Squid Thoughts

My New Hero

2011-06-13T11:29:00.000-07:00

I read a news article today that made me proud to live in Oregon. Proud to share the same geography as the extraordinary man named Robert Maxwell. Mr. Maxwell is 90 years old, a WWII veteran, Oregon’s only living Medal of Honor recipient, and now the holder of a high school diploma – 73 years after the fact.

Here is the article from KTVZ news (bold emphasis in 8th paragraph mine):

BEND, Ore. -- He's the most highly decorated veteran in Oregon, but on Saturday, 90-year-old Bob Maxwell got an honor he's waited more than 70 years for. On Saturday afternoon, Oregon's only living Medal of Honor recipient graduated with Bend Senior High School's Class of 2011.

At 15, he wasn't tromping down school hallways. In fact, he wasn't in school at all. After seventh grade, Maxwell was taken out of school to work on his family's farm in Kansas, during the Great Depression. "It was just accepted in those days," Maxwell said Friday. "When a boy was old enough to do a man's work, that's what he did."

But don't call him a dropout.

Maxwell's education didn't stop when he left school. He got his GED, even taught at Bend High back in the '50s.

One lesson the Medal of Honor recipient continues to teach every day -- modesty. He was awarded the medal of honor after he threw himself on a live grenade in France, saving the rest of his platoon from certain death.

"For him to consider walking with Bend High School as a great honor -- wow, we're the one honored," said BHS Principal H.D. Wedell. "Yet, because of his humility, he feels honored."

Honored, but not quite sure he deserved to toss his cap with the rest of the 2011 graduates.

"In some ways, I feel like it's a diploma that I haven't earned," Maxwell said. "But then I look back over the 73 years behind me, and I guess I have accumulated enough knowledge and skills to say that I've earned it."

A man with heroic accomplishments, yet still so humble. It's Maxwell's selflessness that allows his soon-to-be fellow graduates to chase the American dream. "They can do that, because of the things that Bob has done," said Wedell. "He's laid his life down, so that our kids can be part of that."

But will there be room in Oregon's most decorated war veteran's home for his most recent award? "I'm hoping to find a space on the wall to hang it up," said Maxwell. "It's a great honor."

This is the most humbling thing I've heard in a really long time. "...a diploma I haven't earned," -- Mr Maxwell: I know kids who think they should automatically get an iPhone and unlimited text, talk, and web. I know people who think they deserve 794 all-digital, HD channels as a matter of American Manifest Destiny. For a man who knowingly, willingly, and unhesitatingly threw himself on a grenade; know this: YOU HAVE EARNED IT. You have earned this symbol of accomplishment and the right to be honored by us all because it has been paid for in blood, both yours and countless others.

Mr. Robert Maxwell of Bend, Oregon I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

______________________________________________________________________________

***To read the Medal of Honor citation, head on over to This Ain't Hell. Goosebumps.

Hot Rock, Boil Water, Make Steam

2011-03-11T20:56:00.000-08:00

In response to a request from Kanani during a Facebook discussion about the nuclear reactor in Japan that was damaged in the 03/11/11 earthquake, I'm including some information here about what is likely happening at that facility, based on my time operating nuclear reactor plants for the Navy.

This is just a basic overview of the situation in Japan, but please feel free to ask me any questions you have and I can include them and the answers here below the main post.

****

What's going on is known as a LOCA--loss of cooling accident. Though the reactor is safely shut down it continues to produce decay heat from residual fission reactions that can take days to weeks to dissipate depending on how long they were at full power prior to shutdown. The plant would have an emergency cooling backup system that should take over, but if both systems were physically damaged from the quake then not enough coolant is being circulated to keep the core cool.

The coolant in many reactors is extremely pure water that has a high concentration of deuterium--a heavy hydrogen isotope. The good thing about heavy water is that as it gets hotter, the molecules spread out and fewer neutrons are reflected back into the core to cause new fission reactions thereby moderating the reaction (slowing it down).

One of the byproducts of heavy water is that neutrons hit an H2O molecule or a deuterium molecule and knock free hydrogens which will make hydrogen gas (H2). This gas collects at high points and must be vented periodically to keep the levels below the explosive threshold. Its likely when they talked about mild radioactive release they were referring to the gases that are building up and also some coolant in steam form. Radioactive gases are like Radon--they have short half-lives and dissipate quickly by the wind and dilution. They would pose no health hazard and wouldn't cause any "fallout" or stick around forever. Common radioactive gases formed in reactor coolant are Hydrogen, Nitrogen, Krypton, Xenon, and Oxygen. These elements in their normal form are stable. However they can become radioactive after being bombarded by high-energy particles from the core which in essence "supercharge" them.

The bad thing is that a LOCA is a catch-22. As the coolant heats the pressure goes up. You have to vent to keep pressure down but that causes more coolant loss which leads to more heatup, more pressure, more venting...ad nauseam! The solution is to add more coolant and obviously fix the problem. The end result without intervention is that spots of the core get too hot without proper cooling and the fuel plates/rods rupture allowing radioactive fuel particles into the water. THAT would be bad!

Basically, it's the China Syndrome...in Japan.

___________________________________________________________

Q: What is radiation?
A: Radiation is when energy is emitted from something in particles or waves. When you stand in front of your oven and you feel warmth, that is radiation in the form of heat energy. Nuclear radiation is a collection of neutrons (Hydrogen nucleii), gamma rays (photons), beta particles (free electrons), and alpha particles (Helium nucleii). When something is "radioactive" it means that it is in a higher energy state than normal or has a larger number of neutrons than it has normally and is emitting one or more of those four things. Those particles/rays have energy of their own and interact with other things by either physically bumping them, transferring the energy, or by ionizing--causing other particles to have a positive or negative charge they don't normally have.

10 Battle Tactics I Learned From My Cat

2011-01-19T12:59:00.000-08:00

1. DEFILADE...DEFILADE...DEFILADE.

2. If no defilade is available, liberally use speed and unpredictable movement.

3. The intentional showing of a soft belly can be an effective lure.

4. Surprise ambushes can be effective, but always have a rapid exit available in case it doesn’t go as planned.

5. Having night vision is an asset, especially when your target doesn’t.

6. Lull the enemy into a false sense of security by appearing to be lazy and immobile.

7. It is important to occasionally show those in charge of you the results of your skills. They will likely not want to see or handle the gory guts, but can’t help but be impressed with your ability.

8. Always keep multiple weapons at your immediate disposal.

9. If the enemy is creeping up on you, never wait for him to arrive. Advance on him when he is committed to a movement and least expects it.

10. Never show the enemy your ass.

I'm On A Break!

2010-12-09T10:58:00.000-08:00

Squid's been dark and quiet lately. Taking a bit of a rest, hibernation, sabbatical, after-dinner nap, brain breather, what have you.

I think it's coming to an end soon though. Starting to feel the light coming through and waking the cells up. Things are starting to stretch and stir.

Stay tuned.

Apropos Of Nothing...

2010-05-26T13:52:00.000-07:00

...except to make me laugh uncontrollably.

Proving yet again that you can't fix stupid, not even with duct tape: Presenting....my favorite Facebook FAILS!

********************

Three Cheers For Kanani Fong!

2010-05-24T11:45:00.000-07:00

The Kitchen Dispatch has always been a ray of light when the day seems dark and gloomy. Always-creative Kanani has created a contest to win a copy of Sebastian Junger's book "WAR". Go check it out! Even if you're not a blogger, her site is worth a read.

Not Gone, Just Elsewhere

2010-05-24T11:39:00.000-07:00

Hey all,

Just wanted to let you who stop by know that I haven't been posting here recently because I've been rather busy. I've had the honor of being able to contribute over at David Bellavia's blog. I'm writing as SquidThinker if you want to check it out. It's a great site with a lot of smart, sassy, well-informed writers (myself excluded, LOL).

Paying Tribute

2010-03-25T08:25:00.000-07:00

So you think you're having a bad day? Here's something that will help put things back in perspective. There is a great website called Veteran Tributes that honors the bravery and sacrifices of our servicemen and women. On this site you can view their military history, awards, medals, and citations.

Two specifically that you should read are the Congressional Medal of Honor citations for LT (SEAL) Michael Murphy and QM2 (SEAL) Michael Monsoor. I challenge you to read about their gallantry and selfless actions--if at the end of it you don't feel pride and sadness at their loss and what they have given for their teammates and country, well...you have a harder heart than mine.

Trust me: any frustration with morning traffic or a bad day at the office will evaporate after reading a while on this site. I am humbled, and am forever grateful for the dedication and devotion of those who serve so that we can live our lives knowing we are safer and more secure.

To all who have served, thank you.

TBI Awareness

2010-03-18T09:59:00.000-07:00

I recieved a very nice email the other day and learned that March is Brain Injury Awareness Month. I have agreed to repost the following article relating to TBI and our military because I think this is something we need to be aware of and concerned about. There are lots of facilities like Care Meridian that are caring for patients with brain injuries, and the number of patients with military-related TBI is increasing.

Traumatic Brain Injuries in the Military

Traumatic brain injury (TBI) is becoming a common wound of modern warfare. It has even been coined the “signature wound” of the War on Terror. While TBI is becoming more prevalent in wartime activity, many service men and women continue to go undiagnosed. Institutions, like the US Department of Veterans Affairs, are working to make quick and accurate diagnoses in order to prescribe appropriate and effective treatment.

TBI is caused by forced trauma to the head, either by being shaken or hit. The severity of a TBI varies from case to case, but symptoms range from mild concussions to a debilitating state. The majority of TBI’s acquired by military personnel are classified as mild traumatic brain injuries (MTBI). Initial symptoms of MTBI consist of loss of consciousness, disorientation, loss of memory, headache, and temporary loss of hearing and vision. They are often partnered with anxiety, irritability, difficulties processing information, limited concentration amongst other problems experienced down the road. While MTBI is most common amongst the men and women of the armed forces, more severe cases of TBI are happening much more frequently and often require the victim to attended specialty rehabilitative nursing centers, like CareMeridian.

The most common cause of a TBI in the military is due to blasts. There are three degrees of blast injuries where a TBI is common; Primary (due to blast itself), Secondary (due to objects being propelled by a blast) and Tertiary (due to a collision with a third party object). According to the Veterans Health Initiative, active male members of the military from the ages 18-24 are hospitalized with a TBI at a rate of 231 per 100,000 and females 150 per 100,000. Based on military force projections this would mean that 4,141 military personnel are hospitalized on average each year with a TBI, and these numbers often rise during wartimes.

The best prevention for veterans to avert the long-term effects of a brain injury is to recognize the symptoms of a TBI. Once the symptoms are identified an individual should take basic precautionary measures in order to begin the healing and recovery process until a more specific diagnosis can be made.

Service men and women give so much to protect this country and they deserve to come home to a happy and healthy life. Creating awareness about TBI will help ensure their long term health. By helping our veterans, their friends and their families recognize the early warning signs of a TBI, treatment can be sought as early as possible.

Lone Survivor Foundation

2010-03-11T08:36:00.000-08:00

Here is some additional information about Marcus Luttrell's wounded warrior ranch. As I mentioned in this previous post, Mr. Luttrell is developing the Lone Survivor Foundation to fund a variety of projects to support wounded warriors and their families, and in the future it will also encompass a ranch retreat:

Lone Survivor Foundation's Mission: Honor and Remember American Patriots by providing unique educational, rehabilitation and wellness opportunities. In memory and honor of the Lost Heroes of Operation Redwing and all Fallen Warriors, Wounded Warriors, and their Families.

Vision: Provide financial support for unique recovery and rehab opportunities, wellness events, and resource other unmet needs for wounded warriors, their families, and surviving families.

What this Foundation will specifically do:

Lone Survivor Ranch - Marcus has a vision of an all encompassing, phased in facility that will not only support hunting, fishing and many outdoor activities, but other rehab/wellness as well. The primary intent is to create a safe haven for warriors and their families to heal. He plans to identify a BEAUTIFUL piece of property in TX and build a multi-phased ranch/rehab complex. The ranch will have an on-site gym complete with coaches, trainers, etc. He intends to build it with significant expansion capability, and ultimately support warriors, their families and kids. He'd like to have a counseling aspect interwoven into all activities which could include team building, obstacle courses, horseback riding, bowling, rock climbing, art therapy, journaling, fishing, yoga, spa services, etc.

Long term he sees the need for a physician, nurse, and social worker/therapist on staff. He'd like the physician to be trained in pain mgmt, because that is an issue that affects almost all of our wounded warriors. He also plans to have benefits counselor come there during everyone's stay to conduct a government benefits brief and help get whatever is lacking.

Unique Rehab Opportunities for Wounded Warriors: Fund people to go to Athlete’s Performance www.athletesperformance.com or other appropriate rehab facilities that don’t have a government source of funding due to the unique nature of how they do business.

Other things falling into this category is funding invitro-fertilization for those who have lost their ability to naturally reproduce due to combat wounds, hyperbaric oxygen therapy for wounded warriors with TBI, providing adaptive athletic equipment such as recumbent bikes, etc.

Until the ranch is fully operational, Lone Survivor Foundation will fund wounded warrior and family attendance at other sporting and hunting events.

The Foundation is set to officially launch on 28 June 2005 - the 5 year anniversary of Operation Red Wing. There will be a kick off event in Houston on June 26th - more information will follow once it's available.

Please visit www.lonesurvivorfoundation.org for more information.

