Time for Sea Stories Again
Photo by Ex-PH2
It’s that time of year when we’re between fall and spring, ice fishing season is underway and hunting is sometimes dismal. The snow load comes and goes. Looks like Seattle got walloped last week. Fine by me. We get that all the time in my kingdom. Winter isn’t winter without snow, ice, sleet, slop, slush, miserable cold, the occasional female squirrel looking for bird food to steal. If the squirrel is fat, it’s a female and she’s got several buns in the oven.
You can’t convince ecohippie idiots that passenger jet exhaust is mostly water vapor that instantly crystallizes when it leaves a warm, high-firing jet engine and hits a nearly subzero temperature outside that warm, cuddly engine. They thinks it’s all carbon. That’s the buzzword for them now: “carbon”. Not CO2. I hope some day they find their own planet, but in the meantime, there’s an island somewhere in the vicinity of Antarctica with a couple penguin colonies. They could move there… all of them. There, or Mars, as soon as there’s transportation there. And take the nutball politicos with them. That would make me happy.
Being indoors because of bad weather is boring, but you know that if you keep busy, time passes quickly. Instead of spending the time indoors, grumbling about the weather, rustle up your old stories of “There I was, surrounded by space aliens and a pile of brass, and the commlinks went down….”
Go for it. Knock yourselves out.
Category: "The Floggings Will Continue Until Morale Improves", Open thread
First.
We destroyed a bar in Thailand made of bamboo and tin.
We were thrown into jail made of bamboo and tin.
We easily broke out of jail and swam back to the ship.
That is all.
MCPO OUT
The above is a “No shitter”.
But if there was a shitter, I’m sure it would have been made out of bamboo and tin. There is order in the universe.
“Bamboo and tin”.
There is a song in there.
I can believe that.
But I know for a fact you didn’t rent the jet skis, else you’d still be in prison.
It was about 0300. The last banana boat left at 0100.
The difference between a fairy tale and a sea story is the Fairy Tale begins with “Once upon a time,” and a Sea Story starts with “Now this ain’t no shit…”
Little late for a Christmas story, but it is winter, so here goes. (Hope I have not told this one before)
It was around Christmas of 1977, I think. USS America was making a port visit to Palma de Mallorca. Back in those days, junior officers in the air wing were assigned as “Boat Officers” on the liberty boats. Carriers had to anchor offshore and run crew members to shore. Enlisted crew rode in 50′ utility boats. The Boat Officer was responsible for safe operation of the boat, but didn’t have much control over loading, or how the boat was navigated. We just “responsible” for the boat, meant it was our young butts in the wringer if something bad happened.
Anyway, as Christmas Day approached the boats sometimes got a little wild – as in drunken sailors getting belligerent or even fighting on the way back to the ship. Nothing like motoring through a strong swell, in the foggy mist, and have a few sailors start getting into it underneath the canopy. It could look like cats in a bag. Hopefully there’s a couple of SPs (Shore Patrol) escorting someone who did something bad enough, and the SPs could calm things down – maybe.
Anyways…. it was Christmas Eve. Dark, foggy, and pretty cold. The boat was getting loaded with the usual suspects. The SP Chief wanted to jam a few more in, to get the boat to rated capacity. I prevailed on him to leave some room PLEAEEESE!! to keep the chance of fighting down. We got a bit offshore, but the sea was calm at least. The sailors were up to their usual boisterous behavior but nothing out of line (yet). And then, from somewhere under that covering, someone started to sing Silent Night. Before long, pretty much the whole boat joined in, and those not singing didn’t let out a peep. The coxswain and I looked at each other like “This is something very different….”
Just one of the strange things that can happen when you’re a boat officer.
Thank you George V.
I read that several times because it was funny as hell.
I try to explain to my family how these things happen.
No explanations cover it.
Peace to you.
I was designated driver while at Guam at the end of an exercise, there were 19 operators stuffed into a Dodge caravan and we hit all of the strip clubs. On the way back, everyone is completely sauced two of the guys started fighting in the back because some one touched the others ass or something along those lines. We roll up to the gate the back window was busted from the flailing of body parts, they had slid the door open and there were people falling out of the van including the two fighting who were now in the middle of the road. The Security Forces come running over to break up the fight and one of the two guys fighting didn’t like the fact that his buddy who was fighting got grabbed then started beating on one of the Security forces guys, needless to say higher ups were called we were all tasting asphalt and hauled in for a whole list of things. But being AFSOC they eventually dropped all of the charges as long as the back window was paid for.
