July 4th. I don’t have a specific sea story relating to a 4th of July I was somewhere where something profoundly patriotic was done for me. I was pretty lucky, with all my deployments, I was home most summers. Cruises generally happened in Oct-Apr time frame it seemed, so even when on sea duty, I was stateside. Dennis Prager, in his column yesterday, suggests that America needs a 4th of July Seder. Having once attended a Passover seder, I agree.The purpose of the seder is to recount the history of the people, including playing out certain skits and conducting some set rituals in remembrance of the moment.Dennis begins his editorial thusly:

Perhaps the major reason Jews have been able to keep their national identity alive for 3,000 years, the last 2,000 of which were nearly all spent dispersed among other nations, is ritual. No national or cultural identity can survive without ritual, even if the group remains in its own country.

Americans knew this until the era of anti-wisdom was ushered in by the baby boomer generation in the 1960s and ’70s. We always had national holidays that celebrated something meaningful.

When I was in elementary school, every year we would put on a play about Abraham Lincoln to commemorate Lincoln’s Birthday and a play about George Washington to commemorate Washington’s Birthday. Unfortunately, Congress made a particularly foolish decision to abolish the two greatest presidents’ birthdays as national holidays and substituted the meaningless Presidents Day. Beyond having a three-day weekend and department store sales, the day means nothing.

Columbus Day is rarely celebrated since the European founding of European civilization on American soil is not politically correct.
[…]

He goes on to discuss how holidays such as Christmas have been plowed under, not to be named or discussed in public, by the plowshares of the brain washingpolitically correct thought process. It is detrimental to lose this memory, of how our Nation grew from small settlements along the shore, experimented for one year in what later became to be called “Communism,” and was rejected because it almost killed them, of how the right to be equal, laid out on this day in 1776, has become far closer to universal for all our citizens, that it every has been in any country in history. How only the rich, landed men used to determine our fate and course in history, and now we all have that right to voice out opinion at the ballot box. How the error of slavery was understood, and rectified, without foreign powers coming across our shores to tell us how to become more civilized. How millions of young men have left their families and gone overseas, never to see their homeland alive again, because there was something bigger at stake than their lives.

We all know it, but how long, now with only about 1% of our men and women and their families comprise the military that hands our food, candy, soccer balls and encouragement to the oppressed around the world?

Yes, a seder in the name of Freedom is something worth looking into. Dennis ends with a challenge:

[..]
But someone — or many someones — must come up with a July Fourth Seder. A generation of Americans with little American identity — emanating from little American memory — has already grown into adulthood. The nation whose founders regarded itself as the Second Israel must now learn how to survive from the First.

Could you be one of those “someones?”

My suggestion: It all begins with family and friends gathered in the presence of ,a href=”http://www.townhall.com/columnists/BenShapiro/2007/07/04/the_stars_and_stripes_forever”>Old Glory, standing if they are able, saying the Pledge of Allegiance, followed by the reading of two documents; The Declaration of Independence, and the Gettysburg Address.

I urge you to consider this effort by Dennis Prager, and forward your suggestions.

You’re free to post your links…

Last seen about 2100, heading for my stateroom at the end of the second 8 hours of the day behind me.

Step in, close the door (it’s been open since just before breakfast), walk over and turn on the idiot box mounted on the aft bulkhead to see what’s playing on the two channels. Settle on one of them. Bend down, retrieve the plastic bottle of squeeze cheese (courtesy of mother-in-law’s care packages) from the small refrigerator. Grab bag of toastitos, reduced to generally more smaller pieces than large due to handling in shipment, but, a little bit of “the World” in my hands.

Park in the chair at my desk, rest my feet on the surface, just inside the stateroom door and begin to consume the chips garnished with cheese. Watch the movie semi-mindlessly, while still considering what there is left to get done. After a sufficient amount of my snack to slow down for a few minutes, sit properly and begin to sift through the mail and other items in the in box. Read, think, consider, jot a few things on the AW-SHOOT list by hand (will enter them first thing in the morning), and clear the box. File action stuff in the notebook (supporting “linked” information for the tickler), or the desk drawer folders. A few hours of this and it’s taken care of for the night.

About 2300, retrieve the data from star sightings from earlier in the evening. “Reduce” the info by hand (means doing lots of math) until the sighting angle and distance towards or away along that line. Repeat until all 5 or 6 stars are figured. Get out the plotting paper and plot the assumed position, then the lines of position and the distances as computed. Early on, this was then “scratch my head time to figure out what I’d use as the “fix.” Later on, my use of the sextant became more precise and the answer to the point was much easier to determine. “Growl” the Bridge and ask the Quartermaster of the Watch to get me the position from closest to the star time fix. Plot the Ship’s position from other means (electronic usually) and determine how far off I was in my navigation efforts.

By now, it’s right about midnight. The watch has turned over (2345) and the 00-04 (Midwatch) personnel should all be on station. Get up and head by Radio (port side, enroute the Bridge), grab any new traffic, scan the space for anything that seems to be out of the ordinary. Head to the Bridge, then down to CIC, then down and aft to Central Control Station (CCS). Wander about the aft end of the ship below deck in the red lit spaces, then head back to my stateroom, assured it’s just another routine night.

