by Unknown
“I bet. Can’t imagine what it would be like to live through such a thing. I was lucky enough to be down at Quantico when it started. I was so green I didn’t have a clue what had happened until my Gunny told me. When it dawned on me, I was pretty pissed. But it looks like we’re going to get some payback,” he said.
They talked for nearly half an hour about simple things, good times and bad. Richardson was able to relax talking to the young man about things that didn’t matter. The night was warm but the wind was refreshing. The ships had been passing through a small front. In the distance, she watched as the line of clouds ended. In the middle of one conversation about school the moon suddenly broke through the clouds illuminating the ship and revealing the young man standing next to her. He was a handsome man, fit and trim as the others onboard, dressed in his camouflage uniform and sporting the high and tight haircut typical of Marines. He was leaned against the railing staring out to sea as he spoke.
As he finished what he was saying he glanced over and saw the stars on Richardson’s collar. He suddenly straightened to attention. “Excuse me, Ma’am. I didn’t know who you were,” he said.
Richardson was almost saddened that the simple conversation was now over. She waved him down. “Stand at ease, Lieutenant. Generals like talking, too,” she said glancing at her watch. “But it’s getting late and I need to hit the sack.” She looked at the name on his uniform. “Lieutenant Dickson, I enjoyed talking with you this evening. It’s nice to relax a little after a hard day. I hope we can continue this conversation again sometime,” she said extending her hand. They shook briefly. She could tell by the look on his face he was still in some shock. “And always remember, we’re all Marines. We have to talk to each other, whatever rank. It’s what makes us what we are,” she said.
Dickson smiled. “Thank you, Ma’am. I just never spoke to a general before.” She could almost sense him blushing.
“Well, I don’t have my ogre hat on,” she quipped. They both gave a short laugh. “Good night and thanks again,” she said as she turned to reenter the ship. Just as she opened the door and stepped inside she glanced at Dickson once again. He was still watching her. His face still held that smile and he waved at her like a friend might do as they passed. Nice guy, she thought as she closed the door behind her. As she made her way back to her stateroom she wondered if most of the young lieutenants were like Dickson. Her thoughts strayed to wondering how many might be around after all this. But she shook the thought out of her mind quickly. It didn’t pay to dwell on those kinds of things. It was much better to remember that she had met a really nice good looking Marine from Nebraska who was happy about being where he was. As she went to sleep later, she was more relaxed than she had been in a month.
USS Iowa
Captain Hammond was not having a very restful night. Although the ship was burning its normal running lights, it was not operating its radars. As a result, more lookouts were posted to make sure the ship was aware of all things that they might run into or might run into them. As the early morning hours went on, more and more sets of running lights were being reported. Finally, the OOD called to say that it appeared one set of lights was bearing down on them. Hammond quickly dressed and walked out of his sea cabin to the bridge. The moon was bright and through some binoculars he could see one of the shadows was definitely headed their way. Since they were nowhere near a war zone and he was half expecting other Navy ships to be around, general quarters was not sounded. Instead he moved between several sets of lights to see if he could make out what kind of ships they were. Most were too far to really make out, but the one approaching had the masts and radars to be some kind of naval vessel. It was headed toward them from almost dead ahead, so he could see both the port and starboard running lights along with the mast head and range lights.
After studying the form a few minutes, he could tell it was not one of the kinds of ships he was used to seeing. There appeared to be guns forward, but the shadows might be playing tricks. Hammond was starting to become a little concerned when a red flashing light began blinking on one side of the shadow coming towards him. He heard feet running above and the shutters from one of the signal lights begin slapping away returning the call. He knew he should be patient. Signal light messages tended to take longer since they were sending and receiving in Morse code. After about three minutes a signalman came down the ladder with the paper in his hand.
“Officer of the deck, I have a message,” he said excitedly.
The OOD took the message and held his flashlight over it. The beam was tented red for use at night. After a moment, the OOD made his report.