The website is in its very EARLY stages of development, and the Foundation is currently solely reliant on volunteers, so please be patient while we develop the content.

neverquit@lonesurvivorfoundation.org

Lone Survivor Foundation is pending 501(c)(3) approval, and expects to obtain it within the next few months.

For those of you on Facebook, there is an official authorized fan page for Marcus Luttrell where you can keep up to date.

There Are Places Where Voting Isn't A Chore

2010-03-08T11:16:00.000-08:00

I believe that all people should have certain inalieanble rights, rights that belong to the human species as a whole; of which one of the most important is the right to self-determination. The ability of a society to choose its future begets all the other freedoms that we Americans take for granted--to be free from fear, to have clean drinking water, education, infrastructure, safe housing, medical care. The simple act of being able to cast a ballot and impact your own future can be the most crucial and liberating thing a person can do.

When was the last time you thought about civics that way? When was the last time you were excited about your ability to vote, proud that you live in a country that asks for a majority opinion--rather than looking at election times as something that must be endured?

Sunday's elections in Iraq should humble those who have grown bored or cynical about the democratic process. When something is earned at a great and terrible cost it is truly valued. 234 years ago, we knew this. Now, some 12 million Iraqi citizens know the same thing, and I am proud for them. Only people who have lived with tyranny can know how exhilarating it feels to have a voice.

If you have any doubt whatsoever of why our mission in Iraq was so important, I urge to to read this article that David Bellavia wrote. It's one of the most poignant and impressive things I've read lately.

Updates: 08MAR2010

2010-03-08T08:07:00.000-08:00

As of 0800 this morning, here is the latest information I have for the following topics of interest--

Sergeant Shelton's Black Book: The book has been cancelled.

Wounded Warrior Ranch (Sergeant Shelton's Wounded Warrior Ranch Retreat-->Marcus Luttrell Warrior Legacy Ranch-->the-yet-to-be-renamed-wounded-warrior-ranch): Following the dissolution of partnership with the Warrior Legacy Foundation, plans for the ranch project and its fundraising lie solely with Marcus Luttrell. Strictly a guess on my part, but I believe the ranch will probably move forward under the administration of:

The Lone Survivor Foundation: http://www.lonesurvivorfoundation.org/ -- non-profit founded by Marcus Luttrell to ensure money donated is money given back. Its mission is to "...honor and remember American warriors by providing unique educational, rehabilitation, recovery, and wellness opportunities to U.S. Armed Forces service members & families". Please visit the Lone Survivor Foundation website for more information. The Foundation will officially launch on the 5th anniversary of Operation Redwing, June 28, 2010.

DARPA: Continuing To Blur The Lines Between Science Fiction and Science Fact!

2010-02-09T14:16:00.000-08:00

I don't often comment here about articles in the mainstream media, but this one was too good to pass up. I was browsing through Google News and a headline from Wired.com caught my eye....

To read the full article, click here. Excerpt is as follows:

Pentagon Looks to Breed Immortal ‘Synthetic Organisms,’ Molecular Kill-Switch Included

The Pentagon’s mad science arm may have come up with its most radical project yet. Darpa is looking to re-write the laws of evolution to the military’s advantage, creating “synthetic organisms” that can live forever — or can be killed with the flick of a molecular switch.

As part of its budget for the next year, Darpa is investing $6 million into a project called BioDesign, with the goal of eliminating “the randomness of natural evolutionary advancement.” The plan would assemble the latest bio-tech knowledge to come up with living, breathing creatures that are genetically engineered to “produce the intended biological effect.” Darpa wants the organisms to be fortified with molecules that bolster cell resistance to death, so that the lab-monsters can “ultimately be programmed to live indefinitely.”

Of course, Darpa’s got to prevent the super-species from being swayed to do enemy work — so they’ll encode loyalty right into DNA, by developing genetically programmed locks to create “tamper proof” cells. Plus, the synthetic organism will be traceable, using some kind of DNA manipulation, “similar to a serial number on a handgun.” And if that doesn’t work, don’t worry. In case Darpa’s plan somehow goes horribly awry, they’re also tossing in a last-resort, genetically-coded kill switch:

'Develop strategies to create a synthetic organism “self-destruct” option to be implemented upon nefarious removal of organism.'

"nefarious removal of organism"....Bwahahaha!! Wow, I just inked a little bit. Curse you, Moose and Squirrel!

I can't help but envision a group of DARPA geeks, strung out on Pop-Tarts and Red Bull sitting around a table and tossing out ideas:

--"Hey, seriously, what qualities would the ultimate superhero have?"
--"Weeelll...you'd have to have the soullessness and invincibility of the Terminator, the hamstring flexibility of Jean-Claude Van Damme, and the rage-strength of Rambo."
--"And don't forget the undefendable Chuck Norris roundhouse kick!"
--"Ooh, ooh, and maybe it could have bad-ass tentacles and tracking capabilities like the Predator!!"
--"Naw, man, that would just be over the top. Waaay too comic-book."
--*sigh* "Yeah, you're probably right. I still say tentacles are cool though."
--"DUDE!! Let's build one!! We could SO push it through on the budget to do this--Jenkins over in Fiscal owes me a solid."

Now, I am all for progress, especially in the realm of science. Also, no innovation has ever been achieved without bold thinking. However, and call me crazy here, this MIGHT be one of those times when an "umm..no" might be in order. In my opinion, the Universal Soldier is something that needs to stay on the DVD shelf and not brought forth for field testing.

FLASH TRAFFIC Marcus Luttrell Warrior Legacy Ranch Update

2010-02-08T12:33:00.000-08:00

*** UPDATE 03/2010: The ranch is now being administered by the Lone Survivor Foundation. Please view this post for further information. ***

In my inbox this morning, from the Warrior Legacy Foundation, regarding changes to the Marcus Luttrell Warrior Legacy Ranch:

Washington DC 08 February 2010

Recently the Board of Directors at the Warrior Legacy Foundation was informed by Marcus Luttrell's business management that they no longer wanted Marcus’ name attached to WLF’s for the "Marcus Luttrell Warrior Legacy Ranch” project.

"Regardless of whose name is attached to the project, Marcus Luttrell will have a world class ranch retreat and we are very proud to have been partnered with him,” said Warrior Legacy Foundation Executive Director David Bellavia. He continued, "At this time we will no longer be sharing a title with Marcus Luttrell on his ranch, we will no longer have any fiduciary responsibility regarding the ranch and WLF will NOT offer a competing ranch product.”

Warrior Legacy Foundation’s Chairman Matt Burden went on to say, "There is far more work out there to be accomplished and even more opportunity for the skill set of this great organization. It is my sincerest desire that Marcus’ ranch not only build a top notch facility, but I envision it to be as unique and special as its namesake.”

All funds donated to: to WLF’s "Marcus Luttrell Warrior Legacy Ranch” up until the account is closed on March 1, 2010, will be sent to the management team of Marcus Luttrell for the explicit purpose of his ranch.

WLF deeply regrets not having had the opportunity to see this project meet its full potential. Stay tuned for continued status reports of the project and where future support can be given to Marcus. Please reach out to info@warriorlegacyfoundation.org with any questions regarding this format change.

I haven't had time to dissect the letter to fully understand its meaning, but it appears as if the Ranch is still going ahead--albeit privately, divorced from the Warrior Legacy Foundation. (NB: I'm trying to withold judgement regarding why the WLF has been removed, there has to be a good reason that's sub rosa)

I truly hope more information will be forthcoming. I really believe in the goodness and necessity of this project and would hate to see it fade into obscurity because of lack of promotional channels. I'll post anything that comes through to me so that all of you that land here because of searches relating to the Ranch will have the latest information.

Sergeant Shelton's Black Book

2010-01-20T11:07:00.000-08:00

***UPDATE 03/2010: Publication of Sergeant Shelton's Black Book has been cancelled. ***

***UPDATE 2/09/10: I have recieved word that the publication of Sergeant Shelton's Black Book may have been cancelled. It is my hope that this isn't the case, but according to my recent searches I haven't been able to find the book. The publisher, Bantam, also doesn't have it listed as a release or an upcoming release. For those interested in the possibility of the book, please keep an eye out periodically. I'll post any new information as I find it. V/R, ST***

Billy "Soupbone" Shelton--friend, mentor, and trainer to Marcus Luttrell and other brave young men--has written a book, with co-author James D. Hornfischer. It's called Sergeant Shelton's Black Book: Young Men and War-The Special Operations Legacy For A New Generation. ~~The release date is set for January 26, 2010.~~

I've been eagerly anticipating the book since I first heard about it, and I encourage everyone to buy it when it's released. It should be a great read! Amazon, Borders, and Barnes & Noble don't have it listed for pre-order, ~~but Tower Books does~~.

ISBN: 0553807587
Tower Books order link
Amazon.com

David Bellavia Is Blogging!

2010-01-18T14:51:00.000-08:00

It is imperative you go visit David Bellavia's site.

Go. Now. Clicky-Clicky!

Quack!

2010-01-01T11:09:00.000-08:00

I'll be glued to the TV today, there's gonna be a little bit of Oregon way down in Pasadena.....UO in the Rose Bowl!

Go Ducks!!!!

Now You Too Can Talk Like A Sailor (part 2)

2009-12-21T13:24:00.000-08:00

....continued from Part 1:

Davy Jones' Locker: The bottom of the ocean; euphemism for sailor's hell. Davy Jones is commonly seen as the devil of the sea, an eater of souls.
Deck: Floor.
Deep Six: Originally, the call that the water was more than 6 fathoms (36 feet) deep, but less than 7. Now, a term for throwing something overboard. Also called a 'float test'.
Deuce: .50 caliber machine gun.
(between the) Devil and the Deep Blue Sea: On wooden-hull ships, the 'devil' seams joined the external hull with the deck planking. If the devil came loose, the sea would leak in--a no-win situation.
Dicking the Dog: Not getting any work done or messing up the work process. ex.: "If you guys are done dicking the dog, why don't you read the tech manual and figure out how that's supposed to come apart."
Ditty Bag: Small mesh bag that can hold a variety of items, usually toiletries or socks/skivvies for laundering.
DIW: Dead in the water. Caused primarily by loss of propulsion.
Dixie Cup: White hat ("cover") worn by male enlisted personnel with the dress white, dress blue, working white, and working blue uniform. Sporting it at a jaunty angle or with the brim sides pulled out (known as a "bullwinkle") is against regulations, but you'd be surprised how many like to do this.
Dolphins: Insignia pin signifying Submarine Warfare Specialist qualification--two stylized dolphins flanking a submarine. Pin is gold for officers, silver for enlisted; worn on the left chest. In writing, designated (SS) after a person's rank e.g.: EM2 (SS) Schmoe.
Donkey Dick: The inline proportioning nozzle for shipboard firefighting with AFFF (aqueous film-forming foam), the extension for a radiac that measures neutron levels of a reactor compartment prior to entry, or pretty much any other long, tubular peice of equipment.
Drunkex: Drunken Excercise. Hopefully, no explanation necessary.
EB Green: Nuclear grade duct tape. Originally provided by the Electric Boat (EB) corporation.
EMI: Extra Military Instruction. Intended as a punishment whereby the recipient must spend portions of his/her (coveted) free time engaged in a mundane task designed to increase military knowlege, i.e.: copying out the entire UCMJ in longhand.
ESWS: (pronounced ees-wass) Enlisted Surface Warfare Specialist. Surface version of a submariner's dolphins, it depicts two cutlasses crossed over a ship. Insignia designating Surface Warfare qualification, worn on the left chest. In writing, (SW) after rank e.g.: MM1 (SW) Schmoe.
Fantail: Aft-most portion of a ship. Sometimes used for ceremonial purposes, or for embarking/disembarking the ship via small boat, always off-limits on a carrier during flight ops.
Fast Attack: (SSN) Non-ballistic missile submarines.
Fiddler's Green: Sailor's heaven; a place of eternal music, laughter, and drinking/dancing.
Field Day: Universally hated organized periods of cleaning, usually consisting of people polishing the same spot for two hours. Often ordered when morale is low.
Flag Officer: Reference to an admiral, as there is a flag flown when they are aboard.
Flotsam: Floating debris released from a sinking ship.
FNG: Fucking New Guy.
Foc'sle: (pronounced foke-sul) phonetic spelling of "forecastle", the forward-most part of a ship. Often the mustering place for ceremonies.
FOD: Foreign Object Damage. Anything that could be sucked into the intake of a jet engine and damage it. You can pick up a piece of FOD off the deck, such as a screw; you can become FOD, if you are standing in the wrong place when the engine starts; and an engine can be FODded by any number of reasons, including the above two. Before flight ops, there are FOD walkdowns in which people are kidnapped and forcibly pressed into a long unbroken line, where they walk looking down at the ground the entire length of the flight deck to look for and recover any FOD.
Foul Deck: A flight deck condition where it is unsafe for the aircraft to land. Cause for a waveoff and go-around.
Foxtail: A long-handled, narrow cleaning brush with long flowing bristles. A foxtail and dustpan are standard field-day equipment.
FTN: Fuck The Navy. Common usage amongst nukes with bad attitudes, sometimes inscribed inconspicuously on belt buckles, coffee mugs, desks, or bulkheads.
FUBAR: Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition. Sometimes follows after a goat rope or someone has been dicking the dog, causing a SNAFU.
Fun Boss: Person in charge of organizing liberty or port call activities.
Gangway: More properly called the "brow", the walkway connecting the ship to the pier. Can also be shouted to request people get out of your way.
Gator Freighter: Amphibious cargo ship.
Geedunk: Sweets, candy, nice benefits, or easy duty.
Gig: Small boat, such as the Captain's Gig--his own personal craft. Also, a demerit.
Gig Line: The imaginary line on your uniform if drawn straight down the front of the shirt button edge, the crease on the belt buckle, and the edge of the zipper fly. Must line up, or your gig line is askew.
Goat Locker: CPO's (chief petty officer) mess. In the days of sail, Chiefs were in charge of the goats that made milk for the ship. Now, just a fun visual.
Golden Shellback: Award given for crossing the equator at the International Date Line.
Gouge: Inside information, or to cheat on a test using a "gouge sheet".
GQ: General Quarters. All hands man battle stations.
Greenie: Green scrubbing pad used for cleaning. Also, "greenie weenie". A greenie and a bucket are also standard equipment during field day.
Green Water: Solid wave or water, as opposed to the white foam top. ex.: When we sailed through the hurricane, the swells were so high we were taking green water over the flight deck." Generally, not a good thing.
Gundeck: To falsify a report, log, or maintentance record. Origins are from the days when the wooden decking underneath guns/cannons had to be reinforced and made thicker to support their weight.

