“Blogging Block” (at least with “Sea Stories”) still in place.

Found this, tho from January (13th to be exact), 1917….the reason not to use a heavy cruiser to pull a grounded sub off the beaches of California…USS MILAWAUKEE goes hard aground trying to get H-3 out of trouble. End result: lost the ship. Salvaged from the place beached by bad judgment.

More info on the event is here. It seems the private bids (from experts in salvage, mind you, seemed too expensive, so…tell the “Can Do” guys to turn to, it’s just pulling a sub back to deep water, after all. Sound too familiar?

A detailed report, “The Valor of Inexperience” by CAPT Harvey Haislip, USN (Retired) was published in Proceedings in Feb 1967.

Ropeyarn was not passed on the virtual 1MC until the working party got wrapped up….

“Sea Story?”

Not a very exciting one, but a slice of life for sea going sailors, nonetheless.

Parking. Yes, a mundane part of life, but, back in the day, when the giant Soviet Union commanded most of our professional focus, and that of the nation’s leaders, we were headed for a 600 ship Navy. So, figure 600 hundred ship have sailors, and chiefs and officers. And some of these actually drove to work while the ships were pierside, the plant secured and shore services providing the “hotel services” needed to keep operating.

At all of the naval stations I was stationed at, the parking “scheme” was: Officer (blue sticker) parking up front, with Chief Petty Officer parking next, and then the enlisted/general parking. The game rules were:

Park where your sticker allowed, or get a ticket from Base Security.

If you were an officer, you had two places to park, Officer and Enlisted.

If you were a CPO, you had two places to park, CPO and Enlisted.

If you had a red sticker of the enlisted ranks, or were a visitor or civil servant, you had one place to park.

Makes sense. The modification to the rule was officers couldn’t park in CPO parking. That wasn’t as big an issue on regular days, but, when special occasions arose, such as changes of command, or ship arrivals (from deployment), the up front, closest to the ships parking was usually roped off for those the special occasion was being held for. The closet parking was, with minor exception, the Officer lots.

Arriving at work, to find cones/barricades/tape up, and usually a roving enlisted watch preventing you from parking in the officer’s lot, then you couldn’t “fall back” to the CPO lots. You had to go sharking for a spot in the general/enlisted lot. Somehow, it just didn’t make much sense, but it was what it was, because a large percentage of the Base Security force happened to be retired chief petty officers. The “club members” took care of the current up and coming retirees, who had made it through the process of the CPO Initiations.

That was one bite in the butt, and I survived, but another situation seemed to be rather prevalent, and, in a conspiratorial sense, linked to the issue brought up in the paragraph above:

On normal days at the pier, you might arrive and find all of the officer spots taken, or darn few left. While transiting from the vehicle to the pier between the cars, it became apparent there was a number of cars sporting red base stickers, not blue. Now, when turning and glancing at the vicinity of the CPO lot, you’d most likely see a ticket or two under windshield wipers for those brazen E-6 and below who dared to venture onto the hallowed ground, yet a dearth of same on offenders taking spaces from the arriving officers. Something about the Base Security force being largely comprised of retired CPOs….

It was what it was, but on some days, when the work before Officer’s Call was a large task, the frustration sometimes emerged in a vocal sense.

I did, having arrived at a reasonable Oh, Dark Thirty, time, before sunrise one fine Navy day, find the spot in the front row of the Officer’s lot, that had had a portable sign at the head of the spot, in accordance with the NAVSTA SOPA regulations, saying “CHENG, DD979,” laying face down on the ground and a car with a red sticker occupying the spot I was allowed. I drove around and found a spot in the way away at the back end of the Enlisted lot, then hiked, before the sun rose, to the ship at the D&S piers. I let the XO know this was unsat, and he looked at me and said something like: “Well, my spot wasn’t taken.” Note: SOPA allowed the CO, XO and CMC parking signed to per placed on the pier we were moored at. Not only was it separated from the other parking lots (obviously), there were guards posted (from the ship’s companies of the ships at the pier) who controlled who came on and off the pier, in vehicles or on foot. The XO seemed to have not grasped that fact in the moment.