NTANS, from a galaxy far away, a long long time ago…
There I was, on the first leg of a UNITAS Det, where we exercise with our South American friend’s Navy’s. Usually a coveted detachment, especially the last leg which is held in Rio, for reasons that are obvious. Coveted because the per diem was generous and the accommodations were usually 4 star hotels and high end restaurants. Usually, that is, unless one is on the first Unitas leg, as I was. My P-3 crew and I were billeted in the famous Bundy barracks in Puerto Rico (open bay, no screens, floor fan to move the air), and had a dining choice of the Navy chow hall or the Exchange’s greasy spoon. May as well be back on the ship in my helo days. Yeah, we’re kinda spoiled like that. To add insult to injury, on our in-chop brief, they issued us ration cards for booze and tobacco. Something like two fifths of hard liquor and 10 cigars a week. Completely unsat, as I had planned to stock up on the unbelievably low priced Bacardi rum and stogies for the trip home. What to do….
Hmmm, seems the “ration card” was merely an 8 1/2x11sheet of paper, with check off blocks at the appropriate items. I looked at the ration card.
I then looked at the Xerox machine in the corner.
20 copies later, and I was eventually able to pretty much fill a cruise box with cases of rum and boxes of Nicaraguan stogies.
I guess the first leg of Unitas wasn’t so bad after all.
Being a land lubber, I can only offer a quote from perhaps the greatest sea story ever committed to paper, Moby Dick by Herman Melville. Read this quote in a booming voice like Gregory Peck.
“Towards thee I roll, thou all-destroying but unconquering whale; to the last I grapple with thee; from hell’s heart I stab at thee; for hate’s sake I spit my last breath at thee. Sink all coffins and all hearses to one common pool! and since neither can be mine, let me then tow to pieces, while still chasing thee, though tied to thee, thou damned whale! Thus, I give up the spear!” ` Captain Ahab
That is a dependapotamas pick up line.
Damn CCR, you just described having sex with my 2nd X-Wife.
Was CAPT. Ahab watching thru the port hole?
Ricardo Montelban did an amazing job with a chunk of that.
He also stole the move out from under Shatner.
NTANS, I was on a gator freighter out of Norfolk, floating around the Adriatic. To break up the boredom, the skipper, a very good shot, would have the lookouts pop smoke floats and blast away at them with an M-14 from the armory (this was long enough ago we still had M-14s and .45s in the armory) He would invite anyone on the bridge at the time a chance to squeeze off a few rounds.
One afternoon I was on the bridge going over the binnacle list with the XO. The Skipper was on the bridge wing blasting away at a float but not having much luck and was getting frustrated. I think I might have snorted a little. He looked up, saw me, and said; “Hey Doc. Let’s see what you’ve got!”. I went out on the wing, took the rifle, aimed, and BANG! Dead on the float. There was silence on the bridge.
I cleared the weapon, gave it back to the gunners mate, said “Thanks Skipper” and exited quickly. I managed to make it below one deck when over the 1MC the bosun of the watch announced; “Lieutenant V your presence is requested on the bridge”. I went back up, the Skipper was waiting with a new smoke float ready to go. He said ” Okay Mister. Do it again!”. Needless to say I never was able to hit another float.
There I was, in an inverted 4-g negative dive…
…and I got killed. Dafuk ya think would happen?
Maybe some cool pictures of a Mig while you’re flipping them off?
Actually better, called ‘pressed ham’ where usually the ordie would drop flight suit and moon the MiG off our wing from a convex observer window. Seemed to do the trick, as our playmate would usually peel off and and go home, doubtless horrified at the sight.
Good times. *grin*
I only got seasick once. Swear.
Was on the small boat from S-9 to Ford Island.
And if anyone asks I wasn’t at Gussie Lamoor’s until 4 that morning.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Navy Hospital, Bethesda. The duty Nuc Med Tech would sometimes have to scan an animal brought over by NIH doctors. We did monkeys, dogs, pigs, others. The animals had been administered radioactive materials and the tech would image it. One evening an NIH doctor brought over a dog. He was supposedly heavily sedated. Well, at least he was supposed to be. The idea was the animal had to not move at all for as long as an hour. The dog had other ideas. He woke up and was off to the races. The IV is still attached and he’s dragging an IV bag behind him. The doctor and I are running through the clinic after the dog. We finally corner him but any imaging was over. Some time I may tell you my story concerning a monkey. It didn’t end as well.