About 0100, climb into the rack. The day is done.

Maybe that wasn’t very exciting, but it was a day in the life of an FFG-7 XO’s day on a deployment to the Middle East when there were no wars going on in the neighborhood.

There was always a delicate balance, sometimes unspoken, between “ETs” (Electronic Technicians) and “users,” which came in all sorts of types: Officers, operations specialists, radiomen comprised most of that category. On a number of occasions, when something wasn’t performing to the expectations of the user, it was not caused by a malfunctioning of the equipment, but rather than from a misunderstanding of the function, or that the operator in question had wrong, leading to the often made remarks, in a derogatory manner, and sprinkled with “salty” language, about some dumb user. And, as luck would have it, once in a while a very frustrated, but knowledgeable petty officer found themselves making not so delicate responses to the tidal wave of derision heaped upon them when a mere mis-positioning of a switch may have been the only problem.I began my Naval career supervising a shop full of ETs, in addition to the OSs, I was the nexus, in good times and bad in the interaction of those two groups, and also the “screen” from the stuff coming down from above when RADAR and radio systems weren’t cutting it at any given moment. I appreciate it all the more because of those 18 months.

With that explanation, the new ET logo makes so much more sense, doesn’t it?

So…there I was, Officer of the Deck for the 04-08 watch on a Sunday morning in the spring of 1979. It’s now about 0430 and, I, seasoned by the first operational deployment, am relatively comfortable with my assignment. Combat (Combat Information Center, or simply “CIC”) has just reported a Skunk (Unknown surface contact) Bravo, slightly off the port bow several miles out. I check in the AN/SPA-4 RADAR repeater, using a grease pencil to mark on the plotting head (lighted fixture over the actual CRT of the RADAR display). From there, I move to the port bridge wing to sweep the dark seas ahead of the ship for lights. There are none, other than those of the ships of the USS SARATOGA (CV-60) battle group, enroute the States.

We are roughly half way home, somewhere in the Atlantic. In company are the USS SARATOGA (CV-60), USS MT BAKER (AE-34), USS BIDDLE (CG-34), USS SPRUANCE (DD-963) (her maiden deployment), the USS CONYNGHAM (DDG-17), the USS JOHN KING (DDG-5) and a few other vessels that time has scrubbed from my memory cells. We (USS MILWAUKEE (AOR-2)) are assigned as the guide of the formation, steering the base course and running at the signaled base speed. All others of the battle group use us as the reference point for their formation stationing assignments.

No longer am I the CIC Officer, that job was handed over to LTJG Mike Tyner just before the cruise began, and I assumed the duties of Communications Officer from LTJG Tom Hartman. The Operations Specialists in CIC worked for me for almost 18 months prior to that, so I am pretty well in tune with their capabilities.

Skunk Bravo is not making much speed that we can discern, and the plot on my scope shows her passing close aboard to port on our present course.

I make the required call the CAPT Art Page, informing him of the situation with this unlighted contact closing us due to the relative motion of the two of us. He acknowledges my call.

About this time, maybe 0500, CIC reports Skunk Charlie on the port bow, with a track that will put her passing not far ahead of us. I look out and see range and masthead lights in the vicinity of USS BIDDLE stationed on the port bow of the formation and hear BIDDLE calling the merchant on Channel 16 on Bridge-to-Bridge radio. I got to concentrating on the (lack of) movement of Skunk Bravo. The CO comes to the bridge. Eventually, we see nothing, even when the RADAR contact shows Bravo passing between our ship and the SARATOGA (stationed on our port beam a few miles). The CO asks me if there’s anything elseand I reply “no.” He heads below to get back to sleep.

About this time, OS2 Tom Mazzula calls up from CIC on the 21MC and asks “What are your intentions with Skunk Charlie?” MY answer is “I saw her turn to pass astern of the formation.” I had seen range and masthead lights moving to show a vessel had made a radical turn to starboard earlier, which looking for the unsighted Bravo. I looked at my plot on the RADAR scope and was satisfied I had kept track of the situation, but something told me to listen to CIC. I stepped out on the port wing, raised my binoculars and saw a merchant hull standing on with a target angle of about 035 degrees (meaning if I was looking at my ship from them, what was my bearing – in this case on the starboard bow). I called CIC and informed them it must have been the BIDDLE I saw turning, as the merchant’s lights showed her steaming towards us. Tom concurred. I called the CO, he came right back to the bridge.

The CO and I stood on the port bridge wing, me at the pelorus, he with binoculars. CIC Was reporting a close aboard “CPA” (Closest Point of Approach). The CO asked what would happen if we slowed down some. I replied the ship would pass ahead of us at about 1/2 NM (100 yards). He ordered me to slow. I passed the direction to the Junior Officer of the Deck, who had the Conn. John slowed us 5 knots. After a few moments, CIC refigured the CPA and it was still close. I tried calling the merchant on Channel 16…no reponse. I went to the bridge wing and called up to the signal bridge for Sigs to flash the international code for “You are standing into danger!” They did, through through the night filter. No response.

