Planes, Trains and Automobiles
Greetings true believers!
I have returned from yet another great adventure on the high seas. Knowing that you are all salivating at the thought of what I have in store for you, I’ll cut out the bull and get straight to the story at hand.
It was two weeks ago to the day. I’d recently returned from an aforementioned two day trip one of my favorite garden spots, Djibouti, where I spent my birthday cursing the damned heat and seeking revenge against the son-of-a-bitch creature who thought such a hole was inhabitable.
I had been on the ground only a few short days when I received an assignment to cover a transfer of cargo from Bahrain to Jebel Ali, U.A.E. by the Navy’s newest toy, HSV-2 Swift. HSV stands for High Speed Vessel. We’ll get more into the irony of that later…
A pretty picture of Swift.
It was to be a simple task, should I accept the challenge. So once again our hero packed his bags for yet another journey.
As I’m never without a trusty 5th Fleet side kick, everyone’s favorite philosophical indie bitch Bobbo came along with me.
The transfer went off without a hitch. Bobbo made exit stage right only moments after the last crate left the deck. The fleet couldn’t function without their star journalist. I, on the other hand, spent the next two days in port making liberty calls to Dubia, dubbed the "Las Vegas" of the Middle East. (Which would make Bahrain like Reno…)
In brief, a few guys and I went to the Wild Wadi (a popular water park), the Double Decker (a popular bar) where we met flight attendants (a popular fuck) and went to the Hard Rock Café (an overpopulated rip-off).
Life was good and we were living it up in true Navy fashion, until the proverbial shit hit the fan…
Unless you take up residents under a rock, you’ve heard about the current situation in Lebanon. If not, get out from under said rock and read a paper…
Swift received orders to travel 2,800 miles North West to Limassol, Cyprus, in order to assist in the "authorized departure" of American citizens from Lebanon. Authorized Departure is a fancy word used to create fuzzy images in the heads of the simple minded. Working like a Jedi mind trick to create a sense of well being…
What was yours truly to do? I’d only packed enough to survive for several days and I’d sent half of my tapes back with Bobbo. (He’d forgot his voice recorder)
The situation called for external consideration. I called my command to inform them that they had one shot to get me off the boat. "Stay Put!!" was their response. At that time I was the only Navy wordsmith en-route. Swift would also be a magnet for international media, and someone had to wrangle the heathens…
The powers that be also decided to send extra gear with combat camera. With any luck, they and it would reach me in the Med.
This was it, me against the world. I would have to beg, borrow and acquire to survive.
Off the coast of Oman we hit heavy seas. Eight to nine foot waves turned a normally peaceful ride into a chaotic roller coaster. The peak of each wave sent us crashing headlong into the ocean, making everything from walking to eating an Olympic sport.
The Swift became not so swift. We suffered frequent electrical and engineering casualties. The crew dubbed the ship HSV, Hunk of Shit Vessel, but were able to keep it running on course to our first stop, none other than Djibouti.
We only spent two hours in the land that God forgot. While there, I ran into the CO of "Camp Lemonade." I was greeted with a confused look that could only have meant, "Is this fucking guy everywhere?" Hell yes… Hell Yes…
From Djibouti it was north to the Suez Canal.
Allow me to veer off the path for a moment.
During our transit, several of the crew made mention of a Petty Officer Ertman who was from my neck of the woods in Pennsylvania.
Looking to kill time, I proceeded to track him down. Come to find out, I not only live an hour from his home, but as it turns out, we had much more in common than location.
Ertman was none other than the recruiter responsible for my joining the Navy. So as not to tell the story again, here is how that faithful day went down.
I met him that one time. He'd transfered back to Erie a week later and I never saw him again... It’s a small fucking Navy, that’s all I have to say.
The Suez wasn’t as impressive as I had hoped. (Take note to the man standing on the ridge. There was a chain of men like him the entire length of the canal...)
Scattered along the eastern bank were a few bombed out vehicles left over from the fighting in the late seventies, but that was about all there was to impressed me. Here's a shot of an older structure. You can see where it's been hit several times.
The transit did however mean that I would be leaving the blaming heat of the Arabian gulf for the much more tolerable weather of the Mediterranean Sea.
Limassol, Cyprus. It brought with it a new form of torture. First there was the fat uncooperative duty free clerks who withheld services and my cigarettes until some authority higher than yours truly ordered them to open.
The second by far was much worse. On par with the Chinese water technique. For the next three days we sat peirside staring at the beautiful Limassol countryside. We were on standby, liberty was out of the question.
To pass the time, a few of us took to watching the steady stream of "displaced persons" pour in from Lebanon on the Orient Queen and several other ships. Where we going to do anything at all, or just sit here? It was beginning to seem like we’d come all this way for nothing.