Proofreading Is For Weenies

2009-12-21T09:30:00.000-08:00

In addition to recombinant bovine growth hormone, apparently those evil dairy farmers were adding dollops of destiny to your milk....who knew?!

I Am Become Death: The Story of Two Davids

2009-12-16T17:09:00.000-08:00

Today, I am quite maudlin. Red, white, and sad all over.

Yesterday at work, a long time employee named David had a heart attack and died. Right there, lying on the asphalt in the pouring rain. He had been down about 5 minutes when someone ran to my office and told me to bring the AED--I have the only one on site, centrally located I suppose. I made sure 911 had been called and ran over. We worked on him for another 7 minutes or so, then the ambulance arrived. 15 minutes in the ambulance and 4 rounds of ACLS and meds, then one of the paramedics finally got out and let us know that in all honesty it didn't look good. They still couldn't get a pulse and the blood was starting to pool in his back. They transported him, and the hospital worked on him for around an hour, but to no avail.

When I close my eyes, I see flashes of images: his arms splayed out and his wristwatch had droplets of water on the face. One of his pants legs had ruched up and I could see he was wearing two pair of white socks. The broad expanse of his belly, his skin stark and white, expanding with the force of the chest compressions. His leather boots had green laces, and the boots were wet. Everything was wet.

This morning I was out fairly early, just after it got light. I live a few blocks from the large VA complex here in town, and I pass by the Memorial Cemetary daily. Today, something in the cemetary caught my eye--a large yellow backhoe and several pickup trucks, out on the grass amidst the white headstones. And then I remembered today is the funeral of another David--Petty Officer David Mudge, who died in the UAE two weeks ago. Of course, he would be laid to rest there in that cemetary. So they were preparing his gravesite. It is very near a large flagpole where wreaths were being set up and I saw that the flag was at half mast.

I called my Mom this morning, mostly to talk about how crappy I was feeling. I wanted her words of comfort. I needed her to tell me something, some maternal bon mot that would soothe me. Instead, what she said was this: "Honey, from the moment we are born we are dying. We can only do with the time we are alotted.". I hung up feeling worse than before.

Around noon, I was out again, and this time I passed by a funeral home. Out in front, I saw more than a half dozen Patriot Guard Riders waiting to escort Petty Officer Mudge and his family to the cemetary. I quickly pulled in and went over to them. I introduced myself, told them I was a vet and sailor, and said, "Thank you for doing this". And promptly started crying.

I hadn't realized until that moment just how angry I was. I was angry at my mother for not saying something that made me feel better. I was angry at the paramedics for being honest, angry with them for not pulling off a miracle. I was angry with the backhoe operator for digging a hole in the ground that was to be the final resting place of PO Mudge, angry that it was still out there as a visible reminder of the harsh reality that the dirt must be replaced. Angry that a sailor died 7000 miles from home after having only 22 years with the people who love him.

The Patriot Guard looked at me and put his hand on my shoulder. He said simply, "I understand". He looked around at all the others, and said to me, "You know why we do this. We do it for the family as much as the fallen. They deserve as much honor and respect as we can give them during this last, hardest trip. It's sad, but there is pride in this job". And you know what, he was so right. To be out in front of the procession, with their engines making loud pronouncement, and those flags streaming....how sad, but how proud. How better to honor this young man and support his family.

And somewhere in the moment between putting the key in the ignition and turning it, I had an epiphany of sorts. I finally understood what my Mom was trying to say. She was saying that we don't know how long we have, be it minutes, hours, or decades. We have a limited time, and what really matters is not the end, but what has come before. And suddenly, I'm not angry anymore.

So we here in Douglas County, Oregon, remember a young man named David who volunteered to serve his country. We remember that he had a paper route and delivered with a smile. We also remember an older David, a man who cheerfully worked hard. We remember how he liked to work on his boat on the weekends with friends. We remember them so that we honor them.

We remember them, so we don't forget them.

In Memoriam: EM3 David Mudge

2009-12-14T14:16:00.000-08:00

It is with a heavy heart that I make this post. I just read in the local news that Petty Officer Third Class David Mudge was killed aboard ship while performing electrical repairs.

ROSEBURG, Ore. -- A Douglas County sailor was brought home Sunday.

David Mudge, 22, of Sutherlin, died two weeks ago on board the naval ship U.S.S. Rentz in the United Arab Emirates.

He was escorted back to the Chapel of the Firs Funeral Home in Roseburg by the Patriot Guard motorcycle group Sunday evening.

The Department of Defense says Mudge was working on electrical repairs while the ship was in port in the Persian Gulf, when he suffered fatal wounds from an electrical shock.

Mudge joined the Navy in January of 2007.

The body will remain at Chapel of the Firs until Wednesday, when a full military funeral is planned at the Douglas County Fairgrounds at 1:00 p.m.

First, I would like to offer my most sincere condolences to David's family. It is unimaginably hard to lose a loved one, so young and so far away. Secondly, I want to express my thanks to the Patriot Guard Riders who escorted this young man to the funeral home. The Guard's presence surely let the family know that every servicemember deserves honor and respect, most especially at this sad time.

May you rest in peace, David. Thank you for your honor, your courage, and your commitment.

"Eternal Father, strong to save,

Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,

Who bidst the mighty ocean deep

Its own appointed limits keep;

O, hear us when we cry to Thee

For those in peril on the sea!

O Christ! Whose voice the waters heard
And hushed their raging at Thy word,
Who walkedst on the foaming deep,
And calm amidst its rage didst sleep;
Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee,
For those in peril on the sea!

Most Holy Spirit! Who didst brood
Upon the chaos dark and rude,
And bid its angry tumult cease,
And give, for wild confusion, peace;
Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee,
For those in peril on the sea!

O Trinity of love and power!

Our brethren shield in danger's hour;

From rock and tempest, fire and foe,

Protect them wheresoe'er they go;

Thus evermore shall rise to Thee

Glad hymns of praise from land and sea."

Link to the story

Now You Too Can Talk Like A Sailor! (part 1)

2009-12-11T14:22:00.000-08:00

In honor of one of the most historic and rivalled matchups (see previous post), I am posting a list of Navy and nautical slang and their meanings:

Adrift: not properly stowed or tied down. 'Gear adrift' is a collective term for anything that will come loose and fly through the air with ship's movement; also, a common reason for failing a berthing inspection--gear adrift on your rack.
Airdale: refers to any member of the aviation community, officer or enlisted. Often derrogitorily modified by non-aviation types with the adjective "fucking". Root word for 'chowdale'.
AJ Squared Away: The mythical sailor who always has his stuff together.
Angles and Dangles: Operating a submarine at steep angles of ascent and descent, and to perform rapid turns (a submarine in a tight turn will bank in the same fashion as an aircraft). Guaranteed way to discover 'gear adrift'.
Bag: not doing your share of the work. Lit.: leaving someone holding "the bag". Bagging the watch, i.e.: relieving the offgoing watchstander late is a grievous error, and could earn you a label of "shitbag".
Balls (or four balls): midnight, which in the 24-hr time system is 0000.
Balls Out: Refers to an early design of engine governor, in which a pair of masses (balls) spun at an increasing rate as engine speed increased. Centrifugal acceleration threw the masses outward, so "balls out" refers to maximum possible engine speed.
Batten Down: Make fast, secure, or shut. Originally, deck hatches did not have hinged, attached covers. Hatch covers were separate pieces which were laid over the hatch opening, then made fast with battens (pieces of timber).
Belay: stop or disregard. Commonly heard as "Belay my last".
Big Chicken Dinner: A Bad Conduct Discharge. ex.: "Punching the XO will probably get you a Court Martial and a Big Chicken Dinner."
Bilge Diving: Working in the bilges of a ship, or cleaning same.
Binnacle: A pedestal which supports a compass. Typically found next to or in front of the ship’s wheel.
Bitchbox: Intercom or amplified circuit used to communicate between spaces of the ship.
Bitter End: Properly, the free or loose end of a line. Originally, the bitter end of a mooring line was taken to the bitts (a mooring fixture) to secure it. BTW, you never want to see the bitter end of your ship's anchor chain.
Blivet: Traditionally, "Ten pounds of shit in a five-pound sack." Also, a rubber fuel bladder.
Blue Shirt: Anyone E-6 or below wearing the dungaree uniform, similar to the traditional term "Bluejacket," due to the Navy blue jacket issued with the dungaree uniform.
BOHICA: Bend Over, Here It Comes Again. ex.: "Aw, they cancelled the port visit. BOHICA!"
Boomer: Ballistic missile submarine (SSBN).
BOSNIA: Big Old Standard Navy Issue Ass. Refers to the size of the sterns of some (usually female) navy personnel.
Bosun: The phonetic spelling of ‘boatswain.’
Bravo Zulu: 'well done'. Can be spoken, or written as BZ. ex.: "That's fastest pipe patch I've ever seen. BZ, shipmate!" In nuke usage, the term is used sarcastically or with high levels of irony.
Bubblehead: Member of the submarine community. Frequently modified by members of the surface fleet with the adjective "fucking".
Buddy Fucker: Someone who will not stand up for, or defend, a friend or shipmate, or someone who screws over a shipmate.
Bulkhead: Wall.
Bull Nuke: Senior nuclear-trained CPO aboard a sub. Junior in authority to the COB.
Bumfuck Egypt: A (fictitious) bad place to be stationed, or the figurative ends of the earth. Sometimes seen as BFE.
Cat: Catapult. Planes can be launched on a carrier from the 'bow cats' or the 'waist cats'.
CBR: Chemical, Biological, and Radiological (nuclear) warfare.
Channel Fever: Anxious to get home, or reach port.
Check Valve: Used to describe a person, it refers to one who does for himself, but not others. None of the goodies get past him.
CHENG: Chief Engineer.
Chit: A small piece of paper, often a request for or granting of permission to do something. ex.: "You can't go on leave until you show me your chit."
Chop: Change of Operational command, spoken as "inchop" (entering a command region or zone) or "outchop" (leaving a command region).
Cinderella Liberty: Liberty where one must be back aboard by midnight.
Clear Datum: (Submarine) To leave the area where you have been detected, or to leave the scene of the crime, especially when liquor and members of the opposite sex are involved.
Charlie Foxtrot: Cluster Fuck – An evolution remarkable for its significant lack of excellence. Mass confusion and chaos. Also known as a 'Goat Rope'.
COB: Chief Of the Boat. Senior enlisted onboard a submarine; acts as liaison between the crew and the XO.
CONUS: Continental U.S.
Crescent Hammer: Crescent wrench.
Crow: The rate insignia of a USN Petty Officer (E-4 through E-6), so-called because of the eagle above the rate chevrons.
Cut of His Jib: From the days of sail, when individual sails were made aboard the ship and a certain amount of individuality was expressed in the design of the sails. Ships were identified by the "cut of their jib." ex.: "Hey--you there! What the hell are you doing?! I don't think I like the cut of your jib."

Fear The Goat

2009-12-11T08:14:00.000-08:00

Go Navy! Beat Army!!

That is all.

I Need Some Cheese To Go With This Whine

2009-12-09T10:41:00.000-08:00

It's effing cold here, and I'm crabby. It's not supposed to get this cold in southern Oregon, especially not three days in a row. Low of 10F, high a balmy 31F. Bah humbug.

Ok, it's time for me to come clean: I am a closet grammar nazi. Well, more of a spelling nazi I guess. I don't claim to be perfect in my writing/spelling skills, but I do at least try to be correct. I know some people find it to be an annoying quality, but I accept this about myself and make no apologies for it. Which sets up the lead-in for today's story.....

This morning when I left for work, my mood was instantly soured when I went outside. My breath was sucked away and it felt like my eyeballs were dessicated. I don't like feeling like a turtle, hunching down in my coat collar and dragging my watch cap (yes, I still have the one issued to me) down as far as it will go. I decided to make myself feel better by stopping for a latte on my way in. The little drive-through coffee place near my house was offering a few holiday specials, so I perused the board......and saw the following:

20 oz. Eggnog Latte: triple shot of expresso, steamed eggnog, topped with whip cream. ($3.75)

Gah! Argh!! Squid Thoughts' pet peeve numero uno--pronouncing the word 'nuclear' as 'nuke-yoo-ler'. But coming in for place and show is the above two gaffes. And it was a two-fer! I transmogrified into a BRS (that's Bitch, Ready to Shout), proceeded to climb my grammatical soap box and lecture the poor girl behind the counter who probably doesn't get paid enough to deal with people like me that early in the morning. I told her it was espresso, with an ESS; and that whipped describes what has been done to the cream to make it a proper topping, whip is what someone will do to future batches of cream. I suggested the following example: "Good morning ma'am! I will brew shots of espresso so quickly you could call it express, and then whip this cream in order to top your 20 oz. Eggnog latte with a nice dollop of whipped cream."

