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This story is not fiction! All people mentioned did or do exist. Of course, you idiot, I changed the names. It is a true account of my time in the Persian Gulf. Some of the sexual activity is fictionalized.
Author's Note:By now we have learned that the recent accidents involving Naval vessels, including those resulting in the deaths of Sailors, were attributed to a lack of training and poor decision making. It gives me no pleasure to state that these findings are in agreement with my initial evaluation. What does give me satisfaction is knowing those YouTube conspiracy theorists were proven wrong. But, they will move on to other hate, fear and paranoia inspiring topics and gullible idiots will follow. Sometimes I think... while Eugenics is a horrible concept...
You probably also know I spent twenty plus years on active duty. First in the Air Force as an enlisted man and then in the Navy as a commissioned officer. I was also a Scoutmaster in the Boy Scouts. So when I speak of the American flag and "honoring" the flag, you can see I have some credentials. Having said that, It is offensive to me to see the flag used as wearing apparel. I saw a country music singer that had the flag painted all over his straw hat. I can't tell you what I think of intimate apparel made with the Stars and Stripes evident. How about shit, cum or piss stains on "Old Glory"? When I see a home that flies a dirty and tattered American flag it truly disappoints me, to see such lack of caring.
And what is this bullshit that says any politician not wearing a miniature American flag lapel pin is anti American? J. F. C.! What country do they represent? Wait, given the recent Russia investigations that might just be a valid question. A lapel pin does not a patriot make. Look at Trumps bone spurs to avoid Vietnam and George W. Bush hiding out in the Air Force reserves to avoid combat in Vietnam. Yet both wear that stupid little lapel pin like they defended it with their lives. Personally, I think only veterans should be allowed to wear that pin.
All that goes to say this, burning the flag is the only proper means to dispose of an American flag. I also believe that burning the flag is a very strong statement of nonviolent protest. Seeing an American flag burned as a sign of protest makes me ask questions about the protestors reasons. It is less a criminal offense than displaying a distressed National Banner. Certainly less wearing the flag as any form of apparel, especially as underwear. To me those acts are more criminal.
While I am at it... "Kneeling during the National Anthem". I support a black man's right to express disappointment in a country that touts equality, when racism is still so pervasive. Most Americans would be appalled to learn the "Star Spangled Banner" was set to the tune of a drinking song that originally was in praise of a gay character. I am grateful he chose not to riot, burn and pillage like I might have done had I been born black in this land of equality. I feel they should suffer NO consequences for having knelt. To me, they are peacefully saying "we have yet to become "the land of the free..." for all citizens". Gay men should especially be able to relate to that sentiment.
Chapter six
As previously stated on April the 14th the USS Samuel B. Roberts hit a mine. MV Stryker towed her to Dubai, UAE. Once back pierside, Bahrain, we were directed not to leave the harbour under any circumstances. On April the 18th I was invited aboard USS LaSalle to listen in as Operation Praying Mantis got underway. Iranian ships and oil platforms were attacked in retaliation for Iran having planted the mine that Roberts struck. Listening to a radio has lost most of it's charm since the advent of television. Even the Command and Control network we were privy to had chatter that seemed to clearly define, "the chaos of war". We did hear an argument between USS Wainwright and USS Trenton about helicopter assignments and that indeed one was apparently shot down. (This would later prove to be unfounded as it crashed while avoiding enemy fire.)
My vessels MV Hunter and MV Stryker were tasked with supplying the minesweepers with foodstuffs, parts and rotating personnel as needed. Tanker escorts had been halted. I believe it was a Sunday when I received a call via secure communications that simply asked if my vessels had walk in refrigerators. My reply was yes and again yes they could be adjusted to between 34 and 38 degrees Fahrenheit. The conversation was cryptic and just plain weird.
Now here I am going to plead old age or something because the following is just not clear in my memory. I will relate it simply as best I can. If you know better, don't hesitate to correct me. That cryptic conversation very soon became very relevant. It was decided that I would take either of my vessels and proceed to where the Cobra helicopter had been shot down. We would rendezvous with a civilian dive boat and the USS O'brian, a Spruance class destroyer whose Skipper would have tactical command and would charged with our safety. Once there the divers from the civilian dive boat would retrieve the bodies of the two Marines that made up the crew of the downed Cobra gunship. They had been in 90 feet of water for right at thirty days.