“Captain, the message is from USS Rooks. They are an escort vessel and request to form up on our starboard side to escort us to our rendezvous,” the OOD said handing the sheet over.
The Captain scanned the message. He had never heard of a “Rooks” in the fleet, but with all that was going on, he wasn’t that surprised. Sure enough they would be an escort. “Permission granted. Request they come no closer than 1,000 yards,” he said.
The OOD gave the instructions and soon the shutters of the signal light were clattering again. The message was acknowledged and the outline of the ship changed slightly. Hammond was no longer able to see the port running light and the mast head light shifted a little more to the right relative to the range light. The Rooks was much closer now and more detail of the ship could be seen.
The OOD was watching the captain out of the corner of his eye when he saw him straighten up in some sort of recognition. “Well I’ll be damned,” he heard the Captain say. Then the Captain sat back in his chair and lowered the binoculars. He had a smile on his face. “Is there a problem, Captain?” he asked.
Hammond shook his head. “No problem. It just seems somebody is looking after us. Take a look at our escort. You ever see a ship like that before?” he asked
The OOD looked at the oncoming ship again. It was turned so that you could see more of a sideways look at the ship instead of from just ahead. Two guns appeared to be forward, a tripod mast with radar and other gear on it and what looked like two stacks amidships. The after end of the ship appeared as a lump. Nothing was familiar about it. “No, Captain, I can’t say I’ve seen one like that,” he said.
Hammond was amused at the confusion he could just make out on the OOD’s face. He couldn’t blame him. That ship was older than his father. “The Rooks was probably built in 1943. At the time, she probably had the most up-to-date equipment in any fleet. As a matter of fact, her design led the way in Navy destroyers for decades. That, sir, is a Fletcher class destroyer. She’s one of our generation,” he said referring to the Iowa’s age.
They both watched as the old destroyer silently made her way down the starboard side of the ship and then suddenly turned 180 degrees, ending exactly on the Iowa’s starboard beam at 1,000 yard’s distance. The young OOD had never seen such a cool maneuver and Hammond simply stared in admiration. He then wrote something furiously on a piece of paper and called down the signalman. The young seaman took the message up to the signal bridge and handed it to the petty officer in charge. The petty officer read it and grinned. He took the signal light, swung it around, and began sending the message: CO TO CO. GOOD TO SEE THE NAVY STILL HAS STYLE. HAMMOND.
In a minute, a reply was sent back: CO TO CO. ALWAYS WANTED TO FETCH A BIG STICK. DANDRIDGE. The petty officer grinned. This is all right, he thought. He took the message down personally.
The Captain almost howled. He rose from his chair and walked out to the bridge wing looking over at the Rooks. He saw a lone figure step out of the Rooks’ pilot house. Hammond raised his hand and waved. The other figure did the same. It was a simple moment, the connection between two professional men of the sea. Unfortunately such things were too often ignored, so when it did happen, it was to be prized. The two men shared the moment though 1,000 yards of water was between them.
Hammond came back in and sat back in his seat. “God, this is what the real N
avy is all about,” he said. He sat back in his chair and let sleep fall over him a little longer. It seemed like just a moment before he felt a tug on his arm and he drifted out of his sleep. A new OOD was standing before him. The early morning light was bright enough to read without a light. “Sir, we are coming into the rendezvous area and have multiple contacts out here. I have been able to make some of them out. You need to see this, sir,” he said nervously.
Hammond sat up and looked around. The Rooks was still glued to her position on their starboard beam. Everything appeared normal, but as he stared out the bridge windows he could see dark spots on the horizon. Hammond grabbed his binoculars and scanned the area. True enough. This was something he needed to see. The spots were far away, but different from what he expected. He could see the tall towers on at least five very large ships and just make out smaller ships around them. The ships were spread out and covered almost thirty degrees off either side of his bow. A report from a lookout sighted another ship on their port side, just coming out of the morning haze. There was no mistaking this one. Even at the 10 miles separating the ships you could make out the silhouette of a battleship. They could make out the three gun turrets on her decks and the tall tower for her fire control directors, but she was different from the Iowa class. There was only one stack joined to the forward tower. It was as if someone had squeezed the ship shorter and everything had bunched up in the middle. The bow wave was considerable as she muscled through the water towards the rendezvous. After a quick exchange of light signals, she identified herself as USS Alabama.