Poor thing. I really made a donkey of myself this morning. But she handled it with remarkable grace.

I left her a nice tip.

Grouchy but moderately caffeinated squid--out.

The Marcus Luttrell Warrior Legacy Ranch

2009-12-08T08:47:00.000-08:00

*** UPDATE 03/2010: The ranch project is no longer associated with the Warrior Legacy Foundation. It is now being administered by the Lone Survivor Foundation. Please view this post for more information. ***

Greetings! I promised earlier to post any updates regarding the status of the Sergeant Shelton's Wounded Warrior Ranch Retreat. Well, this morning I was pleased to discover that things at the Ranch are progressing. It now has a new name: the Marcus Luttrell Warrior Legacy Ranch, and operations will be administered by the great and wonderful Warrior Legacy Foundation. Information about the ranch and how you can support its development can be found here.

The design and purpose of the Ranch encompasses Billy Shelton's original concept: to provide mental, physical, and emotional rehabilitation for returning warriors and their families. This is a project that I feel goes a long way to filling a particular void that exists regarding caring for and thanking our veterans for their sacrifices for our country. Located in Leakey, Texas apx. 75 miles west of San Antonio along the Frio River, the Ranch will provide numerous outdoor activities such as hunting, fishing, and wandering acreage; as well as a camp for children of veterans who have lost limbs, and specialized professional and peer-to-peer counseling. This Ranch will be a healing place; a place to mentally, physically, and spiritually decompress; a place where a warrior can get a warm and sincere "welcome home".

Please visit the Warrior Legacy Foundation to see how you can lend your support to this honorable organization--they do incredible work for our American warriors and their families. Visit WLF's site for The Marcus Luttrell Warrior Legacy Ranch at http://www.warriorlegacyfoundation.org/?page=WarriorRanch to read about it and make a secure, tax-deductable donation.

12/7: A Day That Will Live In Infamy For The NAVSPECWAR Community

2009-12-04T10:56:00.000-08:00

I haven't been posting here regularly, but I've come across a story that's brought me back....and I'm pissed. Three Navy SeALs are being accused of mistreating a prisoner they tracked and captured, one Ahmed Hashim Abed.

Abed has been wanted by the United States since 2004 for masterminding the ambush and murder of four Blackwater security guards in Fallujah. The guards were shot, their bodies burned and publicly drug through the city, and finally hung from a bridge.

Abed was just recently captured and placed in custody. All good, right? Well, here's the rub: Abed was allegedly punched in the stomach or the mouth by one of his captors. The Master-At-Arms guarding Abed was then obliged to report his complaint and now two US Navy SeALs are charged with dereliction of duty, making a false statement, and interfering with an investigation. The third SeAL is being charged with the same as the other two, plus assault. The charges were originally brought through Captain's Mast, the Navy's non-judicial punishment system. All three SeALs have excercised their right to decline Captain's Mast and have instead requested a court martial to hear their cases. The three men's arraignments are set for December 7th.

So to sum up: we spent millions of dollars training men who volunteered for a dangerous and difficult job, a job that a mere few are capable or desirous of doing. We give these men our best--our best training, information and equipment. These few iron men give us their best--their honor, integrity, courage, commitment, and if needed their life itself. We ask them to put themselves in harm's way and find a murderer to keep him from hurting anyone else....and they do. Apparently we were also supposed to issue instructions that all terrorists are to be given lots of love, understanding, and affirmation. Go out, dodge bullets and IED's, try to bring yourself back alive and unhurt, grab that Tango while you're at it---but whatever you do DON'T BAD TOUCH HIM! If he spits or pisses on you, pass him a glass of water. If he struggles and tries to strike you, give him a sympathetic hug. If he promises his friends will kill any and all Americans in horrible ways and never stop, gently but firmly place him in time-out to show him you care.

Dear Politicians and Head Sheds: if you want a job done, call a SeAL team. They will get it done, put it to bed, and say "what's next?". They can still get a job done despite having one hand tied behind their backs--maybe even two. But don't send a team out only to castrate them when they return because they were too rough. Why are Abed's rights even a factor? He didn't consider the human rights of the four Blackwater employees that he murdered, mutilated, and put on display for the world to see. I'm sorry, but who the fuck cares if this dirtbag got the wind knocked out of him or has a fat lip?

I understand that all the facts of this case are not out here for public consumption. But the mere fact that I know three SeAL team members were involved in Abdel's capture is a huge problem--that should not be public knowledge. Secondly, I also understand that Special Warfare operators are internally held to an even higher standard than their shipmates. There must be an unquestionable level of integrity and trust. However, I guess I'm left wondering why this ever went to Mast in the first place leaving the option open for a public court martial. If someone strayed off course it seems to me that it is the duty of the unit to bring him back in line. I am in no way advocating open season on captured terrorists, as pleasant as that actually sounds to me. We really do have to walk a higher road and not sink to their levels of barbarism. But it's not like this guy was beaten to within an inch of his life or had all the bones in his wrist broken or anything. There didn't seem to be any attempt to torture or humiliate him.

We are hostages to public opinion, and every terrorist knows it. They can and do use it against us. We are sending out our guard dogs, but they have no teeth and an electric shock collar. Not very effective.

Ok, maybe I exaggerated a bit that December 7th will be a day of infamy for the SPECWAR community. But it should be a day of shame for the United States, that's for sure. While we remember the events that happened at Pearl Harbor and celebrate the heroes of that day, we are quietly condemning a new generation of heroes, ones who are simply trying to make the country and the world a little safer.

Team Navy is Underway on Angel Power

2009-10-26T14:06:00.000-07:00

Today marks the launch of Soldiers' Angels Project Valour-IT fundraiser! This is a thoughtful and heartfelt project that aims to raise money to purchase technology items to aid wounded warriors in their recovery. These include: laptops with voice-control software; Wii video game systems, which have been shown to aid in physical rehabilitation programs; and handheld GPS systems to help with short term memory loss and other issues related to Traumatic Brain Injury and PTSD.

While support of any kind to this noble operation is welcome, there is a fun competition among teams formed around military service branches to see who can raise the most fundage. I am encouraging the squids out there or any among you who has a soft spot for the sea to support TEAM NAVY. There is nothing this here now Navy can't do, including posting up #1 in support of Project Valour-IT. I must confess, I was initially mildly concerned about Team Navy's pursuit of victory when I discovered the who's who on Team Army--Blackfive on point, This Ain't Hell, Laughing Wolf, A Soldier's Perspective.....in truth, normally some of my favorite peeps. But let me be perfectly clear: Team Navy's not over here shaking in our boondockers. The tip of our spear is U.S. Naval Institute; we've also got Navy Cyberspace (who's son is a fellow nuke), CDR Salamander, Gazing At The Flag, and our superultradoublesecret weapon--the bodacious beantown babe--Boston Maggie....muuahahaha! Oh, it's ON now!!

So do the right thing and support Soldiers' Angels Project Valour-IT. While you should *cough* *cough* DONATE VIA TEAM NAVY, if you have another military affiliation and want to donate through them I might just understand. The most important thing is that there are no real losers here--our wounded warriors are the winners, and I would have it no other way.

Let's See If You ACTUALLY Lol: Today's Dose Of Funny

2009-10-08T11:54:00.000-07:00

*****

The Quotable Navy

2009-10-06T09:17:00.000-07:00

I thought I'd list a collection of my favorite naval quotations:

"I wish to have no Connection with any Ship that does not Sail fast for I intend to go in harm's way." -- Captain John Paul Jones

"A good Navy is not a provocation to war. It is the surest guaranty of peace." -- President Theodore Roosevelt

"Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition!" -- Lieutenant Howell Forgy (Chaplain)

"Any man who may be asked in this century what he did to make his life worthwhile, I think can respond with a good deal of pride and satisfaction: 'I served in the United States Navy.'" -- President John F. Kennedy

"This ship is built to fight. You had better know how." -- Admiral Arleigh Burke

"It is the function of the Navy to carry the war to the enemy, so that it will not be fought on U.S. soil." -- Admiral Chester B. Nimitz

"There are only two absolute rules of thumb at sea: Don’t let the people in the water tank, and don’t let the water in the people tank." -- Unknown, but excellent advice

"The difference between a good and great officer is about ten seconds." -- Admiral Arleigh Burke

"Investigate and shoot down all snoopers — not vindictively, but in a friendly sort of way." -- Admiral William "Bull" Halsey

"Great minds discuss ideas, average minds discuss events, small minds discuss people." -- Admiral Hyman G. Rickover

"Any healthy organization can survive individual divergencies, and may even profit from them. Compulsory unification of opinion can only achieve the unanimity of the graveyard." -- Admiral Hyman G. Rickover

Not US Navy but good quotes nonetheless:

"A ship-of-war is the best ambassador." -- Oliver Cromwell

"A prisoner of war is a man who tries to kill you and fails, and then asks you not to kill him." -- Sir Winston Churchill

"Put your trust in God, but keep your powder dry." -- Oliver Cromwell

"It's extremely difficult to second guess the American Navy, because the Americans rarely read their doctrine, and don’t feel compelled to follow it when they do." -- Admiral Sergei Gorshkov

"The reason that the American Navy does so well in wartime, is that war is chaos, and the Americans practice chaos on a daily basis." -- Admiral Karl Doenitz

"When you men get home and face an anti-war protester, look him in the eyes and shake his hand. Then, wink at his girlfriend, because she knows she's dating a pussy." -- Attributed to General Tommy Franks

I Am Standing Here Beside Myself

2009-10-05T11:01:00.000-07:00

So. The last couple weeks of my life have been a hot mess, to say the least. Of the top 5 Bad Things that can happen to a steam power plant, the plant I manage developed #4. Concurrent with that, I experienced the worst bout of insomnia I've had in years; the latter probably brought on by the former, but crippling nonetheless. It's an extraordinary thing to try and direct an unplanned critical maintenance outage while running on guts and caffeine alone.

The first couple days with little or no sleep wasn't too bad. The third night I managed to fall asleep OK, only first to be awakened with the cat standing on my head for reasons only known to the feline species, then waking up every hour or so thereafter because of fitful dreams. The fourth day is when I started seeing The Shadow People: fleeting grey movement out of the corner of my eye that disappeared when I turned to look. At first they made me nervous, but after a while I think we developed quite a repoire. It got to the point that I seemed to be watching myself from the outside, like a bad reality tv show. Whatever will Rebecca do next--crack her head getting something out of the fridge? Check. Drive 5 miles past her freeway exit? Yeppers. Forget to put out the garbage can on trash day? Well of course. And just look how twitchy she is!

The problem at work was eventually repaired, and after a number of days the insomnia more or less abated. I spent this last weekend sleeping my brains out, 12 or more hours a day that left me feeling drugged and wrung out. Needless to say, I haven't really been keeping up with my usual round of blogs and news, nor thinking about anything to post here. I vaguely remember some topic from my college Psych 101 class about the levels the human brain functions at: the first level is basic life functions like finding food, shelter, sleep, comfort. The next is the higher thought levels of curiosity, critical thinking, social interaction. The highest level is abstract thought, art, ideals, innovation. If a person is lacking in something at the more basic level, the mind can't function at the higher levels. Pretty sure I just experienced a real-world proof of that theorem.

So anyhoo, I am trying to heave myself back in the saddle. I'd like to express my appreciation for everyone who stops in to read my blog and I hope to have something more interesting for you to read soon. If there's a particular topic anyone would like me to write about, please feel free to leave a comment. Also, take note of the item to the right of your screen--the countdown to Soldier's Angels Project Valour-IT. I am a proud Team Navy member, and you should check out the link to the project. Soldier's Angels is a fantastic group that does wonderful things for our Warriors, and Project Valour-IT is no exception.

Wishing you all the best. Take care.

Memoria Diem

2009-09-16T12:18:00.001-07:00

I had wanted to write some kind of grand and eloquent post about today, the 8th anniversary of 9/11. However, the more I tried to flesh something out, the less the words wanted to come. I was beginning to get really worried: where were my feelings? Had I completely forgotten the memory of what this day means to me and my country? I guess I just experienced what actual writers already know--you can't force the words out, they only flow when they are done brewing.

For me, today is and always will be a day of rememberance. Eight years ago to the minute, I was at sea off the coast of the Carolinas and we were making max turns due north. Everyone around me including myself was in a mixture of states: shock, anger, fear, excitement. Everything that had come before had ceased to exist and what lay in the future was now blank. It was a crystalline moment, the focus of space and time narrowed to a single point. 24 hours later I was watching the gaping hole in the skyline billow black smoke into the morning air, my heart breaking.

First and foremost, I want to always remember the feeling of vulnerability. Some might disagree with me on this, but I think it's incredibly important to know how it feels to be blindsided. If you don't know where your weaknesses are you can't shore them up. If you forget that feeling you will cease to be vigilant and it will happen again.

I remember the unity of that day. Everyone came together and there was a bond that transcended race, creed, and partisanship. It was the bond that makes us Americans. No matter our differences before or since, we are bound in that moment forever and no one can take that away from us.