My Chief had a hissy fit. He wanted to go so badly, but we had crew members departing and new crew members arriving. It just made more sense for the senior enlisted on our team to stay behind and welcome them aboard. RHIP! I never said it, but there was no way I was not going and one of us had to stay behind. I will say it again, My Chief was the finest senior enlisted man I EVER worked with in the Navy. Period! I trusted him completely and respected him beyond measure. I have documented evidence that he held me in similar regard. He was assigned to the Hunter/Stryker detail shortly after I was. I can't overemphasize what an important addition he was. Remember, I knew nothing about minesweeping before being sent to the Persian Gulf and only a smidgen more, having been assigned to MV's Hunter and Stryker. The chief assigned upon my arrival aboard Hunter/Stryker had an obvious "short timer's" attitude and all but refused to teach me anything. The new chief was more than willing and supportive of my efforts to remind our guys they were Sailors.
Before deciding on taking Hunter to bring the Marines home, I had a meeting with both the Masters and my Chief. It was there I explained my reasoning and my decision to take Hunter since it was my "flagship". My chief was so mad he spit when he spoke. He fought hard to contain his frustration.
The Master of the Hunter was a Scotsman, Bob, the same fellow who received the broken arm in the drunken brawl that got me assigned to these vessels. The Master of the Stryker, Sean, was a dark haired, mountain of a man, who while English, must have had some black Irish in him. We didn't interact often, but when we did he would utter the most insulting innuendos with the most charming smile and follow up his insults with, "I meant that in the best possible way, of course." Had he been enlisted Navy, we would have talked about disrespect and insubordination. He was one of those who, had he been enlisted Navy would have couched his insults and insubordination with, "with all due respect, sir, I..." I have on more than one occasion reminded enlisted men that that statement was neither a license nor a defense and the next statement they make should be chosen wisely. I was never disrespectful to those more senior and I never tolerated any such behavior from subordinates. I was always open to input and discussion, but never tolerated conduct I deemed as unprofessional. My Chief and I developed a very strong bond, but neither of us ever violated the bounds of professional etiquette.
At that meeting my Chief suggested we use the walk in freezer to house the bodies instead of the walk in cooler. He had been involved with recovering some Cuban refugees. Some had died and he thought the freezer would keep down the stink of rotting flesh that would surely result. Sean concurred stating he could offload the frozen food onto Stryker and retrieve same once we came back into port and the freezer had been properly disinfected. I got the impression the Master may have gotten a bonus if costs for consumables was minimized.
Now we had a plan. We could take our time because the civilian dive boat was awaiting a Navy diver from Sigonella, Italy. The food stuff was transferred and biding farewell to a disgruntled chief we shoved off for our rendezvous.
Once we were on our way we took our time and weaved through what, we hoped, were not Iranian oil fields. Bob was not the most confident of men. He was slight in stature and seemed to be slightly nervous and somewhat subservient whenever in my presence. He needed a lot more assurances than either Dick or Shawn. We were challenged twice, both times I was called to the bridge and we avoided actual confrontation. It still strikes me as strange that a challenging vessel there never felt compelled to identify themselves, yet insisted whomever they were calling do so immediately. Always on watch we challenged with, "Vessel off my port bow, range XXX yards. This is U. S. Naval vessel on your..." Not so in the Persian Gulf.
Still we made it on time. The dive boat was already in a three point anchorage. Meaning two stern anchors and one bow anchor were set. She was not going to drift anywhere. I remember being surprised that she was actually smaller than MV Hunter. Later in the day the USS O'brian arrived and dwarfed both vessels. The Navy Commander, Paul, from the dive boat, came over via RIB, Rigid Inflatable Boat. Along with him was a Marine Captain, a tall, blonde haired, blue eyed, Adonis. He had been sent from the USS Trenton to act as formal escort for his fallen comrades. He asked questions to determine if he outranked me. It was obvious that Paul did. I made it clear that he was a visitor on my boat. As such rank was not a consideration and we both had our jobs to do. I explained that I knew no more about flying helicopters than he knew about surface Naval operations. Paul, at least was surface qualified. I didn't like the Captain. His name was Marcus. After small talk and a cold beer, the Hunter pulled alongside O'brian and I introduced them to the infamous "leap of death". The Captain was not a fan. Paul seemed totally at ease. This leap was while O'brian was not even making way. I wondered how he would feel with both vessels doing ten to fifteen knots in sea state three or better?
Onboard the O'brian, we were fed an excellent dinner and treated like visiting dignitaries. After dinner the recovery ops were discussed in detail. As we were about to do our return leap of death Paul asked the Captain if, after the bodies were recovered and before we all departed the area, could he perhaps do some shopping at the O'brian's ship's store. The Captain assured him he would be glad to accommodate Paul as long as it did not interfere with ship's schedule and as Long as Paul, an active duty service member, did all the shopping. Marcus looked much more confident on the return leap, at least he didn't look like he was about to puke.