The CO asked for the bearing of the contact. I read it through the alidade. He hollered into the pilot house “Range to the contact?” No response. “RANGE TO THE CONTACT???” No response. He and I ran to the bridge wing door to see the JOOD, back to the front windows, at the back of the bridge, talking to the Boatswain’s Mate of the Watch. The CO said: “This is Captain Page, I have the conn!” I kept the deck. I ordered the signal bridge to take the night filter off the signal lamp and flash the ship again. The white light shot across the sea with it’s staccato message. The merchant sailed on.

I called to Main Control to the Senior Chief Machinist Mate standing Engineering Officer of the watch, telling him if he got an emergency back bell, it’s wasn’t a joke and to be ready to answer it. He relied in his gruff voice “Aye, aye, sir!”

The Captain slowed another 5 knots. CIC informed the formation on Tactical radio circuits of our speed. They all slowed with us, but no one ever took the guide duties from us. The sun was coming over the horizon behind us now, lighting the merchant vessel. It was a large bulk cargo carrier, flying an Irish flag. Still, we had no indication that they saw us.

Under the circumstances, we were headed for extremis. I directed the BMOW to sound 5 short blasts of the ship’s horn. It was about 0530 now. He carried out the order quickly to signal the other ship by yet another means. Our plan, as the CO and I discussed, was to turn starboard, the proscribed maneuver in such circumstances.

The XO, CDR Al Lightly, clad in khaki trousers, flip flops and a white t-shirt, appeared on the bridge, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He asked “What’s going on?” I barked “GET OFF THE BRIDGE!” He sleepily complied. The Navigator, LTJG Harry Watkins, III showed up also, moving out of the way and to the chart table, keeping quiet.

Our two hulls, us being about 40,000 tons of displacement, and the merchant, certainly heavier slid towards each other, intent, with present course and speed, to occupy the space piece of water at the same time. The CO looked at me and said “We have to turn right.” I nodded. He ordered “Right Full Rudder!” “Right Full Rudder, Aye, Sir – My rudder is Right Full!” was the rapid response from the Helmsman. Then the CO said: “Shift your rudder!” as the merchant’s bow crossed ours and he also ordered “All Back Emergency Full!” The ringing of the engine order telegraph assaulted our ears three times before stopping at the “Astern Full” mark. I paralleled the order by voice on the 21 MC.

The merchant, slid across our bow at about 200 yards. Seems like a lot? Not when you have two vessels of such size that close together. Had we turned to starboard, with the merchant standing on, wrong as he was, the “transfer” (sideways distance the ship would go before attaining the ordered course would have carried our port side into hers. Relative speed would have been the slowest of the possible geometries, but still, a career ending would have occurred. Had we and the merchant turned starboard, the collision would have raked our port sides the length of each other, with greater relative speed, and therefore greater damaging forces involved.

By turning port, Captain Page set up a situation where we would pass under her stern, or she would have had her transfer in a starboard turn, take her clear of our starboard side. It was the perfect solution. Captain Page was quite a ship handler. We resume the base course and speed, watching from the starboard wing as the merchant proceeded northward, never seeming to realize the escape from bent metal and admiralty claims.

Now, breathing a sigh of relief, I took the conn from the CO, he said to me, as he was about off the bridge: “Get back on station.” “Captain, we are the guide.” ” I know, get back on station.” “Captain, we are on station.”

He looked at me like I was undermining his authority before the little light bulb in his head went off and he said “Very well” and went below.

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Back on 5/23, I left you hanging at the end of the “1st Shift” of the day, leaving you at “Turn To!” at 1300 local time (1:00 PM) on my deployed (to the Persian Gulf for the later part of Earnest Will convoy operations) work day schedule. That’s the time, those so inclined roll out of their bunks and secure from their “nooner” (post lunch time nap).

Most of the afternoons were what I considered for “Ship’s work.” I couldn’t plan to tackle anything requiring a lot of thought, for the business of the routine, and sometimes not so routine, or the Ship kept right on going. Between incoming radio traffic, questions about navigation issues, constantly scanning to make sure the Ship was squared away, my stateroom door was open, ready to handle all small and large decision making tasks. I’d usually spend some time rifling through the in basket, sorting out items that could be handled quickly, either by reading the material and passing it along in the “chop chain,” or by scribbling an answer on the margin of the document.