I remember the heroes. When something terrible happens, there are two types of people: those who run away from the danger and those that run towards it. Never forget that there were and are people who willingly place themselves in harm's way, even if they know they will not survive, to ensure the safety of others. That kind of sacrifice and strength of character can never be forgotten or taken advantage of.

When I think about what it means to be an American, I remember seeing all of those things that day: pride, fraternity, charity, heroism, selflessness, adaptation, strength, and most of all intolerance of tyrrany or terrorism. I remember that in the worst of moments we became our best.

A Quick Note

2009-09-16T12:17:00.000-07:00

The past couple weeks have been very busy for me, so I haven't found time to post anything new. But I wanted to take a few moments and throw a couple things out here.

First, for those of you reading this blog that are interested in or are following Sergeant Shelton's Wounded Warrior Ranch Retreat, it appears that their website is undergoing construction right now, so any links to the site aren't working for the time being. I will update them as soon as they become available again. This is a wonderful and extremely important cause, and I encourage everyone to follow and support it. For those that live in Texas, Billy "Soupbone" Shelton and Marcus Luttrell have filmed a PSA for the Ranch that I hear will be aired within about a month or so. Also, there is a fundraiser for the Ranch being held in May 2010 at the Cowboys Golf Club in Grapevine, Texas--if you like to swing the crooked stick and can make it, please show your support. When the SSWWRR site gets back up, information on booking for the event can be found there.

Secondly, the anniversary of 9/11 is fast approaching. I am working on a post reflecting my thoughts about what that day means to me. I challenge everyone to do the same; on Thanksgiving we think about what we are thankful for in our lives, on 9/11 we should remember why we are thankful to be Americans and what that means to us and apply that to how we live.
Thank you all for your support and continued visits to this blog. Take care.

Mixed Bits

2009-09-16T12:15:00.000-07:00

I’ve managed to reconnect on Facebook with a lot of the people I served with aboard the George Washington. This weekend we had a hysterical discussion thread that winged back and forth, all started innocently by a guy who happened to have a random memory of a certain dish served on the mess decks—the notorious Pork Adobo. The conversation quickly devolved, as it will do with squids, and it got me thinking about a whole bag of stuff: the things we loved to hate.

While deployed, there is precious little to entertain yourself with. Squids are nothing if not creative however, and opportunities present themselves in the form of bitching and joking, both of which we refined to an art form. Mind you, bitching is different than complaining. Bitching builds camaraderie, it became a language of its own. The biggest target for ridicule was the food. I know carriers have better food than other venues in the Navy, but some of it was still astoundingly bad. Everyone made new names for the most infamous dishes. The aforementioned Pork Adobo became Pork A-No-No, Pork A-Doo-Doo, or my personal favorite Red Death. It was served approximately 4 times a week. There was “Noodles Jefferson”—plain boiled egg noodles sprinkled with dried parsley. Was Thomas Jefferson a famous cultivator of parsley? Because if not, I’m sorry but it’s just noodles. There were these pre-packaged Chicken Cordon Bleus that were fried and served—known affectionately as Butter Bombs, Deep-Fried Hamsters, or Whale Turds. The milk, after about a week underway, needed no refrigeration and was a disturbing blue color. The juice (aka Bug Juice) was so high in citric acid that we used it down in the plant for shining up brass and other metals. And then there was the Chili Mac. I have no words for it, aside from the fact that I can’t eat anything resembling it to this day. On the plus side, the cooks could bake the shit out of some dinner rolls. They were yeasty and delicious. And potatoes, no matter the form, were usually pretty good. In the grand tradition of the military, anytime we got a steak dinner followed by ice cream, we knew bad news was on the way.

Nukes, being a smart bunch, got bored easily. One game developed down in the propulsion plant was Danger Nut: slide a ¾” or larger nut onto the end of a long flathead screwdriver, and aim a jet of high pressure compressed air at the nut. After it achieved the desired speed, you flung the screwdriver releasing the nut. It had so much internal energy it would ping all over the damn place, ricocheting, people diving for cover. A variant on this game was Xtreme Danger Nut: take the same nut and cut notches on the flats. When you spun it, it sounded like a jet engine winding up. The speed and energy of the nut were like 10 times greater than the original Danger Nut. Xtreme Danger Nut got the kibosh after someone got a hole punched through his coveralls and a nasty bruise. He needed to work on his reflexes. But hey, horseplay leads to sick bay, right? The other game that somebody came up with was Nutz: we painted a small 3-sided goal against the backsplash of a workbench. Each player got five 9/16” nuts, and you shot them at the goal using one finger to slide them. The next player would use his nuts to try and knock yours out of the goal. Points were awarded for nuts remaining in the goal, nuts on the line, and for knocking the opponent’s nuts out. Over successive deployments, the game of Nutz was refined with a whole series of rules, regulations, and a referee.

I can personally attest to the fact that duct tape is surely a miracle of the modern world. It truly is like the Force: it has a light side, a dark side, and it holds the universe together. I’ve seen a grown men suspended from the overheads, unwary victims of an MMFTT (mobile midnight flopping and taping team). I can’t confirm or deny that I’ve found myself stuck three feet up a bulkhead held fast by the superior strength of duct tape. It was also useful for creating a pretty fancy 9-hole golf course: balls, tees, and cups; the clubs were long extendable inspection mirrors. If Corporal-Captain Radar were a Nuke, he’d trade for duct tape—we had a whole underground black market for the stuff.

All of these things now are pretty amusing to look back on, but there’s other less tangible things that will stay with me forever. What do I do if while wearing a gas mask after a CBR attack I start feeling a tightening in my chest? One atropine and one 2-PAM chloride, straight in the thigh. Start to drool? Another atropine and 2-Pam chloride. The sound of a QAWTD being dogged: ka-CHUNK! The unique and pervasive smell of a ship underway—we called it Ship Funk; it’s a combination of JP-5, sweat, ass, oil, and feet. After a while at sea, everyone plain stinks and no amount of deodorant or soap can cover it. You could put me blindfolded in a city dump and hold a shirt from a deployed person under my nose and I’d know that smell. The belt buckle of the webbed belts we wore made a particular unique tinkling noise, and it was always a good laugh when in the bathroom stall next to you you heard ‘tink-tink-splash..(pause)..Goddammit!!’ Pretty sure that happened to everyone at least once. And more than once I’ve woken up from a dream, still hearing the sound of the General alarm: bong…bong…bong “Dual reactor scram, all reactor plant personnel lay to the propulsion plants”.

So this is my mental chop suey for today. It was great to relive some memories with my shipmates, and has left me smiling. BZ buddies.

Swede Momsen: A Man Worth Noting

2009-09-16T12:13:00.000-07:00

For my birthday yesterday, I got three books that I am pretty excited about: “The Terrible Hours” by Peter Maas, “We Were Soldiers Once…And Young” by Harold G. Moore & Joseph Galloway, and “An American Daughter Gone to War” by Winnie Smith. I’m already halfway through “The Terrible Hours”, and it’s an incredible story.

On May 23, 1939 the newly commissioned USS Squalus (SS-192) was off the coast of Portsmouth, New Hampshire conducting her 19th test dive. After reaching a depth of about 60 ft. they experienced a critical failure of the 31” main induction valve, which fed air to the diesel engines, and had been closed at the start of the dive. Massive flooding ensued, and the Captain ordered the main and bow ballasts blown to try and surface. The Squalus gained an up angle, but the flooding was too severe and it sank by the stern, coming to rest at nearly 250 ft. off the Isle of Shoals. All electric power and propulsion was lost; the aft battery/crew’s quarters, the forward and aft engine rooms, and the aft torpedo rooms were completely flooded. Because of the skill of the highly trained crew who responded immediately to the flooding, the watertight doors were closed very quickly and 33 of the 59 crew aboard found safety in the forward torpedo room and control room.

A massive search effort was launched after the Squalus failed to report in as expected after the dive, though because of a mistranslation of the coordinates the boat sent in Morse code indicating their dive location, the searching ships were nearly 5 miles from where the Squalus actually lay. The sub launched a marker buoy and multiple flares, one of which was seen and the ships were able to close on their position. This was before the days of sonar however, and their exact location could not be pinpointed with accuracy since the line connecting the marker buoy to the sub had parted when hauled aboard one of the ships. Efforts were made to communicate with the Squalus using submerged oscilloscopes, the sub’s crew valiantly trying to respond by hammering on the hull in Morse code. After surviving dozens of hours in near-freezing temperatures and increasingly toxic atmospheric conditions, 33 men were rescued.

Beyond the skill and heroism of the Squalus’ crew, what makes this story so remarkable was that they were actually able to be rescued. A few short years previously, a rescue at that depth would have been impossible. During those days, submarine duty was called the “Coffin Service”—if anything went wrong while submerged, unless the sub happened to be in warm and very shallow water, there was no hope of escape. The 33 men of the Squalus owe their successful escape to one man: Charles ‘Swede’ Momsen.

Momsen was a Naval Academy graduate, a line officer, and a technical and scientific whiz. In 1925, while commanding the S-1 (SS-105) submarine, his sister ship the S-51 collided with a cargo ship and went down. Momsen was involved in trying to locate the S-51, and eventually found its oil slick. The downed sub was at 130 ft, and there was no way to rescue them. On board the S-51 was a good friend of Swede’s, and he later discovered that most of the crew didn’t die immediately as had been assumed. He was tortured with the knowledge that his friend had torn the skin away from his fingers trying to pry open a hatch, and that most of the dead had lived for hours before succumbing. 33 men aboard perished. Momsen dedicated himself to finding out methods to rescue trapped submariners. He designed a diving bell which could be lowered down to the submarine and thus the men could escape. He sent the plans up the chain of command, and they were ignored for more than a year before finally being rejected as impractical. By that time, Momsen was assigned to the Navy’s Bureau of Construction and Repair, and decided to proceed with other rescue ideas on his own. Shortly after his diving bell plans were rejected, another sub, the S-4, went down off Cape Cod—another 40 souls lost, with 6 of the dead surviving for 3 days. Swede became a man possessed.

Simultaneously while developing a working prototype of his diving bell, Momsen invented what would later become the Momsen lung: a rubber bag that hung around the neck that could be filled with oxygen, containing soda lime to scrub CO2 from exhaled air. It would allow the person to be able to breathe until he got to the surface, as well as providing a controlled amount of buoyancy to allow slow ascent thereby avoiding the bends. Swede personally tested all phases of the Momsen lung, eventually using it to ascend successfully from a depth of 200 ft. In addition to the diving bell and escape lung, He also developed the Heliox gas mixture—replacing nitrogen in compressed air with varying amounts of helium—thus making it possible for a diver to descend below 200 ft., the point at which nitrogen narcosis becomes a serious danger.

Swede Momsen was flown in to personally direct the rescue of the Squalus’ crew. Because of his ingenuity, passion for his service, and dedication to ensuring that trapped submariners had a means of escape, 33 men were able to return home to their families. Because of his achievements, development of deep diving became possible, and naval services around the world have been able to build on his rescue and escape inventions. The Momsen lung led to the Steinke hood, Submarine Escape Immersion Equipment, and free-ascent techniques. His diving bell design led to others, and most likely to the ideas that became Deep Submergence Rescue Vehicles. Because of this one man, a man who wouldn’t accept defeat, submariners who survive casualties at sea have hope of rescue, no longer members of the “Coffin Service”.

Red Sky In The Morning

2009-09-16T12:11:00.000-07:00

It’s been one of the hottest weeks on record here in the Pacific Northwest. The kind of heat that wrings you out and makes it hard to think. 85F by 6am, 108, 110 by midday…it affects the brain. The morning sun has been blood-red for the past few days, and I’ve had several moments where reality has seemed to fold over on itself—it’s the same sun I saw in the summer months in the Persian Gulf. It doesn’t matter how much time has passed between then and now, I’m momentarily back there again in flashes, blinking in and out, the hot wind not helping things. All week I’ve had this feeling of something ominous following me around. Sleep has been elusive, and my dreams have been filled with shipboard disasters and shadowy intruders. I’ve woken up at least once, swinging, absolutely sure there was someone standing over my bed. No bueno.

I think I’m over-receptive to dark news lately. So when I read this story about Sgt. George Nickel (thanks to Blackfive for putting the word out), it really tore me up. Here’s a guy that gave as much as he could be asked to give for his country, and experienced things that most of us should be eternally grateful we will never have to. Back home, he seems to be coping the best he can but unfortunately something in the night got the best of him. Losing track of his dog, Nickel’s reality folded over on itself. This is just my assumption of course, but his dog became a lost guy in his unit, the apartments turned into an unsecured complex. He did what he was trained to do—clear and secure the area, door by door. Because he had a weapon and was using it to shoot out the locks, necessarily the police became involved. And necessarily, they also have a responsibility to neutralize what they perceive as a threatening situation. Thankfully, no one was injured or this would have turned out to be a lot worse than it already is. Nickel is charged with felony counts of aggravated assault and discharge of a gun into an inhabited building, but most stunning and disgusting is Chief of Police Mike Masterson’s comment about the situation: “This is bizarre behavior….I don’t know what would push people to that (level of) of desperation.”

This makes me want to shriek and my head spin around. There’s no logic to what will trigger stress and survival mechanisms in someone who has experienced front-line combat, nor should those reactions ever be judged so publically by someone who has no idea what kind of hell warriors have gone through. It just further illustrates the lack of understanding of what our veterans are going through when they return home. In every war or conflict America has been involved in, returning soldiers are expected to just hang up their guns and go back to ‘normal’ life. Flip the switch. Forget their training. Transitioning from a warrior to a civilian is certainly a process that has to happen, but it can’t be dictated on other people’s terms. And as a nation, we are ignoring opportunities to help people transition, and showing great ignorance about what a huge issue it is. I suppose we’re just quietly hoping someone will invent some kind of pill. Issue solved, right?

