Having steamed all day and night in the wake of Hugo, we arrived and sun up off the coast of Charleston. We selected an anchorage and headed there, being the first Navy ship back. We had been preceded by a Coast Guard Cutter, a converted Navy salvage ship, skippered by a classmate of mine from the Naval War College.

We did not have permission to enter port. The shortest distance the buoys had shifted was about 1/2 a nautical mile. Most all of the range markers had been destroyed. The larger concern is that the channel had shifted with the push of the storm going through the area, rendering it unsafe for transit to the Naval Base up the Cooper River. The sea floor in the vicinity of Charleston Harbor is mostly fine silt, so that fear was real.

What did we know? For one, the crew, about 1/2 of the of the 189, had families ashore. What we didn’t know is how they were. We knew it had been a devastating storm, as we could plainly see the Ben Sawyer turntable bridge from Mt Pleasant sitting at a god awful angle into the sky from our vantage point jsut off the shore. With the “Big Eyes,” the large binoculars on the Signal Bridge, you got a better idea of the almost complete devastation of the houses on the beach along the Isle of Palms.

With our external TV antenna, we began picking up news reports from the local stations, as they came back on the air. I recall just staring at one reporter, looking like he was stnding in Francis Marion Forest, saying “I’m standing on (can’t recall the main road, but it was one of the main roads in Charleston)….” I was mesmerized by the thick background of pine branches behind him.

It was quiet walking the decks. Not much work was being done, as our minds were obviously focused on the unknown.

The Captain called me to the Bridge. The Coast Guard cutter was sending a zodiac boat into the Coast Guard Station, and asked if we wanted to put some ashore. He told me to get Chief Hatherly, and an “alpha” roster (a recall list, with the home names and addresses of the crew, as well as spouse and children’s names). Order the CO gave to STGC Hatherly: “Take the roster and do the right thing. Grab a toothbrush and get to the Quarterdeck.” Off Steve went. About 10 minutes later, he was climbing down the Jacob’s ladder to the zodiac alongside.

It was to be a long day of not knowing much.

About noon on this day 19 years ago, we were abeam Miami and the weather was exceptionally excellent, as it is behind a major storm. The sky brilliantly blue, the sea darker, and the waves very small.

Hugo was now a Category 4, about 240 miles SE of Charelston, SC, our homeport. Hugo was about 340 miles NE of us. The CO and I decided to turn north and begin to follow the storm. At that location, when we decided, our track to the sea buoy off Charleston was 000^oT, due north.

The journey home then began with a wide turn in the sea traffic, and we slowed, taking one engine offline. Having once before followed a strom home to homeport (Guillermo in the Pacific in 1979), I knew it was not wise to run right up behind it and assume you knew here it was headed.

Hugo had increased dramatically in strength, having pulled in the energy off the hot water of the Gulf Stream, as it had crossed in in the night, and had now set it’s sights on the low country Carolina area. It was heading that direction at about 19 mph. The exact landfall was still a question.

We went about our duties, minus a heavy dose of specific Navy related tasks. We were just mariners on the way home, with the thoughts and fears about our family and friends in the path of the storm.

The ships in Charelston had sortied, heading to the NE, “crossing the T” of the storm. I later heard more details, which I will discuss in this story chonologically.

The day had pretty much wrapped up. Yes, about this time. We were out of homeport, supposed to be out at sea and really had no plans, so work like we would have been doing, had we been at sea went on this day. Besides, a major storm was approaching, so there was some planning going on.

About 2200 (10PM), which was also Taps in the daily routine, the CO phoned me and said “XO, I’m nervous. You get the ship ready to get underway and I’ll get permission to sail.” My tasking was established and I rounded up the department heads. The Ship came back to life as all hands went through their duties.

Shortly afterwards, the CO told me we had been granted permission to get underway by the COMDESRON 8 Duty Officer, who had also notified the Naval Station to get us tugs and a pilot to return to sea.

Within moments of midnight, the CARR pulled away from the quay wall and made the turn out the short channel to enter then St James River and head for the sea. That trip, a delightful one, being the shortest sea and anchor detail, even at night was handled professionally. When we got to the Sea Buoy, we kept both LM2500 main engines on line, an abnormal procedure, but we wanted the speed. The lee helm was directed to advance the throttle to flank speed as we also executed a turn due south to make a run for the Strait of Florida.

Hugo had not yet settled on where it would strike, but we knew heading to the north east would have us “crossing the T” of the storm, and it was a big one. In addition, we’d end up on the “dangerous” side of the storm, and if it recurved, following the hot water of the Gulf Stream, we’d have to run far to the East, and then south, circumnavigating the entire weather phenomena. Taking the course we did also had it’s risk. like getting trapped between land and the high winds, but our plan was to get south fast to knowing there was less of a chance the storm, being where it was then, or turning to a south western course.

