Speicher Found/Identified

LtCdr. Michael Scott Speicher, of VFA 81, who was shot down over Iraq on the night of January 16, 1991, has been found. On August 2, 2009, the US Navy announced that his remains had been positively identified.

LtCdr Speicher was the first casualty of Operation Desert Storm. His F-18 Strike Fighter aircraft was shot down by a surface to air missle during the first manned air strike near an area known as Wadi Thumayal. Other intelligence gathering indicated his jet was shot down by a MiG-25 flown by Lt. Zuhair Dawood, 84th squadron of the IQAF. LtCdr. Speicher was declared "Killed-In-Action/Body-Not-Recovered" in May 1991. His status was changed in 2001 to MIA, and then to Missing/Captured in 2002 based on reported sighting in Iraq. Those sightings have since been discredited.

Acting on information provided by an Iraqi citizen in early July, US Marines stationed in Al Anbar Province went to a location in the desert which was believed to be the crash site of Captain Speicher's jet. The Iraqi citizen stated he knew of two Iraqi citizens who recalled an American jet impacting the desert and the remains of the pilot being buried in the desert. One of these Iraqi citizens stated that they were present when Captain Speicher was found dead at the crash site by Bedouins and his remains buried. The Iraqi citizens led US Marines to the site and they searched the area. Remains were recovered over several days during the past week and flown to Dover Air Force Base for scientific identification by the Armed Forces Institute of Pathology and the Office of the Armed Forces Medical Examiner. Positive identification was made by comparing Captain Speicher's dental records with the jawbone recovered at the site. The teeth are a match, both visually and radiographically.

He apparently was not captured, died at the crash site, and was buried by Bedouins. May God rest his soul and heal his family.

A Last Salute

Out of respect for LCdr Roy Boehm's last wishes, I will simply say thank you.

Airspace

In addition to communicating with the local air traffic control facility, aircraft are required to give the Iranian Air Defense Radar a ten minute "heads up" that they will be transiting Iranian airspace. This is a common procedure for commercial aircraft and involves giving them your call sign, transponder code, type aircraft, and points of origin and destination. This exchange was overheard on the VHF Guard (emergency) frequency 121.5 MHz while flying from Europe to Dubai.

Air Defense Radar: "Unknown aircraft at (location undisclosed), you are in Iranian airspace. Identify yourself."

Aircraft: "This is a United States aircraft. I am in Iraqi airspace."

Air Defense Radar: "You are in Iranian airspace. If you do not depart our airspace we will launch interceptor aircraft!"

Aircraft: "Roger that. This is a United States Navy F-18 fighter jet. Send 'em up!"

Air Defense Radar: ............... (no response ... total silence)

Caps

"Sir...... Sir........."

I was at the bank's drive through, still in my scrubs, waiting to deposit my paycheck. I had been a long, hard 36 hours, but at least I was off work, and no longer on call. A young man, his arms covered in tattoos was motioning towards my passenger window. He had turned the ignition off of his motorcycle so I could hear him. Crap. Maybe I had a low tire. My pistol was underneath a newspaper on the passenger seat.

I checked my rear view mirror, and then..... I rolled down the window.

"Were you in the Navy?" he asked.

"Yes, as a matter of fact," I smiled.

"Your cap, it's good to see someone wearing one. I was in the Navy too," he said.

"Thank you for your service." It was his turn to smile.

"Where were you stationed?" I challenged him.

"San Diego, the Nimitz. I was a Bo'swains Mate," came the reply. Suddenly, the tattooed man became a landlocked sailor, a brother of the ocean.

"I was on the Midway, you might have seen her there......."

"Oh yeah, she's a museum now. There's a restaurant on the fantail."

"One day I want to take my family to see her," I mused.

If you are like me, and regret tossing out your old Navy duty station ball cap, there is still hope. At www.priorservice.com you can order ball caps for almost any modern US ship. Take a look. If you have never sailed in Uncle Sugar's Canoe Club, order one for a landlocked salt who has. You never know who it may make smile.

