I can’t imagine that I have a shot at being rewarded as a randomly picked person (via my email addy) to help bring Saddam’s treasury holding home to the Good ‘Ol USA…

FROM: Sgt. Smith David Fitte,
Important Message

Good day,

My name is David Smith Fitte, I am an American soldier, I am serving in the military of the 1st Armored Division in Iraq , as you know we are being attacked by insurgents everyday and car bombs. We managed to move funds belonging to Saddam Hussein?s family in 2003. The total amount is US$25 Million dollars in cash, mostly 100 dollar bills, this money has been kept somewhere outside Baghdad for sometime but with the proposed troop in increase by president Bush, we are afraid that the money will be discovered hence we want to move this money to you for safekeeping pending the completion of our assignment here. You can go to this web link to read about events that took place there:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_east/2988455.stm

We are ready to compensate you with good percentage of the funds, No strings attached, just for you to help us move it out of Iraq. Iraq is a war zone, so we plan on using diplomatic means to shipping the money out as military cargo, using diplomatic immunity. If you are interested I will send you the full details, my job is to find a good partner that we can trust and that will assist us. Can I trust you? When you receive this letter, kindly send me an e-mail signifying your interest including your most confidential telephone numbers for quick communication also your contact details.

This is risk free.
With regards from,
Sgt. David Smith Fitte
This is risk free.

Respectfully,

Sgt.Smith David Fitte

I’m doing well right now, but if you feel so inclined to help Sgt. Fitte with his “problem” be my guest!

Sorry…I’m late and you’re not. I let the day run away, and spent some time tweaking the story of the USS BONEFISH, which 5 other blogs, three from SWOs and two from submariners have been so kind as to post. <a href=”http://lubbers-line.blogspot.com/”>Lubber’s Line had added a picture of the BONEFISH on fire, with the crew on deck at sea. The link took me to several pictures of that tragic day. I will dispute the credited photographer, as he is listed as being from COMSUBGRU 7. The angles of the shots could only have been taken from the CARR. Never the less, it gives me hope that I may be able to track the video down.

I noticed someone has listed the link in a submariner’s forum board. I greatly appreciate that and hope many learn of that day and see the professionalism of all involved.

Sea story? Short and too the point: The last time I saw my shipmate of two commands, he told me “I’m tired of being responsible for things I can’t be in charge of.’ His next comment was he was getting out. That was 1987.

Yesterday, I get added as a shipmate in Navy – Together We Served by him. I go to his profile and find out he got part way out, became an MIUW and Military SeaLift type and retired as a 4 Striper! Good for him!

Post your track backs!

Sea stories? You want “sea stories?”

Once upon a midwatch clear….(to be continued later today). The topic? VERY large formations doing “TIC TACs.”

In the meantime, link your best, current, or currently best posts!

There we were, the leadership of the ship massed on the bridge, late in the evening, on a clear (on the surface), but moonless night. A Carrier Battle Group (CVBG) comprised of us and escorts and the USS SARATOGA (CV-60), if memory serves me well, had “joined up” with the Standing Naval Forces, Atlantic (STANAVFORLANT), consisting of several frigates and destroyers from the Continent, and one of our ships so assigned as her deployment) and their supporting oiler, in this cycle, courtesy of the Royal Navy.

For what ever reason, the British Admiral of STANAVFORLANT was in tactical command of us all and had ordered us into a large circular formation, of three concentric circular ranges. We, being a Fat Ship (USS MILWAUKEE (AOR-2)), in company with one carrier and at least one other oiler (the Brit) were assigned a “point” station (a fixed bearing and range from the guide ship of the formation) and were on our way through traffic to get there.

Shortly before arriving on station, the, as we called it back the, PRITAC (primary tactical) radio crackled to life and a very long coded signal was clearly sounded out in all its phonetic glory from ATP-1, a standard signal book used by we and our allied nations. I can’t tell you what it was, but it had a change of station component, followed by the alteration of the axis of the formation, followed by a course change. The signal was passed as a “delayed executive” type, meaning a separate command would be sent to execute the directions at a future time.