Anyhow, later that day, I re-expressed my issue, pointing out the Base Security sure had time to ticket non-CPO vehicles, but couldn’t move their donut munching bodies a few tens of yards closer to the water’s edge to police the officer’s lot. I point out it was a matter of laziness, not the inability to patrol, because they had been making sure the CPOs had their lots protected from intrusion, and, on top of that, I got aboard about 20 minutes later, which cut my work time. He made a call.

It wasn’t like I needed the exercise, it’s more I always managed to make a long day longer, but getting there early enough to get a few “hours” of work done (I found out a Navy work hour was really about 10 minutes long, when the crew was aboard and it was “working hours” - when it was not work and not a duty day, I could get an “hours” worth of work done in about 10 minutes).

Now that we have fewer ships, and even with the base consolidations, I know (and saw last year), such turf wars are not as big of an issue, because on a “work day” around the D&S piers on Norfolk, the enlisted lot was only half full. Plenty of parking to go around. I guess I’m only left to wonder if the same retired CPOs are still patrolling the lots….

Continued from last week…

The Combat Systems Assessment (CSA) on the USS WAINWRIGHT (CG-28) was going to be different. Since the ship needed some work done in Norfolk, she was sailing a few days early from her homeport of Charleston, SC to conduct her CSA off the coast of Virginia. The plan was for us to ride a small boat out of Naval Amphibious Base, Little Creek, and meet her near one of the main buoys in the approach lane to Hampton Roads.

We met at the pier at Little Creek, on the appointed day, before the sun rose, LCDR Kathy Hobbs included. Our ride into the entrance of Chesapeake Bay that morning was one of the Special Boat Unit boats, so the team of about 15 had plenty of room. Off we went, into the sunrise, across a choppy bay. We (the guys) were keeping an eye on our XO for signs of discomfort, at the least, or plain old sea sickness. None noticed.

We pulled alongside the WAINWRIGHT and they had rigged a Jacob’s Ladder for us to board. It was about a 15 foot climb up the side of the cruiser to the weather deck. Once more, Kathy kept right up with us, not a sign of disapproval for the unusual arrival method, even for us.

Once aboard and when the ship was safely returning to sea, the Captain, CAPT “Iron Mike” Fahey, joined us in the Wardroom to do the obligatory “We’re glad you’re here” speech and introductions. Then it was off to work. My usual first check was to inspect the Personnel Qualification System (PQS). Off I went to the Embarked Commander’s Lounge area, accompanied by a second tour division officer who would present the Ship’s program to me. LCDR Hobbs came along.

I start down the checklist, one which was distributed to the Fleet, carefully researched and referenced to actual published requirements, having done this many, many, and many more times than I could count by now. The young, dedicated LT sitting across the table from me exuded confidence, as he explained the things “seemingly” amiss int he records. He was, well…wrong, but he had figured if he took a “forward leaning” stance in the discussion, it would pass. After a few minutes of questioning and looking over watchbills and service records, LCDR Hobbs asked if she might ask a question. I, thinking this would be greatly entertaining for a shore based officer to get into a program pretty well identified with only the Surface Navy, said something like, “go ahead.”

Right out of the starting blocks, she commenced rapid fire questioning of this LT, quickly reducing him to admitting the bad administration and lack of compliance with the standards set by the various levels of the chain of command. My jaw was on the deck, aghast, not because she had the LT figuratively groveling and begging for mercy, but moreso because she had it all right, which, in my over two years of doing this inspecting job, found it was a rare case that someone had that level of understanding of such a foundational program.

I dismissed the sliced and diced LT after some follow up questions, and then looked at Kathy and asked: “Where did you learn that?” “The PQS Management Guide.” Wow…someone had actually read and understood the process, and, more amazing than that, someone who had almost no requirement to work with that program in a shore duty status.

Her stock went way, way up…

Next week: The grind of Combat Systems Training Team (CSTT) drills.

So, last week, there we sat, we salty sea dogs, the question posed and we all awaited an answer from the “shore based” component that worked in our shore based offices.

I figured I had figuratively placed the DC plug in the gaping hole that was causing figurative water to flood our hull. Feeling quite smug, but for only a very few brief seconds, she responded: “When is the next one (Combat System Assessment)?” Not to be outdone, I said “I’ll let you know.”

She left, the atmosphere was different. We, the guys thought we were gonna chalk one up on the score board and it was, at the moment, a draw, or at the least, undecided.