The Iowa stirred with excitement now as sailors came on deck and saw the other ships. Most had never seen a destroyer like the Rooks. Within the hour the men could also clearly see the Alabama making her way to join the others. The replenishment ship Spica was identified and after some signals altered her course to join up with the Iowa and Alabama, who would be unreping from the Spica’s port side.
Breakfast was a hurried affair and people were already at their various unrep stations readying equipment. Hammond grabbed a bite to eat sitting on the bridge. Things were happening too quickly now for him to go to his cabin. As she made her way toward the Iowa, Spica sent a message to prepare to receive the admiral and his staff.
Flight quarters was sounded and the crew donned their flight quarters gear. The repair locker team set up and the deck crew had everyone in place to land the helicopter. The ship cleared off the large helicopter landing area on the fantail and signaled readiness. In a few moments a CH-46 lifted off from the Spica’s stern and made its way towards Iowa. It paused just after takeoff to hook up to two large cargo nets full of materials. The big twin rotor helicopter with its cargo circled the ship once before drifting aft and coming in slowly. The controller began directing the helicopter in towards a spot for unloading the cargo. The helicopter swung across the stern and deftly placed the nets in a clear area on the port side before easing over to the landing pad on the stern. The petty officer used hand signals to direct the helo so that it had a clear landing area. The helo eased down until the wheels came to rest gently on the deck.
The engines of the helo remained at idle but the rotors slowed to a stop. An older man in a khaki uniform bounded out of the doorway followed by about ten other officers. The older officer made a beeline to the Captain. Vice Admiral Rich Thacke grabbed Hammond’s hand and shook it warmly.
“Damn it, Captain, you have no idea how glad I am to see you!” he said over the din of the helo’s engines.
“I had no idea it was you coming aboard, sir,” Hammond said smiling broadly. He made some introductions of his officers.
Thacke made the rounds then took Hammond by the arm, “Let’s get the hell someplace quiet so we can talk a little before the unrep,” he said loudly in Hammond’s ear. Then calling out to the others, “Finch, you and the ship’s supply officer get things on track. Let me know the status after the unrep,” he barked. By now the rotors of the helo were turning again and it lifted off for a second load of staff members. The ship’s XO remained behind to oversee the vertrep while Hammond and Thacke walked up the starboard side and up the ladders to the Captain’s stateroom. They both entered on the starboard side and the Captain sat down with Thacke in one of the lounge chairs. Hammond placed a call to the bridge to notify him when the ship made its way toward the Spica. Once done, he turned back to Admiral Thacke.
“I had no idea you left the Navy Yard,” Hammond said.
“Roger, you have some powerful friends. I got the word the same day you were sent to take command and have been in briefings ever since. Then they put my ass on that USNS and I have been going crazy just to get off of it,” he said almost in a growl.
Hammond chuckled. “I bet. I don’t think I could stand being a passenger either.”
“Well, it’s over with now and I am glad to be here. You have any idea what’s happening?”
“Not really. I got to San Pedro and have been either in training or onloading ever since. There are still parts of this ship I haven’t seen, but that should be done within a week.”
“What do you think of your crew?” Thacke asked, his eyes focusing in on the answer.
“I was a little worried at first. Half the ship’s crew are old – some older than I am – but from the minute I stepped aboard they proved to me they know their stuff. In just these few days I have seen these older guys teaching the younger ones things I’ve rarely seen in my career. They aced out the training exercises and the gunnery was something out of a dream. Right now I wouldn’t trade ‘em, Admiral. So just stand by and watch.”