As Officer of the Deck (OOD), I diligently plotted the new changes on a Maneuvering Board, calculated our course and speed to the new station assignment and showed it to the CO. He concurred and I briefed my Junior Officer of the Deck (who was conning the ship, too) on what to do when the signal was executed.

I recall we arrived in our station on that moonless night, nestled among the combatants, who would patrol the seas to keep us and the CV safe from enemy attacks, and we reported “Alfa Station” smartly as we ordered speed reduced to match the guide’s speed. Within moments, PRITAC came to life once more and, spewing forth a fairly long string or letters and numbers, followed by “Standby, EXECUTE!”

The JOOD clearly announced the the Helmsman and Lee Helmsman the rudder and engine orders for us to slip, ever so relatively to our new station, with a new axis on the formation (I think it was almost a 180 degree axis change to match the reversal of the formation’s course. And the 40,000 tons of steel and people and liquid cargo commenced to swing crisply (well, as best we could imitate a destroyer with less HP per ton). Now consider this “M” with new “A” in both the forward speed and the rudder standard (15 degrees) input, while traveling about 15 kts. As we smiled in the dim red glow of the low level illumination of the bridge equipment, several of us, the CO and XO and OPS, as well as I on the bridge wing, noted the relative movement of the running lights of the other ships of the formation would indicate they were not in a bold course change to the right, they were more like, well, to put it plainly essentially still headed the same direction they had been going before the long, but…you guessed it, not wholly ordered signal.

A new voice was heard over PRITAC, with a distinctly English (the Queen’s not American), sending a new communication and, but the “call up” portion of the message, only addressed to our call sign. The “we’re real Surface Warfare experts” aura fading. No, evaporated, as the words sunk in “(MILWAUKEE), Your movements are not understood.” Being the practiced crisis management experts we are resulted in the almost instantaneously blurted out comment by several of us “KEEP THE RUDDER ON!” We then realized of the extensive signal sent, only a portion of it was directed to be carried out, and there were other portions yet to be executed. Those parts are pretty obvious.

The speed increase and right standard remained on, as we cut a 360 degree wake into the black water, before resuming the station we were not supposed to have left yet. The CO said to keep the speed on, but to report “Alfa Station” to the Officer in Tactical Command (OTC), we did and after “Roger,” the remaining portions of the long signal, to include the new course change, so all we had do was put the rudder back on and head for our new station.

At least it was a dark and windy night….

It’s “that” day again. Post your posts if you have them!

“Sea Story” of the day:

On Monday, I blogged that it had been 30 years to the day since I reported aboard my first command for work, rather than school. It, however, was a Saturday night, so it doesn’t count as much as today, which was a Monday 30 years ago, and my first work day in the Fleet.

The routine when arriving at any command is to be noted in the Ship’s Deck Log and the taken to the Executive Officer to commence your check in. And so it was, early that day on USS MILWAUKEE (AOR-2), still moored at Pier 2 in Norfolk. It was that time when I met CDR David Martin, a Surface Line Officer, and second in command. Tall and reasonably thin for a man in his middle age period of life, it was then when he looked in my service record and made a comment discussed here.

I had been dropped from the skies on short notice aboard MILWAUKEE. I had visions of being a Diving and Salvage Officer, but a small issue of claustrophobia manged to help redetermine my career path. Just a few weeks before this day, I had sat with the Traing Officer at the Naval Diving and Salvage School, Anacostia Navy Yard, and told him I thought I would just decline to continue for fear of hazarding not only myself, but any diving buddies int he water. I was dispatched, not to a sleek “Greyhound of the Sea,” but to what, in my limited knowledge, was a dead end job for a young man with a desire to command a ship with many weapons, with a hope of playing a strong second to the legend of Lord Nelson, John Paul Jones and many others who had gone down to the sea before me.