My grandfather was in the Army in WWII, but his coping mechanism was to just bury it I suppose. Not once in the 25 years I was alive before he passed away did I hear him speak of his experiences, other than just the fact that he served. I only have a few physical remnants of it: shortly before he died, he was ill and he made a request that I come home on leave from Florida because he wanted to see me in my dress uniform. One of my grandmother’s prized possessions was an intricate lace bedspread that she crocheted during the time he was away—she claimed she nearly went blind making it. And at his funeral, there was a flag draped over his casket. It just makes me incredibly sad.

Sgt. Nickel’s story is just the latest of innumerable cases of vets returning home who need help and support. The trauma will never go away, but can be made manageable I think if every effort is made by family, friends, neighbors, communities and government to both understand what warriors are going through and get them the help they need. Heaping insult upon injury is not the answer.

God bless our warriors at home and abroad, and may He give them peaceful sleep and solace in the night.

Rock 'n Roll in Dalmatia

2009-09-16T12:08:00.000-07:00

I thought I’d stray again today away from serious issues and share another story of one of my travels. If I had to list a favorite city among all I got to visit, Dubrovnik, Croatia is probably tied for first place.

If you don’t know of it or haven’t been there, Dubrovnik is an extraordinarily beautiful old city situated on the Adriatic and has been a popular vacation destination for European travelers for years, with good reason. The city itself is in sort of two parts: the old city and the new. Old Dubrovnik sits right on the water and is surrounded by a 2km wall. In the Middle Ages, it was one of five Maritime Republics and was said to rival Venice. Aside from historical preservation and rebuilding due to combat damage, the structures in the old city all date to about the 17th century or before. It has existed under the Greeks, the Ostrogoths, the Byzantines, the Venetians (who called it Ragusa), Napoleon, the Hapsburgs, Austria-Hungary, Yugoslavia, and finally the Kingdom of Croatia. In 1991, Slobodan Milosevic declared that Dubrovnik could not remain part of Croatia and his Serbian forces (remains of the Yugoslav People’s Army) attacked the city. When I visited in 2000, most of the old city had been repaired and restored, but outside the walls in the new city there was still a lot of visible damage from shelling and bullet holes in concrete walls.

The Croatian people in Dubrovnik couldn’t have been more friendly—some of the most polite and hospitable people I’ve ever met. They are also physically lovely; the average male height seemed to be around 6’2”, females about 5’8”, and they all were strikingly attractive. The exchange rate for the Croatian kuna was quite favorable to the dollar, but wasn’t so overinflated as to be ridiculous (like it was in say, Turkey). Speaking of Turkey, which was one of my least favorite places to visit, I don’t think we engendered a whole lot of local enthusiasm when my friends and I doubled over in a fit of hysterical laughter after I asked to borrow a million lira from one of my buddies (which was like $1). I seriously almost peed my pants. But anyhoo, I digress. I was travelling as usual with my two good friends. In sketchier ports, they pulled double-duty as big brothers/bodyguards for which I’m eternally grateful, but was unnecessary in friendly Dubrovnik. They were fantastic people to travel with.

We walked the entire circumference of the old city wall, and saw most of the famous tourist sights. There were some indescribably beautiful cathedrals and medieval buildings, as well as a multitude of local art shops. The city rises from the sea up the hill, and all the streets are too narrow for any cars, so it’s foot traffic only, mainly. We spent the day walking until our legs felt like lead, ducking into pubs along the way to quench our thirst. When we stopped for dinner the wait staff treated us like celebrities at a 5-star restaurant, delivering plate after plate of complimentary hors d’oeuvres and shots of firewater. I ate the best steak I’ve ever tasted outside the US.

At that point, after dinner, we were way off the beaten path. We’d managed to get ourselves deep in the old city away from the main streets. It was getting dark and we were trying to make our way back to the center plaza, but kept running into dead-end alleys. There weren’t any signs, and those that were there weren’t anything we could read. So we just kept going over, down, dead-end, turn around again, up, over, down. Needless to say, it got to the point where I always seem to find myself when I travel: I’m never lost, I just don’t know exactly where I am. We were tired, thirsty, and getting cranky. I knew if we could just keep headed down towards the sea we’d run into either a main road or people. We started down yet another narrow cobblestone street when we heard something remarkable, something so out of place it stopped all three of us dead in our tracks: the ringing strains of Lynard Skynard’s “Sweet Home Alabama”—you know, that opening guitar riff? I thought I was hallucinating. Our three brains coalesced into a single unit and we immediately started chasing the sound. We wound around in circles, the music coming from first above us, then behind us, then to our right. Eventually I looked up and saw a shining beacon in the dark, a pink neon sign up in the air that said, “BAR”. We dashed up three flights of rickety wooden stairs attached to this impossibly narrow stone building and stopped at a thick door, where there was a hand-lettered sign attached that said, “American Classic Rock Bar”. My grin was so big I’m pretty sure you could have seen it from space.

Inside it was just a large room bordered by tables, decorated in medieval kitsch, with the bar in the center. When we went up to order our drinks, the bartender started hopping up and down, shouting and laughing. Apparently, the only thing the American Classic Rock Bar was missing was Americans. He ushered us to a round table and shooed out the occupants. He came back with t-shirts for us all that he insisted we put on right then with the bar’s logo on it, and in short order there were so many bottles of Heineken on the table there wasn’t room for our elbows. This is no shit: we didn’t buy a single drink the remainder of the evening.

Within a few minutes, we were joined by the 4 people sitting at a table next to ours. There were three men and a woman, all serving with the UN, down on furlough from Sarajevo. Two of the men were retired Dutch military, one man was active duty Brit, and the woman (for some reason I still remember her name—Marie) was a French Canadian. She adopted me so fast I’m still not sure how it happened, but it was something like, “Hallo, Je suis Marie. Oh, you are American? Le Marin? Mon Dieu! You are now my sister. We will not be separated this evening!” She was fabulous as only French Canadian women can be. The seven of us shared a truly enjoyable evening, trading stories, getting soused, and laughing like fools.

In hindsight, that bar likely could have been a clever setup, designed specifically because the owner knew there was a US carrier coming into port, figuring that no sailor could resist the double bait of rock and roll and booze. And once we left it maybe transformed back into whatever pub it was before we got there. Well, no matter. I am an American Sailor. I took a formal oath to support and defend the Constitution of the United States of America against all enemies foreign and domestic. But I also took an informal oath: I am an American Sailor: I will work hard and play harder. Where there is beer and bullshit there is esprit de corps. I recharge my fighting spirit with sauce and sea stories.

I absolutely loved Dubrovnik. I would return again in a heartbeat. Good sights, good food, good drink, good people, good times.

Boxes Of Cats and Falling Trees

2009-09-16T12:05:00.000-07:00

I’m going deep today. I’m posing the ol’ theoretical question: “If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?”

From a scientific standpoint, sound production requires a source, a means of transference, and a receiver. In that view, the tree makes sound waves but no sound itself because there's nothing to receive them. From a philosophical standpoint, there is the theory of subjective idealism which states that things cease to exist if they are not observed—i.e.: 'to be is to be perceived'. So if there is nothing to witness it, the tree doesn’t exist in our minds and thus won’t make a sound.

Closely related to this argument is the principle known as the Observer Effect, that the act of observing something can change the event being observed. People are known to change their behavior if they are being watched, and in order to observe or measure something an instrument has to be used, which will impart a change on the object being observed, thus affecting it in some way.

When I went through Navy nuke school, things were fine and dandy until we started delving into the quantum physics portions. At that point, it was a real challenge for me to suspend disbelief—a lot of the ideas were real brain-benders. I had to tape an “I Believe” button to my desk. In quantum mechanics, an object exists in a state called ‘superposition’—being in all states at once—until it is observed. Essentially, the act of observing something will force it into its quantum state at the instant of measurement. There is the notorious thought experiment called Schrödinger’s Cat: place a cat into a sealed box containing a tiny bit of a radioactive substance, a Geiger counter, a hammer, and a vial of a toxic substance. Using mathematical probability, the substance will either radioactively decay (emitting radiation) or it won’t. If it does, the Geiger counter will register, triggering the hammer to strike the vial of toxin and the cat will die. If it doesn’t, nothing will happen and the cat will live. While the box remains sealed and you can’t observe the cat, it is both alive and dead in equal probability. It is not until you open the box and see the cat does its quantum state become observed.

Now, if you’re still with me at this point, you’re probably wondering what any of this has to do with the price of tea in China. The thing is, I can’t help but think about these things and apply them to the news media. By and large, most of us get our information about what’s happening in the world around us from some media outlet. It has become such that, if something is reported in the news it becomes fact—and therefore ‘exists’. If something isn’t reported, it ceases to be in our minds. If we report Taliban and al Qaeda actions as merely insurgent or militant, they cease to be terrorists. If we cover a celebrity’s death for a week, a soldier who died for his country will not be known. An unobserved event is one which imparts no information on any other thing; it therefore can have no legacy in the present (or ongoing) wider physical universe. It may then be recognized that the unobserved event was absolutely identical to an event which did not occur at all.

Just some food for thought.

Edit: I just realized that there might be a third probable outcome in the Schrödinger's Cat experiment--If the cat in question was Cat Norris, then he would disable the Geiger counter with a stunning roundhouse kick, drink the poison and laugh at death, use the hammer to pry his way out of the box, and proceed to turn the scientist into a whimpering pile of Jell-O.

A Healing Place, A Hero, and A Prisoner

2009-09-16T12:00:00.000-07:00

As per my normal Monday routine, I have to spend some time clearing out the weekend fluffernutter in my head. After roundfiling most of it, what remains this morning are thoughts of three people.

First thought is of Billy Shelton. For those that don’t know of him, Soupbone is a remarkable man—a venerable US Army Special Operations and Vietnam veteran who has spent years dedicating himself to training young men in his community, preparing them mentally and physically for success. The most public of his prodigies are Marcus Luttrell and his brother Morgan, though I have no doubt that there are scores more young men whose life Mr. Shelton has impacted in great ways. Billy’s story has resonated with me since I heard about it, and he has two new projects that I think are important to mention. He has written a book, “Sergeant Shelton’s Black Book: Hard Won Lessons and Down Home Truths on Young Men and War”, to be launched in January of 2010. I’ll be waiting in line to buy it when it comes out. Billy’s second project is the founding of the 501 (c) non-profit Sergeant Shelton’s Wounded Warrior Ranch Retreat , the culmination of the principles by which he has lived his life. SSWWRR is a place where wounded warriors and their families can stay and heal. The amenities the Retreat will offer are too many to list here, save to say it sounds like a truly amazing place that will allow those recovering from their wounds ‘a little bit of heaven’ at no cost to them. SSWWRR is located 75 miles west of San Antonio, Texas, along the Frio River. Please join me in supporting this wonderful cause by donating and/or getting the word out about it, as well as purchasing “Sergeant Shelton’s Black Book”.

My second thought today turns to former SSgt. Darrell “Shifty” Powers, E Company, 2d Battalion, 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, 101st Airborne Division. Shifty was a surviving member of the famed Easy Company, portrayed in the book “Band of Brothers”. I recently found out that Mr. Powers passed away on June 17th, with little or no media coverage, which is to me deplorable. Today, I join everyone at the Warrior Legacy Foundation in virtually honoring Shifty Powers for his service and heroism. Men like Shifty and their stories should never be overlooked and forgotten. We lost another hero last month, and I hope that wherever Shifty is right now, he is getting the rest he earned…and hopefully hoisting a drink or two with his comrades in arms. Thank you, Mr. Powers.

The third person I am thinking about today is Pfc Bowe Bergdahl, whose name has been released as the US soldier being held captive by the Taliban. I can’t possibly imagine what this young man has gone through since his capture, nor the pain and worry of his family. My thoughts and prayers are with him, and I hope he knows that no one is giving up on him. I sincerely hope that Pfc Bergdahl takes comfort in the knowledge that we won’t stop looking for him; we don’t leave our men behind. I’ll end this thought with lines from the Code of Conduct:

I am an American, fighting in the forces which guard my country and our way of life. I am prepared to give my life in their defense.
I will never surrender of my own free will. If in command I will never surrender those under my command while they still have the means to resist.
If I am captured I will continue to resist by all means available. I will make every effort to escape and aid others to escape. I will accept neither parole nor special favors from the enemy.
If I become a prisoner of war, I will keep faith with my fellow prisoners. I will give no information nor take part in any action which might be harmful to my comrades. If I am senior I will take command. If not, I will obey the lawful orders of those appointed over me and will back them up in every way.
When questioned, should I become a prisoner of war, I am required to give name, rank, service number, and date of birth. I will evade answering further questions to the utmost of my ability. I will make no oral or written statements disloyal to my country and its allies or harmful to their cause.
I will never forget that I am an American, responsible for my actions, and dedicated to the principles which made my country free. I will trust in my God and in the United States of America.