The USS Forrestal Fire

At 10:52 on July 29, 1967, on Yankee Station aboard the USS Forrestal (CV-59), a defining moment in US Naval history occurred. My wife asked me about John McCain's role in the Forrestal fire last night. It was McCain's A-4 Skyhawk that was struck by the zuni rocket launched on deck from an F-4 Phantom. His being there has been politicized by some misinformed individuals, but John McCain only had one role in this tragic incident. That of an aviator........ And perhaps that of a hero.

John McCain's role really doesn't matter to those who have sailed in the US Navy since that time. They know what took place on the USS Forrestal. It was ingrained in each and every one of them as surely as the ice cold wind at Great Lakes RTC in January. All sailors since that time have been trained as firefighters. When there is a fire at sea, the choice is clear. Fight the fire, or die. There is no place to run, no place to swim to.

The lessons of the USS Forrestal were preserved on a training film called "Trial By Fire." Regrettably, I was unable to find a copy, but I was able to find a more modern dramatization of the events. Shellbacks will note several discrepancies, such as modern aircraft and equipment appearing in some of the film. The black and white plat lens footage though is real. The story is factual. The men who died were real.

134 sailors perished. 161 were injured. 21 aircraft were destroyed. Thousands survived, and a ship was saved. For those who want to know true heroism at sea, here is the story of what US sailors commonly know as "The Forrestal Fire."











A complete account of the Forrestal fire can be found in the book Sailors to the End by Gregory A. Freeman.

Update: Trial by Fire thanks Mopar!

Never Forget

The first shots fired from Al Quaida were not at the World Trade Center.

To date, there has been no retaliation for the sailors who lost their lives in the terrorist war against the United States on 12 October 2000.

Read more here, at The Flopping Aces.

Directive from the Commandant

In a message to all Marines worldwide, the Commandant recently informed his troops that Marines were to cease and desist from using the age old term "Squid" to refer to members of the US Navy.

"Use of this word to refer to a member of the Navy is totally inappropriate," the Commandant said.

"According to Webster's Dictionary," the Commandant's message continues, "Squid is defined as 'a higher form of marine life.' Obviously, we must hide the truth when referring to Sailors."

They finally figured it out.

Observe Memorial Day. The squids, jarheads, grunts, airheads and puddle pilots deserve it.

Carrier

First......Two words........

Comcast Sucks!

Now that I am back online and have that off my chest, I have been watching the PBS series filmed on the USS Nimitz while the ship was deployed in 2005. I brings back huge memories. I ordered the DVD set. It's an excellent series. (Sidenote: I noticed the aviators of VFA 41 were toting Sigs.)

Back when I was in Uncle Sugar's Yacht Club, women were not allowed on board combatant vessels. It was considered to be a logistical compromise, and an unnecessary complicating factor in many ways. Limited space needed for fuel and ordnance being occupied by separate heads, berthing and stockpiles of maxi-pads. Decreased combat readiness with members of the crew becoming pregnant days before deployment. Fatal distraction on a ship that could lead to not only loss of careers, but of lives. For people who have never sailed in the Navy, the reality of being at sea for months with a mission of going to war if need be is a foreign thing. I would not expect them to understand my thoughts on the matter. I will simply say that if you have not humped 110 pounds of rusty greasy chain around your shoulders at a dead run for 12 hours a day for 110 days straight without a break, eating on your 12 hours off, sleeping on your 12 hours off, showering on your twelve hours off, and all the time wondering if this was your last hour before you lost your life to somebody else's carelessness, well, you don't have a knowledgeable opinion on the matter.

I usually keep that opinion to myself. The new politically correct Navy and Marine Corp is different from what it once was. My generation of sailors resolved conflicts with smokers. If you don't know what a smoker is, you are new Navy, bottom line. It ain't a burnt hot dog or a cigarette.

MOH Recipient Petty Officer 2nd Class Michael A. Monsoor

Arlington, Va. — The grenade hit him in the chest and bounced to the ground. Petty Officer 2nd Class Michael A. Monsoor could have gotten out of harm’s way before it went off, but three other Navy SEALs and eight Iraqi soldiers could not, according to Monsoor’s Navy biography. So Monsoor, 25, dove on the grenade to shield the others from the blast.

