We didn’t know then what we know now, thank goodness, else we might not have kept bumbling forward.
There was a distinct wave of energy and purpose about what we were doing, at least in the beginning, when it appeared we might actually do something rash, Carter Administration or no. By now in the parallel timestream of 1979, the Midway was nearing the Modified Location (MODLOC), a designated point on the chart around which we would orbit for the next few months. We had seen the exotic minarets of the Sultanate of Oman slip down below the horizon, the last land we would see for more than ninety-odd days.
In the process we would set a modern record for staying at sea, not that that it would stand for long, and other ships shattered our record. We had the honor of being the First Responder to the crisis, but were shortly joined by USS Kitty Hawk (CV-63), and we settled into a steady routine of joint air operations and provided a significant carrier presence in the vicinity of one another off the southern coast of Iran.
Later, USS Constellation (CV-64) exceeded our record of continuous at-sea days in August 1980 with a total of 110 days. Later deployments were mind boggling as America (CV-66) and Shitty Kitty rang in with six-month at-sea periods.
Virtually the whole carrier inventory cycled through time on what my pal Dean and I began calling GONZO Station: Ranger (finally), Midway (again), Big E, Indy, Connie, Coral Maru, Nimitz and Ike all made appearances. I should not fail to mention the beans-and-bullets brigade, since their constant replenishment operations made it all possible. USS Roanoke (AOR-7) and Shasta (AE-33) both chalked up 180 days in the formation, keeping the big ships and Small Boys topped up. Taken as a whole, it was the largest American armada in the Indian Ocean since World War II.
Nimitz and her all-nuclear battle group made the most dramatic appearance, traveling at hull-speed all the way from the Med around the coast of Africa. They said that when they rounded the Cape of Good Hope the carrier was throwing a rooster tale from her stern. We read the progress reports of her advance with interest.
But it was boring. Aside from flying for proficiency, there really wasn’t much to do. I wangled a Temporary Alternative Duty assignment to visit one of the guided missile destroyers in the group, and marveled at how the surface warriors operated in shorts and deck shoes. Once I hitched a ride on the COD to visit Nimitz and shop at the ship’s store.
The Russians came out to visit, in the form of IL-38 May aircraft, and made an entertaining close-aboard pass. But that was about the scale of things.
The Comms guys did their best to keep us engaged, and once piped the short-wave transmissions of All-India radio on one of the channels on the ship’s television/Platform Monitor (PLAT) system. It was very strange listening to their version of the news: perfect diction but every matter of fact was curiously inverted, like we were the bad guys or something. Sort of like listening to MSNBC today. But mostly things were boring.
We spent an hour each day around lunchtime in the blazing tropical up on the 07-level of the island, competing to gain the best tans in the history of the universe, and succeeded. I think my skin is still damaged from the effects of the contest.
Meanwhile, in Tehran, the original number of 66 hostages, mostly diplomats and embassy employees, changed over time. A baker’s Dozen of thirteen women, African-Americans and non-U.S. citizens were released. The Ayatollah Khomeini argued that the latter were already subject to “the oppression of American society,” which we thought was a comical notion. A fourteenth hostage developed health problems and was also released. The stable number of captives in the Embassy compound was 52.
The Flag Staff turned on distribution of all sorts of messages to which we did not normally have access or a need to know, including Department of State cables and unevaluated Human Intelligence traffic. We learned all sorts of interesting things, including the name Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, one of he firebrand leaders of the ‘students.’
(Mahmoud Ahmadinejad in 1980 at the US Embassy compound. He was later President of Iran and I didn’t like him any better that time, either).
Clearly we did have a need to know all sorts of things now, and low-level planning began with the Attack Squadron intelligence guys that they were prohibited from discussing with the unwashed in the Fighter squadrons. Diplomatic maneuvers had no discernible effect on the situation, nor did economic sanctions and the seizure of Iranian assets in the States.
The hostages were subjected to a rich variety of demeaning and terrifying treatment. They were blindfolded and paraded in front of TV cameras and jeering crowds. They were not allowed to speak or read, and they were rarely permitted to change clothes. Throughout the crisis there was a frightening uncertainty about their fate: they never knew whether they were going to be tortured, murdered or set free.
With all this going on, a diversion was necessary. I wasn’t involved in the planning for what became Operation EAGLE CLAW, so I did what I could to keep things interesting. Here is the fifth installment of Nick Danger:
“THE ADVENTURES OF NICK DANGER, PRIVATE DICK”
TODAY’S EPISODE: “TERROR IN THE OFFICER CORPS”
RECAPPING OUR ADVENTURES SO FAR: NICK IS ONBOARD THE BIG GRAY BOAT in search of the mysterious and enigmatic Fat Man, the Octopus of Crime in Far East L.A. After drawing long time in the brig, he escapes and assumes the identity of ENS Frank Dracman …
******************
I felt secure in my new disguise. I wasn’t sure who this Dracman character was, but he was obviously a key man in the Organization. It was great. There was quite a line out in front of the newsstand where I bought a carton of Lucky Strikes.
The khaki costume got me head-of-the-line privileges. Just cut right in. There was a little grumbling, but I turned around and told them I was an undercover county dick, and that seemed to shut them up. It was also a secret message to the Fat Man to let him know I was on the prowl.
I didn’t have any place to put all those Luckies, so I put as many packs as I could in my pockets and dumped the rest in the shit-can. I was a little lumpy, but at least I had smokes again.
I made a strange discovery while I was sleuthing down in the big steel cave. I looked out one of the big picture windows on the right-hand side of the ship – and there was nothing but water out there! I raced across to the other side, and – sure enough – there was water out there, too!
I was surrounded by H2O. The Fat Man had taken the whole kit’n’kaboodle to sea!
Later that day, I noticed my stomach was growling like a Rams line-man. I had to get some grub, and pronto.
I followed my nose to where the food smells got thickest. I went down a steep set of stairs and saw a line of khaki costumes just like the one I had appropriated. It wasn’t the smartest thing I ever did, but then I voted for Hoover, too. My gut was doing my thinking for me. All I could do was be as inconspicuous as possible.
I walked up to the front of the line and cut in front of some guy with silver round doo-dads on his collar. ” ‘Scuse me, buddy,” I said, and reached for a plate.
TOMORROW: “SAY THAT AGAIN, SAM.”
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