An Unlikely Sailor

2009-09-16T11:54:00.001-07:00

There’s no feeling quite like having your voice heard when you’ve got something to say. A couple weeks ago, I had sent an email to my state Representative about a matter affecting the company I work for. When I saw a reply from his office, I expected it to be the standard form letter—you know, “Thank you for your email, we appreciate your concern….” etc. I was surprised then when I opened it and read it. The man himself had replied to me, saying thank you and that he would like to speak to me about my concerns personally and requesting my phone number. Later that evening he indeed called me, straight out of a legislative session, and he spoke to me at length. I have to say I was really impressed that he took the time to hear me. It was the first time since I was old enough to vote that I really felt a connection to the civic process.

Recently, I also was browsing the US Coast Guard’s website, looking through their history section. My maternal grandmother was a SPAR (the Coast Guard’s version of a WAVE) during WWII, serving as a Corpsman. I have a copy of a newspaper article about her receiving the Congressional Silver Lifesaving Medal, presented to her by Capt. Dorothea Stratton. It states in the article that my grandmother was the first SPAR to ever receive this medal. So as I was reading through the list of Coast Guard firsts, I noticed she wasn’t listed there. I sent an email to the site webmaster, telling them about her and the newspaper article I have. Well today, I went back to the site and she was on the list. What a great feeling! Our family (and me in particular) are really proud of her service and achievement, and I am tickled to see her honored in this way.

So my thoughts today are reflective of my grandmother, my family in general, and the origins of my own service. If looked at superficially, the fact that I ended up in the Navy is actually a little odd. I spent much of my formative years in what was essentially a very hippie existence. My Mom hit her prime in the 1960’s, and she never really lost that culture. My childhood was set to the soundtracks of Cat Stevens, Harry Chapin, The Beatles, Bob Dylan, and Joan Baez. We lived way out in the middle of nowhere in northern California, in the Sierra Nevada mountains. We shopped mostly at the local natural foods store, and I remember eating a lot of vegetables, grainy bread, and brown rice. Where most kids spent their allowance on toys or something, I bought sugary cereal (to my mother’s everlasting chagrin). We attended fringe gatherings and festivals, where it seemed to me like there were a lot of people wearing not a lot of clothes; though there was usually some really good live music. My brother and I were little wild animals in the summer—swimming like fish in the river, adept at picking blackberries and climbing trees for crabapples. We ran around barefoot and turned brown as nuts. I guess that explains the freckles I have now (curses!).

We took a gazillion road trips and camped all year round, snow, rain or shine. We skied, snowshoed, hiked, climbed, paddled, spelunked, foraged, explored. Each activity was accompanied by some kind of lesson from my mother. We were taught how to be safe, how to make a fire, how to find clean drinking water. We learned what we could and couldn’t eat, what to do if we thought we were lost, how to make a splint from our surroundings, how to treat rattlesnake bites, how to rappel, to traverse. We learned the necessity of caloric intake and the value of carrying GORP, how to MacGuyver a fishing rig and catch hellgrammites or minnows for bait. When I expressed interest in buying a gun when I was 14, she made sure I was taught proper gun safety and marksmanship by the local cops at their indoor range. The culmination of all this knowledge was that, by the time I was a teenager, it wasn’t unusual for me to head out for the weekend by myself armed with a pack, tent, groundpad, mummy bag, compass, topo map, and a fishing pole; all the makings of a great weekend. As an adult, I can see what great value there was in the lessons my Mom imparted: how to respect but not fear your environment, and how personal limitations can always be pushed and exceeded, and the importance of strength and self reliance.

Though my mother’s political and social leanings were decidedly and sometimes radically liberal (when I was 5, I remember her shouting that if Regan was elected, we were going to camp out on the White House lawn in protest—the thought of which still mortifies me), she was always very pro-military. We have strong service threads running through our family that we take great pride in: my mother was an Air Force brat, one grandfather Army, the other Air Force, grandmother Coast Guard, brother Army. She used to tell us over and over again that Americans focus too much on their rights and not enough on their responsibilities as citizens. You have to give yourself in service of some sort before you can partake of the rights bestowed upon you by the Constitution. That may not necessarily mean military service (though she still believes to this day that we should have a minimum 2 year mandatory military service for all citizens), there are any number of ways that you could serve your country to ensure its betterment. The idea was the same though, your responsibility to others starts at home, and expands with a ripple effect to your neighbors and on and on to all Americans. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you—my mother’s prime cardinal rule.

So when I found myself at age 21, directionally and financially challenged in college, it was her that suggested I look to the military. Though at the time it felt like a spur of the moment decision and an abrupt right turn, I am and always will be grateful to her for pointing out the obvious open door to me. She is loud and proud of my time in the Navy, as is all my family. If I have any one regret in my life, it is not fully appreciating the meaning and impact of what I was doing in the Navy at the time I was doing it. If I did, perhaps I would be writing this while still wearing a uniform. However, hindsight being what it is, I can still carry pride in knowing I participated in something very special. The people I served with will be my brothers and sisters forever. And I am forever thankful to my mother for shaping me into who I am today, though she’d probably faint dead away to hear me admit that although I can eat my way through a bowl of rice and veggies, I still prefer a fat greasy cheeseburger or chili dog any day. Love you Mom!

Swedish Pop And A Slow Bus

2009-09-16T11:49:00.000-07:00

By far my favorite experiences from my time in the Navy were the places I got to see overseas. In the end, I think I visited 11 different countries; most of which I never would have chosen as a destination had I been planning the trip on my own, but ended up having a great time. I truly enjoy travelling—I dig right in and typically try to find the stuff off the beaten path. I seem to be a magnet for the oddball occurrence however. Every place I went overseas I ended up having some kind of screwy or strange experience, most of which translate now into some pretty entertaining stories for my family and friends.

One of the places we made a port visit to was Koper, Slovenia. I remember not being real chuffed at the announcement before we pulled in, because I had never thought of Slovenia as a popular destination. However, I always try to keep an open mind and so I set about planning the itinerary. My two good buddies and I decided that Ljubljana would be the best place to go, being’s as it’s the capital and seemed like it had a lot of really wonderful things to see. So off we set, day packs full of snacks and minds full of tomfoolery.

We managed to get ourselves on a bus despite the obstacle of not a lot of English signage nor us speaking any Slovenian. We were about 75% sure we were on the right bus, mostly based on the utilization of the tried-and-true foreign travel technique of repeating our destination to the driver (“Ljubljana? Is this the bus to Ljubljana? Ljubljana??”) and receiving a head nod in response. Alrighty then, good to go.

We had deduced that Ljubljana was about 75 miles from Koper, and figured we’d be there in 2 hours tops. We only had about 12 hours of liberty time before we had to be back, we all had duty the next day. I calculated 4 hours for travel, 6 hours for fun, and 2 for a margin of error. Well. It became quickly apparent that we had made a critical tactical error in not learning the Slovenian words for ‘Slowest Bus In The Country’, because clearly that was what we had boarded. After more than 3 hours, not only had we not arrived in Ljubljana, but we were starting to worry that perhaps we had unwittingly crossed over into Austria or Yugoslavia or something. I started mentally reviewing the Geneva Convention articles and wondered about extradition treaties.

All three of us were paranoid enough at that point to agree that we needed to get off the bus soon, and so at the next stop we bailed out. It turned out we ended up in the town of Postojna—a truly lovely place. We managed to grab some food, and with the aid of some clever sign language we found the post office, which had a bank of public telephones. I’ll tell you, that was a fun conversation back home: “Hi Mom! Hi honey, where are you? Postonja. It’s in Slovenia. What? Where is that? I have no idea, but it’s beautiful here! Hang on, let me get the atlas.” So after that, we were in a quandary about what to do next.

We found the Postonja Tourism Bureau and went in to see what this burg had to offer. There was a wonderful woman who spoke perfect English, who recommended we go see the local Predjama Castle. Sweet! Anything involving castles, I’m in. It turned out that there wasn’t a real taxi service in town, but she promised that she would arrange for transportation to get us up to the castle and back. We waited outside, and before long an unmarked black Mercedes pulled up and a surly looking man dressed in all black got out. The lady from the Bureau came out and told us that for $20 US, he would drive us. I don’t know what the guys were thinking, but it looked pretty shaky to me—a little too reminiscent of East Germany or something. But we three liked to live on the edge, so we piled in and our driver took off like the Stasi was hot on our tail.

We wound up this narrow mountain road out of town at an insane speed, my buddies and I throwing glances at one another, nobody saying a word. We’d tried to talk to the driver, but just got an impassive look in response. Super. So to take my mind off how nervous I was, I started looking out the window. In just about 2 seconds, I forgot about the creepy ride from hell I was on: the mountains rose up like saw teeth, perfectly purple and snowcapped. We started seeing these little cottages with actual thatched roofs, and it looked like we had been dropped out of the sky into a Hans-Christian Anderson story. Phenomenal!

You know in the movies when a beautiful reverie is interrupted by the sound of the record scratch? Well, halfway up that mountain, our driver popped in a cassette tape, and at high volume out came… ABBA. Actually, it was an ABBA medley mix. For the final 15 minutes of our drive, our scene was set to ‘Dancing Queen’, ‘Fernando’, ‘Waterloo’, and ‘Take A Chance On Me’. It was one of the most surreal moments of my life. To this day, I can’t hear an ABBA song without thinking of that trip!

At any rate, we arrived at the Predjama Castle, which is an architectural marvel, built right up against a 400 ft. sheer cliff face so that it looks like it is carved right out of the rock. It has a built in tunnel connecting the castle with a massive natural cave in the mountain, where it was used historically for a smuggling cache, storage of goods, and defensive hideout for when the residents were being besieged. They have done a good job at restoring the castle, and it now operates as a museum of sorts, displaying artifacts of medieval life.

The Slovenia trip is one that will stick with me for the rest of my life. Despite the fact we never got to Ljubljana, we were blessed with seeing some remarkable things and still managed to make it back to the ship safely and in one piece—always a plus. Zdravo Slovenija, mi had a velik cas!

Did the world stop turning this last week?

2009-09-16T11:45:00.000-07:00

I have doubts that this post will profound in any form, and yet I’ll persevere. I have a serious bee in my bonnet regarding all the coverage of Michael Jackson’s death and memorial. Now, I’ll just say that for those who were in his life that cared for him, my condolences. In fact, the one thing about this whole crazy mess that really made me feel sad was the speech given by his daughter. No matter what, he was her father and no one can or should detract from that. That being said, by all that’s holy---could there perchance have been any actual relevant events worth reporting on during this last week? Amidst sensational coverage of MJ’s golden coffin arriving at the Staples Center, might there possibly be families of more than 13 soldiers grieving over their deaths in combat and wanting our country and media to honor them publically for their ultimate sacrifice? Call me crazy.

And what about the soldier in Afghanistan who is currently being held captive by some fairly nasty individuals? Have we forgotten about him? Somewhere, right now, I am willing to bet his family is holding a vigil; waiting, praying, hoping that he is returned to them. That should deserve something, at the very least continued public awareness so that he and his family might have the knowledge that their nation cares.

I freely admit that I am as susceptible to celebrity gossip as the next person. I see it as a sort of executive perk—being an American who has served and is concerned with earning my rights—the right to be curious and entertained. However. By continuing to saturate the airwaves, newspapers, radio, and internet with nonstop attention of a man who’s biggest contribution was merely to pop culture, we are showing to the world that we care more about a person’s ability to entertain than someone’s service and sacrifice to help ensure a safer, stronger union. Why are we placing a higher value on celebrity and sensation that we are on sacrifice and duty? Most of those I know who are serving or have served in our military are quite content to just go about their business and do their jobs quietly, from what I’ve seen. No huge fanfare necessary. But the occasional thank you and show of appreciation by our media would be nice.

Post note: A big thanks to the guys at Blackfive for keeping everyone posted on what's been happening in the real world during this circus.

WOT: Where Are We Now?

2009-09-16T11:42:00.000-07:00

I recently re-read the 9/11 Commission Report. I had first read it shortly after it came out, but at the time was more interested in the factual elements of the attacks themselves. This time, I focused on the events leading up to and after the attacks. Several things jumped out at me. I started thinking about where we are as a nation, nearly 8 years after 9/11, regarding the War on Terror. Are we better prepared now than we were to prevent or handle the next inevitable attack on our country?

One thing is clear. Those who wish us harm have not lost any of their hatred for the United States. They are waiting, planning, and preparing for the next opportunity to strike. They possess patience and long memories. Our prime challenge is not to forget the danger we face. We have a history of letting time blur our hindsight and foresight, slipping back into complacency born of national and global success.

In the final portions of the 9/11 report, it addresses several failures we made that made us vulnerable to the attacks. The first was ‘Failure of Imagination’. This to me is a prime example of the complacency I mentioned above. The feeling of “it can’t happen to me”, or that we assume that any attacks on Americans are going to take place on foreign soil. The report mentions a great example of this: despite evidence that the Japanese were looking at Pearl Harbor as an option for attack, there were also reports that they would attack US interests somewhere in Southeast Asia. So with the prevailing belief that the enemy wasn’t capable or wouldn’t dare attack us on our own soil, we chose to believe they would attack us elsewhere.