WAR STORY ALERT. Rhein-Main Air Base 1960 as an Airman 2nd on a space A layover on my way to visit Army cousin stationed at Etain, France. Had no place to stay but when the MP’s learned I was an Air Policeman, they said come with us. Took me to the beginning of Kaiser Str. and said go into that bar and have a beer. Bar had a great strip show. They came and got me and took me to a bar across the street, same thing. That went on for a few hours and they knew almost exactly when each strip show ended and the next began. Then they took me to their barrack to catch a couple of hours sleep, mess hall then back to Rhein-Main for my flight to France. I was exhausted from the night before and slept on the AF C-130 into Chateraux Air Base then hitched a ride on an Army chopper to Etain. I was still sleeping when the chopper landed and they let me sleep until all was completed then a crewman woke me and drove me to my cousins post. Those were the days to be a junior enlisted troop in Europe.
I did Hickham to Kadena to Clark and back around 1989.
Be interesting to see what if anything happens on Space-A anymore. Or if it even exists to the extent it once did.
Pattaya Beach, 1995.
I’d been there once before, and I knew food was plentiful and inexpensive.
There was a pier that had a seafood restaurant. I was, well, feeling no pain. Picture perfect evening, table to myself. I saw a meal for about $8 (200 bhat) that looked good to me.
“Please bring me the Seafood Platter,” says I. The waiter just kinda looks at me and goes, “Are you sure?”
Of course, I reply in the affirmative. A few moments later I have a 18″ and (at least) 5 lb. platter dropped in front of me with every sea-going critter you can imagine: prawns, whole octopus, calamari, an entire grilled fish, and more. No way in hell I’m going to finish this.
Fortunately, there was a Russian family at the next table who graciously accepted my offer of my extra food in exchange for several shots of the vodka they smuggled into the restaurant. And so it went. We all had a great meal and drinks.
Diplomacy in action.
I was an enlisted man onboard USS Tarawa LHA-1, during western Pacific deployment late 1980 into 1981. The ship was transiting to Perth, Australia for a port visit. As such we were crossing the equator and the ship had to be cleansed of filthy pollywogs (wogs). I had crossed the line on USS Okinawa earlier in my career and was already a shellback. The Marine Battalion and helo squadron were embarked so the ship was filled to the gills. The wogs had to serve breakfast to the shellbacks the morning of the initiation. The ship CO had yet to cross the equator and he was working behind the serving line on the mess deck. The Captain put bacon on the food tray of the man in front of me. The guy looked at the bacon and shoved the tray back at the Captain and yelled at him “MORE BACON, WOG!” The CO laughed a bit and gave him more bacon. Probably one of the few times an enlisted could be “legally” disrespectful towards an officer, especially the CO. The Captain was Dwight Timm. He is deceased, he was an F-4 Phantom pilot and had flown combat missions over Vietnam.
This REALLY is a NO-SHITTER!
Speaking of Thai bars, the MCPO’s sea story reminded me of a port call in Pattaya Beach.
Pattaya is a crazy place in the best of times, and our stay there was no exception.
I was TAD to a destroyer and we were the only ship in Pattaya. We had the town all to ourselves!
One night, a couple of shipmates and I went into a strip joint on the main drag. It was packed with squids. Sailors who were losing the battle with the Singha and just getting crazier and crazier.
When we entered the bar, there were two girls on the stage behind that bar, doing a little LLA. Always a nice diversion, we stood at the bar getting embalmed from the Singha beer.
The interesting thing about the stage was that it was a veritable forest of poles. Must have been at least 20 of them. When the girls stopped being, ahem, affectionate with each other, one left the stage and the other started her own performance.
This lovely young lady started pulling fluorescent string from her pussy and as she danced around the stage, she created her own little female spider web.
Needless to say, the more string she pulled out, the crazier the other Sailors got. The whole atmosphere was in a frenzy as she pulled probably 100 yards out of her beautiful nether regions.
But the place EXPLODED when one of the patrons jumped up onto the stage and started FLOSSING HIS TEETH WITH THE STRING.
Chaos is too weak of a word…and my shipmates and I beat feet before it got really bad.
Really happened. No shit.
Darts and balloons.
I leave the rest to your imagination.
11 Feb 72, sitting on my ass playing double deck Pinochle in the Freedom Hill Hold/Sequester Area after visiting the Pee House of the August Moon. Tomorrow Freedom Bird!!
Wheels up from Da Nang about 1000 hours (on a Proud Bird With a Golden Tail) on 12 February, landed at SEA-TAC about 1000 hours, 12 February.
Then began the trip back to East Hog Flats (in Summer Greens) that involved the help of the County Sheriff’s Deputies from three counties to finally make it to the farmstead.
Good Times!!