Batteries released. Post your trackbacks here!

On this past Monday, I told some of the story of Gustavus Conyngham in Monday Maritime Matters. left a comment, telling the woeful tale of a finely tuned mind in a Tactical Action Officer course deciding to act upon “hostile intent.” Not in those words, exactly, but that’s what he said he did, and, for risking a mock courts martial, he was relegated to the DDG-2 CF ADAMS Class mock up in Taylor Hall for the rest of the exercise.

I, too, have some stories about war games, decision making and injecting a little frivolity into an otherwise serious place. I will tell pieces of each week for several Wednesday Ropeyarns, just to provide material.

At the Naval War College for Command and Staff (aka the “junior course”), there were three
trimesters” of study. I took them in the order of Strategy and Policy, followed by Maritime Operations, and finally taking Defense Decision Making in the final trimester of study. In the Maritime Operations session, we were required to plan and execute a virtual maritime operation at the end of the studies. Along the way, I, and one other officer, and “Electric” EA-6B Naval Flight Officer named Eddy, were the only students of the junior course who had actually been present at the Operations in the Vicinity of Libya from Jan to May, 1986. Much of the course material, as we in the military are wont to do, reactively had adopted that real world operation as a foundation for the study of “Jointness.” Given the most jointed we got were the FB-111s flying from bases in England over the Atlantic (Thanks, France!), we pretty much had a Navy only show going, but, Eddy and I had “real world, hands on time.” I dissected and retold of my involvement in “A Journey Into History” series (link to Part I) , in case you didn’t catch the posts last year.

Anyhow, the odd thing, was Eddy and I consistently had some of the lowest grades in the class, with our section having a faculty member who was a P-3 Naval Flight Officer, an O-6, as he thought we didn’t fully comprehend the answers we gave to questions, coz they didn’t mimic the “party line” about jointness, with a bias to always make sure the Naval person was the top of the heap. I was the one SWO in the room, with lots of F-14 back seaters and helo guys getting re-tooled for upward mobility outside of their professional fields, as they didn’t have slots with their community anymore. We had a Coastie and a Defense Mapping guy, and then a two USAF and a few Marines.

Eddy and I didn’t have to think a lot sometimes, because of the basis that formed the questions. We had seen the practical application of the process for this very “case study.” Frustrated, yes, and it was fun messing with an O-6 who had been in the classroom too long. One time, I was asked to go the chalkboard and layout the operational command structure. I had the first few boxes drawn when I heard from the back “That’s not in accordance with doctrine.” I turned and looked back at the Captain and said: “That’s how Admiral Jeremiah did it” and went back to drawing the organizational relationships for the provided force structure. No further comments came my way…On the other hand, Paul the resident Supply Officer, being a smart man, but with no operational background, could spit out what doctrine said. Not because he was a stooge of the system, but it was all he had to go on. He got the best grades in Maritime Ops…go figure.

Major Danny Troutman, a helo driving Marine and one of the smartest people I ever met, was assigned to as the Chief of Staff for the upcoming war game. The plan was one person would hold that position for both the planning and the execution parts of the war game. Everyone else would get shuffled. The operation: A non-combatant evacuation from Pakistan of American citizens. My job for planning: Operations Officer. I got to head up drafting the plan for the ops for approval. I asked Danny why me, I was getting the lowest grades. Response: They wanted it done right….

Next week: Going to virtual war at Naval War College

Put your coke/coffe/tea/bottled non-spring water down. That goes for adult beverages, too.

Lex comments on Moving AOCS from Pensacola,FL to Newport, RI. Yeah, “your point?” you ask? Readers respond with some short and hilarious recollections about their time in AOCS. This one from PeterGunn (no relation to Peter rabbit…I think):

PeterGunn // Sep 17, 2007 at 7:57 pm

I can still remember many things about AOCS. Running on the beach in combat boots in August, poopy suits, Gunnery Sergeant Bodine, being “encouraged” by the DI’s stick on the O-Course, even being evacuated in the face of Hurricane Camille and watching Neil Armstrong land on the moon on the Batt III TV. It’s hard to believe, but my experience in AOCS was in 1969, almost 40 years ago.