The night was quiet, but tense, as the we plotted Hugo and rode a port quartering sea, feeling ourselves surfing down the large wave fronts.

Tuesday morning began in with the standard shipboard routine. Reveille, breakfast for the crew, muster for instruction and inspection, Officer’s Call and turn to, commence Ship’s work.

On the other hand, it was not routine, as we couldn’t fulfill our assigned duty of providing deck services for HSL-44. Later in the morning, the CO got us working to enter port at Naval Station Mayport. With permission, we moored that afternoon on the quay wall at the north east side of the basin, starboard side to. The Chief Staff Officer of Destroyer Squadron 8, offering us a hand since this wasn’t our homeport.

The reason for the circumstances? Hurricane Hugo, which was about 700 miles SE of Mayport, with 110 mph of wind, generally headed somewhere towards the East Coast.

A meeting on the base in the afternoon yielded a decision by the Naval Station Commander, a helo pilot by trade, that there would be no sortie for storm avoidance. His determination was made on the capability of the basin to take up to 60 mph of winds.

That decision didn’t sit well with my CO.

It was a typical Monday morning at Charleston Naval Station for USS CARR (FFG-52). Once more, the crew had come aboard before sunrise and added their efforts to that of the duty section to get the ship underway. The Getting Underway checklist was completed and the CO gave me permission to get the ship underway.

Off we sailed, without exceptional circumstances, to head outboard in the tight channel, “riding the ranges” as was the convention for navigation in the lowlands of Charleston Harbor. Reaching the sea buoy, we left two engines on the line, turned due south and enjoyed the bright day. Preps were in place by the Operations and Engineering Departments to perform that late afternoon as scheduled: Ready deck for Helicopter Anti-Submarine (Light) Squadron 44 (HSL-44) landings to keep their new and old pilots and aircrews proficient.

On such assignments, we knew the drill: We could sprint from Charleston early in the morning and be on station in the Jacksonville Operations Area (JAXOA) bu late in the afternoon, the transit being considered “local,” which allowed us to circumvent the normal transit speed limitation of 16 kts overall speed for the MOVREP (moving reporting) system. This trip south of homeport was no exception.

Comms were established with the helos and we commenced deck qualifications while the sun was still shining brightly. As the day drew on, with the deck crews, the fueling crews and the operations personnel keeping the helos coming and going, dusk was settling in. I don’t recall exactly when it occurred, but it was sometime after nautical twilight, when the helo on approach requested to be chocked and chained on deck, so our assigned detachment Officer-in-Charge, LCDR Marty Keanny could come aboard and speak with the CO. PREGRA and Marty disembarked and headed through the hanger and forward to the Captain’s Cabin.

After Marty left, Captain Wade Johnson called me to come up to his cabin. He told me Marty let him know HSL-44 would be heading to Warner-Robbins AFB first thing in the morning. That of course, left us on the OPSKED to bore holes in the JAXOA until Friday with no helos to land on us.

And so the day ended.

Mines in the Gulf, again Same bad actors, same possible bad outcomes.

Mining in your own territorial waters? Completely legit under International Law.

Note to the President of Iran, and his photo-shopping Revolutionary Guard commanders: FA-18s aren’t stopped by seaborne mines….I know, details, details…

H/T: Commenter Pastorius @ LGF.

Because someone has to do it, that’s why.

It began thusly with the folks who brought you a loud and proud “OORAH!”, then the the surface bound “bus drivers” for the aforementioned.
Next: the Zoomies

And…finally, now the ground component has it’s place in the structure.

My testimonial? I can only speak for the Navy site, but I have been contacted by and contacted shipmates from many decades gone by. I have been blessed with other “shipmates” in a larger sense, who willingly shared their stories of history with me when I went searching for others involved in operations I blogged about.

The TWS staff has put a great tool together, designed for military type social networking. Bring a few buddies to the table and they make it worth your while, but if you’re not in to the “refer a freind” life style, then $20/yr isn’t pretty reasonable in my book.

Hey, Army types…give it a shot…you never know who you might find after all there years.

Note regarding the flap when all of a sudden the USAF got their site and some boneheaded Major declared it an OPSEC nightmare: THe US Military didn’t come to have the wonderful public confidence ratings because the members are a bunch of dunces…For those who can’t figure it out: Use your head and remember the documents you signed when you got your security clearances…’nuff said.

The story begins a few years earlier, but you trot down to the Recruiting Office and sign in, then take the physical. It seems you have been “a very, very sickly little boy” and your father has managed to hide that, in fact, it even stays hidden form many more years. So you get a 4-F designation, even before WWII for America has even begun? What do you do?