I’d look over the AW-SHOOT tickler list and sometimes determine a line item listed was worth going out to hunt down the information required on its status. It was also in the afternoons that I’d make my way to the bridge to help make sure the allotment of training ammunition was properly used to keep training proficiency up to par. What that really means is we kept an M-14 7.62 rifle in the Chartroom, with two loaded magazines (20 rounds each). In the early part of the cruise, I’d look around to make sure it was clear of ships and boats in our local area, then I’d ask the CO for permission to burn off the two magazines. He’d say “yes” and I’d get the rifle and begin plinking at floating debris. As time went on, he, usually sitting in his chair on the Starboard bridge wing, would say, “Sure, XO, but I’d like to fire off a few rounds, too.” I’d be kind and let him shoot 20 of the 40 rounds. Later in the cruise, I’d get to the bridge maybe mid afternoon and he would say “XO, I used the training allowance.” Well, he did it because he could.

In addition to the CO and I getting some shooting in, we’d have the Gunner’s Mates come up and have them do training with the bridge watchstanders, working through their PQS qualifications for the M-14 rifle and M-60 machine guns (one mounted on each bridge wing). It gave us the capability of being able to order targets to be engaged at a moments notice, once all the Boatswain’s Mates, Quartermasters and Signalmen were all qualified on the weapons at the ready.

On Thursday afternoons, the “Weekly PB4T” (planning board for training) was the big event, where I and the department heads and the Command Senior Chief sat down and looked into the future to see who needed to be trained, what exercises the ship had to do, the manning of the ship now and in the future and any number of other topics of greater significance than just the days operations.

Other afternoons, I tended to wander the ship, talking to people, wandering through Radio Central, Combat Information Center and Central Control, before touring some of the more out of the way places, where there was not much routine traffic.

About 1700 (5:00 PM), I was back around my room, taking reports for the end of the work day, on how the progress on the items on the AW-SHOOT list were doing. Sometimes the discussions were pretty straight forward: “Done, XO.” Other times, the dialog became a monologue, if the rationale for not making the assigned date didn’t hold water.

Dinner was coming soon.

Entering the Wardroom, a few officers are already eating, as they have the 1800-2000 watch. A few more are lounging in the small area in the forward port side of the Wardroom on the couches, awaiting the Captain’s arrival a little before 1730 (5:30 PM).

When he gets there, we head for one of the two tables, the CO sitting at the head of one, and I on his right. Dinner is served and various conversations occur. Generally nothing heavy about work, but if it is “work” related, then it’s usually short questions as to “Hey, Ops, are you ready for the UNREP (underway replenishment) tomorrow?” Sometimes the chatter leans towards verbal replays of the last inport period, and the antics (or lack thereof) that had occured. Speaking of antics, one Wednesday, I’ll discuss what happens when a helo pilot sees a SONOBOUY storage tube and decides to “liberate” it back to US custody…Yes, alcohol was involved.

Dinner winds down and I head up to my Stateroom to get my clipboard and then take a walking tour of the Ship, specifically to see if “Sweepers” has been held. ENS Ray knows a little about that.

Usually “star time” was about this time. Star time was about 30 minutes after sunset, when you still could see the horizon, and also clearly see the main navigational stars. I’d grab the sextant from the Chart House, get a Signalman, get the stopwatch and set it for the time of observations, then step out to “shoot” the stars. I’d take the H_o and times, and file them away for later.

At 1830 (6:30 PM), the word is passed “Now lay before the Mast all 8 o’clock reports!” on the General Announcing System. The department heads, or a representatives report “All Secure.” I highlight the evenings operations, and any issues of cleanliness or general order, then head to Combat Information Center to pick up the Battle Orders for review.

Drafted by the Combat Systems and Operations Officers, this document lays out the CO’s estimate of the possible hostile conditions for the night, as well as the operational schedule of events. Rules of Engagement (ROE) as clearly spelled out, with any modifications that may have come in during the day. I scoop the notebook up, review it and sign in the line for me. Next I head to the Bridge and get the Night Orders from the Quartermaster of the Watch and go over them. The Night Orders have long been a Naval tradition, certainly for my entire time in the Navy. The Night Orders speak to navigational issues and things like expected rendezvous with other vessels, or, if you’re steaming in company with other warships, the formation ordered and any expected changes.

Battle Orders are a more recent addition, as a standardized process/document, and they by now are codified in the ship specific Combat Systems Doctrines, issued by a joint signature of both COMNAVSURFLANT and COMNAVSURFPAC. An outfall of the USS STARK (FFG-31) and the USS SARATOGA (CV-60) incidents cemented this procedure in place.

Shortly before 2000 (8:00 PM), I knock on the CO’s Cabin door and head in to wrap up the day, and hand him the two notebooks for his review and signature. It’s also a time for the two of us to discuss some longer range issues, and sometimes some of the personnel issues that crop up as a result of this type of duty.

By about 2100 (9:00 PM), I am out of the CO’s Cabin, delivering the Battle Orders to CIC and the Night Orders to the Bridge. I hand them to the Tactical Action Officer and Officer of the Deck, respectively, and make sure they get a grip on the “Big Picture” for the rest of the night.

And so ends the 2^nd Shift of my day…..

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What to discuss? How about the t-shirt?

The postal clerk had some rock music magazine he kept in his post office, up in the forward passageway. Often, on my daily messing and berthing inspections, I’d pass by and stick my head in to check the current status of the stowage of the place, which could range from neat and nearly empty to packed pretty full of large orange mail bags waiting to leave or to be sorted.