One of the most humiliating experiences, at the time, seems funny now: RLP’s are frequent and nasty, room-locker-personnel inspections. During one such RLP, I was in my assigned room with my 3 room-mates, each of us assigned to our own task of preparation (if one person did the same thing for all four of us, folded skivvys and polished brass would be the same for all four… a good thing.

My job was the wall locker (closet for civilians). We had two and I made certain all buttons were buttoned, zippers zipped, and everything hanging straight and in the perfect center of their hangers. We had a DI who carried a cane and he would announce himself by banging it on the door frame of each room. We could, therefore, judge how far down the passage-way he was from our room = how much time we had to get “wired up”.

This particular day, he was at the far end… giving us ample time, or so we all thought. To our surprise and my sheer terror, our door slammed open as he banged his cane. The door swung open, trapping me in the wall locker! DI Armstrong commenced to swear and tear my room-mates apart verbally, demanding to know my whereabouts. After many loud outbursts and too much time for me, standing in the closet at attention, the DI opened the door.
Ready for the inevitable tirade and obligatory PT in the sandpit, I said, “going up, sergeant?”

And then it did begin…

And don’t miss the SnakeEater telling Lex how to spell, or some commenters trying to unravel a mystery, or how the rank of Master General came to be in the USMC.

Disclaimer: If you haven’t served, it really may not seem funny at all. It may even sound juvenile or plain old stupid, and may leave you wondering what kind of meds are these people on?

Enjoy!

Certainly these days try a mental capacity. Between the anniversary of 9/11 and the reports to Congress…I’m digging deep for something to write about…

My first trip to the wonderful garden spot of Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, to spend some time with my soon to be new friends from Fleet Training Group was sometime in late 1977. Still a wet behind the ears Ensign at the time, I had several months of “Mac-inizing” to my credit and junior officer upbringing, so some basic philosophical foundations were already solidifying.

I was the Combat Information Center Officer (CICO), and therefore played a major part of the daily details of the events. Between being the RADAR Navigation Piloting Officer for entering and exiting port and anchorage, the “war” that virtually happened around our fine vessel was recorded, evaluated and disseminated from my little domain of CIC. Much of the pretend world, fondly called “scenarios” for us big boys playing, had to be acquiesced to by myself and my crew, and a little ad-libbing had to be inserted at times, just so there was a bit of consistency in the reporting of the things that most likely would have occurred in the real world, had we been i a real shoot ’em up.

I recall a Coast Guardsman, an RD1 by rate (equivalent to the now Operations Specialist (OS) rating in the Navy), was assigned as the chief observer for our world. There was something, and I’m not sure what, that caused me to have to “make some s— up” for the story to hold together, and I guess I, having had a number of long, hard days already, decided to make it good, much to the exasperation of the RD1, USCG in our midst (the master of our grades for the Division), and he requested a meeting with me on the weather deck, outside of CIC.

I think it was a compliment, but he didn’t have that sort of look on his face when he said: “You know what your problem is, Ensign? You play too real!” I actually had visions of if I could toss his short little form clear of the kingpost for the STREAM rig, leaving only the impact with the water about 40 feet below to leave any marks…for I was a little upset, not fully appreciating I was being accused of getting into the game more throughly than the instructors themselves.

Must have been the rapid fire questions to force him to fill in the blanks to keep things going….

Chief Mac and I laughed about it all later.

There we were at NAVSCOLDIVSALV…praying we one day would be worthy of the title “Diving Officer.”

It was cold, it was wet, the MKV gear was not for the faint of heart, yet, in our (mostly) youthful exuberance, seemed to be worrying about the next meal.

Those days on the Diving Stations on the barge moored in the Anacostia River were long, beginning about 0600, ending about 1630, with a set of calisthenics on each end, and diving once, maybe twice each work days wearing a spun copper hat, and the rest of the grab to round out 198 lbs…no typo there…oh, and did I mention the Potomac had frozen over? The “playground” we were using refsed to, due to the copious amounts of entrained matter…today we would call it grossly polluted….