In the meantime, I wrangled a few media bubbas looking to capitalize on Swift’s presence. I’d forgot to bring my cattle prod, but luckily it was never needed. The most important request came from media colossus CNN. Nothing too impressive, just two guys and a camera.
We received our orders on the fourth morning. We were to deliver 20,000 blankets, 2,000 tarps and 7 tons of medical supplies to Beirut. Let the on-load begin...
We got under way at balls thirty in the morning (12:30 at night for you non military folks) and steamed west through the night until we arrived in port at five in the morning. I skipped breakfast in order to take up a perch on the twin 50 cal (big ass machine gun) turret where I could watch the sun creep over the hills of Beirut. It was truly a sight to behold. I watched as the city slowly apeard out of the fog and the sunrise made the hills come alive with a firey glow...
To the south there were several explosions. Smoke loomed over the harbor. Our esscort gave me a perfect photo opportunity.
Was this it? Was this war? I tightened the straps on my flack vest and did something I hadn’t done in a long time. I prayed. I prayed to God that everything would go off without a hitch and we’d make it out in one piece.
The biggest worry racing through my head was my flack vest. I seemed to be missing my back armor plate. Run backwards, that’s all I could think about. Forget my helmet. It looked like a Nazi relic anyway...
Speaking of Nazis... I was really loathing the goose stepping mother fuckers... Up until the Nazis started their Jewish relocation program, the Arab world had heard little about America. Looking to make an ally, the Nazis befriended the Arab leaders and made it clear that "America is bad." So now, sixty some odd years later, they’re fighting with the Jewish people of Islam and they hate our guts. I read it in a book called "The Crisis of Islam," written by a guy born and raised in the middle east. A good read if you’ve got two weeks to kill on a ship heading for a large, religious themed conflict.
There wasn’t much at all to the off load. Everyone watched the roof tops and I got an opportunity to climb on top of a Lebanese troop carrier. "How do I get up on that conex box?" "Here my friend, climb here." *Points to side of troop carrier* "Ok." "Now how do I get down?" "Through that hole there." It smelled like funk...
But for the most part it went down like a teenage virgin’s first time, in and out before you could say "Is that it?"
On the ride back to Cyprus, the Reuters guy managed to put together a story in between trips to the bathroom, where he proceeded to toss the proverbial cookies... I had a quiet chuckle to myself. His story was pretty even sided when we sent it out. But, liberal media, with its hard-on for controversy, managed to do a good job of twisting the shit out of it. This ended up being the main quote in the story...
"They send the Israelis smart bombs and they send us blankets. If it was up to me I wouldn't let this ship dock here. I would dump this stuff in the sea," said a Lebanese soldier.
The crew of Swift had made history. The first American military vessel to enter the port of Beirut since the killing of hundreds of Marines in one of the first suicide bombings in history and the withdrawal of international peacekeeping forces from Lebanon almost 23 years ago.
Over twenty five percent of the crew hadn’t even been born in 1983.
Where was that in the news? Where was the coverage that showed we’d traveled thousands of miles, overcame mechanical casualties, pushed back a rotation schedule for the sailors to go home after months of working non-stop??
Where was the story about this being the THIRD humanitarian relief effort the gold crew of HSV-2 Swift has participated in in less than 18 months? Count’em, Tsunami, Katrina, Beirut.
You never hear about that side of the story...
It was time for me to start thinking about getting back to Bahrain. As chance should have it (because the only luck I have is bad luck) the good folks from Mobile Security Detachment 21 were catching a ride home the next day and agreed to stow me on board.
I skipped liberty to pack my shit. The commander of the combined task forces canceled a planned exercise to give the crew of Swift a much deserved liberty call. I was catching a ride with two PA types the next morning at 0700, no drinky drinky for yours truly...
Who would have thought I would spend the next day in an abandoned Seabee tent, sleeping on the floor and eating shitty MRE’s (meals ready to eat, HA!). The country chicken wasn’t all that bad, but the propeller blast from the helios pretty much ruined my creamy noodles. The squeezey cheese fucking rocks, I don’t care who you are... And I still haven’t figured out if that green gum is a laxative, but I thought I’d shit my pants on more than one occasion that day...
As fate would have it, I ran into a certain combat camera bubba toting my extra gear. He’d been on the Orient Queen for a week covering the departing Americans and had spent his last night sleeping on the peir. The contract with the Queen had run out and the shyster tried charging the relief workers $1,000 to spend the night on board. He was waiting for his second class to join up with him, then they’d be heading back to Bahrain.
Our C-130 was delayed five hours. Something about airspace... There was a chance that the crew would have to stay over night due to a regulation limiting them to an 18 hour work day. Would our hero ever return home?
You bet your ass I did...
So that’s it for this time folks. Next, I’ll be heading north to Iraq. Who knows what sorts of adventures await me.