Russ, my trusty LDO LT was given the task of calling the USS WAINWRIGHT’s (CG-28) XO, who had been his Weapons Officer on his prior ship to see if we could bring along “our XO.” The answer was, sure. Well, minor issue, XO, our XO is a “she.” “No problem, I’ll be off at school so she can use my stateroom.”

Boy…the train was leaving the station at full throttle and here I thought the “girl” would just be quiet and go back her office and make sure our travel arrangements were on track.

Anyhow, a Combat Systems Assessment (CSA) was a 36 some hour trial of a ship, where we usually arrived around 0700-0730 and sat down in the Wardroom to to introductions, lay out the game rules and shake hands. Yes, we were there to help, and yes, they were happy to see us. From there, my team of 12 to 20, depending on how complex the ship’s equipment, went off to review the paperwork for various programs and do some safety checks. During this period, the ship was getting underway, or in some cases, clearing the sea buoy and heading to the “OPAREA.” The ships under DESRON SIX routinely went to sea the day before we arrived to practice, and we’d ride a tug boat out at Oh-Dark Thirty to the vicinity of Ft Sumter to meet them.

In most cases, by the time lunch was wrapped up, we were meeting to listen to the ship’s company Combat Systems Training Team (CSTT) brief the two sets of exercises to be run in the late afternoon and early evening. The first drill set was before evening chow, the second after chow. By about 2200-2300, we were sitting down to listen to the CSTT critique the drills. The purpose here was not to see if the crew passed, as much as to determine if the CSTT was able see mistakes and record them, so they could plan to train to correcting them next later on. If they saw what we saw, then it was a good chance the ship could train into the future.

After we listened to the crew’s debrief, then my team would meet to discuss the day’s events. Provided there were no glitches along the way, like correcting safety issues, of making sure all the equipment was propeorly configured for training, we might get into our assigned vistor “pits” by 0100 or 0200.

At 0600, we usually were on deck, walking around Combat Information Center (CIC) to observe the preparations for the “DTE” (Detect to engage), where a contracted Learjet would fly, pretending a very slow cruise missile (since it couldn’t make .9 Mach) would fly in, while the crew exercised their detection and engagement systems. By late morning, the DTE would be wrapped up, for better of worse, and my team and I would gather to grade the performance. The ship would head towards port. In some cases, we’d manage to get the debrief in before entering port, and other times, we’d do it upon arrival pierside.

Our command’s vehicles would be waiting for us (when in the Norfolk area), and we’d depart, sometimes with good feelings all around, and fortunately not often, to snarls and cold glares. By then, it was usually the end of the work day ashore. The 36 hours was almost straight through.

The team’s normal work schedule? Monday/Tuesday - CSA (as above), Wednesday - Fly somewhere in a Naval Air Logistics Organization (NALO) C-9, Thursday/Friday - Do it again, Friday afternoon, fly to back to NORVA. Next week? Rinse and repeat. If we were doing ship’s in other ports, the NALO pilots and aircrews were happy to haul our butts there, beginning at about 1330 Sunday afternoon.

Oh, yeah…we were on “shore duty.”

Next week: LCDR Hobbs rides the USS WAINWRIGHT (CG-28).

Load up the comments with trackbacks….if you dare….

I have to admit, I spent most of my time in the Navy insulated from serving with women at sea. Ashore, they were still “GURLS” (General UnRestricted Line officerS), I didn’t look upon them as even Staff Corps types, since we took Supply Officers and docters to sea with us.

As the “economies” of the mid-90s were settling in, my command, the Combat Systems Mobile Training Team was directed to figure out the merge of ourselves and the Fleet Training Unit that essentially did the same thing we did. It made sense and it wasn’t too much of putting round pegs in square holes.

Off we went, us not the top leadership types, to draw and erase on the dry erase board, until we cobbled together the new organization, which would fulfill the missions of the two units.

At CSMTT, we had a few female sailors, both Yeomen, so they handled admin tasks. FTU, on the other hand, hand a number of females, to include, as I recall, two officers…one listed as the XO, the other in charge of the computer stuff.