One day, while on momentary break for lunch, one of our hopeful number surveyed his tuna sandwich with some (but not enough) suspicion, as it had resided since just before 0600 that morning, in the locker room, which, was well heated with steam. Anyhow, Cloe decided he was hungry (the days were tough on us growing boys), so he hammered the sandwich, not giving it much thought for the environmental “issues.”

He had been tending all morning, and had yet to make his one dive…and later he did. The dives by then lasted about an hour, less if you had lots of manual dexterity and a capable mind for visualization, since no light penetrated the pollutionsilt.

“Topside, Red Diver. I think I’m gonna be sick!” came the message from 30 some feet bleow about 20 minutes into his dive.

“Red Diver, Topside. You better not puke in your helmet.”

The hand signals from the instructors let us know to heave around smartly on his umbilical and comm line, so as to get him to the ladder very soon. We got him up and on the bench, disaster, of the most smelly kind, was averted, but not before we all got a good laugh out of it and the rights to bring the subject up regularly…which we did…

Moral of the “sea story:” You know, don’t leave you mayonnaise laden sandwich sit out in the heat, even if it is cloder than the inside of your refrigerator outside.

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Not so much of a “sea story” today as a “war story” to put my context on some recent news….

The dispatch from the 5 NCOs in the 82nd Airborne Division was illuminating, but not necessarily in a complimentary light. The President and many other Government reports say the Surge is bringing results. The NCOs say they see daily problems. So, who’s telling the truth?

Both, I submit and here’s a little personal experience that leads me to this conclusion: I first became a pin cushion for the medics in 1962, in order to move overseas to Okinawa. Off my father packed us up for a two year adventure to see the world. We first lived just west of MCAS Futema, with a few families of Army sargents living next on the same street of a few concrete block houses. Thus began my “indoc” into military life. I played in the sugar cane fields and around the large above ground tombs, occasionally finding artifacts and ordnance left over from a massive conflict not quite 20 years past. We moved about a year later to live on Fort Buckner, housed amongst the Green Berets, the pride of John F, Kennedy.

From our association in these neighborhoods, and the concentrated presence of the military, I began to absorb the first person history of the war in Vietnam. Being in 3rd and 4th grades, I wasn’t much of a newspaper reader or news watcher, so the information came in listening to the adult discussions.

Back home we went for a few years, then off to Guam for 8th through 11th grades (67-71). More massive exposure to the military, this time the Navy and Air Force, with some Marines and Coast Guardsmen sprinkled in. BY now I had pretty much set my life study path on warfare and modern history, and, with the war in Vietnam being larger, I heard more, plus I watched the news and read the papers and news periodicals now. In Boy Scouts, and on sports teams, I had military men as leaders and coaches. I listened to their “war stories.” Being overseas in a large concentration of military bases also brought me “Stars and Stripes” newspapers.

The net result of this is I grew up in the middle of first person accounts of the conditions in Vietnam, from the Special Forces A_Teams, to the Marine who had a three crossbow bolts go past the tree trunk he was sitting against, all the while thinking more mosquitoes were swarming, until he turned to look. Add to that the DoD press of the “Stars and Stripes” generally putting a detailed, yet rosy face on the war, and ladled on top, the stateside media that seemed to tell a story much different than what I was getting from my “other sources.”

Were any of these sources not telling the truth? For the most part, they all told it as they saw it, albeit through the filters they each put on it.  No one author or story teller had access to the “big picture,” even if they claimed to.  Those filters, by default, cause even the most detailed oriented writer to miss the mark.  I believe most people actually comprehend this concept, they just don’t acknowledge it often when they voice their opinions.

My long term reaction? For several decades, I voraciously read all things on Vietnam I could come across. There are many stories and it’s not that they don’t match up, but they tell stories as varied as the direct, uniformed troop combat in I Corps, to the SEALs skulking about in the night among the Viet Cong controlled villages in the Mekong Delta.  To this day, it’s almost like three separate conflicts to me, due to this multi-facted exposure.