Until next time true believers...
I have returned from yet another great adventure on the high seas. Knowing that you are all salivating at the thought of what I have in store for you, I’ll cut out the bull and get straight to the story at hand.
It was two weeks ago to the day. I’d recently returned from an aforementioned two day trip one of my favorite garden spots, Djibouti, where I spent my birthday cursing the damned heat and seeking revenge against the son-of-a-bitch creature who thought such a hole was inhabitable.
I had been on the ground only a few short days when I received an assignment to cover a transfer of cargo from Bahrain to Jebel Ali, U.A.E. by the Navy’s newest toy, HSV-2 Swift. HSV stands for High Speed Vessel. We’ll get more into the irony of that later…
A pretty picture of Swift.
It was to be a simple task, should I accept the challenge. So once again our hero packed his bags for yet another journey.
As I’m never without a trusty 5th Fleet side kick, everyone’s favorite philosophical indie bitch Bobbo came along with me.
The transfer went off without a hitch. Bobbo made exit stage right only moments after the last crate left the deck. The fleet couldn’t function without their star journalist. I, on the other hand, spent the next two days in port making liberty calls to Dubia, dubbed the "Las Vegas" of the Middle East. (Which would make Bahrain like Reno…)
In brief, a few guys and I went to the Wild Wadi (a popular water park), the Double Decker (a popular bar) where we met flight attendants (a popular fuck) and went to the Hard Rock Café (an overpopulated rip-off).
Life was good and we were living it up in true Navy fashion, until the proverbial shit hit the fan…
Unless you take up residents under a rock, you’ve heard about the current situation in Lebanon. If not, get out from under said rock and read a paper…
Swift received orders to travel 2,800 miles North West to Limassol, Cyprus, in order to assist in the "authorized departure" of American citizens from Lebanon. Authorized Departure is a fancy word used to create fuzzy images in the heads of the simple minded. Working like a Jedi mind trick to create a sense of well being…
What was yours truly to do? I’d only packed enough to survive for several days and I’d sent half of my tapes back with Bobbo. (He’d forgot his voice recorder)
The situation called for external consideration. I called my command to inform them that they had one shot to get me off the boat. "Stay Put!!" was their response. At that time I was the only Navy wordsmith en-route. Swift would also be a magnet for international media, and someone had to wrangle the heathens…
The powers that be also decided to send extra gear with combat camera. With any luck, they and it would reach me in the Med.
This was it, me against the world. I would have to beg, borrow and acquire to survive.
Off the coast of Oman we hit heavy seas. Eight to nine foot waves turned a normally peaceful ride into a chaotic roller coaster. The peak of each wave sent us crashing headlong into the ocean, making everything from walking to eating an Olympic sport.
The Swift became not so swift. We suffered frequent electrical and engineering casualties. The crew dubbed the ship HSV, Hunk of Shit Vessel, but were able to keep it running on course to our first stop, none other than Djibouti.
We only spent two hours in the land that God forgot. While there, I ran into the CO of "Camp Lemonade." I was greeted with a confused look that could only have meant, "Is this fucking guy everywhere?" Hell yes… Hell Yes…
From Djibouti it was north to the Suez Canal.
Allow me to veer off the path for a moment.
During our transit, several of the crew made mention of a Petty Officer Ertman who was from my neck of the woods in Pennsylvania.
Looking to kill time, I proceeded to track him down. Come to find out, I not only live an hour from his home, but as it turns out, we had much more in common than location.
Ertman was none other than the recruiter responsible for my joining the Navy. So as not to tell the story again, here is how that faithful day went down.
I met him that one time. He'd transfered back to Erie a week later and I never saw him again... It’s a small fucking Navy, that’s all I have to say.
The Suez wasn’t as impressive as I had hoped. (Take note to the man standing on the ridge. There was a chain of men like him the entire length of the canal...)
Scattered along the eastern bank were a few bombed out vehicles left over from the fighting in the late seventies, but that was about all there was to impressed me. Here's a shot of an older structure. You can see where it's been hit several times.
The transit did however mean that I would be leaving the blaming heat of the Arabian gulf for the much more tolerable weather of the Mediterranean Sea.
Limassol, Cyprus. It brought with it a new form of torture. First there was the fat uncooperative duty free clerks who withheld services and my cigarettes until some authority higher than yours truly ordered them to open.
The second by far was much worse. On par with the Chinese water technique. For the next three days we sat peirside staring at the beautiful Limassol countryside. We were on standby, liberty was out of the question.
To pass the time, a few of us took to watching the steady stream of "displaced persons" pour in from Lebanon on the Orient Queen and several other ships. Where we going to do anything at all, or just sit here? It was beginning to seem like we’d come all this way for nothing.