LCDR Kathy Hobbs was a “mustang” and the XO. Looked good on her GURL record, being the #1 and all, but we had 5 O-5s as department heads, and a 6th as the Assistant OIC. The discussion went to how to put Kathy in a billet title that wouldn’t appear like she got some demotion. We finally decided, in the Combat Systems Training Group organization to put her into the XO job, recognizing she would be the one to handle the macro and micro administration, which, for the massive travelling we did, not small task, yet we would also know, she wasn’t our “Second in Command” in any sense.

The merge happened, the FTU personnel moved into our building and we shuffled about, grudgingly, but because it was the order of the day, we smiled somehow.

I will also admit, I was tersely polite to Kathy when I had to talk to her, but much of my time was spent on the the road/aboard ship, so the interaction didn’t occur often.

Then one day, OSCM(SW) Dave Roddy came to me to tell me he had been out having a cigarette, and LCDR Hobbs had, during her transit between buildings, commented “So this is how my tax dollars are spent!” Dave was, a little miffed. Dave was one of those E-9s you had to tell to go home, and sometimes drag off the ship we were working so we could catch our lift back to home plate. The taxpayer way underpaid Dave Roddy in any case, but Kathy didn’t know that.

Maybe a week of so later, as a few of us were “brainstorming” (no, really, we did it all the time!) in LT Russ Wyckoff’s office (he had a couch his wife told him to get rid of), three of us on the sofa, feet on the edge of Russ’ navy issue metal office desk, were greeted by LCDR Hobbs stopping n the door and saying (you guessed it): “So this is how my tax dollars are being spent!”

I, moving only my head to look her direction said: “LCDR Hobbs, you’re new here. It might be good if you went out on a CSA (Combat Systems Assessment) with us sometime, so you could see what we do. It would help you a lot when you have to answer the questions on the phone when we’re on the road.”

Yes, I was baiting her. The response, without her missing a beat,,,,that will come next Wednesday! Come back then for another installment in this series…

Open trackbacks, anyone?

So, there I was…the afternoon of a day in January, 1979, on the bridge of the USS MILWAUKEE (AOR-2), moored portside to at the NATO fueling pier at Gaeta, Italy. That morning had been the Change of Command, where CAPT Arthur Page, USN, relieved CAPT Cecil Hawkins, USN. Both men aviators, both holding the position because the Navy’s leadership had confidence they would be bigger players in the organization, both men with VA (attack) communities in their past. CAPT Hawkins and A-7 Corsair II guy, CAPT Page an A-6 “bubba.” Both with real time, enemy shooting at you with bad intent experience.

CAPT Hawkins was the kind of man who was all around the ship…out of a genuine curiosity of what made it go, in terms of men, equipment and procedures developed for at-sea logistics delivery. CAPT Page, well, we were still getting a read on him that day, but a strikingly similar method of leading us was emerging.

CAPT Hawkins loved to be involved in the ship handling process. He was out on the bridge wing, looking at the goings on below forward and midships, with an ear towards the phone talkers for news from way back aft. He spoke the desired actions for line handling, tug work and engine speeds/rudder angles, but in the sense of being one of the minds engaged, and open to supporting commentary, especially from the “Black Shoe” XO, CDR Dave Martin, in matters of precision in the seamanship world. It was an easy interaction, with no feeling of oppression by the ultimate authority aboard the vessel. I had been assigned as the Conning Officer for the detail this day. LCDR Mike Hunt, aka “The Grey Fox,” a “mustang” officer, the Ship’s 1st Lieutenant, with a life at sea in the world of the Deck department was the Officer of the Deck.

CAPT Hawkins had been sent ashore with appropriate honors, we ate lunch and were called to our Sea and Anchor Detail stations by the 1MC shortly thereafter. On to the bridge we went, and Mike and I had a plan. We stood on the Bridge Wing and felt the direction of the wind on our face. With tide and current data, we continued the rest of the preparations.

CAPT Page arrived on the Bridge, a stack of messages in his hand. Transiting to the starboard side of the Bridge, he climbed into his chair, looked my direction and asked “What’s the plan?” That question set me back, but only because I was so used to CAPT Hawkins being pretty involved in all such evolutions. Nonetheless, Mike and I briefed the new Skipper with “The Plan.”

As the preparations progressed and it was about time to move, I shifted to the starboard bridge wing, with Mike dutifully monitoring the events and my actions. The time and conditions of readiness and pilot onboard, tugs made up arrvied and we were granted permission by the CO to get underway.