The NCOs provide a valuable first person view of the villages they walk, but they do not see all of the story, nor does any one else, yet all of the reports, in this war from bloggers, from bloggers become published authors, to guys with digital video cameras becoming movie producers, and then, those “standard” reporting sources. One day, when we have the time, and the dust has settled and tempers cooled by decades of reflection, we will have a better chance to see what really is happening now, as word of mouth and first person stories at the top, middle and lower levels come forth.

It would be foolish, as I’m sure many with military experience, and those with historical perspectives, to base the overall progress of the war on the reports of 5 well spoken non-commissioned officers, but we would also be foolish to not make significant note of the problems they face daily, indicating there is more good work to be done.

So, last Wednesday, there I had been, dangling over the deck of the USS JOHN KING (DDG-3), with the possibility of being bait for the helo pilots to go fishing, but it ended well…They caught no sharks, and I got on deck with nothing more than some sea spray from the rotor wash getting me wet.

So, safely aboard, but still merely an Ensign and not yet qualified as a Surface Warfare Officer, I was to be an exercise observer for the KING’s missile shot. I was taken to the bridge and introduced to the Captain, then taken to Combat Information Center (CIC), from where I would observe the operation, in order to fill out the form and determine the grade to assign.

USS JOHN KING (DDG-3) was equipped with the TARTAR Guided Missile Fire Control System (GMFCS), using the AN/SPS-37 Air Search and AN/SPG-51C Fire Control RADARs and the Standard medium range missile. One of the SPG-51’s was fitted with a boresight black and white TV camera, so operators could validate targets.

So, armed with my checklist from FXP-3, the Fleet’s exercise publication, I found a free spot in the forward end of CIC from where I could observe the crew’s communications and coordination during the shot. I recall it was one of those almost cloudless days. A drone was to be the target, most likely a BQM-74 jet powered one, simulating an inbound aircraft. If you recall from my last discussion, I mentioned that the KING had a characteristic movement in those seas, where the roll and pitch were not distinct, but a combination move, which made it feel as thought one was riding a corkscrew. In all my years of riding ships, it was a unique form of reaction to the seas.

So, I sat, in the darkened room, where information was received, evaluated and disseminated, while many of the crew engaged in what was acceptable behavior back then, they were smoking in an inner space. Not only did the smoke hang visibly next to the overhead, the air conditioning wasn’t particularly effective, either. Dark, hot, smoky, corkscrewing through the Atlantic Ocean we went, enroute our INCHOP date at the Strait of Gibraltar. The drone was in the air, and once located on the search RADAR, the Tactical Action Officer (TAO) directed the Weapons Coordinator to engage the target. The missile fire control console operator synced his system to the search RADAR track and the AN/SPG-51 slewed to starboard, and the TV monitor conveyed this view to those of us trapped inside the skin of the ship.

This was the second and last time I almost got sea sick. My body told me, as I sat facing aft, that I was roll-pitching in time with a ship headed east. The TV picture now showed the horizon moving, not as a tilting left and right vista, but up and down. Within moments, my body was telling me the visual and the other sensory data wasn’t jiving and it wanted to do something about it. I began taking frequent, and thankfully short walks to the bridge wings, which certainly was in concert with my observer duties for the exercise, as I awaited the target to get within the firing envelope of the missile. I managed to stave off my body’s desires and did not embarrass myself by puking in the CIC of the KING.

In time, the shot went off, I collected the appropriate data, as required by the exercise sheet, and was soon repeating the helo transfer, back to USS MILWAUKEE (AOR-2), where I would draft the grading letter for my CO’s signature. On the return trip, the rescue hoist of the H-46 worked as designed, and I experienced no more visions of getting dunked into the prop wash of the twin screws of the KING.