“I am rapidly reaching a point where every one of my peers will be in uniform, and I do not intend to be the only one among them wearing coward’s tweeds” you write to your friend. With some “help” and connections, you land a commission in the US Navy and a billet in the Office of Naval Intelligence, which you are well suited for. You still have, by the medical records, suffered trough jaundice, colitis and back problems (a result of too many steroids). However, along the way, you have gone into the demanding sports and not let such trivial things slow you down.

You have dated some world class women, and get connected with a Europe beauty, who’s family has a few “connections” not on the right side of the prevailing sentiments. You get told you intel gig is at risk. Do you dump the dame, and keep the office job? Nope. You take the option. There’s a slight change since taking the commission: There’s now a shooting war on…

Along comes a man, looking for men like you, sailors of yachts, smart, dependable. He wears a light blue ribbon around his neck, when in a full dress uniform, he’s been in the hardest, dirtiest fighting, left behind with his crew to manage to be “self sufficient” or die and he becomes a monumental road block to the enemy, before he finds his way south to Australia, with the rescue of a general and president to his credit, all without a SIMA, tender, TYCOM or NAVSEA to hold his hand. He’s manning up the PT Boat fleet and he needs men who want a challenge. You take it.

Side note: You may have family connections (Dad sends a telegram for a lunch date), but LCDR Bulkeley is a man who only does things the right way. Lunch with Joe Kennedy Sr lasted from 1 to 8PM, with John Bulkeley agreeing to interview Jack the next time he was at Northwestern, and would accept him if he measured up. From “Sea Wolf: The Daring Exploits of Navy Legend John D. Bulkeley” by William Breuer:

Twenty-five-year-old Jack Kennedy passed muster with flying colors. In his interview, the handsome young man appeared fearless and eager, and had sailed his own sloop in Cape Cod since he was 15 years old. These assets would make him and ideal PT-boat- skipper.

The two men would next meet at JFK’s inauguration in 1961. And then once more, team up to fight the enemy, this time at a small island base named Guantanamo Bay.

Back to the tale of this day long ago:

You do so well in training you get a gig as an instructor, before shipping out to the Solomon Islands. When you arrive, they give you the hanger queen: PT-109. It needs work and you don’t have a crew yet. You put on your shorts and grab some tools and go to work. It’s hot, it’s humid and you’re an officer, but you crew arrives to find you, not wearing a shirt or rank insignia and you have a scrapper or paint brush in your hand. They arrive, you keep working along side them.

Eventually, you take your boat to sea to patrol Blackett Strait. No RADAR, just seaman’s eye and judgment are your main sensors that moonless night. You had 10 seconds warning to take evasive maneuvers. Not enough time to clear the stem of steel headed your way.

Much of the tale of the events that transpired from Aug 2 to Aug 9th, 1943 have been captured for the record. What I found striking in the article in this month’s America in WWII magazine about John Kennedy is John had always been a man plagued with medical issues, but he was a man who, for whatever reason, had been taught to “cowboy up” and “get ‘er done,” in today’s parlance. The accepted story is his back problems of later public life were a result of being rammed by a Japanese destroyer going 40 kts. Not true, he had already been suffering for years, and it seems out in theater, only his XO knew.

So, as the story goes, JFK decided the crew that served him worthy of being saved, even if he perished at night, alone, in the ocean currents, hoping to flag down a patrolling PT boat miles from shore. In retrospect, the ship sinking survivor stories of WWII are replete with the terror of the shark attacks, snatching men to their death from below. John Kennedy went out two nights alone after the first arrival ashore.

The bottom line? He took care of his men, and specifically the badly wounded. He did not avert his gaze, he did not declare some one beyond hope, fitting to be left behind to die alone in the sea. He swam them to safety, not once, but twice.

Bad back, bought of severe abdominal distress, under normal conditions, he did not waver, he did not fail, he did not give up, he did not surrender, and he did not forget those who could do a job. But, it all started with a man not taking the lead in getting into the military, but being shamed into it by those around him joining up. The end result? A great leader emerged, to take on the Soviet Threat and to take the US and the world to the moon.

The editor’s column asks for a post card vote to say if the Navy Marine Corps Medal JFK was awarded should be upgraded to a Navy Cross. After reading this story, once more, but in light of a man graded not fit for active service, but who did all that anyone else was required anyhow, I think my vote is “Yes.”

You can mail you vote to:

America in WWII - JFK
PO BOX 4175
Harrisburg, PA 1711-0175

Write “Navy Cross for JFK - Yes” or “No”

Related: Last year’s PT-109 post, which includes a link to Robert Ballard’s location of the wreckage of PT-109.

40 years ago, the USS CORAL SEA (CV-43) “hosted” the carrier trials of the F-111B.

I found this bit of history covered in more detail at the USS CORAL SEA’s website. On that page, you’ll find a link the Ship’s Store, where you can purchase a 20 min DVD of the trials, as well as three links to the background story of the TFX program (done by SteelJaw Scribe) about the navalized version of the Air Force’s F-111A.