Within seconds of taking in the last line, it was apparent that the effects of the currents and wind had us going the opposite of the movement we had surmised. We were not moving fast, but to the trained eye, the motion was easily recognized…and it would lead to, if not countered, taking us somewhere a 30 foot draft vessel should not be, if all concerned wanted to keep the service record free from letters recording errors of judgment and an accounting of unfunded/unplanned expenditures of taxpayers dollars.

CAPT Page, still in the Pilot House, attentive to the evolution, as, as I would learn, a quite experienced ship handler in his own right, was doing what he did. Different from CAPT Hawkins, but eminently worthwhile, he was being “the head safety observer.”

Mike stood over my shoulder, quietly using his refined “seaman’s eye” to assess the situation, then said: “It is a foolish man who sticks with a plan, just because it is the plan.” Wise words, indeed. We quickly reformulated, he went and briefed “the new guy” and got the nod.

Off we sailed, safely, with no reports other than the routine and expected, into the Med, to continue our support of US and NATO ships plying the seas in defense of the Free World.

Personal lessons learned were at a high water mark, so being “processed” years later, but many being quite memorable that very day.

Put your links to your best (or…well…anything you have) here…The sights at sea are amazing, and some one a few will witness, unless they look for them.

So, you call yourself a sailor, and you don’t believe in “the Green Flash?” Do you consider your fellow mariners who boast of such siting as more (maybe a lot more) or less on the wrong side of sanity for a moment or a lifetime?

Well, I have seen the phenomena, and now, you can know I’m quite sane, if you are an unbeliever, but at least I saw it in person a few times…

The “why/how” is here.

More real sitings captured here.

Facts and fiction about same…

Do you believe me now, shipmates?

Fair game to post your trackbacks….but the title says that…

So, the last few weeks, I have been discussing the war games suffered through while a student at the Naval War College.

In amongst all the “work” to plan and execute the extraction of non-combatant Americans from Pakistan, we, not being the dry and humorous lot many might assume, decided to dress up for the occasion. We didn’t wear uniforms at War College, unless we had events with outside guests. Otherwise, sport coats and ties were the uniform of the day. Something about taking rank out of the equation while debating, lecturing, etc, on topics that may get passions up. We still all knew, but it psychologically removed some barriers to the free exchange of ideas.

So…were actually went to “war” on business attire for the civilian world…however (translated: ignore all said before here) one of those days we did get in a uniform.

Yep, by unanimous decision, we came outfitted one day to fight the war in our Mess Dress Blues. Yes, it turned some gazes our direction, but we were fighting for the cause and we wanted to look sharp while being about our virtually serious endeavors.

One other fighting day, which was designated as most flamboyant tie day, paled in comparison…

Last week I got a trackback…so the trend is in the positive region of the chart!

Anyhow, this is effectively Part III of warfare and war games at the Naval War College. Short one today, as I am prepping highly classified plans for the next big event. A few will get “briefed in” later this week with new, sink the Army technology that is now in my hands…

The story actually begins in 1985, at Christmas time to be more precise. I was in Singapore, and, took advantage of the wonderful pricing on a variety of cassettes. The music, in the days before iTunes and CDs took up more volume per song, as did the playing devices, so the collection for listening wasn’t too large or varied. I picked up three tapes to add to the Staff collection, one of which was the soundtrack to “Beverly Hills Cop.” One of the songs was used as a “morale booster” over the battle group circuits in the mockups, in that red brick building SSW of the main War College one.

When we were engaged with the mass raids of TU-95D Bears and TU-160 Backfires, who had been marshalling over Indian territory, where our ROE disallowed our presence, with threat of direct military action by Indian forces if we penetrated their airspace, it turned out my “AW” (Group Anti-Air Warfare Commander) had been quite effective, once the Soviets headed to sea and went “feet wet.”

I was I a good mood, as was the rest of the friendly forces and staffs, having had the foresight to plan and now execute a solid battle plan. I figured, now that the war was in full auto for the moment and our F-14s were splashing bandits like shooting fish in a barrel, I’d play some music: “The Heat is On” followed by “The Neutron Dance.”

Back in the day, when we could neither confirm nor deny some bits of information, struck with some sort of military amnesia, this had some not so subtle undertones.

