02 DEC 1989:
Day dawned raw and gray and blowing with 8-10ft seas; not that I could really see them. Had to watch it on the PLAT monitor. The announcement ran all day: “All hands remain clear of weather decks and sponsons due to high winds and heavy seas.”
We had an aggressive flight program laid on. I was down in time for the first event brief at 0915. Plan was to fly three day events and four night; another schedule devised in accordance with Sweetpea’s plan to keep night proficiency at its finest. I was spinning my mental wheels trying to figure out how to work the Campaign plan, which I have to brief on the 3rd. Things were marginal outside; the PLAT camera showed things increasingly foul. Seas were reportedly eight feet.
The Soviet cruiser Slava reportedly broke one of her anchor chains and the Summit was moved over to the cruise ship Maxim Gorkiyy. CDR K, the Sip’s Intel Officer, used to be assistant Naval Attaché (A/ALUSNA) in Moscow, he said it was an unfortunate circumstance because the boat will smell like Russia: cabbage and tobacco and worse.
The SIXTH Fleet flagship Belknap also was tossing and turning, so any agreements that come out of this thing may be tinged by mal de mer. Got a COD hit on the deck with mail, and I scored; nice note and some clippings from Dad with pictures of his boat, the Annie ‘C’ as she came out of the water for the winter. Pretty yacht. I put myself in the rack after lunch and let the ache in my bones and the pitching bed lull me to sleep….
Later, we were forced to cancel flight ops because it had gotten rainy, dark, winds gusting and the boat was doing a fancy Dutch roll at the round-down to no one’s amusement. We should probably have cancelled one event earlier; even the Deputy seemed a little shook when he got down to his cabin after the fourth event recovery. His assessment? “It is a varsity night out there, Guys.”
On the fifth event, A-6 Thunder 502 came down hard and busted a main mount. He was wide and to the left; the deck was rising just as he made a play for the centerline. The combination of the two opposing effects- one up and the other down- magnified the moment of impact and broke the jet. The Intruder lay there, wing down, as the flight deck crew scrambled to get the jet out of the landing zone. It took long enough that three airplanes- the E2 Hawkeye, an A-7 and a Tomcat- got low fuel while waiting and had to divert to NAS Sigonella up north.
It was so rough that a couple hours earlier a Cayman LAMPS II Seasprite pulled about the same trick on Wainright. One of our HS-15 bubbas was in the vicinity and got a couple of photos of the event. In the current accident climate, of course, any kind of incident is big news.
Consequently, the RADM was most interested to get the photos and told the Flag TAO to divert the SH-3 back to FID to drop off the camera so we could process the film, muy pronto. CDR Kirkpatrick wanted to go to chow and told me to stand by for the film to be rushed down.
Flight ops came and went and finally the last PLANEGUARD helo was on deck. No film. I got an inquiring call from the Staff Intel Officer, CDR Horton, and we launched an investigation. We discovered the film had been back on the ship for over an hour, the helo crew having given it to the Air Transportation Officer.
Naturally I felt dumb for not knowing where the film was, so we ran off in about three different directions trying to track it down. On a whim, Josh and I scrambled over to the ATO’s office and found the office door unlocked and the lights out. The camera was sitting all by itself on the desk.
They don’t select ATO’s from the rocket science branch of the service.
We got the prints developed about fifteen minutes and down to the RADM, who seemed happy to have them. Then back to work on the campaign plan until after midnight. I felt achy and tired and no one had given me any guidance as to what kind of strike package they wanted. Day? Night?
Where are CAG and DCAG? I have the feeling I am going to swing from the yardarm at the brief tomorrow. I felt like I was walking way uphill when I went thwart-ships to my stateroom. The boat was moving real well. I wasn’t as bad as Midway in Super Typhoon Tip, but in my experience, aircraft carriers as not supposed to move at all, except forward.
03 DEC:
I requested a 0800 wakeup from the duty officer and felt a lot better than yesterday. Took a good long shower that would have got me in trouble with the Water King in the Indian Ocean, and ate five vitamin C tablets, two Actifed pills and went to work.
The first event was scheduled for 0915, which means a 0715 brief. I knew I couldn’t do that and power all the way through the day to the
Admiral’s brief at 2000. As it turned out, there were people camped all over Mission Planning. Everyone was waiting to see what was going to happen with the flight schedule, which STRIKEOPS had put on indefinite hold. The weather was even worse today than yesterday, with low scudding clouds, drizzle, high winds and heavy seas.