I paged through said magazine one day and noticed an article about concert shirts, which included one that said “Attila the Hun – Middle East Tour.” I commented on how I liked that one, particularly (if you caught it last week) since I had been posting sayings from “Leadership Secrets of Attila the Hun” on my stateroom door during the cruise.

Very shortly before I was to leave the ship in Bharain and fly home, the PC3 handed me a folded up white t shirt. I unfolded it to see it was nicely hand lettered with “Attila the Hun Middle East Tour – Oct 89 – Mar 90.”

On the day I detached, the ship was also sailing to return to CONUS. I stood on the pier, watching my ship, my exclusive home for the last 5 months, single up, then take in all lines. As the 1MC passed the word “UNDERWAY! SHIFT COLORS!” I opened my shirt to reveal the “concert” shirt to the line handlers amidships, where the PC was.

For fear of the marker lettering running, that was the one time the shirt was worn, and only briefly. I changed out of it before I went to the airport and stowed it away for safe keeping.

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The XO’s work day while deployed. Maybe not much fun, but the stuff that makes the Navy run.

Up at 0500. Roll out of the rack and crank out a bunch of push ups. Do it quietly, for on and FFG, you have a roommate.

Save, shower and dress. “Wash” khakis with long sleeve shirt, sleeves rolled up (down for a ‘bad” day to prevent flash burns). Cotton sweat socks, combat boots. Check for obligatory Buck knife on belt, securely in it’s case. Chief Mac said you need to be ready to be over the side. Wise thought.

Head forward, push several buttons on the door to Radio Central’s cypher lock, step in, scan the space for the smiling faces of the radiomen on watch. Listen for “normal” nosies. Grab large mass of paper in the XO’s message box. Leave Radio, aft a few feet to the ladder, down a deck to the Wardroom. Get a cup of coffee, sit down at the table and begin sorting traffic into the piles for level of priority. Pen action dates and action position on the messages as necessary.

Get up, retreat to the stateroom, turn on the Z-248, start up the AW-SHOOT program and enter items of importance into the database. Select “print” and watch the print outs for “ALL” (mine), OPS, CSO, Supply, ENG and AIR spew forth. Separate them and hang the “ALL” one on my clipboard. Punch and file the action messages in the tickler notebook.

Head down to the Wardroom to eat breakfast. It’s about 0630 by now. Finish eating, take a walk to the Bridge and see how the day is shaping up. Check with the Quartermaster of the Watch and ask the Officer of the Deck how things have been going.

Back to the stateroom to grab the clipboard of all things important. Hear “Quarters. All hands to quarters for muster, inspection and instruction! Fair weather parade!” be passed. Head down to the main deck, then forward to Combat Systems berthing. Walk through, visually noting the general cleanliness of the space. Make notes for Officer’s Call as necessary. Continue the tour of the other berthing spaces, for and aft, repeating the process. Head forward and up to get to the Bridge and then aft of the Pilot House.

“Officer’s Call!” The department heads, or their available fill in, report, with a salute (if we’re covered) “All hands present or accounted for” in turn. Hand out department specific tickler sheets produced by the much maligned management tool. Ask status of items below the “Line of Death.” determine if arbitration or harsh, one way conversation is necessary, depending on how ling the action item has languished below the appointed date of achievement. Scan the Plan of the Day, discuss work or operational issues of importance. Dismiss the department heads and the Command Senior Chief.

Head below two decks, knock on the CO’s Cabin door and enter. Report all hands present or accounted for from the departments. Inform the CO fo the days plan, and discuss any messages that had come in over night needing action. Let him know when the draft responses to any “P4s” (“Personal For” the captain message traffic) might be ready for his review. Spend a little time discussing other scheduling matters. Request he not use the entire small arms ammunition training allowance today, so I might get a chance to fire a few rounds off the Bridge Wing.

Head back to the Stateroom, commence pretending to do paperwork, knowing they will soon (if they haven’t already, stacked up at my door) arrive with all manner of questions to be answered. Make sure the “Memo from the XO” paper hanging on the cork board on the Stateroom door is not too out of date with the “Leadership Secrets of Attila the Hun” saying of the day. If it is, grab the book off the desk and copy a new one for posting. If not, get to work digging through the “IN” basket.

At 1000, “XO’s Messing and Berthing Inspection!” is passed. Get up, head to one of the berthing compartments and review the cleanliness with the petty officer in charge of the compartments. Make sure the head area is cleaned well, looking around behind things, in things and using a mirror to inspect those out of the way areas. Make sure the laundry is being taken care of, and ask if there are any hinderances to getting the deep cleaning done. After checking the berthing areas, inspect the Mess Decks, Galley and Scullery areas for proper sanitation. Check the temperatures of the scullery equipment on the final rinse section to make sure the eating utensils will be safe for the next meal.

By now it’s getting close to lunch (1130). Spend the few free minutes wandering the far ends of the ship, making sure things are stowed and cleaned up.