And in case you are curious, the USS JOHN KING (DDG-3) was able to engage the “hostile” and received a passing score for her periodic demonstration of her mission area of Anti-Air Warfare (AAW).

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But, “sea stories,” too!

So, there I was, a not necessarily fresh caught Ensign, but not an old hand yet. I had been aboard USS MILWAUKEE (AOR-2) for a few months when we sailed, in company with some other ships, but the only one I recall was the USS FRANCIS MARION (LPA-249) from Norfolk, VA to be part of the Naval force to honor Queen Elizabeth II on the occasion of her 25th Anniversary as Queen of England, her “Silver Jubilee.”

It was my first cruise overseas, while a commissioned officer, and was only about 6 weeks long, but it has some special memories. Not only was I exposed to my first taste of fleet steaming, it was the second part of the “Join the Navy…”

We head towards the English Channel, and, unlike the rest of the units in company, who headed into Portsmouth for the Naval Parade festivities, we, the “fat ship” got sent east, then north, arriving to anchor in the Firth of Forth, off the Royal Navy Dockyard at Rosyth, Scotland, just north of Edinborough.

I decided, when not on duty, to get ashore and do some exploring. I did and got some great sightseeing in. Oh, did I mention that enroute Scotland, some of the radio equipment I was responsible for maintaining had suffered casualties and I had sent out casualty reports (CASREPs) on them? Oh, sorry…small details make for good stories some times. I did have outstanding equipment issues, which were in need of updated status reports (SITREPs). I figured, being the wise young officer at that point, that when we got underway, there would be plenty of time to get the updates out. However, I seemed to not yet have grasped the understanding that SITREP dates required sitreps, or casualty correction (CASCORs) sent along to keep the larger logistics system up to speed.

Thankfully, LCDR Frank Mueller did have a grasp on not one, but two things: The operational necessity to keep “the system” informed of such important matters, and also that some junior officer don’t get it yet.

The day we sailed from the Firth of Forth, after sea and anchor detail had been secured, Frank asked if I had updated my casualties. I said, “no, sir, but I will get it done today.” His response was something like: “This is how it works: CASREP SITREPS are due out the day status changes, or when the previously indicated SITREP date is reached, which ever comes first, then you get to go on liberty (I later learned he should have said “Shore Leave,” but I understood than and now).” His voice was calm and got it….

While in transit to Europe, we had a problem with the Raytheon LN-66 Pathfinder RADAR. I had to submit a CASREP because we didn’t carry the zener diode required to make the repairs. We anchored at Wilhelmshaven, Germany for three days. I wanted to go ashore, but I had my assigned duties, trying to track down the elusive zener diode, so my electronic techs could make the repairs. We finally did get one via the local husbanding agent and the ETs went to work.

I was able to “hit the beach” for a few hours, so LTJG George Parish, the Navigator, and I went to find gifts for the wives. I Had converted $60 to Marks for my ration of gift money. We wandered into a porcelain shop and I was in awe of the several painted and unpainted dolphin figurines by Kaiser Porcelain. They were exceptionally lifelike and the painted ones didn’t have that hard looking edge that hand painting normally has, with these figures looking just like the ones I had seen at sea. All I could afford was the $58 dollars for an unpainted pair of dolphins jumping over a wave. I don’t know art, but not only was the wife pleased when I got home, a few weeks later, as we wandered through Military Circle Mall, there, in the window of a jewelery store, sat the exact same dolphins, but with a price tag of $120. I never made a buy like that again (from the profit standpoint), but I will say the two dolphins are still with the Ex, and she won’t hand them over. I suspect they are worth a little more than $120 by now….

One day, open trackbacks will actually get some good reading links here. Until then, suffer from my story telling (that’s your cue to link in and get some distracting links to be clicked on…).

I can’t recall the transgression, maybe something like the Quarterdeck not rendering honors to a senior officer driving down the pier, but “we” did something wrong. I don’t recall the details of why my division (OI) was detailed to carry out the “punishment,” but needless to say, it happened.