We couldn’t imagine that an entire anchored Naval fleet would be attacked on home soil, nor did we imagine that a commercial jetliner would be used as a weapon itself. Prior to 9/11, we believed nearly exclusively that terrorism conformed to certain rules—hijackings were done to achieve a goal (i.e.: a release of prisoners, ransom, etc.), or that the prime risk to airliners was someone planting a bomb on board. Information about new or improvisational tactics weren’t deemed credible. I see this as a failure to properly assess the enemy. We underestimated the commitment terrorists have to hurt us, as well as their capability to adapt and improvise. Three quotes from The Art of War come to mind, the first I think should be foremost in our minds as a nation: “It is said that if you know your enemies and know yourself, you will not be imperiled in a hundred battles; if you do not know your enemies but do know yourself, you will win one and lose one; if you do not know your enemies nor yourself, you will be imperiled in every single battle.” The following quotes are chilling if looked at from the view of terrorists: “Engage people with what they expect; it is what they are able to discern and confirms their projections. It settles them into predictable patterns of response, occupying their minds while you wait for the extraordinary moment — that which they cannot anticipate.”, and finally “If your enemy is secure at all points, be prepared for him. If he is in superior strength, evade him. If your opponent is temperamental, seek to irritate him. Pretend to be weak, that he may grow arrogant. If he is taking his ease, give him no rest. If his forces are united, separate them. If sovereign and subject are in accord, put division between them. Attack him where he is unprepared, appear where you are not expected.”. It appears to me that al Qaeda knows their Sun Tzu.

Another factor that became clear to me in the Report was the massive communications black hole that existed in the intelligence gathering and reporting agencies. I get that, at any given moment, there are millions of pieces of data flying around about possible terrorist threats to the US, and by and large most of them don’t amount to much. Data about threats can come in at so many different points through any agency: the CIA, the FBI, INS, ATF, what have you. A source could walk into an embassy in the Phillipines with what could be vital information, but it doesn’t necessarily get disseminated to everyone. Why can’t there be some kind of central database for intelligence blurbs, with relevant facts relating to the tip formed in keywords that could be entered by an agency as report of the contact? I know it’s simplistic, but if I can plug in a string of seemingly random words into Google and come up with results, an FBI agent in say, Denver should be able to search for a string like “attack, US, plan, building” and receive hits regarding information received from agencies stationed overseas. Some kind of centralized database could make tracking and anticipating future attacks easier because you never know who is going to be the guy to put two and two together and see an alarming picture.

Terrorists utilize fear to change their target’s behavior, seeking to employ panic reactions to force their ideological goals. The only way to take the teeth out of fear is to name it and understand it, turning it into a positive impetus where it can be managed and made to work for us. Manageable fear keeps people alert, keeps people alive, and keeps people thinking on their feet. When we get to that point, we can start to identify what is acceptable risk and are able to live without looking over our shoulders and changing how we do business. There has to be a way of naming our enemy without underestimating his potential, and at the same time getting the message out that he will not change us nor do we consider him an equal.

One thing I consider with pride as the most classic American traits is innovation. Throughout the last 233 years, if we don’t like the way something stands we go right on ahead and change it. America has never been afraid to stand up and say we want something different, better. We are a nation that has again and again pulled ourselves up by our bootstraps. Because of this, I can’t think we’re not imaginative enough to outthink those bent on terrorism. We need to turn to and make Red Team thinking the standard—the most creative scenarios our own minds could come up with are going to be better by far than any they can come up with, I believe it to my bones. That is of course assuming we know our enemies as well as we know ourselves.

I’ll end with the famous quote from John Paul Jones aboard the Bonhomme Richard as he fought with the HMS Serapis at the furious battle of Flamborough Head, his ship on fire and crippled, in response to the British Captain asking if they would strike their colors: “I have not yet begun to fight!”

9/11: Looking Back Nearly 8 Years

2009-09-16T11:34:00.000-07:00

There is a moment that I consider one of the most defining moments of my life, and changed forever my outlook on myself and the world. It’s not a story of any unusual heroism, but it is the story of my experiences of 9/11.
I am proud to have served in the Navy, from 1997-2003. I was a Nuke--officially MM1 (SW), and served my sea time aboard the USS George Washington (CVN-73) out of NOB in Virginia. Now, if you know any nukes or have heard anything about us, you’ll know that we almost serve in a different Navy. We are an intelligent group, smart and sassy. A lot of normal naval rules don’t apply to nukes—we report ultimately to Congress, don’t have the same GQ stations as the rest of the ship, are exempt from ‘mess cranking’ like the other poor souls that newly report to the ship and have to spend weeks doing something other than their job, and even the lowliest reactor plant enlisted watchstander has the same authority and responsibility as the highest watch officer in regards to safety of the plant. All of the factors of being a nuke combine to make us a world unto ourselves amidst the floating city that is a carrier, and because of this most others aboard consider nukes to be prima-donnas: arrogant, insubordinate, aloof, privileged. We are all that and more, in the best and worst sense.

In the early hours of the morning of September 11, 2001, the GW was steaming off the coast of the Carolinas on what was supposed to be a 3 day shakedown cruise. We had just come out of the shipyard for a refit and maintenance period and were testing the repairs and looking for any operational problems. We in the nuclear contingent took this opportunity to conduct reactor plant casualty drills. During the course of a drill set, a mistake had been made by a watchstander that violated casualty procedure and could have quite easily, except for sheer luck, affected the safety and reliability of one of the plants. I was a member of the team running the drills, and so after making the plant safe we were mustered in a classroom by 0830 to debrief and await what was sure to be a royal ass-chewing. We were told the CO himself was on his way down and I’m sure we all knew we were in for a truly unpleasant morning. None of us had any inkling just how unpleasant it was about to become.

Moments before the Captain was expected to arrive, just before 0900, there was a commotion from the office across the hall. Within a few seconds, the door to the classroom crashed open and someone shouted, “Holy shit! A plane just hit the World Trade Center!” Everyone in the room started making for the door, to go find the television in the office. Now, this office housed 6 people comfortably and perhaps 12 if you didn’t mind smelling what the guy next to you had for chow. We easily doubled that capacity, all of us vying for headspace to view the TV. There was much conversation and speculation, the general consensus being that an airliner had somehow gotten disastrously off course. And then the second plane hit. In my life, I have felt personal and emotional panic but I have never before or since felt what happened in that room, at that instant. It was a body of panic—a body of more than 20 people, pressed shoulder to shoulder. I could literally feel it. It was like a universal shudder; people’s bodies started ping-ponging off one another. We all knew after the second plane hit that our country was under attack.

We were shortly shepherded back to the classroom. Despite the obvious crisis occurring, the CO was still waiting to speak with us. To this day, I have the highest respect for that man for many reasons, but primarily because of his conduct on that day. He could have easily and perhaps should have turned right around and headed back up to where he was needed, but instead took the time to address our motley crew. He told us that apparently something quite serious was going on and that we would receive information as soon as he could pass it along. He also told us in no uncertain terms that now more than ever he needed our ‘A’ game and that we must deliver. No mistakes, no bullshit. Nukes by and large are not a hooyah group, fairly sedate even in the face of high rank. But the universal “Aye, Aye Captain!” was the most heartfelt I’ve ever heard.

After his departure, we all made our way to any available television to watch what was going on. There were a lot of discussions about lost planes, planes in the air, and whether or not the military would shoot down a commercial jetliner full of civilians. The talk was cut off when the Pentagon was hit. Any lingering doubts that anyone had were silenced by that strike to the heart of the American military institution.

In the moments following the attack on the Pentagon, I heard the sound of feet running on the deckplates above me. It is a sound I will recognize forever: even in my sleep, even if I was blindfolded and dropped in the middle of Times Square and someone made that noise I would know it above all others. I knew now was the time to go to work. And as I came up the ladderwell to the p-way that would take me to the reactor plant, I saw something that truly drove home just what kind of a no-shit situation we were in: nukes running. That never happens, nukes don’t run—they saunter. I’ve seen nukes walk with purpose and even approach a trot, slide down ladderwells yelling “Down ladder, make a hole!” The fact is that to maintain our carefully crafted air of could-care-less, we don’t exert more than minimum effort to haul our pale sun-deprived doughy poop decks around. But not that day.

I was nearly to the plant when the whole ship started shaking like an earthquake, the kind of shaking that comes from a full backing maneuver from a forward bell. An 1100 ft. long ship that displaces more than 80,000 tons doesn’t do anything quickly, and generally avoids aggressive maneuvering. But the GW started heeling over, fast, like we were doing high-speed turns for testing. And then heeled over some more. And I’m telling you, stuff started flying, nearly including me. Chairs, tables, carts, and people went rocketing across the mess decks. I’ve sailed through two separate hurricanes and those were the only other times in addition to this that the GW was anything other than rock steady on the floor. When we finally came around, the shuddering started again, this time from what I knew was an ahead flank bell. We were on our way somewhere, fast.

I went down to the plant, as did pretty much everyone else in Reactor Department. Other than doubling up the watch teams and ensuring that we were ready and able to “give her all she’s got, capt’n”, there was unfortunately not much else to do except wait and speculate. The CO made an announcement ship-wide over the 1MC about the attacks and that we should consider the US to be under attack from an unknown enemy. I should note that it is almost unheard of for anyone to broadcast our actual position or intended location. Those of aboard who were curious usually had to figure out where we were in the world by looking at one of the computerized real-time maps scattered around the ship. The last portion of the CO’s announcement stated, “Our speed is all ahead flank, bearing 000. Our destination is New York harbor. Our mission is to provide air defense to New York city and the eastern seaboard of the United States.”

With our new directive firmly in mind, the hypothesizing began in earnest all around the ship. I am not sure at that point in the day if the phrase “al Qaeda” even came up, though we knew the attacks to be the work of terrorists for sure. Speaking for myself, I had a concern that topped all others at that moment: my ship, currently heading straight into unknown danger was essentially naked. I mentioned before we were on a shakedown cruise. I’m not entirely sure that 100% of the shipyard work was even complete. We still had bare unpainted hull welds, and some equipment not yet reinstalled. Additionally, prior to the yard period we did a weapons offload. Meaning we had next to nothing in the way of defensive weaponry. In the most general terms, I believe we had a small number of Mk 57 Sea Sparrow missiles (NSSMS—and by small I say you could count them on one hand), a couple thousand 20mm Phalanx CIWS rounds, and an unknown but probably small amount of ammo for the .50 cal machine guns. Most problematic was the complete lack of aircraft aboard, a carrier’s primary offensive and defensive weapon. I take that back—we had one airplane. It was an F-14 that on the deployment preceding our return to the states had semi-crashlanded on deck and became unairworthy. The engines had been removed and offloaded, but the plane itself had been just lurking in the hangar bay until we could get a crane to take it out at the end of our shipyard period. If you can believe it, they put that sucker up on the flight deck right at one of the catapults to look like it was ready to launch. I think if we’d had inflatable aircraft á la the Allied dummy tanks in WWII, we’d have done that too.

The solution to the problem of no planes was remedied that afternoon and evening. We continued to transit north, and made a stop in Narragansett Bay; both to pick up a contingent of smaller ships that had come up the James and Potomac rivers, and to catch our aircraft—expediently and generously loaned to us by a carrier that was near Gibraltar. In 4 years aboard the GW, including 2 deployments to the Med and Persian Gulf, I experienced my share of flight operations. In fact, since I slept one deck directly below the arresting gear hydraulics I used to hate flight ops with the power of a thousand suns, because it was near impossible to sleep while they were landing planes. Selfish I know, but sleep to me was like air and food and I defended it righteously. I stand fully and publically contrite about that now—my heart expanded with relief at the sound of the first planes being caught that day. We caught one after another after another with a speed I hadn’t seen before, so many and so fast I lost count. But I knew with each passing concussion of noise that we were not only not going into battle with our pants down around our ankles, but we were going in to kick ass and take names if needed.

We sailed on through the night, and by the time I awoke early on the morning of September 12 we were already on station in the harbor off Manhattan island. We sailed slow circles; the Statue of Liberty seemed terribly small in relation to the rest of the city and the terrible columns of black smoke that rose into the sky from the site of the twin towers. Everyone on board was prepared to help in any way they could. The aft mess decks was cleared in preparation to become a triage area for wounded, the walking blood bank was activated and readied for potential casualties, and hundreds of people volunteered to go ashore in RHIBs or ferries to help with the rescue efforts. We’d had, unfortunately, a small bit of experience with this kind of thing earlier in the summer of 2000 when a commercial airliner crashed into the sea on go-around near Manama, Bahrain where we were anchored. We helped in rescue and recovery then, and were even more ready to do so again.

Though we were never authorized to go ashore and no wounded ever made it aboard, we apparently served another purpose. I’d been worried about the morning of our arrival because, staring back at us on CNN was…us. I wondered if New Yorkers waking up in the morning and seeing this gargantuan ship parked off their back porches wouldn’t actually increase their fear, the fear that the threats were ongoing and imminent. I wanted people to feel protected and know that we had their backs, no matter what happened next. Well, my fears were unfounded and I got what I wanted. I think I can best sum up the reaction to our presence by paraphrasing an e-mail the ship received some point after 9/11: a man from Manhattan wrote to us that he hadn’t hardly slept the night after the attacks, and that the first time he felt a relief from his fear was when dawn broke and he saw the GW out on the water. He likened it to having a really big ferocious dog guarding the door of his house. Well said, man from Manhattan.

In the days following 9/11, a lot is blurry. One thing stands out for me though: I don’t remember when we found it or from where it came, but a political cartoon from some newspaper started making its way around the ship. It had no words, just a picture of an eagle sitting on a stool sharpening its claws with a file. I think that illustrated our feelings more succinctly than anything else. In the end, our 3 day cruise ended up being a bit like the Gilligan’s Island boat and was extended a bit, but for me exemplified for the first time what it meant to serve my country. Everything that came before was simply leading up to that moment; all the training and exercises finally made sense, and we were unified in our desire to see the mission through. The GW’s motto is, “The Spirit of Freedom”. I now know what that means.