Thacke sat back and grinned. “That’s the best thing I could have heard. Some of the other battlewagons are experiencing some teething problems, and they didn’t do as well in the gunnery training. I got a message with all the scores from the guys in California. You and your guys were at the top. So when they asked which ship I would ride, I picked yours. You have a habit of getting good ideas and getting the job done. So between you and your crew we’re going places.”
Thacke leaned forward in his seat and looked at Hammond. “I am in charge of Battleship Division One. We are all joining up off Hawaii and heading to Korea. I figure you know some of the things we were trying to set up.”
Hammond nodded. “Some. I was getting a lot of the Navy and Marine Corps options set up. I know they put General Richardson in charge of the planning and then put her in First Marine. I also know they were getting everyone ready to shove off, but I don’t know the final plan or much on the details.”
“Well, we’re on the way now. Claire Richardson came up with some brilliant ideas of how to do this. She’s a sneaky gal. I like it. We are heading up to provide gunfire support and in general scare the shit out of the North Koreans. Our force is made up of seven battleships, two cruisers and a pot full of destroyers. We’re going to divide up to provide support in three separate landings and then patrol the shoreline providing gunfire support and denying the North access to everything between the beach and 20 miles. We’ll need to make our plans between here and Korea. In the mean time, I’m going to have the staff run a kind of mini refresher training. Lots of Zulu 13s and damage control drills. We’ll also do some formation maneuvers. The main thing is to make sure we can handle whatever is thrown at us,” Thacke said.
The telephone rang interrupting the conversation. Hammond answered, listened for a moment, and then hung up. “We’re making our approach. I need to head up to the bridge,” he said.
Thacke smiled. “No problem. I just wanted to kind of fill you in. We’re going to be working really closely for the next few months. I don’t want anything to stand between us,” he said as he stood. “You run your ship. Maybe we have dinner together tonight and talk a little more.”
“My pleasure, Admiral. I assume you will be taking this cabin,” Hammond said. Usually the Admiral took the best cabin on the ship.
Thacke shook his head. “I never liked that practice. I understand there is another VIP ca
bin, I’ll take that one and you keep yours.”
Hammond smiled at him. “Always knew I’d like working with you,” he chuckled. “Your stateroom is right next door then. We’ll share the galley.”
“Good enough. Now get up to the bridge, Captain,” Thacke said.
Hammond bid his goodbyes and hurried up the ladders to the bridge. A quick glance showed that all the people were in place. The Iowa was holding astern and to the port side of the Spica waiting for the signal to proceed. The bridge was quiet and orderly. Commander Davis, the XO, was on the starboard bridge wing along with Ensign Martinez, one of the junior officers. Hammond joined them just as the Romeo flag was hoisted to the top of the Spica’s halyard signaling the Iowa to make her approach.
Under the watchful eye of the XO and Hammond, Martinez issued the orders to bring the Iowa alongside the Spica. Hammond was impressed at the skill level Davis displayed as he explained the helpful rules in the maneuvers. He even gave the warnings of the suction effect of the other ship when making an approach. As a result, Hammond had merely to sit back and watch as the Iowa slid flawlessly into place alongside the Spica at a distance of only 150 feet and stayed there.
“USS Iowa, prepare to receive shot line fore and aft!” came an announcement from the loudspeakers on the Spica. Within seconds, three loud bangs were heard as weighted lines were shot across the 150-foot void between the ships. Immediately Iowa crewmen grabbed the shot lines and passed the ends through a pulley attached to the bulkhead and along to a line of men who began pulling it across.
Forward, the men pulled across a telephone and distance line that held a sound-powered telephone line and a small line with flags marking every 20 feet to help the ship’s conning officer maintain the distance between the ships. A second line came across for a high tension line to transfer cargo. Back aft, the end of the shot line was attached to a messenger line and finally a steel span wire. Once the span wire with its attachment shackle came across, it was attached to a pelican hook over a probe receiver for the fueling hose.