Because of his quick thinking, the other SEALs and Iraqi soldiers survived after the grenade exploded, but Monsoor did not. He died 30 minutes later. On Monday, the White House announced that Monsoor would receive the Medal of Honor for his actions on Sept. 29, 2006, in Ramadi, Iraq. His parents, George and Sally Monsoor, will receive the medal on his behalf at an April 8 ceremony at the White House, according to the Navy.

Monsoor embodied the “SEAL ethos,” said the head of Naval Special Warfare Command in San Diego said in a Navy news release.

“He led by example and protected his teammates to the very end,” said Rear Adm. Joseph Kernan in the news release. “But more than that, Mike was a brother in our family. We will honor him every day by upholding the values he shared with us as SEALs.”

During his tour in Iraq, Monsoor served as a heavy weapons machine gunner for his platoon and a SEAL communicator, according to his biography. On 15 operations, he carried his communications gear, machine gun and ammunition, weighing more than 100 pounds. “He bore the weight without a single complaint, even the midst of the 130 degree Western Iraqi summer,” his biography said.

Monsoor had previously been awarded the Silver Star for rescuing another SEAL who had been shot in the leg in May 2006. “He ran out into the street with another SEAL, shot cover fire and dragged his comrade to safety while enemy bullets kicked up the concrete at their feet,” his biography said. Monsoor will become the fourth servicemember — each killed in the line of duty — to receive the nation’s highest military award for the war on terrorism.

By Jeff Schogol, Stars and Stripes

Heavy Seas.

My ship, the USS Midway was an aircraft carrier that started out as a battleship. It was well known for rolling in calm seas, especially after it was converted to an angle deck. Of course, calm seas were not always the order of the day. Being of a Shellbacking nautical type, I just can't let a wog like PhlegmFatale out do me. Here ya go ye scurvy wogs!



Here's another



And another.



Keep in mind these are supertankers. Enjoy the ride!

Medal of Honor

Lieutenant Michael Murphy, USN was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor today.

Summary of Action
Operation Redwing
June 28, 2005

On June 28, 2005, deep behind enemy lines east of Asadabad in the Hindu Kush of Afghanistan, a very committed four-man Navy SEAL team was conducting a reconnaissance mission at the unforgiving altitude of approximately 10,000 feet. The SEALs, Lt. Michael Murphy, Gunner’s Mate 2nd Class (SEAL) Danny Dietz, Sonar Technician 2nd Class (SEAL) Matthew Axelson and Hospital Corpsman 2nd Class (SEAL) Marcus Luttrell had a vital task. The four SEALs were scouting Ahmad Shah – a terrorist in his mid-30s who grew up in the adjacent mountains just to the south.

Under the assumed name Muhammad Ismail, Shah led a guerrilla group known to locals as the "Mountain Tigers" that had aligned with the Taliban and other militant groups close to the Pakistani border. The SEAL mission was compromised when the team was spotted by local nationals, who presumably reported its presence and location to the Taliban.

A fierce firefight erupted between the four SEALs and a much larger enemy force of more than 50 anti-coalition militia. The enemy had the SEALs outnumbered. They also had terrain advantage. They launched a well-organized, three-sided attack on the SEALs. The firefight continued relentlessly as the overwhelming militia forced the team deeper into a ravine.

Trying to reach safety, the four men, now each wounded, began bounding down the mountain's steep sides, making leaps of 20 to 30 feet. Approximately 45 minutes into the fight, pinned down by overwhelming forces, Dietz, the communications petty officer, sought open air to place a distress call back to the base. But before he could, he was shot in the hand, the blast shattering his thumb.

Despite the intensity of the firefight and suffering grave gunshot wounds himself, Murphy is credited with risking his own life to save the lives of his teammates. Murphy, intent on making contact with headquarters, but realizing this would be impossible in the extreme terrain where they were fighting, unhesitatingly and with complete disregard for his own life moved into the open, where he could gain a better position to transmit a call to get help for his men.

