Ar 6:30 o'clock one morning last week, Vice Admiral Alfred Melville Pride arose in his cabin aboard the cruiser Helena, had toast and coffee, and turned to the papers stacked on his ash-blond desk. He worked silently, sending out blue memo slips with terse messages, e.g., "O.K., I'll go along with this," or simply. "Let's talk." He finished his correspondence by 9 o'clock. Then, one by one through his brown Fiberglas door curtain came the top officers of Pride's Seventh Fleet for a conference. Pride greeted them quietly. These were men who measured...
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