In the meantime, I wrangled a few media bubbas looking to capitalize on Swift’s presence. I’d forgot to bring my cattle prod, but luckily it was never needed. The most important request came from media colossus CNN. Nothing too impressive, just two guys and a camera.
We received our orders on the fourth morning. We were to deliver 20,000 blankets, 2,000 tarps and 7 tons of medical supplies to Beirut. Let the on-load begin...
We got under way at balls thirty in the morning (12:30 at night for you non military folks) and steamed west through the night until we arrived in port at five in the morning. I skipped breakfast in order to take up a perch on the twin 50 cal (big ass machine gun) turret where I could watch the sun creep over the hills of Beirut. It was truly a sight to behold. I watched as the city slowly apeard out of the fog and the sunrise made the hills come alive with a firey glow...
To the south there were several explosions. Smoke loomed over the harbor. Our esscort gave me a perfect photo opportunity.
Was this it? Was this war? I tightened the straps on my flack vest and did something I hadn’t done in a long time. I prayed. I prayed to God that everything would go off without a hitch and we’d make it out in one piece.
The biggest worry racing through my head was my flack vest. I seemed to be missing my back armor plate. Run backwards, that’s all I could think about. Forget my helmet. It looked like a Nazi relic anyway...
Speaking of Nazis... I was really loathing the goose stepping mother fuckers... Up until the Nazis started their Jewish relocation program, the Arab world had heard little about America. Looking to make an ally, the Nazis befriended the Arab leaders and made it clear that "America is bad." So now, sixty some odd years later, they’re fighting with the Jewish people of Islam and they hate our guts. I read it in a book called "The Crisis of Islam," written by a guy born and raised in the middle east. A good read if you’ve got two weeks to kill on a ship heading for a large, religious themed conflict.
There wasn’t much at all to the off load. Everyone watched the roof tops and I got an opportunity to climb on top of a Lebanese troop carrier. "How do I get up on that conex box?" "Here my friend, climb here." *Points to side of troop carrier* "Ok." "Now how do I get down?" "Through that hole there." It smelled like funk...
But for the most part it went down like a teenage virgin’s first time, in and out before you could say "Is that it?"
On the ride back to Cyprus, the Reuters guy managed to put together a story in between trips to the bathroom, where he proceeded to toss the proverbial cookies... I had a quiet chuckle to myself. His story was pretty even sided when we sent it out. But, liberal media, with its hard-on for controversy, managed to do a good job of twisting the shit out of it. This ended up being the main quote in the story...
"They send the Israelis smart bombs and they send us blankets. If it was up to me I wouldn't let this ship dock here. I would dump this stuff in the sea," said a Lebanese soldier.
The crew of Swift had made history. The first American military vessel to enter the port of Beirut since the killing of hundreds of Marines in one of the first suicide bombings in history and the withdrawal of international peacekeeping forces from Lebanon almost 23 years ago.
Over twenty five percent of the crew hadn’t even been born in 1983.
Where was that in the news? Where was the coverage that showed we’d traveled thousands of miles, overcame mechanical casualties, pushed back a rotation schedule for the sailors to go home after months of working non-stop??
Where was the story about this being the THIRD humanitarian relief effort the gold crew of HSV-2 Swift has participated in in less than 18 months? Count’em, Tsunami, Katrina, Beirut.
You never hear about that side of the story...
It was time for me to start thinking about getting back to Bahrain. As chance should have it (because the only luck I have is bad luck) the good folks from Mobile Security Detachment 21 were catching a ride home the next day and agreed to stow me on board.
I skipped liberty to pack my shit. The commander of the combined task forces canceled a planned exercise to give the crew of Swift a much deserved liberty call. I was catching a ride with two PA types the next morning at 0700, no drinky drinky for yours truly...
Who would have thought I would spend the next day in an abandoned Seabee tent, sleeping on the floor and eating shitty MRE’s (meals ready to eat, HA!). The country chicken wasn’t all that bad, but the propeller blast from the helios pretty much ruined my creamy noodles. The squeezey cheese fucking rocks, I don’t care who you are... And I still haven’t figured out if that green gum is a laxative, but I thought I’d shit my pants on more than one occasion that day...
As fate would have it, I ran into a certain combat camera bubba toting my extra gear. He’d been on the Orient Queen for a week covering the departing Americans and had spent his last night sleeping on the peir. The contract with the Queen had run out and the shyster tried charging the relief workers $1,000 to spend the night on board. He was waiting for his second class to join up with him, then they’d be heading back to Bahrain.
Our C-130 was delayed five hours. Something about airspace... There was a chance that the crew would have to stay over night due to a regulation limiting them to an 18 hour work day. Would our hero ever return home?
You bet your ass I did...
So that’s it for this time folks. Next, I’ll be heading north to Iraq. Who knows what sorts of adventures await me.
Until next time true believers...