Moving away from the protective mountain rocks, he knowingly exposed himself to increased enemy gunfire. This deliberate and heroic act deprived him of cover and made him a target for the enemy. While continuing to be fired upon, Murphy made contact with the SOF Quick Reaction Force at Bagram Air Base and requested assistance. He calmly provided his unit’s location and the size of the enemy force while requesting immediate support for his team. At one point he was shot in the back causing him to drop the transmitter. Murphy picked it back up, completed the call and continued firing at the enemy who was closing in. Severely wounded, Lt. Murphy returned to his cover position with his men and continued the battle.

An MH-47 Chinook helicopter, with eight additional SEALs and eight Army Night Stalkers aboard, was sent is as part of an extraction mission to pull out the four embattled SEALs. The MH-47 was escorted by heavily-armored, Army attack helicopters. Entering a hot combat zone, attack helicopters are used initially to neutralize the enemy and make it safer for the lightly-armored, personnel-transport helicopter to insert.

The heavy weight of the attack helicopters slowed the formation’s advance prompting the MH-47 to outrun their armored escort. They knew the tremendous risk going into an active enemy area in daylight, without their attack support, and without the cover of night. Risk would, of course, be minimized if they put the helicopter down in a safe zone. But knowing that their warrior brothers were shot, surrounded and severely wounded, the rescue team opted to directly enter the oncoming battle in hopes of landing on brutally hazardous terrain.

As the Chinook raced to the battle, a rocket-propelled grenade struck the helicopter, killing all 16 men aboard.

On the ground and nearly out of ammunition, the four SEALs, Murphy, Luttrell, Dietz and Axelson, continued the fight. By the end of the two-hour gunfight that careened through the hills and over cliffs, Murphy, Axelson and Dietz had been killed. An estimated 35 Taliban were also dead.

The fourth SEAL, Luttrell, was blasted over a ridge by a rocket propelled grenade and was knocked unconscious. Regaining consciousness some time later, Luttrell managed to escape – badly injured – and slowly crawl away down the side of a cliff. Dehydrated, with a bullet wound to one leg, shrapnel embedded in both legs, three vertebrae cracked; the situation for Luttrell was grim. Rescue helicopters were sent in, but he was too weak and injured to make contact. Traveling seven miles on foot he evaded the enemy for nearly a day. Gratefully, local nationals came to his aid, carrying him to a nearby village where they kept him for three days. The Taliban came to the village several times demanding that Luttrell be turned over to them. The villagers refused. One of the villagers made his way to a Marine outpost with a note from Luttrell, and U.S. forces launched a massive operation that rescued him from enemy territory on July 2.

By his undaunted courage, intrepid fighting spirit and inspirational devotion to his men in the face of certain death, Lt. Murphy was able to relay the position of his unit, an act that ultimately led to the rescue of Luttrell and the recovery of the remains of the three who were killed in the battle.

This was the worst single-day U.S. Forces death toll since Operation Enduring Freedom began nearly six years ago. It was the single largest loss of life for Naval Special Warfare since World War II.

The Naval Special Warfare (NSW) community will forever remember June 28, 2005 and the heroic efforts and sacrifices of our special operators. We hold with reverence the ultimate sacrifice that they made while engaged in that fierce fire fight on the front lines of the global war on terrorism (GWOT).

-NSW-

US Navy SEAL Team ~Operation Red Wing

Lt. (SEAL) Michael P. Murphy, 29, of Patchogue, N.Y.
Gunner’s Mate 2nd Class (SEAL) Danny P. Dietz, 25, of Littleton, Colo.
Sonar Technician (Surface) 2nd Class (SEAL) Matthew G. Axelson, 29, of Cupertino, Calif.
Hospital Corpsman 2nd Class (SEAL) Marcus Luttrell ~ survivor

US Army Rangers ~ Rescue Team

Staff Sgt. Shamus O. Goare, 29, of Danville, Ohio.
Chief Warrant Officer Corey J. Goodnature, 35, of Clarks Grove, Minn.
Sgt. Kip A. Jacoby, 21, of Pompano Beach, Fla.
Sgt. 1st Class Marcus V. Muralles, 33, of Shelbyville, Ind.
Master Sgt. James W. Ponder III, 36, of Franklin, Tenn.
Maj. Stephen C. Reich, 34, of Washington Depot, Conn.
Sgt. 1st Class Michael L. Russell, 31, of Stafford, Va.
Chief Warrant Officer Chris J. Scherkenbach, 40, of Jacksonville, Fla.