The next morning dawned bright and clear. The seas were calm, the sky was clear and we were on task, on time. A great Navy Day! (Every man who ever served aboard a Naval vessel would know that last statement was only uttered when one really meant... "Can this day get anymore fucked up"?
Carefully so we didn't get tangled in their anchor the Hunter put her stern to the dive boat and held position. My guys were assigned to carry the remains from the stern sheet to the walk in freezer. Once the first metal stretcher was on deck on the dive boat the Hunter moved her ass end to within a few feet of the dive boat. I need to tell you about my first class boatswain's mate. He was crusty, I mean he probably was passed over for chief several times and was most likely soon to retire. He was always in a good mood and usually full of piss and vinegar. He was a man you could rely on, but he couldn't keep himself out of trouble. Like I said, he was crusty. The Bastard took a liking to my "TUGRON TWO" ball cap and told me he had a collection and that mine would be part of said collection. It was soon after he went back stateside I realized the bastard had indeed stolen my cap!
On this day though, all his sins past present and future were forgiven. At least in my eyes. For as the stretcher was swung so it breached the plane of the sternsheet he piped the Marine aboard. No one told him to. It never occurred to me. Yet here he was rendering honors to a fallen comrade. I was three levels up on the bridge deck observing, along with the chief engineer and the Master, Bob. If you think I didn't stand a little taller and feel a little prouder of my men you have no heart. The body was, with reverence and dignity carried into the interior.
I suspected something was wrong when the sea around the recovery cable began to blossom a brilliant green. I recognized that color as being from the dye pack attached to every Navy life vest. The dye pack, when ruptured, would color the surrounding water a brilliant fluorescent green making the victim easier to spot from the air. I hoped none of the divers had need to activate their life vest. I had comms with my first class who was again on deck awaiting the body of the second Marine. At my behest, he yelled across to the dive boat and determined the dye pack ruptured while extracting the second Marine. All was well.
Except it wasn't. The divers, working at just over 90 feet, were running short on time and... here I need to tell you that body bags come in two parts. The rough, heavy duty, zippered, outer shell is what you generally see. What you don't generally see is a giant, black, heavy duty, Glad bag type, inner liner. In order to expedite the operation, the divers decided to forego the inner liner. As a result, a trail of fluorescent green continuously leaking from the body bag. Even as the stretcher was swung aboard it trailed a steady stream of green. As in the case of his comrade as the body broke the plane of the sternsheet, my First Class piped him aboard. Even as the shrill notes faded a light breeze brought the stench of rotting flesh aboard with the body.
The smell was beyond nauseating! It had a sweet tang to it. I know that sounds strange, but it's true. The chief engineer ran inside immediately, followed shortly by Bob. I stood there, taking shallow breaths through my mouth and thinking how much more disgusting it must be for my Sailors. I was impressed with such dignity, such poise, such dedication. I can honestly say that was one of my proudest moments. I'm not taking credit for anything that transpired on that deck, I mean I was proud of my men. Please don't think I am somehow trying to take credit for them. That is not the case. I can't tell you how moved I was by their undirected show of respect and undeniable dignity. It moves me to this day. And yes, I teared up while writing this.
Once the entourage moved inside the skin of the ship I went to the bridge. I had the impression Bob had puked. We decided that the stink would diminish once the bodies were locked in the freezer. My first class brought me the keys to the freezer. I insisted on shaking his hand and told him how proud I was of him and the other Sailors.
About that time I noticed the smell was changing. It was becoming that same nauseating stink, but with a floral undertone. The chief engineer appeared on the bridge and proudly announced he had directed one of his Philippine able bodied seamen to empty four cans of rose scented air freshener into the main air conditioning ducts. If ever there existed proof positive that the road to hell is paved with good intentions this would be exhibit A. Now, we not only had this disgusting stench, but we also had separate and distinct the overpowering fragrance of roses. But Jim, you say, I like the gentle waft of delightful fragrance that accompanies a nice bouquet of roses. So did I, up until that day.
Imagine if you will some giant hand has you by the nap of your neck. And in turn his forces you to inhale the scent of roses and in the next breath the stench of rotting flesh. Before long your brain isn't sure which is which. To this day the smell of roses conjures up the stench of rotting flesh.