It seemed that retied ADM Arleigh Burke, USN, was in town and would be spending the day at sea on a greyhound of the fleet. Those familiar with the Norfolk Operating Base (NOB) know the layout and the way to/from sea, and where the fat ships, vs the small, sleek combatants moor. So, on the appointed morning, I assembled my division of operations specialists (OSs) and electronic technicians (ETs) on the spacious flight deck aft (we were port side to, bow in) in two ranks, awaiting the transit to sea of some DD with ADM Burke aboard.

The ship came into view, and others ships south of us could be heard rendering honors on their topside announcing circuits, finally we came to attention, saluted and dropped the salute in accordance with the whistle signals over our speakers.

With ADM Burke safety beyond eye shot, as they headed north up the southern branch of the Elizabeth River towards the Hampton roads area and to sea, I executed a sharp about face in accordance with FM 22-5 and directed my men to face left in my well practiced command voice from just about a year before, having actually marched units around parade fields for three years. They did the left face fine, then I turned right and commanded “Forward, MARCH!” They got this right also.

Picture us now, about 20 sailors in two columns, having been centered on the centerline, now marching towards the starboard side of the flight deck. I watched the approach to the safety nets, gauging when to issue the next order, also from FM 22-5, to avoid an officer induced multiple man overboard situation while in port.

“Column Left, MARCH!” Well, the deck edge was close, and the command was apparently not well practiced. The two columns began to disintegrate, as the front men stopped, and the middle and rear ones kept coming, but allowing for the “stoppage.”

I gave up, and dismissed them. They easily found their way to the watertight door on the side of the helo hanger that led below to berthing.

So much for trying to march sailors.

Open trackbacks….who could ask for anything more?

“Sea stories?” Yep, a sailor always has a few at hand….

Yes, I was politically incorrect, before we knew it was politically incorrect….

In September, 1980, I reported to my first shore based assignment at Fleet Combat Training Center, Atlantic. After two sea tours, I was looking forward to the assignment.

As a Lieutenant, I was put on the Base’s Command Duty Officer (CDO) watchbill, with a rotation of 1 in 30, the time being measured in days, not hours. So, once a month, roughly, I’d have to go to the XO’s office in the morning with the off-going CDO and do our turnover with him. Most of the work day was still spent working, but with a pager on your belt, in case something arose.

After work, you had various duties to attend to, such as sampling the meal at the mess hall, taking a drive around the base to spot check the buildings being locked, checking in the the Quarterdeck watch in Taylor Hall and generally ensuring the calm atmosphere, and being ready to answer the emergency calls.

Considering the sea duty I had come from, as well as most of my peers there,  consisted of inport watch rotation being 1 in three days, and underway watches being port and starboard (a watch period on, then one off, then back to watch) of 4 (hours) on, 8 (hours) off, it was a holiday for us “Fleet Lieutenants.”

The watchbill consisted of all W-2s and -3s, and Ensigns to LTs. W-4s and LCDRs were exempted from the CDO Watch standing duties. Having more than 30 people in that category, after 32 more people of those ranks arrived, you would be freed from the rotation. Depending on the time you arrived, you may be on the watchbill 12 months, or maybe out to 18 months, it was all determined by the “Blind Watchmakers” at the Bureau of Personnel. For Unrestricted Line Officers like myself (those with the path to commanding a vessel or air squadron), that time frame comprised 1/2 to 3/4 of your two year shore duty assignment, normally coming after 3 years in the Fleet. We also had a number of “General Unrestricted Line” (“GURLs”) officers assigned to the base. These officers, with rare exception, were females, not being able to be sent to sea (this was before women were assigned to ships). Their tours, generally beginning at the rank of Ensign, were three year assignments. Their time on the CDO watch bill, at the worst, would span about 1/2 of their time, and no more.