US Navy SEALs ~ Rescue Team

Chief Fire Controlman (SEAL) Jacques J. Fontan, 36, of New Orleans, La.
Senior Chief Information Systems Technician (SEAL) Daniel R. Healy, 36, of Exeter, N.H.
Lt. Cmdr. (SEAL) Erik S. Kristensen, 33, of San Diego, Calif.
Electronics Technician 1st Class (SEAL) Jeffery A. Lucas, 33, of Corbett, Ore.
Lt. (SEAL) Michael M. McGreevy Jr., 30, of Portville, N.Y.
Quartermaster 2nd Class (SEAL) James Suh, 28, of Deerfield Beach, Fla.
Machinist Mate 2nd Class (SEAL) Eric S. Patton, 22, of Boulder City, Nev.
Hospital Corpsman 1st Class (SEAL) Jeffrey S. Taylor, 30, of Midway, W.Va.

Better men this world will never know.
Rest in peace.

Rutgers' Pathetic Display of Vulgarity

I could not say it better than Mark Di Ionno, except I will insert the words he left out:

The play came late in the game, when Rutgers expanded its lead over Navy to a comfortable level after a tight three quarters.

Navy's Reggie Campbell took the kickoff and ran full speed ahead up the middle with all the force his 168-pound body could generate.
Campbell, almost always the smallest and fastest man on the field, hit a wall of XXXL-sized scarlet jerseys and was slammed to the ground at the bottom of the pile. He got up slowly, limping off. This gutsy kid, a slotback who already spent three quarters being chased and tackled by gangs of defensive linemen and linebackers, all weighing at least 100 pounds more than him, was then given a dose of Rutgers' student section class.

''You got fucked up. You got fucked up. You got fucked up," they chanted.

Reggie Campbell is a senior. After graduation in June he has a five-year commitment to the American military, which, like it or not, is at war.

"This is how you treat people who may die for this country?" said Bill Squires, an Annapolis graduate (Class of'75) who was on the sidelines for the Friday night game in Piscataway and was shocked by the obscene chants directed at the Navy players and fans throughout the game. "It was the most classless thing I've seen."

Navy was booed and peppered with "You suck!" chants when they stepped on the field for both halves. Toward the end of the second half, Rutgers students in the new bleacher section began to serenade the adjacent section of Navy fans and uniformed Midshipmen.

''Fuck you, Navy. Fuck you, Navy. Fuck you, Navy."

"There were wives and small children up there," said Squires, an academic recruiter for the academy who has been to dozens of away games and never seen such contempt directed at his team. "Our Midshipmen reacted the way they were taught. They didn't respond, but the band started playing 'Anchors Aweigh' to drown them out. Me, I felt like going up there and smacking somebody. I was mad, and it bothered me all weekend."

Booing, cursing, chanting obscenities, unfortunately, are now part of the game day experience. It's easily been three decades since fans across the country in all sports began spending more time and creative energy jeering the visitors and officials than cheering the home team. Rutgers is far from the worst. They're not even the worst in New Jersey, not with the Jets' fans still in town. Still, every penalty against the Scarlet Knights is greeted with a chant of "asshole, asshole, asshole."

And now that Rutgers is winning, the long-suffering, self-effacing adult fans are being drowned out by a new generation of weight-room bully boys in scarlet T-shirts and red face-paint, who, from the safety of their seats, belittle the guys down on the field who take the hits.

Now that Rutgers is big-time, the old-time academic- and adult-minded fans are being elbowed aside by gangs of frat boys thrusting their fists and faces into the rolling ESPN cameras. What was it your old football coach used to say? Act like you've been there before. Not in the RU student section.

"At one point, I thought, we defend this country for people like this?" said Squires, who lives in West Orange. "I wasn't embarassed as a New Jerseyan. I was embarassed as a human being."