Lunch time. Enjoy a little conversation, check watch for upcoming “local apparent noon” time. excuse myself to shoot a sun line at “LAN.” Invite the officer who have yet to have completed their Surface Warfare Officer PQS to come along. Hear one say “I’ll be up in a few minutes, XO!” knowing he doesn’t get it yet….

ON the Bridge Wing, watch the Sun in the sextant rise, rise, rise, then hang in place and then just begin to move down. Call “MARK!” to the Quartermaster of the Watch. Plot the sun line on the chart, stow the sextant in the Chart Room and head back to Radio to get another handful of traffic. Back to the Stateroom to review and sort the new stack of paper. File as necessary.

At 1300, “Turn To!” is announced to get the Ship’s company back to work. Continue on for me.

And that’s the first 8 hours of the day. More next week.

Hey, I’ll keep doing this until someone tracks back! But, I’ll keep doing it anyhow.

So last week, SteelJaw Scribe posts “Reflections – Sympathy for an HT” discussing a unique condition where biology, man made items and the environment all conspired to make for a most fragrant setting on his carrier, just prior to the visit of a VIP.

This day, I add a story I heard, just after arriving aboard to become the Engineer Officer.

USS CONOLLY (DD-979) was on the annual UNITAS XXIV (1983) cruise, part party cruise, part show the flag, and part actually conduct maritime operations with the navies of the countries of Central and South America. She was the flagship for the group of ships that fall, and therefor carried Southern Command, RADM Clint Taylor, USN. ADM Taylor was berthed in the Captain’s Inport Cabin, while the CO occupied the At-Sea Cabin just aft of the Bridge, on the starboard side.

So, one dark evening, somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, south of the Panama Canal (I believe) ADM Taylor had a call from nature and proceeded to the head in his cabin.

Several decks below, in the bowels of the ship, where the “upper deck” types fear to tread, were the components of the forward sewage system, made by Jered. There was a duplicate set of parts, arrayed similarly, aft in the engineering spaces, to handle, under normal conditions, the “effluent” from the after three Enlisted Berthing compartments and Officer’s Country. The two systems were connected, forward to aft, by a pipe so waste could be transferred to the other systems for disposal, in the case of an equipment casualty. The sewage system placed aboard the SPRUANCE Class destroyers, as well as the similarly built hulls of the TICONDEROGA Class cruisers and KIDD Class guided missile destroyers, in the manner of conserving water, used a vacuum system to draw the by products of the human digestive system to a holding tank, where it was ground up and incinerated.

In order to effect the transfer, valves would be realigned to close the “downcomers” from the berthing areas and open the pipe to the other tank. A charge of air would then be used to push the mass to the other tank.

So, on this dark (and I don’t know if it was stormy) night, HT2 Mergner (so I’m told) was to transfer sewage from the forward system, to the aft….but it seems one critical downcomer value wasn’t in the closed position.

As the Admiral stood, in front of the toilet and preparing himself to use the facilities, the air charge not only entered the forward tank, and the aft running pipe, but the line to the Inport Captain’s Cabin head, propelling a significant volume of “material” from the toilet to the overhead, and some of it managed to find it’s way all up the Admiral’s back, as he stood in his white t-shirt and khaki trousers.

I’m sure there was no way to have a lookout plan the “discharge” in such a timely manner, but the net result was it found it’s unwitting, surprised, and according to reports from those who were there, unwilling, target.

The story went on to say the Admiral, attired as mentioned just above, and with slippers, stepped onto the darkened bridge of his Flagship, and, in a loud, commanding tone, demanded the presence of the Auxiliaries Officer IMMEDIATELY! The AUXO, LTJG Steve (for this tale the last name is slipping my memory), was summoned by the Officer of the Deck and then had a one way discussion with the Admiral, while trying not to laugh out loud.

And so, on that dark night in the Pacific in 1983, a sea story was created. It is, too this day, speculated that the entire event may not have been caused by an accidental misalignment of valves, or oversite, but only one petty officer knows that answer for sure.

Tracked back @ SteelJaw Scribe

Note: This is AW1 Tim’s inaugural post. I played in the same world from the surface, so I can say the “gouge” is good…and it’s a good story from the days of the “Cold War.”

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I’ll start off this adventure with a story about ASW, anti-submarine warfare. I relate it to you partly because I was a participant, but mostly because it is an example of thinking outside the box. It illustrates what can be accomplished by using your opponent’s philosophy against him. This story took place nearly 30 years ago, but I can remember it quite well.

The Straits of Gibraltar is the western doorway to the Mediterranean Sea. Pretty much everything has to pass through it to reach the Atlantic. Directly above the straits is Spain, and it’s western side holds the Bay of Cadiz, and a small city called Rota. Rota is the home of Eastern Atlantic ASW operations, and the location of Naval Station Rota, where we were based. At that time, I was assigned to VP-10 as a Sensor operator onboard P-3B Orions. Basically, an airborne sonarman. A good job, and one I liked. Rotais also a prime liberty spot, and the setting for many an adventure which will, in due course, see the light of day. But not this day, for there is another tale to tell, and so I must return to the narrative.