I had been standing the CDO duties for just about a year, and I was due to roll off within about two months, when the command received a new Executive Officer. I don’t recall his name, but he was an aviator, and had been a POW in North Vietnam.  After he had been in the saddle about a month, he asked the Senior Watch Officer why so many fleet experienced Lieutenants came to his office for CDO turnover, when he kept running into masses of Ensigns and Lt JGs who seemingly were all over the base, but off the rotation.  The LCDR told him how the “membership” for the CDO list was set up and the XO apparently uttered some impolite words, indicating his displeasure. He then directed Rich to get out the linela number list (the precedence order of all Naval Officer) and put the 32 most junior qualified people in the rotation. It seemed the XO objected to post sea tour O-3s holding down the fort, when more junior officers were available.

Rich dutifully reworked the list and got it approved, then held a meeting of all officers in the W-2/3/O-1/-2/-3 range. I remember it pretty well. Certainly there was the aspect of “orders is orders” but not without the “happy sailors” doing what “happy” sailors do regarding a wide range of things, in this case, the fact that some people would be returned to standing watches that had “done my time.”

One junior LT, a GURL, commented loudly that “this is unfair!” I turned in my seat, and looked her in the eye and said words to the effect: “When you’ve got three years of sea duty behind you, standing 1 in 3 watch rotation, and I don’t mean days, I mean 4 hours on and 8 off, for months at a time, on the far side of the world, maybe you’ll see how spending the night on a base once every thirty days is pretty much a picnic.”

It got quiet. The meeting resumed, with direction from the Senior Watch Officer on implementation, and I don’t recall any more comments from any of the GURLs in the room before we dismissed.

I rolled off the watch bill after my next watch, not because of someone reported to the base, but because I was senior enough by lineal number to not have to do it any more. Net result: My lineal number saved me one duty day. I think that was the last time (and the first) my lineal number actually came into play in my career.

Open trackbacks…well, maybe one day…but in the meantime:

This “sea story” is not my own, but I heard it personally from HM2 Tom McKenney, USN. Now, it being a “sea story,” one always must consider the probability (not just the possibility) of the actual truth of the matter being, well, somewhat “different” from the verbally related tale of the sea:Tom was a crew member onboard the USS PROTEUS (AS-19) in the late 60s, while she was homeported at Naval Station, Guam in Apra Harbor. No, I was not wearing a uniform at the time, but, he was dating my older sister, so he was around a lot.

Anyhow, the PROTEUS generally remained moored med style to well out in the harbor, so she could service two submarines at her side. Sometimes (and it was very occasionally), the ship got underway, transited out of the harbor and steamed about the local ocean areas, so as to show sailors knew the way of the seas.Now to the meat of the story: Tom says one day, while the ship is at sea, hears over the 1MC “Navigator to the Bridge!” Ok, not necessarily a big deal…but a little bit later: “OPS Boss to the Bridge!” Interest level is climbing. Next: “XO to the Bridge!” and then “Captain to the Bridge!”

Just a little bit of khaki overload for a peace time (for them) steaming near your homeport on local ops….

The kicker, subject to historical scrutiny, was the general announcement: “Would anyone who knows where the **** we are report to the Bridge!” Ah, therein lies the rest of the story. Yes, the Bridge watch team had lost track of where they were. Back in those days, GPS wasn’t a twinkle in some engineer’s eye yet. LORAN was electronic navigation, and, I’m not sure, they maybe had Omega, too. Other than that, the tools of the trade were the sextant, a chronometer and someone who could punch the pubs and do math, as well as manage to keep a DR track of the ship’s movement. Oh, and add that the skills required to do this do require a modicum of routine exercise for proficiency’s sake.

So Tom tells me one of the enlisted men showed up on the Bridge, went out on the Bridge Wing and surveyed the horizon. He pointed and said “Over there.” The leadership took that course, as was pointed out, towards a cloud, one of many in the sky, and, after some expenditure of fuel, found the tropical island home called “Home.” Asked later how this man discerned the location so urgently sought by the operational chain of command, he was said to reply: “I just looked for the biggest, darkest rain cloud.”

Some would call it “seaman’s eye,” but I’m sure the CO called it salvation…

If you’re interested, some great history for USS PROTEUS (AS-19) can be found at Tender Tales.