that he is incompetent, vindictive, 'crrf/y, and interested only in his own ^eer, p/_{le ()}fj'i_{cers WO}rk hard for the y ^ain, but they are getting burned in ^eProcess.

lin ^CrhaP^s the toughest leadership posi- t_Ca ^{ls t0} be on a ship where, for whatever l. ^s°n, the captain has lost the respect of

^illCc- incompetence, careerism, selfish- 0j_t ^CxPecting too much or too little.

^en' the crew responds in a similar _ej^’ by not seeing the captain as human, ^^atre^ bor the captain creates gen- p_t , discontent; the discontent causes F_r ^lems, and the captain cracks down, there, the problem spirals out of

c₀ ⁰ naval classics turn on this type of \f_u ^lct. Mr. Roberts and The Caine jj '‘ty- In Mr. Roberts, Captain Morton off ¹ i>ng to inflict any hardship on his _Car^,Cers or crew as long as it furthers his * ^eer- One of his officers, Lieutenant ^ntously and voluntarily.”¹³ This d_ef^ chronicles the battle of Roberts, _Cvi,ⁿder of the crew’s rights, against the lb_0s ^CaPtain, the tyrant who purloined {_Ve|.^{e r}'ghts. Throughout this story, how- bi_s ’ Roberts’s weaknesses, as well as _c%lengths, become manifest. Roberts th_e ^Stan% sets himself up in conflict with ^CaPtain. While it is true that the cap­tain has no redeeming qualities, his ward­room, led by Roberts, lets him down too. The situation deteriorates, because of the captain’s incompetence and the failure of his wardroom to compensate for his shortcomings.

The situation in The Caine Mutiny is strikingly similar. Maryk, the XO, egged on by another officer, relieves Captain Queeg of his command during a typhoon. Queeg has lost the confidence of his crew, who question his sanity and judg­ment, and Maryk undoubtedly saves the ship when he takes command. On the bridge in the middle of the typhoon, Queeg is “blinking and shaking his head as if just awakened,” and he has so lost his powers of judgment that he can con­ceive of no maneuver other than to re­main on base course, even though staying on that course dooms his ship.¹⁴ But ulti­mately, Maryk is not exonerated by the author because—as in Mr. Roberts—if the group had supported Queeg earlier, the situation might never have deterio­rated to extremis.

These two stories are outstanding les­sons on one of the toughest leadership challenges. Moreover, they illustrate the earlier themes, as well. The development of Ensign Pulvcr to fill Lieutenant Roberts’s shoes and the saga of Willie Keith moving from green ensign to be­come the Caine’s CO are important parts of the stories. And neither Maryk nor Roberts acts on impulse: each is driven by duty and conscience and a host of other motives.

So what is the use of these leadership scenarios that leave us with no clear an­swers? First, unlike the multiple-choice tests, they do not take place in a vacuum. For the trainees and instructors using them, the scenarios present the same di­lemmas as one experiences in real life. And second, ironically, they teach us that the answers are not always in the book. After living through the typhoon, Captain MacWhirr realizes for the first time that “there are things you find nothing about in books.”¹⁴ Anyone can construct a multiple-choice problem where the an­swer is “none of the above.” But in life, “none of the above” is seldom a real op­tion. We learn that from stories like these.

'Herman Melville. Billy Budd, Sailor, The Great Short Works of Herman Melville, ed. Warner Ber- thoff (New York: Harper & Row, 1969), p. 487. ²Ibid.

³Ibid., p. 487.

⁴Ibid., p. 445.

⁵Ibid., p. 489.

⁶Ibid.

⁷“Billy Budd Seminar,” a film of unknown origin and date, produced circa 1970.

⁸Homer, The Odyssey, trans. Robert Fitzgerald (New York: Doubleday, 1961), p. 216.

⁹Ibid., p. 217.

^,0Joseph Conrad, “Youth,” The Great Short Works of Joseph Conrad, ed. Jerry Allen (New York: Harper & Row, 1966), p. 180.

"Joseph Conrad, “The Secret Sharer,” The Great Short Works of Joseph Conrad, ed. Jerry Allen (New York: Harper & Row, 1966), p. 369. ^l2Ibid., p. 404.

^l3Thomas Heggen, Mr. Roberts (New York: Penguin Books, 1946), pp. 2-3.

^,4Joseph Conrad, “Typhoon,” The Great Short Works of Joseph Conrad, ed. Jerry Allen (New York: Harper & Row, 1966), p. 364.

Lieutenant Hastings is now Assistant to the Deputy for Operations, U. S. Naval Academy. Prior to that, he was an English instructor at the U. S. Naval Acad­emy. Commissioned at Officer Candidate School in 1982, he was the First Division officer on the USS New Jersey (BB-62) and the damage control assistant on the USS Gary (FFG-51). Lieutenant Hastings re­ceived first honorable mention in the 1985 Vincent Astor Memorial Leadership Contest.

A Few Good Sea Stories

r»

^each, Edward L. Run Silent, Run Deep. Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1985.

”^mey, Tom. The Hunt for Red October. Annapolis, MD; Naval Institute Press, 1984.

Conrad, Joseph, “Youth,” “The Secret Sharer,” and ! Typhoon,” The Great Works of Joseph Conrad. Ed- 'ted by Jerry Allen. New York: Harper & Row, 1966. '-oiiroy, Pat. The Great Santini. New York: Houghton _c Mifflin, 1976.

°°nts, Stephen. Flight of the Intruder. Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1986.

^<)rcster, C. S. The Hornblower Saga. Boston: Little, j, Srown & Company, 1948.

^e8gen, Thomas. Mister Roberts. Boston: Houghton . Mifflin, 1946.

^c>ningway, Ernest. The Old Man and the Sea. New

York: Scribner, 1931.

Homer, The Odyssey. Translated by Robert Fitzgerald. New York: Doubleday, 1961.

Kipling, Rudyard. Captains Courageous. Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1897.

London, Jack. The Sea Wolf. New York: Grosset & Dunlap, 1931.

Melville. Herman. Billy Budd, Sailor. The Great Short Works of Herman Melville. Edited by Warner Ber- thoff. New York: Harper & Row, 1969.

Michener, James A. The Bridges at Toko-Ri. New York: Random House, 1953.

Webb, James. Fields of Fire. New York: Bantam, 1979.

Wouk, Herman. The Caine Mutiny. Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1987.

 

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