"Can we make it back to Guantanamo Bay?" I asked the motorman. "Never mind answering; we're going to!" A cheer rose from the marines and sailors as we rounded the point we had never expected to see again, and started west, in deep blue water, along the coast. LCVP's aren't good travelers. They roll like eggs on a hill, but this time nobody got seasick. "Outpost Zero," said someone, looking back at Yataritas Beach. "If I never even _hear_ of it again it will be too soon!" * * * * * We kept in close formation as we approached Escondido Bay, outside the Reservation. There a cruising plane picked us up, dipped wings over us, looped and headed full speed back to Guantanamo. We all crawled up our starboard sides, tilting the LCVP's far over, and not caring a bit, to pick out landmarks ashore that we knew--Kittery Beach, Windmill, Cuzco, Blind, Blue and Cable Beaches. Every one looked like home--and the marine hadn't lived, up to that moment, who regarded Guantanamo as home! There were many planes out, including some of our jets, by the time we reached the mouth of Guantanamo Bay. Luckily the long run was made in fairly smooth water. We crossed the shelf where the deep blue water of the Caribbean becomes the green-dirty water of the Bay, and were as good as home. I planned on making it to the Marine Boat House, but the Admiral's launch came out, with a staff officer aboard, with instructions to land at the Admiral's own dock. I guess it didn't matter much where we docked, for the point of land on which the Admiral had his quarters was covered with uniforms. Marines and sailors were kept back by MP's. The Chief Staff Officer placed me formally under arrest, "for absence over-leave," he said--though there was a suggestion of excitement in his voice that made me suspect subterfuge. One thing was certain, an officer under arrest kept his mouth shut. I couldn't tell anybody anything. The same thing, or something like it, happened to every one of us. We were all completely muzzled by being placed under arrest. Whatever else we might be, we were "hot." Then it was that we worked together as even marines did not always work together--and the six gobs pitched in, too. I made out this report, with the understanding that it would be seen by every leatherneck and sailor, and not submitted until all were satisfied with its accuracy. I told what seemed to have happened to us. As commanding officer I was requested also to express an opinion. I had none to offer, except that two news bulletins, received over the radio the next day after our return, gave me something to think about.