I was everso grateful when the O'brian asked for a meeting to include Paul, Markus and myself. Once there we were to call the Admiral's staff aboard the USS LaSalle. During the conversation the point, again, was made concerning the temperature of the walk in chiller. I was not happy. I could see what was about to transpire. But, I had no choice.
I with all the confidence I could muster said, "Right now the bodies are in the walk in freezer. All food frozen food has been transferred to MV Stryker to be retrieved once the freezer is decontaminated. I was told the freezer would kill the stench faster than the chiller. And the stench is really horrendous."
My words were acknowledged and soon the answer came across loud and clear. Bodies must be maintained at between 34 and 38 degrees Fahrenheit in order to best preserve the tissue. A proper autopsy was critical in determining if they were shot down or crashed. Move them right away from the freezer to the chiller and adjust the temperature accordingly. And check the individual dog tags for proper identification. It was also determined that a larger civilian dive boat would be contracted to recover the helicopter wreckage and MV Stryker would be dispatched to haul said wreckage back to Bahrain so a proper determination as to the cause of the crash could be determined. This recovery had been predicted by the O'brian's C O, Commanding Officer.
It was agreed that O'brian would gladly take our chiller foods. By the time I headed back an all hands evolution was underway transferring food. The Hunter had tied up alongside the O'brian to facilitate the transfer. It did irk me a bit to know I was less valuable than a few bags of groceries. I mean, I had to do the leap of death on a regular basis.
The bodies were brought out and dogtags were verified. One set had to be dragged from the esophagus. The video of their actual recovery showed faces to the point they might have been recognizable. I can only guess the pressure at ninety feet held them somewhat intact. Marcus seemed morbidly interested in the appearance of the corpses. He pointed out that one marine still had his hand on the hilt of an oversized Bowie type knife. Marcus offered how the guy had crashed once before and saved himself by smashing the canopy with the hilt of his knife. I am still not clear how one can "break" a helicopter canopy.
It was late in the night when the food transfer was complete, the bodies were properly identified and safely locked away in the 35 degree chiller and the admiral's staff was assuaged. Paul had his list and I had an order for some ship's memorabilia from the guys on Hunter. The O'brian's Captain was happy to present me and Paul and Bob with a ship's ball cap. Once we were in the ship's store and the storekeeper saw Paul's list he was quick to point out that he had no boxes to facilitate such a large purchase. Paul, in a cavalier move and a warm smile both of which I have never forgot said, "Gotcha covered!" Whereupon he reached back to his hip pocket and whipped out the black liner to the second Marines body bag. With a flick of his wrist he unfurled it to it's full eight foot length.
I was flabbergasted! If he had used that bag we wouldn't be in that odiferous living hell onboard Hunter. "You! You!" At that time I regarded profanity as a sign of a limited vocabulary. Fortunately Paul saw my distress and interjected. "Jim we had no choice. We were running out of time. As it was, we had to break their legs to get them to fit. I know the stench is awful, but we had no choice." I accepted his explanation and even helped him carry his bounty.
It was decided that we would get underway for Bahrain immediately. Paul would go with his dive team back to Dubai ( I think.) and from there return to Sigonella, Italy. The O'brian would patrol the area until Stryker and the larger dive boat showed up.
Now I had some plans to make. Stryker was already underway from Bahrain. Bob and I determined the most likely area in which our vessels would pass each other. Via Sat phone, I directed the Stryker to rendezvous with the Hunter at a given point of longitude and latitude. I further directed my Chief to be prepared to switch vessels. He would take the bodies back to Bahrain. It was my intention to go back with Stryker to the crash site and haul back the helicopter wreckage. If you think my Chief was mad about not going to recover the bodies, when he realized he wouldn't even be in on hauling back the helicopter wreckage he was furious. Our conversation was stilted to say the least.
The rendezvous was to take place in the early morning hours so I hit my rack. It seemed I no more than got to sleep than I awoke to Marcus shaking my shoulder. I jumped out of bed and was immediately alert. "Marcus, what is it? Is there a problem"?
"Yes, there is. Those guys were issued 9mm pistols and they have to be secured by competent authority. That'd be me, as I'm the ranking Marine. I need to get in the chiller and secure those weapons." Marcus must have given this some serious thought and decided it was urgent because he was standing in my stateroom in nothing but his tighty whiteys. I couldn't help but notice an obviously sizeable bulge.
"What do you mean, `secure the weapons'? There're already locked away. Besides no one in their right mind would intentionally go in that chiller unless they had to. Go back to bed."
"You don't understand. Those are 9mm Berettas, they are new weapons and are tightly controlled. They should be in someone's custody. If anything happens to them, I could be held responsible."