It was so noticeable that Rutgers athletic director Bob Mulcahy called down to Navy athletic director Chet Gladchuk yesterday to make sure there were no hard feelings, according to John Wooding, an assistant AD at Rutgers.

Some will excuse the behavior as kids just being kids, out to have a loutish, drunken good time. Spewing obscenities at the visiting team is just part of the fun.

But you'd hope our Jersey kids would be smart enough to make an exception for the service academies, especially the weekend before the anniversary of Sept. 11, their generation's own Day of Infamy. You'd hope they'd be sensitive enough to realize that some of those Midshipmen may soon be among the young American men and women fighting and bleeding and dying in Iraq and Afghanistan. Young Americans, the same age as those safe in the stands watching a football game with their faces and bodies painted red.

At the very least, you'd think the Rutgers students would have some appreciation for the effort the undersize Navy players put out. They aren't like the players from Louisville or West Virginia or some of the other ranked powerhouses Rutgers now finds itself among. They are what Rutgers was not so many years ago. Students first, athletes second. Except better.

The new Rutgers is a big-time football school, with all the hype and manufactured drama. Coach Greg Schiano leads his team through pregame Scarlet Walk, chest out, stomach in, looking every bit the general except without gold braids, epaulets and a full rack of medals. The band plays. The cheerleaders and dance team girls wave pompoms. The conquering heroes go past, eyes front. At game time, the scoreboard TV shows the team coming down the tunnel to a soundtrack from Armageddon. An Army helicopter chop-chops overhead (your tax dollars at work).

Football has always marched to a militaristic or tribal drum beat, to whip up players to greater levels of violence. The game is always likened to war by coaches, players, announcers and writers who haven't been to war.

But to Reggie Campbell and his Navy teammates, Friday night's game wasn't war. It was a game. War is around the bend.

They deserved better.

And that red on the faces of some Rutgers' fans wasn't body paint.

Now I'll voice my opinion, I suppose. Fuck you right back Rutgers. You do not deserve to disgrace the same grass those boys men play football on. You do not deserve to breathe the same air that may be their last breath in a foreign land. Take your cowardly, cry baby, nappy headed ho, uneducated, degenerate and despicable presence to your next sporting event. That is all your pathetic lives will ever be, and the greatest meaning your life will ever attain is a couple of digits on a football scoreboard. You are beneath the US Navy's contempt.


Later......

An Open Letter to Rutgers Students:

Thank you for the terrific support you have shown the Rutgers football team in our first two home games this season. Our team is inspired when they emerge from the South end zone tunnel to hear the overwhelming cheers from a packed Rutgers Stadium.

You, our students, are the face of Rutgers. Your behavior and your cheers give us the home field advantage, and help to set the tone of enthusiasm for the Stadium on game day.

The jeers and vulgarities hurled by a small group of students at the U.S. Naval Academy football team during the Rutgers–Navy game embarrassed the University, the alumni, and Rutgers fans across our State. The behavior was undignified, disrespectful, and unacceptable. Some parents were so upset by the vulgar chants in the student section that they left the game with their children.

By contrast, we saw Rutgers fans standing and applauding the Navy players as they came on to the field, and the two teams showed the mutual respect they have for each other after the game when they stood together for the playing of each institution's alma mater. The behavior of a small group has caused many alumni, fans, and supporters great concern – and appropriately so. Both the President and the Director of Athletics have apologized to their counterparts at the U.S. Naval Academy.

Rutgers is built on a 240-year history of tradition, intellect and character. All members of University community expect our students to conduct themselves in ways that reflect positively on this tradition and that bring honor to the university. The Athletics Department and Student Affairs will work together with student groups to encourage good sportsmanship and incorporate whatever measures are necessary to ensure that this will occur.

Let's show the nation that Rutgers' student fans, like our football team, are among the Nation's best. We ask for your help by acting with the respect and dignity worthy of our great University.

Thank you all for your continuing support, and GO SCARLET KNIGHTS.