Well, the Soviets, our old friends,and to a certain extent, they were that, or, rather, acquaintances, bred of familiarity, were also interested in the area. The only way for them to get a submarine (outside, of course, of their own Black Sea Fleet) into the Med was to transit the straits, and that’s a difficult thing to do undetected, even for our own boats. It’s shallow water, as ocean’s go, and not too wide, and lots of ships overhead. Many an opportunity not only to be found out, but to interact rather rudely and, perchance, catastrophically with other vessels and land forms. Plus everyone’s looking for you. The usual tactic for submarines of all types was to trail some distance behind the carrier (or other target vessel) they were shadowing, and to try and glide in under a larger surface ship, to mask their own noise.

Did I mention the Soviet Trawler? Regardless of the paucity of commercially viable fish stocks, the Soviets had stationed a fishing trawler off the runway at Rota, in international waters. Their purpose to keep tabs on us, casting, as it were, their nets to catch the unwary. Now, It was a given that they were an intelligence-gathering vessel. Their fishing nets were all neatly stored, they never left their anchorage, and there was this small forest of antennas and masts all over the upper works. We knew what theywere, they knew we knew, and we all played the game. So familiar was the fishing trawler to Navy Pilots and Navigators, that it became an unofficial navigational marker. In fact, as a professional courtesy, on many a mission we would drop a care package to those poor souls on our way outbound. A little gift from America to our Soviet Naval Comrades, as it were. We’d take a plastic packing case that a sonobuoy comes in, fill it with a bottle or two of Jack Daniels, some cassette tapes, a couple of adult magazines, and then seal it up. We’d drop it out the sonobuoy launcher on the way by, and they’d send a small boat over to pick it up. They’d wave, we’d wave, and the cold war went on. But I digress.

USS Saratoga was planning on transiting the Straits, and conducting a patrol through the Mediterranean Sea. Problem was, there was this pesky Soviet Echo-II class submarine tailing her, and Saratoga was, naturally, concerned about the situation. Echo II class submarines carried cruise missiles that could well & goodly cause all sorts of mischief to a carrier, ar any other vessel. Saratoga requested that our squadron conduct ASW operations to locate andidentify this submarine so she could determine how best to deal with it. Usually, if you can locate the sub, they’ll back off and try again some other time. At the very least, they don’t like being discovered, because a submarine’s best defense is to remain undetected.

We planned and briefed for a late afternoon launch, and the ASW Ops portion of the mission would be exactly what we trained for. However, there was a problem in that the Soviet Trawler would be easily able to ID our launch, and transfer that information to the Echo-II, who would then lay low until we departed the area. Not unlike smugglers who have someone watching out for the cops. Same idea. What to do, what to do. We needed to locate and ID this submarine, generate as much intel on it as possible, and to try and give Saratoga more time to complete her inchop to the Med. We also didn’t want to tip our hand that we KNEW about the submarine ahead of time. The plan developed thusly:

Our aircraft would depart from Rota and rather than turn south, we’d turn north as though we were headed up the coast to England, following the standard air transit route. Once we got sufficiently up and out of the range of the Soviet sensors, we circled west and out, keeping our distance until we could, at altitude (above 15,000ft) approach the Straits as if we were a commercial aircraft. One of the advantages of the P-3 Orion is that it was, well, derived from a civilian airliner. Therefor, posing as one on radarwasn’t too awfully hard.

Meanwhile, Saratoga had some of it’s ASW folks pull a few sonobuoys from their own stores, and at a specified point, they rolled these off the stern, the drop being sufficient to activate the buoy’s impact sensor and deploy the antenna and hydrophone. For anyone watching, it would look more or less like they were tossing trash overboard. Saratoga radioed us the channels of the bouys, and the order they were dropped, and the spacing, and we dialed them up into our sensor suites, and waited.

The Echo-II, having been given, apparently, the “all clear” from the Trawler, now moved to trail Saratoga into the Straits, maneuvering fairly close aboard, though submerged, to a commercial vessel also heading east. The Echo-II was counting on both the noise and the mass of the civilian ship to mask her transit, but was unaware she was sailing directly into a waiting
line of hydrophones. The hunter had become the hunted.

As we neared the area, being at high altitude we could start to pick up the signal from the sonobuoys at some distance. Within a very short time, there came the unmistakable signature of a Soviet Echo-II class submarine. We were elated. Not only did we have direct acoustic contact with him, but we had his location down to a very narrow area. After contacting the ASW Tactical Support Center onboard Saratoga, it was decided that the best course of action would be to gather as much acoustic intel on the Sovietboat as we could, then light him up with active sonar and try and chase him back out of the straits. In fact, rather than allow him to get through, we determined to try and turn him before he made it in. We did this by dropping a pair of CASS (command activated sonobuoy system) buoys ahead of the submarine and waiting for it to approach them.

