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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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But, “sea stories,” too!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So much for trying to march sailors.

Open trackbacks….who could ask for anything more?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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…..