Honor, Courage, Commitment

by Leahy, John F.

  The recruits were led to a large compartment, divided by a gray steel bulkhead. A round escape scuttle, about 30 inches in diameter, was cut at the 6-foot level. Black light shone down on fluorescent paint, causing the escape scuttle to glow ominously red. Hot water flowed through pipes within the steel cladding. The wall was noticeably warm, if not dangerously hot, to the touch. Velasco laid out the safety rules for the team, violation of which would result in a strike or disqualification. “If you touch the bulkhead, even for a second, you lose a limb. Anything you do afterwards will have to be minus that arm or leg. Touch it for three seconds, and you’re dead. No one may pass another recruit through the scuttle face up, nor may anyone attempt a running jump through the scuttle. Do either of those, and you’re done for the night. You have twenty minutes to get everyone to safety.”

  The recruits began an earnest discussion. For the first time, ad-hoc leaders began to assert themselves.

  Fred Atitsogbuie, 19, Bronx, New York

  I said, “Let us big guys go through first while there’s still enough people to load us through from the front side.”

  Hattrich But we actually had a hint on that one before battle stations. We had a shipmate who had already been through battle stations who told us to put an empty seabag on the hole to protect us against the heat, so that’s what we did. I could still feel the heat from the wall as I went through, though.

  Quickly, the team agreed on a plan, and in short order Atitsogbuie, Gildersleeve, and the other six-footers were through the scuttle. The remainder of the division followed in an orderly pattern. The remaining seabags were passed through the hole, and there remained just one person on the other side. SR Teresa Volk was the shortest person in the division. There appeared no way that she could reach the scuttle, let alone clamber through without violating the three-second rule.

  Hopkins We came up with a way. We took two more seabags, looped the straps together, and protected the wall that way. They didn’t reach all the way to the deck, but they gave enough protection for A.T., me, and the MAA to reach through and grab her.

  Petty Officer Kent, standing on the catwalk as the safety observer for the event, chuckled. “I facilitated battle stations for a year,” he remarked, “and that’s the first time I ever heard that solution. Looks like it might just work.” The duty facilitator agreed, and Volk, unscathed, soon joined her shipmates on the safe side of the bulkhead.

  Naing T. Kyaw, 19, San Francisco, California

  I think we did pretty good. That was like the first event we actually pulled together and did it right.

  McClellan We had thought about losing A.T. somewhere on the run, or breaking his knees or something. [Laughter.] He’s so big, they kept using him as the dead guy or victim, and he’s huge. But he came in handy that time, rescuing Volk.

  Adams I didn’t get sleepy all night, but that’s the one where I did get sleepy. As soon as I got through the hole, it was, like, I’m going to fall asleep right in the middle of battle stations. I leaned up against the wall—after I was safe and on the other side—and I got a strike for it. I had to run around and swing my arms to keep awake. I was so tired I didn’t know what I was doing.

  0500, Building 1312

  Adams and the others had a wake-up call in store. The first clue came when they saw foul-weather gear—rain pants, rain boots, and hooded parkas—stocked across the passageway from the Forestal escape compartment. Quickly, they donned the protective equipment and moved a few yards to the magazine flooding exercise.

  C. Williams I put my foot into a rain boot, and it was soaking wet. I thought, oh no, here we go again!

  Scott Bowser was facilitator and safety observer for this exercise. “During the Persian Gulf war, the USS Tripoli (LPH-10) was tasked with clearing minefields to enable the battleships Wisconsin and Missouri to approach the coast of Kuwait and support ground forces with their 16-inch guns. On the night of 17 February 1991, Tripoli found she was being targeted by Iraqi Silk Worm missile batteries and was moving to a different area to operate. The Tripoli struck a mine at 0436 on the starboard side in the area of frame 20. The explosion temporarily knocked out all power, caused flooding that disabled an emergency generator and destroyed a paint locker, sending paint and paint thinner through the ventilation system. The fumes overcame some crew members. The forward bulkhead in the magazine used to store 3-inch rounds was damaged, and the flooding that had knocked out the emergency generator was now threatening the magazine with a mixture of seawater, JP-5 (from a damaged tank below the space), and the contents of the destroyed paint locker. GMC(SW) William A. Werley entered the space to assess the damage. He then took charge and ‘jumpered’ the fire main to enable water to reach the sprinkler system for the magazine, should it be needed. Realizing that the contents of the magazine would be destroyed if the magazine flooded, he communicated the need for additional people to assist in its unloading. Unwilling to allow any more time to pass, he started unloading heavy 3-inch rounds from the magazine until more help arrived. When his shipmates arrived to assist him, they, as a team, moved over one thousand 3-inch rounds and over one hundred cases of small-arms ammunition. Chief Werley’s willingness to take great personal risk and ability to organize his shipmates reduced the amount of battle damage and enabled Tripoli to remain on station and complete her mission, which was an essential part of Operation Desert Storm. Chief Werley was awarded the Bronze Star in recognition of his efforts and went on to become a senior chief petty officer and an outstanding recruit division commander right here at RTC.