On the advice of a family friend, who was responsible for advising one very well known and powerful senator, I had taken the orders. This man, who had served under Chester Nimitz, provide what was very sage advice: “I can get your orders changed, but just remember, there will be a very large stamp, unseen, but well known across the outside of your service record, saying “Political Influence. Take the orders, and if in a year you feel it’s not to your liking, call me and we’ll see what we can do.” I never picked up the phone, as I found I was enjoying my job far too much….

But, there I was, a whirlwind of a morning, taken to Admin, shuttled to the Captain’s cabin, introduced to my Department Head, LCDR Frank Mueller, and all sorts of other things, but, the one detail I remember clearly was shortly after lunch, I was in my newly assigned stateroom and there was a knock at the door. I tentatively opened the door and there stood two second class petty officers. Before I could say anything, the one with black curly hair, Navy “BC” glasses and a full beard shoved a manila folder in my direction and said “You’re our new Division Officer, sign this!”

Taken aback for a moment, I said: “No, I haven’t relieved ENS Ralston yet.” “Sir, he’s on leave and we need this signed. You’re our new Division Officer.” So I took the pen and signed the casualty report.

And so went my first meeting with ETR2 Mike Krutsch and ETN2 Craig Johnson, for I was, as they so clearly stated, their Division Officer….

And that is what I distinctly recall of my first real work day in the service of the taxpayers.

As a follow onto the successful VAW community music videos, I present this. You know, I’m beginning to wonder why there are so many YouTube type works on the Navy coming out of the aviation community. Is it they submariners and black shoes are too busy, or just not creative enough? You be the judge!

“Safety Chief”

Technical note: I guess I still have to figure out why YouTube videos don’t always play nice in WordPress, so just click and have fun!

Open trackback free fire zone…..

The “story” will appear a little bit later today…

Here “it” is:

It was a dark and stormy night (no, really!) and I had very recently been graced with the much toiled after “OOD(F)” (Officer of the Deck, Fleet Operations) letter, which was the “upgrade” from the prior check point in career development of the “OOD(I)” qualification. Now, I was placed in the watch rotation with the officers who were allowed to manage the moment to moment movements of the ship with other ships in formation. A big moment in a young surface warfare officer’s career. With the authority also came the responsibility of that duty as well.

We had been very busy unrepping (under way replenishing operations) most of the entire day light hours of that day out in the Atlantic, north of Puerto Rico somewhere. For a “fat ship,” that meant most of the crew was on deck, or at some attention mandating duty throughout the operations of passing “beans, bullets and black oil” to small (and big) boys alike. The Captain, at this time, Cecil Hawkins, spent most of his time in the port bridge wing chair and the XO, CDR David Martin, in the starboard bridge wing chair, watching the respective sides of the “main battery” of the ship, coordinating with the OOD for ship handling, the rig captains for hooking up, the other ship for stuff they needed, the supply officer to make sure the ships got the stuff they needed, etc, etc, etc. Even during a clear, sunny day, it’s a tough day, particularly mentally.

In the watch rotation, it was my turn to take OOD for normal steaming after we secured from UNREP stations, and late. The sky was almost black, for the cloud cover was solid and about 1000-1500 ft high. If the moon was full that night, it still mattered not, as we were stuck beneath the canopy of dense moisture. The CO and XO had departed the Bridge area and headed below to get some sleep, as time marched towards midnight.

We had been off to the side, with the designation as the formation guide (meaning everyone formed up on us, we just stayed on the ordered course and speed), so we had little maneuvering to worry about. Then the tactical radio crackled to life, giving us a coded message to take a station within the main formation of the aircraft carrier and the surrounding escorts. Guidance from the “standing orders:” Call and notify the Captain. Once I was certain the order was received and understood by my watch team, I picked up the sound powered phone and called the CO. He had had time to get to sleep, so this call (obviously) woke him up. He acknowledged my notification of our change in status in the formation.