Robert Mulcahy
Director of Athletics

Gregory Blimling
Vice President, Student Affairs

Letter to Vice Admiral Jeffrey L. Fowler
Open Letter to Rutgers Students
September 11, 2007


Vice Admiral Jeffrey L. Fowler
Superintendent
United States Naval Academy
121 Blake Road
Annapolis, Maryland 21402-5000

Dear Vice Admiral Fowler:

Let me offer my apologies on behalf of Rutgers, The State University of New Jersey, for the disrespectful and disgraceful behavior exhibited by some of our fans at the Rutgers–Navy game last Friday. I was at the game but did not hear the offensive chants, which came from a relatively small number of fans, and I learned about them only later. What I witnessed was actually quite the opposite: a large number of Rutgers supporters standing to applaud the Navy players as they left the field at halftime.

No student-athlete should ever be subject to profane language directed at them from the crowd, and certainly not the young men of the Naval Academy who have made a commitment to serve our nation in a time of war. Your Midshipmen conducted themselves with dignity throughout the game and have my admiration.

You have my best wishes and, again, my apologies.

Richard L. McCormick
President
Rutgers, The State University of New Jersey

Memorial Day

USS Missouri

Pearl

15 Years

Fifteen years ago today, I was young, free, and I did not give a damn. I threw my leg over the top of my bike and I resolutely rode away from the US Navy at Treasure Island California. I understand Treasure Island has been closed for a while now. My old grey home is now a museum.

I left the Navy with a wild decision to find the right woman to spend the rest of my life with. At that point in my life, I had no roots. There was absolutely nothing to prevent me from settling anywhere in the world. I had my boots, my bedroll and my bike. The rest was in a pack-out somewhere between Desert Storm and somewhere.

I was ready to begin the greatest adventure of my life. I had no idea what was in store for me. After six months back in the States, I was planning to join the Peace Corp with a nursing degree so I could get back to the "real world." The States I had known before I left did not exist anymore. Perhaps it did, but I was no longer the same person, and I could no longer understand it's people or politics. I was ready to return to the home I had found in the South Pacific. Then, when I least expected it, I met my future wife, and my greatest adventure began.

Luck o' the Irish

When I first caught wind of this incident, I was in a F-18 squadron attached to the USS Midway. The story was to incredible to be believed. Everyone aboard called bullshit on it. The story was true. Read Lt. Keith Gallagher's Story. Big hat tip to Mr. Completely.

Reporting for Duty

Ted, over at Musings of an Old Man, has written a wonderful article about his first day in the fleet. It brought back memories of my own. Is is indeed odd when your home of six years becomes a museum, and you begin to find tourist photos of it on the internet!

It took me 15 hours to fly from Chicago O'Hare to Narita International Airport in Japan. I had been told to expect somebody to meet me once I arrived. I was to report to the USS Midway, homeported in Yokosuka Japan. I would find my squadron there. When I walked out of the commercial airliner and onto the concourse in Narita, I found myself in a sea of people with black hair who stood a foot shorter than myself. There were no friendly ombudsmen to greet me. I found nobody who could speak English. Every sign was in kanji. I did manage to find my seabag on the conveyor belt, so I slung it on my back and went outside.

Across the sea of glossy black hair I spotted the tell tale crew cut of a military man, and I shoved my way through the crowd towards him. Fortunately, I had found a soldier who was stationed at Camp Zama and who was returning from leave. He told me he would get me as far as Camp Zama and give me directions the rest of the way. We boarded a train.

I watched the cityscape turn to twilight as the train barreled through the exotic smells and scenes of the orient. My impromptu guide kept me with him through a couple of transfers, and in an hour or so, we arrived at his last stop near Camp Zama. Once there, he told me the surest route to Yokosuka would be by taxi, although it would be the most expensive way. After traveling for close to 24 straight hours, I elected to play it safe. I entered a cab driven by a white gloved Japanese National and finally got him to understand my destination when I pointed to it on my orders. "Ahhhh. Yokosuka!" It seems the placement of accent in the Japanese language is crucial to communication.

Once at the gates to Yokosuka Naval Station, I showed my military ID and passed by the Marine guards who were busily saluting cars. I decided to make the remainder of my trip easy. I opened the door to another taxi, and climbed inside. I said "Mid--Way" only to have an American turn around in the driver's seat and say "I understand English asshole!"