About 0900 they cancelled the schedule, except for recovering the three aircraft that binged to Sigonella the day before. One by one they dropped out of the mist astern and seemed impossibly high on the approach; the LSO’s kept calling “power” anyway. No one seemed too low.
The Tomcat and Corsair trapped on the first go, but the Hawkeye had to go around twice. You really feel for these guys, sometimes.
I can’t think of a lonelier place than being high on the ball and not being able to get aboard a pitching deck in front of all your friends. At least they didn’t have to do it at night this time. The COD rolled in right behind the E-2 and trapped on the first pass. After they dumped off a sack of mail and some PAX they went away and we made a northerly course towards the Strait of Messina, the narrow little gap between Sicily and the Italian Boot.
We held the Entering Port Brief for the Captain when he felt comfortable about leaving the Bridge. The situation in getting into port will be dicey. They want to put the ship inside the mole (or “molo”) so we stand less of a chance of having boating secured due to high seas. That of course increases the possibility of screwing things up; not to mention running the gauntlet at the Straits, which is apparently dodge ’em ball with the ferries.
Since the lights on an aircraft carrier aren’t exactly like what you normally see on ships at sea, it is occasionally hard for our fellow mariners to determine in which direction we are lumbering and ram us. Enough to make a skipper go grey before his time.
Cancellation of flight ops gave me a chance to sit down and fuss with the Campaign plan. For a change, Lutt-man was able to get away and we brainstormed through the plan until we had something good enough to hang a hat on. He and Mark bilged me on lunch, so I went by myself and checked out the mail. Hah! No letter mail, but not one but two packages. I gingerly opened the one from home. Cookies? I said to myself. Nope. Christmas presents, by the look.
A little package from my brother, too. I have to do some other writing. I’m behind on Rex and haven’t sent more than five postcards. I vow to do better in Bella Italia, I swear. Really felt like trying a nap after lunch, but I had to talk to CAG about the Campaign if I was going to get any starting points.
I called him and he said he would get to it soon. He sounded tired. I wandered over to the CAG OPS office and found Mark and Lutt-man deep in conversation. “Something is wrong and we don’t know what” said Mark. “CAG and DCAG have been closed up in his room all morning. Are we going to Lebanon to execute one of the contingencies?”
I put on my best analytical look. “No” I said thoughtfully. “I’d know if it was CONOPS related because someone would have been down to ask for charts, or information or something. I bet its
Personnel-related.”
“Yeah” said Lutt-man “and its got to be somebody heavy for it to be at CAG’s level.
“I bet it’s a squadron CO” I said. “Back on Midway we had a Skipper who was fucking one of the JO’s wives. The JO went to CAG when he found out and the CO was gone the next day.”
I ran through the likely candidates in my mind. “It’s Bird dog.”
“Very interesting” said Mark, nodding. “You could be right.”
I was intrigued with the intrigue. What could the story be? Still, idle chatter wasn’t helping my deadline. Back to work. Things unraveled that afternoon. Bones White was working on a mission down at the end of the planning spaces when he got a call. He handed in his Top Secret stuff to be put back in the safe and shrugged. “Emergency Department Head meeting” he said and walked out. Slowly, everyone else was summoned to go to squadron meetings.
“Where are we going, Vic?” came the questions. “What’s going on?”
The ship entered the Straits of Messina at 1900. I went up to the roof to check it out. It is very narrow indeed. The weather was clearing slightly and the lights on both sides as close as the banks of the St. John’s River back in Florida at the Jacksonville Landing.
CAG told us officially what was going on at 2100 that night, but we had already figured it out. Birddog, former F-8 and F-4 driver extraordinaire (who I really liked despite his occasional tempers) had been accused of countenancing and further being an active participant at party in one of his Junior Officer bunkrooms. Moreover, it was alleged that he had a few drinks and further, it was a before a flying day. CAG looked around and said it wasn’t one of the fun things he had done lately.
Birddog had been ‘detached for cause’ that day and would be departing the ship tomorrow morning in Naples, en route Norfolk to start building some other sort of life than being CO of a Tomcat Squadron.
He will remain Commanding Officer on paper until the investigation is completed, but naturally enough he will be found guilty and his career is over. Tomorrow we enter Naples harbor at 0800.
Liberty call is supposed to commence at 0900. I have fifty gazzilion lira in my wallet and ready to assault Italy. Points to ponder, indeed.
Copyright 2016 Vic Socotra
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