  “Now you face the same challenge. As the result of a mine explosion, your magazine is flooding, and the contents are threatened. Your team must display commitment to the mission by relocating the 3-inch rounds in the magazine to another magazine outside of the flooding boundaries. You must show the courage to accomplish the task even when conditions are less than ideal, and honor to avoid shortcuts that may save time but will endanger your ship and shipmates through careless handling of the ammunition. This is the last ammunition your ship has, and you must save it.”

  Bowser demonstrated the proper procedure for lifting and moving the cylinders. Moving the 20-pound, 3-foot, 14-inch-diameter cylinders was inherently dangerous—a dropped cylinder could do serious damage to a recruit’s foot. And the battle stations rules reflected the grim reality that a dropped shell at sea would kill everyone in the compartment. The team had twenty minutes to move a hundred rounds—about a ton of ammunition—through a small escape scuttle to safety.

  Bowser left the compartment and mounted the adjacent safety platform. “You will recall that I mentioned flooding, right?” With that, he turned a series of valves, and cold, drenching water began to flow into the compartment from overhead. “It comes in faster than it drains, people, so I suggest you get moving.”

  Confusion reigned, but only momentarily. The recruits quickly formed two teams, one to remain in the freezing, wet magazine space, and one to cross through to the safe, dry compartment adjacent. Several recruits spotted sound-powered telephones and attempted to establish communication between the compartments. As soon as the receiving team reached the dry magazine area, Petty Officer Kent, who had joined Bowser, turned another set of valves on the observer’s control panel. “When the ship sinks, everyone gets wet,” he laughed, repeating a time-honored boot camp proverb. Within seconds, everyone in the division was soaked.

  Krofta I took a strike on that one because I kept pushing ammo through the hole—we had, like, a system going, a chain—and the people on the other side were disorganized, and I pushed one through the hole, and there was no one on the other side to grab it.

  Leitner I was the phone talker, and there wasn’t anyone on the phone on the other side!

  Wirsch They told me to hook up the phone, but I couldn’t find the plug. Every time I got near the door, someone would push me out of the way with the ammo canisters.

  K.A. (Bee) Hardison-Porter, 18, San Diego, California

  I ki
nd of liked it, though. By that time we were getting pretty hot, because we’d been through the Forestal, and had been in the building for awhile. And the room was small, and we were in a large group, so it was nice to have some water on us to cool us off. I didn’t like it when it started going down the back of my rain jacket, though.

  Bruce I hated it, we had to walk in our sock feet afterwards when we took off the rubber boots, and put on our own, and my socks were wet for the rest of the night and I started getting blisters on my feet then.

  Gildersleeve I hated that. It was cold, my boots and jacket got totally filled up with cold water, running down my shirt and all, and people kept banging my knees and my elbows with ammo. I just totally hated it, you know?

  The soaked recruits finished the exercise without losing anyone to a “fatality” and with only a few minor strikes assessed for poor lifting technique. The recruits shed their foul-weather gear (ironically, since the weather outside was as miserable as inside the flooded magazine) and prepared for their last round trip through the tunnel.

  0545, The Tunnel

  The division headed north through the tunnel for the last time. All remaining activities would take place at Camp Moffett. The next time the recruits would transit under Buckley Rd., the sun would be shining, and they’d be on their way to battle stations graduation.

  Troeger I had been keeping count, and checking the time, so I knew we only had a few things left. At that point, all I was doing was putting one foot ahead of the other. I was thinking of my fiancé and little girl back home, and how I wanted to be able to see them at pass-in-review. My body was just, like, numb.

  Hattrich And I got stuck with the seabag, like, five different times, because nobody wanted to carry it. It slowed you down a lot. And the canteen was bouncing around on my backside the whole time. It was like getting paddled all the way from one event to another. [Laughter.]

  Alcazar I had the seabag about three times. I failed PT-2 once, so I’m not real fast, and it was really holding me back. People would get it, and carry it for a couple steps, then pass it off. And all the clothes in there were wet, which made it even heavier. I caught up at the tunnel, though.

  At the conference in the RDC lounge earlier that evening, the RDCs and facilitators had agreed that anyone falling behind the trailing (safety) petty officer would fail for the night. As they passed the new construction area just north of the tunnel, Petty Officer Russell—and a growing group of recruits—was trailing the main body by some thirty yards.

  J. A. (Jon) Miller, 18, Las Vegas, Nevada

  She saved us. No doubt about it. I asked her afterwards if she was as tired as we were, and was slowing down naturally, and she just looked at me and smiled.

  The recruits reached Building 1414, the indoor confidence course. After stowing their snow-covered outer garments, the recruits heard the scenario for the evening’s penultimate challenge.

  “You and your team have been given the assignment of moving a critically injured shipmate from shaft alley to topside and then to the pier. Your ship has just entered port, and because of recent battle damage there will be no brow available for several hours, and your shipmates must be taken to the hospital ASAP. There are many obstacles you and your team must overcome as a group in order to get your shipmate to safety and proper medical care.