We dutifully computed our course to get to the ordered station, and had plotted the formation stations of the other vessels. We would have to weave between a few ships to get inside the protective screen. Not bad, even at night, when equipped with such modern conveniences as RADAR, and the visibility, at surface level being pretty unrestricted. Get the bearing by visual observation, then check the range via RADAR and begin to move.

We were several miles out, so the move to station would take some time. Part way to the formation, the PRITAC (Primary Tactical, later TFTG TAC) spewed forth another message to the entire force in company: “Extinguish Navigation Lights.” OK…it was still a dark, but, the stormy part you could argue, and we had to now navigate by RADAR alone. Challenging, but not hair raising. Once more, call to inform the CO….Once more, in a sleepy voice, he responded that he understood we were now running in complete “darken ship” mode.

We steam on, a tired crew below, and the rest of us on watch. Again, the radio spoke: “EMCON ALPHA.” Emission control condition “A.” All electronics in the “off” position….on a dark, and maybe stormy night….still steaming in a 40,000 ton replenishment oiler towards an aircraft carrier, and her small boys in concentric rings about the capital ship.

Call the CO….

We got into station, no paint was scraped, no lives were lost, maybe some hair went gray (or grayer for the older watchstanders) and I was eventually relieved by the on coming ODD several hours later.

The next work day, one of the lieutenants came to me and gently whispered to me, while standing close to me and out of earshot of anyone else and said: “If the CO didn’t trust you to make good decisions, he wouldn’t have signed you OOD(F) letter.”

At one level good guidance, based on the long day the entire crew had had, but certainly OODs never really had free reign to do what they wished with the ship, even on some dark and stormy nights at sea.

The customer base is overactive this week, which is a good thing, but, cuts into blogging time.

Besides the superior trackbacks you readers might send, I refer you to a post I wrote after finding a comment on another blog. The title: “How to Bury a Hero” by (then) HM3 James Pell.

In the spirit of the movie “300,” some reminder from a modern day Spartan on how to lay your comrade to rest.

James, last I could track him down, made HM2 (Petty Officer Second Class Corpsman), but his email address wasn’t working. About 6 months ago, a friend of Marine LCpl Antoine Smith sent me an email after finding the post linked above, asking how to get a hold of James, so she could thank him. I sent out a few queries and was able to get a lead for her.

It’s all about connections and relationships, when you peel all else away.

Open Trackbacks! Post your stuff!

Sea story of the week:

I first heard of, not by name, but by association, GSGS(SW) John “JC” Weigman, USN in the summer of 1983. I was a student at Surface Warfare Officer Department Head course, nearing completion of the 6 month school. By now, I was in the Engineering Specialty portion of the curriculum, having been detailed to be the Engineer Officer on USS CONOLLY (DD-979). There were ten of us in the class, taught by LCDR Alex Watt, sitting in two rows of chairs, 5 abreast, all destined to be in charge of SPRUANCE Class destroyer engineering plants. It was the last day of this part of the school, and Alex had gathered the current status of our ships, so we’d have an idea where they were in the training/inspection/deployment cycle. He began the class with some “good news” for one of us (I can’t recall what it was or who it was for) and “bad news” for one of us. He announced one of the ships rated several GS (Gas Turbine Specialist) Chief Petty Officers, but there was only one aboard.

Alex worked his way across the front row and then got to me in the center of the back row. He began the status of my upcoming assignment by saying “It’s you.” Great. Never wanted to be a “snipe,” had asked to be anything but a snipe, but I got to be a snipe, and then I was going to be shorthanded…..There’s about 2-3 more sea stories in that last comment, but later….

I arrive aboard the ship in Puerto Mont, Chile, having flown from Norfolk via Miami. GSMC(SW) Weigman is my leading enlisted man in the department. He began his career as an EN (Engineman) and had plenty of stories to tell, in particular, he was involved in the evaluation of the SeaFox SEAL patrol craft, which made for some good conversation late at night on watch. He converted to the GS rate when there was the massive build up of DDs and FFGs was at it’s peak in the early 80s, which was a great career move.