I will never forget seeing that aircraft carrier begin to appear as we rounded the curve towards the warf. She was lit by friendship lights, and her bow disappeared in the mist. I had never seen anything that damned big. I got out of the cab at her fantail, paid my fare, and looked up at the sailor standing fantail watch with a glowing ember of a cigarette in his lips. The round down of the flight deck was several stories above his head.

I followed the other sailors toward the brow to board the ship. The sailors in civilian clothes smelled of alcohol and cheap cologne. The sailors on duty in blue coveralls smelled of grease and sweat. It was a hot, sticky night. I boarded the ship, and received directions to my berthing from the Officer of the Deck. As I walked through the cavernous hangar bay towards my berthing area, I began to panic, knowing I would become hopelessly lost in this great beast of a ship.I received further directions at least twice, and finally descended into a "coup" in the fartherest forward portion of the ship, right at the waterline.

I found several sailors playing cards and watching a pro football video from home on the TV. I asked if I was in the right place. I was. The sailors returned to their endeavors. I asked where I should crash out. "We don't care where the hell you crash out Boot." One sailor in ragged boxer shorts pointed to a rack (bunk) at floor level a few aisles down. I tossed my seabag in a corner and crawled into the rack. Within ten minutes, the lights were turned out, and I began to drift into blessed sleep.

Brrrrrrrrrrr.........WHOMP! BrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR WHOMP WHOMP! I scurried out of my rack to find a 6 foot 3 inch Irish lad buffing the floors and banging his buffer into my rack. I asked him what the hell he thought he was doing. The big Irishman told me to get my boot butt back in my box before he kicked my ass into next week. I informed him that if he banged my rack again with his damned buffer I would shove it up his ass. Running. Thus, I met Mickey Findura. After a brief wrestling match, we resolved our differences, and I returned to my rack. I do not recall much else. I slept hard and heavy that night. I slept until 10:30 the next day. Findura later became a good friend, as did Strickdog, Shitty, Wicker, Killion, and a host of other characters I will never forget. Whether I want to or not.

Pearl Harbor

I served in the US Navy. I trained with other men to keep my ship afloat, to extinquish fires and protect ordnance, all the while keeping my ship in the fight while under attack. I trained for much that I never experienced, but I have been trapped aboard a burning ship at sea, and know a smidgen of the horror these men experienced.
The men who died on December 7, 1941 were not expecting to die that day. They were men like you and me. They had hopes, dreams, aspirations. They lost everything they had on that day. Some felt seawater fill their lungs on their last gasp, knowing well ahead of time they would die trapped like rats in a sewer. Others bled out slowly or were disemboweled. Still others were mercifully, quickly incinerated and blown apart. All were unsuspecting and unwilling men who went to their deaths for a purpose they did not believe in. They died because Imperial Japan attacked Pearl Harbor, not because they were in some great campaign themselves.

The greatness of our country then was that our country refused to allow these men to die in vain. We took up their cause, made their sacrifice count. Remember Pearl Harbor became a rallying cry for a generation. That was my country. I miss her.

What Have We Lost.

• December 7, 1941. It was a day that has not been forgotten. It has indeed lived in infamy. It's meaning was not misunderstood. The loss has never been perverted for political gain.
  The December 7, 1941 casualty list was:
  PERSONNEL KILLED
  Navy 2001
  Marine Corps 109
  Army 231
  Civilian 54
  PERSONNEL WOUNDED
  Navy 710
  Marine Corps 69
  Army 364
  Civilian 35
  SHIPS
  Sunk or beached 12
  Damaged 9
  AIRCRAFT
  Destroyed 164
  Damaged 159
  
  September 11, 2001. It was a day that has not been forgotten. Or has it?
  The September 11, 2001 casualty list was:
  Number of fatalities World Trade Center Towers---2,595
  Flight 11---92
  Flight 17---65
  Pentagon Building---125
  Flight 77---64
  Shanksville Flight 93---45
  Total 2,986
  
  What have we lost? We have lost ourselves.