I couldn't understand where this was coming from. "Look Marcus, you're not responsible for anything. You are simply here to accompany two comrades on one leg of their final journey. I'm the one responsible for them. I may be in trouble because I chose to put them in the freezer instead of the chiller. I'm definitely in charge of this vessel and those men and their equipment are my responsibility and I am not about to let you or anyone else go searching for sidearms in the middle of the night. Once you get to Bahrain and someone else is in charge you may get your chance. I am perfectly willing to answer to anyone concerning my actions in this matter. Now, go back to your room. I need to get some sleep." I think as far as pissing guys off I was batting a thousand that day.
When we made the rendezvous, my Chief was livid. He didn't speak to me except "Yes sir" and "No sir" as we made the transfer. I left a letter for him to deliver to my boss onboard the LaSalle. In it I explained my reasons for returning to the crash site and sending my Chief back to Bahrain. Also within the letter was my input for my Chief's evaluation. It may have softened his attitude towards me as I unabashedly sang his praises. I didn't have to lie, the man was the consummate professional and yet completely lacking in guile or pretense. I knew he would read the letter and certainly hoped he would get over being mad at me.
Onboard the Stryker I greeted the two UDT, Underwater Demolition Team members. I knew both guys as they sometimes worked with the dolphins that were "secretly" stationed in Bahrain. They often joked about getting "raped" by the dolphins. It wasn't until I watched an episode of "King of the Hill" in which Hank was "molested" by a dolphin that those conversations took on a sense of reality.
(In the Air Force, I had served with a former Army guy who was a Military Policeman in Vietnam. He told me he worked as a canine handler for a couple of years and used to jerk his dog off to keep him happy. He described it as "helping out his buddy" as though jerking off his friend was an ordinary thing. Keep in mind I was deeply closeted at that time and was glad when the uncomfortable conversation ended.)
The UDT guys explained they were along to ensure the tow missile and any other munitions were destroyed at the crash site. They had a "brick" of C4 explosives. I was told it was enough to make quite a display even detonated in 90 feet of ocean. I was looking forward to the excitement.
Once we were at the crash site a larger dive boat, ok, a salvage boat, was already on scene and prepared to offload some of the wreckage. I am no expert but it was pretty clear to even my untrained eye that one side of the helicopter was still intact. The other was completely destroyed. The last transmission from the helicopter crew was, "I have lock on, I am turning..."
Word must have gotten out about the wreckage or maybe the Hunter had arrived in Bahrain. At any rate, we were buzzed by news helicopters on the second day. I checked with Bahrain when the O'brian didn't show up and the helicopters did. I was told not to worry we were constantly under surveillance and well protected. I thought I was being bullshitted then and have not changed my opinion in the intervening years. We just covered the wreckage to hide it from prying eyes. I worried the next helicopter might not be from CNN.
On the third day the UDT guys gathered all the munitions into a single pile and placed the C4 so as to destroy it. We were advised to move a specified distance away. Bob moved that distance plus several hundred yards more. I wanted to argue, but how can you argue with one who errs on the side of caution. I was poised with my strongest telephoto lense. I was eager to see the water spout like in those WWII films "Victory at Sea". And I waited. Finally I noticed a discoloration in the vicinity of the wreckage. It looked like dirty water and spread out quickly to a diameter of ten to twenty yards. I checked with the salvage boat where the UDT team was still embarked. They finally conceded that in fact the massive explosion had resulted in just so much dirty water on the surface. Honestly, the dye pack coloring the water had been more exciting. The UDT guys came aboard and we departed for Bahrain. My Chief was excited that he was witness to a CNN interview on camera concerning the recovered Marines.
Things settled down into a boring routine of resupplying minesweepers.
Author's Note:You may have noticed, sex didn't play much of a roll in this chapter. The reasons are twofold, first, I felt recovering the Marines deserved as much dignity and reverence toward their memory as I could offer. I had delayed writing this chapter, not wanting to include fantasized sex scenes while on such a somber assignment. Given that I chose to post my true life Naval experiences on Nifty, sex, even fictionalized sex, has to be a significant element. Hopefully you can understand my hesitation.Secondly, I received an email from "Martin" who said he enjoyed my real life Naval exploits, but I included much too much detail in my sex scenes. That sentiment encouraged me to write this chapter, so thank you Martin.
Please share your thoughts, bitches and complaints with me.sojourn1950@yahoo.com
Agnostic, Socialistic, with Atheistic tendencies. Open minded, are you?