Supporting JC were GSM1 Graham, GSE1 Denny Rohr, GSE2 Walter Hook, GSM2 Belcher, GSM2 Shipley, GSM2 Roberge, GSM2 Dewberry and more I can’t recall right now, but…he was in fact the only Chief I had in the “M” (Main Probulsion) Division, led by LT Al Curry.

JC was more than a match for the task. He was a sailor and not a snipe first. His goal was always to make sure the Ship was cared for and running well. If that meant playing second fiddle in the priorities for some “upper deck” stuff, he was on board, and he was sending help as needed. He also instilled this in those in the entire Engineering Department. On the other hand, if there was a tie to be broken, he’d make sure, in the “Goat Locker” or in talks with the CO (CDR Harry Maxiner) that the snipes would get the best deal.

One of the ways he was so successful, and the point of this sea story is: When someone told him something couldn’t be done, or it had to be done some way that didn’t make sense, he’d go and seek out the guidance and self-educate. I know he took both the PN (Personnelman) and YN (Yeoman) rate correspondence courses (required for advancement in those rates), and I believe he also sat down and worked his way through the DK (Disbursing Clerk) material as well. The entire point was to know as much of their jobs as they knew. On many occasions, he found out the people had told him something wrong, or contradictory to the way things were to be done. He wanted to know what was right, and if you wouldn’t tell him, he’d go to the book, your book, then come back and quote it to you.

He did this with everything he worked with. He was an incredibly capable amn, and even though I was short two more Chiefs in the Main Propulsion area, he outdid any ten other chiefs I worked with, except three, who were cut from the same cloth, and I ran into them years later.

One particular area, where he used this process of doing things right was with the “Critical Gauge” program. Aboard the ship were hundreds of gauges and sensing devices that required periodic calibration. There were established “METCAL” teams of civil servants and contractors, who would come to the ship and go through and validate the accuracy (or repair/replace) every one of them. JC read the instruction and it said the critical gauge list was designated by the Commanding Officer, and the shore based support teams would check against the list of meter cards (one record for each gauge/sensor) listed by the Ship’s Company. JC wnet about making sure that every gauge was covered. He listed gauges in the ASROC heating and cooling system, in the electronic chilled water piping system, etc, etc, etc. Hydraulic meters and gauges in the 5’/54 guns were also included.

When we returned from the UNITAS deployment, the METCAL team paid us a call. The looked at this foot high stack of the meter card printouts and told JC (who was in charge of the program) that they only did engineering related gauges. He stared them down and told them the heating and cooling systems for the ordnance magazines were just as critical as the vibration transducers on the gas turbine engines and….futhermore, this was the Commanding Officer’s designated list, per the instruction and they were going to check them all. He was right on both counts. They left and started calling around. Net result, they did most of the work we handed them, but not all of it.

The net result of one man, shorthanded and all, was this: The METCAL team and their handlers successfully maneuvered to get the instruction changed, so the Squadron Commander would designate the “critical gauges.” That wasn’t the answer. The METCAL people needed to see he had a very valid point, and they needed to plus up their teams to cover more work aboard the ships during their visits.

So, the moral of the story is: If you do your homework, and learn what the other guy is supposed to be doing, you get a lot of work done, but sometimes, others will find an end around to keep from doing the work.

JC also took on the existing lube oil analysis program and if I recall correctly, he got them to change to a better method of detecting contaminants in the samples sent out to the labs, which helped in early detection of problems, and therefore ssaved taxpayer dollars.

By the time I departed CONOLLY, JC had made Senior Chief Petty Officer, and all of the other people I listed above added another paygrade to their sleeves/collars.

As far as not wanting the job? Well, it was one of the most rewarding tours I had. I credit a lot of sailors who didn’t want me to screw up for making me look good in that job. They are subjects of future sea stories, for they all have lessons and tales of their own.

I know…a day late…I can make excuses, but not worth it.