For some reason, the game controllers got a mite upset with our frivolity and asked us to secure the music. I exercised my command position to tell them “no.”

Next week: The attire for staff during conflict….

Last week netted two trackbacks….and also I left off a sea story about War Gaming at War College.

So I was the Ops Boss for planning. We did that in the few intervening days. How to approach Pakistan during “heightened tensions” in order to pull US citizens out of danger ashore, while not losing our combat power. Rules of engagement were pretty restrictive, as you might expect.

Sometime in the next few days, I was told by Danny that I was going to the be the Big Kahuna for the war game execution. There you go. My low grade in the class, but wearing black shoes and a SWO pin. Never did think of it until now, but possibly the airdales had convincingly dodged the bullet and I was left to take the scepter unknowingly.

Off we went, one morning to the red brick building a few blocks from the main building, where our command centers would be. We were given a current intelligence briefing for the area, and I distinctly recall that a Soviet Charlie II sub was out to the west, underway and, as part of the Soviet platforms in theater, a potential threat to the battle group. The complication of this presence was that India, a neutral party in the current raised tensions, had leased a C-II from the Evil Empire. Intel showed had same sub inport at an Indian Naval Base in the last 24 hours. Having come from the sub chasing world not but a few months before, I mentally cataloged the info as significant. Partly because my recent experience tuned me to it, but also because off all the beginning locations, the issue of the Charlie seemed to have the opportunity to come into play very early on in the games.Off we went, armed with pseudo factoids presented by the “and then the exact opposite of this briefing cannot be discounted disclaimer crowd (Yep, intel weenies), to our assigned warfare commander “modules” to fight the war with paper charts, hand written radio logs and plexiglass edge lighted status boards.

Within an hour or so, an S-3A (no B birds in the fleet yet), played by one of the game controllers (a
shoe LCDR), sent to the west to conduct ASW sweeps, sure enough got a solid sniff on a nuke boat, high probability that it was also the not located very recently Charlie II. The ASWC calls on the radio for direction and I issue a “take” order on the contact. Roger, Out!

Then ASWC calls and tells me the “pilot” said he couldn’t do that, because it might be the Indian leased C-II. I, once more, say “take the subsurface track.” Pilot continues to stall, argue. I get on the net and say words to the affect: “When I order you to engage, you put weapons in the water!” Response: “Lost contact!” AW1 Tim and company knows there is always a handy-dandy gouge for executing a “time late” attack, yet this “combat pilot” seemed to have all sorts of excuses as to how not to take out the threat, for which we had the ROE to support the engagement in our hands.

At that point the ramp up to war was stilling in run, so I/we went back to work, foiled once more by “playing to real.”

The next morning, at the new day’s intel brief, my peer in real rank insignia, yet not in the world of the war game, began to lecture during the putting forth of info, something about not starting a war with a friendly nation. Some part of his upbringing had not exposed him to the skillful tutelage of CAPT W.E. Jordan, Jr, in the finer points of physics a as a viable life application in decision making, specifically the parts about Time/Speed/Distance, the immutable factors of vehicle movement we learned to live by off the coasts of many lands.

I dispensed with the niceties of providing a full tutorial for the errant war game staff officer, but did provide a Reader’s Digest version, telling him the Indian sub couldn’t have made it from their last known location inport on the west coast of India to the vicinity of the PROBSUB contact of the S-3, unless it grew wings and engines like a really big airplane, so he should have put MK46s in to take the Soviet sub out to the picture right then. He wasn’t happy, so I told him the next time I directed and engagement, all I wanted to hear was “Bloodhound Away!” I didn’t do the next part as well as Jack Nicholson in “A Few Good Men,” but I did directly ask for his complete understanding, which I got.

Back to the modules we went, to begin a new day of evaluating ROEs and looking forward to making war, not love, within the confines of such political-military constraints.

Yes, later the C-II did somehow manage to arrive, undetected, in our neighborhood, and it spewed forth a few SSN-9s to get our blood flowing. If he only would have listened…but then, if they had crafted their game force layout better, they could have put the Indian C-II at sea, close enough to require some in depth soul searching before I cold be so cavalier with the taxpayers’ torpedoes.

Next week: More “War Games.”