  “During peacetime and wartime sailors get injured, usually in the most inconvenient locations. It almost always takes a lot of dedicated sailors to overcome the barriers that are the natural part of a ship’s design. During the aftermath of the attack on Pearl Harbor in December 1941, hundreds of wounded sailors had to be removed from what was left of their ships. The ability to do this made the difference between life and death for most. The greatest effort undertaken was the rescue of the trapped sailors in the USS Oklahoma. After taking torpedo hits she quickly capsized, trapping many men below. An effort was immediately mounted to cut a hole through the hull to rescue trapped men. This effort saved the lives of thirty-two sailors trapped in shaft alley with no other way out.

  “It takes both physical strength and mental agility to overcome obstacles. Can your team meet the challenge and get your shipmates to safety while there is still time? Now you must display commitment to the team by carrying your part of the load and helping to solve the problems you encounter. Now you must display courage by putting yourself at risk to overcome obstacles and save a shipmate. And you must display honor in doing your best to work as part of the team, both giving and taking input to rapidly move your shipmate to safety.”

  The division watched Petty Officers Robinson and Bandlow negotiate the confidence course. Not every element of the course would be used for the exercise. And because the course required recruits to scale 6-foot obstacles and use rope slides, this evolution was too dangerous for “live” casualties. Instead, the recruits were provided with two 150-pound dummies, each strapped to a standard Miller backboard. The course required teams of four recruits to manhandle the dummy through a series of narrow pipes, simulating the shaft alley of a smaller vessel. They’d negotiate small, twisting passageways, not unlike those aboard ship, and clamber over chest-high and head-high obstacles. The final portion of the course—moving the victim to the pier—would require a climb up a vertical ladder to a 9-foot platform, followed by manhandling the victim to the “pier” below. Stretcher teams were given ten minutes to complete the course.

  In the interest of safety, only two stretcher teams were allowed on the course at any time. This proved fortunate for subsequent teams, since the first teams through quickly devised strategies, which the others observed and copied.

  Freeman The course was pretty easy, but we had trouble figuring out how to get the stretcher and that dummy down to the pier. Then someone figured out that if we took off our canteens, we could use our guard belts to hold the stretcher to the mooring line, and somebody—I think it might have been Guiterrez—shinnied down the rope as a guide. That dummy was heavy, though, so it really slid fast and got away from him.

  Arcia I was kneeling on the concrete edge, right where the soft rubber footing for the confidence course starts, so I could see everything that was going on. As soon as I saw what Arty was doing, I knew there was a better way. If we just took more guard belts, we could use them as a rope to slow down the stretcher going down the wire. There was no sense in somebody getting killed this late in the night.

  Gildersleeve This time me and A.T. were carrying the stretcher. I’d rather carry a dummy than him, any day. [Laughter.]

  Division 005 completed the shaft alley escape module with no additional strikes. Their fast time surprised the facilitators. The last exercise of the evening, and the capstone of battle stations, was the damage-control scenario. Because of the inherent risk to recruits, this event was supervised by a full complement of damage control specialists. The Fire Fighting Training Unit would not be ready for the division until 0700. After a brief discussion, the cadre reached consensus. The division would run again.

  0700, Fire Fighting Training Unit

  Wirsch When we left the confidence course, I figured we had it made. I had been to Camp Moffett lots of times as yeoman—escorting people to Ship Fifteen and all. I knew the fire station was right around the corner, and we were almost there.

  Hopkins I knew something was wrong, see, when we came outside, and they made us walk around to the east side of the building. I knew it wasn’t to keep us out of the wind—that’s the way it was coming. We were standing on the running track—the one that goes all the way around Building 1414, and I’m thinking, Oh no, they can’t do this to us. But they did.

  A quarter-mile, eight-lane running track surrounds the confidence course building. The facilitators decided to add two laps of the track to the events to get back on schedule. Fortunately for the recruits, the pace was gentle, and the half-mile “detour” had the division arriving at the Fire Fighting Training Unit promptly at 0700.

  Quietly, the battle stations facilitators left the re
cruits and returned to Building 1312 to wash and change into clean uniforms for the graduation ceremony. DCC(SW) Pam Besaw, chief of the deck at the FFTU, would manage the final exercise. In an interview later, Chief Besaw explained: “The Marines like to say that every Marine is a rifleman. Well, every sailor is a firefighter. There are just a few of us who are rated damage controlmen, but when the ship’s in danger, everyone has got to be able to fight fires, shore up bulkheads, and dewater the ship. We try to make our training—and our battle stations exercise—as realistic as we can.”

  The firefighting exercise is the only event that places recruits in serious risk of life-threatening injury, and for this reason only qualified damage-control instructors are permitted on deck with the recruits. A crew of twelve DC instructors, led by Chief Besaw, met the recruits as they entered. “Take a look at that motto on the aft bulkhead,” she told them. “What does it say? It says ‘Learn, Don’t Burn,’ doesn’t it? This is the only event where, in addition to failing battle stations and repeating it, you can get ASMOed. And we do it all the time, people. So if you don’t want to wind up back on your 6-1 day, you’ll do exactly what these instructors in the red hardhats tell you, is that clear?”

  The threat of a setback—RTC’s equivalent of capital punishment—energized the division. “Yes, Chief!”