I believe the other blog is gone, banished to digital nothingness by a hosting firm who wanted more money than this one did…

For this day, a blast from the past: “We don’t have enough fuel to reach Africa”, a true story of too much desire for liberty in Brazil, not enough advance planning and two ships (neither one of them a logistics type vessel) somewhere in the South Atlantic.

Enjoy! (and post your trackbacks!)

Freefire zone! Trackbacks (may show up as “pingbacks,” but they still show up! I think it’s a WordPress 2.1X issue…)

Last week, the conclusion of Episode 1 of Chief Mac stomps the “competition.”

This week, more of the same. If you’re “behind the power curve,” go back two weeks and catch up….I think it’s a great sea story, but it’s told in parts…

With the tenor of camaraderie between various vessels of COMSERVRON TWO having taken a turn towards more “active rivalry,” we received another tasker to conduct an intrusion drill (Z-5-O) against the USS SYLVANNIA (AFS-2). Chief Mac took this one one, too.

The Plan: Send the exercise tested ET2 Krutsch to get by the Quarterdeck watch, once more disguised as a Navy Exchange employee bearing delivery items. One other would be the following “distractor” to inject some confusion so Mike could escape the controlled environs of the entry point of the vessel to do his mischief.

This time the “delivery item” to cause attentive watch standers was one actual birthday cake, to be delivered to the Commanding Officer, CAPT Otto Will, USN. As with the prior event (I’m sure you have gone back and caught up by now), the Chief purchased the cake and a birthday card, complete with a birthday greeting inscribed on the top of the cake, visible through the clear plastic top of the cake box, real name and all….

Mike heads off, in his civvies and hair and beard/moustache pushing the envelope of “well groomed” and climbs the ladder. On arrival, he indicates he has a cake to deliver to a Captain Otto Will for his birthday. Of course he did his best to not act clued in as to the identity of the Ship’s CO….he stood off to the side of the Quarterdeck area, as directed (but not yet asked for an ID of any sort, nor questioned as to if he might be an intruder). About this time, of course, OS1 Blazak mounted the Quarterdeck, requesting permission to come aboard. His “mission” was to find the leading operations specialist to “borrow” some charts. As it turned out, the Officer of the Deck knew OS1, so he played it off as just looking for some info, but…the personall knowledge of who he was ruled him out as being able to be a bad guy for the drill purposes. However, it allowed cover for Mike to head inboard and begin he search for the CO’s Inport Cabin.

He wandered into the deckhouse and central area of the ship, and then to the outbaord side of the main deck. He didn’t know exactly where it was, so he took a chance and asked a sailor where the Captain’s cabin was. At first, he thought he was being led back to the Quarterdeck and the drill would be over, but he was delivered to the Captain’s door and the sailoer knocked, opened the door and announced a visitor the to Captain, who was talking to a Commander and a Master Chief Petty Officer.

Mike was invited in, saying he had a birthday cake for a Captain Will. As most people would be under such circumstances as this the Co was curious as to how this had become his birthday. He looked puzzled, but invited Mike in. Mike set the box on his desk and handed him the birthday card. Capt Will took the card out of the envelope, opened it and proceeded to read.

About this time the smiles began spreading on the faces of the Commander and Master Chief, who were debriefing a human resources assessment training of the ship, so they were not ship’s company, but knew “the drill” all too well (and I’m sure they were also relieved not to be ship’s company right about then). The Master Chief said: “Captain, I think you should read the back of the card.” There, as he closed it and scanned the handwriting on the back of the card, he read “This is a bomb!”

Might I just say Mike indicated Captain Will was not amused. But, on top of the card indicating the future failing grade from the Sqaurdon Commander. But, as Chief Mac had a humorous side, when he had the cake decorated, aroound the sides, in scrolled icing was the inscription “Tick*Tick*Tick.”

And so ends the tale of the days when the gentleman’s approach to “running drills” on each other in the Fat Ship Navy took a turn for the better, or worse, depending on which side of the grade sheet you were on.