At about the extended range of the CASS buoys, we fired off the first ping, and folks, it was like turning on the lights and yelling “Happy Birthday!” at a surprise party. That Echo-II wound his turbines up so high that I had to turn down my headset sound. The sub initiated a hard turn and transited back out to the Atlantic like there was no tomorrow. It was a complete surprise to him, and we made it a little more painful by descending to low altitude and fixing his position with our MAD gear and smoke markers. Bythat I mean that we were so low during that phase of the evolution, that he would have easily heard our own propellers and turbines as we flew overhead. He KNEW we were there.

So, long story short, Saratoga got away into the Mediterranean with quite some distance between her and the trailing boat. We were able to bring a few more crews onto the Echo-II and tracked him around the area for several days before he finally turned north and headed back, his mission foiled. Probably had some serious ‘splainin’ to do when he got home as well. We, on the otherhand, found it difficult to list humility amongst our many virtues at that point. I suspect such has always been the bane of Naval Aircrew, regardless of the era.

The important story, though, is that we were able to exploit the Soviet tactics by turning their stoic allegiance to certain dictats to our own use. We made the Soviet Trawler think that we were doing something else. By spending the time to transit way out and around, we lowered our own on-station time, but kept the ability to stalk our prey by being “downwind” as it were, and approaching from an unexpected quarter. We utilized non-standard stores delivery by having Saratoga deploy the buoys. That allowed us, then, to approach the target while monitoring the pattern, and also saved us time by not having to drop them ourselves. The combined ops of both the CVBG and the VP Squadron allowed us to fully control the ASW environment, and to force the submarine to react to our terms. Had this been an actual war, we would most likely have been able to engage the contact before he was aware of our presence.

AW’s have a motto: We will locate your faintest whispers…..target your slightest movements…..gaze upon the heat of your body…..we will hear your pounding heart in the deepest oceans…..and when you finally become aware of our presence…..we will have already begun your departure…..forever!

We’re good at what we do.

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The “sea story:”

Back in the day when we could neither confirm nor deny the presence of nuclear weapons aboard naval vessels, we used to regularly practice the protection of things that might or might not have been aboard. It mattered not if they were or weren’t from the crew’s standpoint, it was s skill necessary to be regularly flexed and so it was.

The calling away of the drills were mandated to be stated the same as though it was an actual “event” when an intruder might get aboard, so when the word was passed “Away the Security Alert Team, Away the Backup Alert Force” it always sounded the same. This was different from the other exercises on the ships, which would be prefaced on the 1MC (General Announcing System) with “THIS IS A DRILL!” to let us all know to be professional, yet not damage gear or ourselves in the response.

So, one fine day, on an unnamed vessel in an unnamed port at a major Naval Station, at the approximate time the drill was run daily, the word was passed on the 1MC, setting feet into motion and sending adrenaline coursing through the veins of young men, who, having first reported to the small arms lockers, were then equipped with 1911 .45 cal pistols, Remington 870 12 gauge shotguns and M-14 7.62mm rifles, and, I might add, at least two magazines for each weapon, and yes, the magazines were loaded with live rounds.

The response to the crew, if not a member of the SAT or BAF, was to “stand fast,” in other words, stay put right where you were. It would help separate the good guys from the bad guys, had the need to give pursuit and engage arisen.

However, on this particular day in either late 1979, or the middle of 1980, the Main Propulsion Assistant, being one of the citizens of the Engineering Department, made the judgment call that this, was in fact a drill, and, he being the important Naval Officer that he was, not to mention on who made the ship move through the water and caused electricity to be generated, deemed himself above the fray and trouble, since the SAT and BAF we doing something for the “Upper Decks,” so he walked on and did not stand fast.

Heading aft on the main deck, port side, and near the mess line, he encountered a member of the security forces, armed with a 1911, an imposing weapons of considerable power at close range. When challenged by the second class petty officer, a Quartermaster by trade, the officer proclaimed his self appointed right to continue to his work area, as he had important business of the ship, and therefore, the Navy to execute.

Said LT, regardless of his rank, within moments, found his nostrils in close quarters with the business end of the .45, and a QM2 uttering the words “HALT, (insert vulgarity here)!” for the LT and those in the vicinity to hear. I might also mention, between the moment of the brushing aside of the direction to stop the first time, and the more pointed command, a magazine of 7 rounds had been inserted into the pistol, the slide had been pulled back and released, causing a live round to be stripped from the top of the magazine and enter the chamber, presenting a condition commonly known a “locked and loaded.”

In a moment of exceptional clarity, the LT indicated his desire to “stand fast,” having reconsidered the level of prioritizing he had early assigned to his work with Engineering Department.

In the aftermath of this “situation,” both the LT and the QM2 had lectures on procedure, for one did not understand it was not his command prerogative to override Navy wide guidance for his convenience, and the other for executing the steps towards the use of “deadly force,” which for those who have stood the watch, know the implication of inserting the magazine on such a drill….

Tracked back @: Yankee Sailor