FIX BAYONETS!

Haven’t been writing much since I got home; nothing seemed quite as important as my adventure overseas had been. So, it’s time to start back in on my ‘TINS’ category.

Too much time on your hands? Need just a little bit of trouble? It’s not hard to find.

My second icebreaker cruise was on board ‘Burton Island’, a Wind class icebreaker. 269 feet long, which isn’t very big. Especially with a crew of nearly 200 people. It’s easy to get on each other’s nerves.

Something about this cruise had everyone in the Aviation detachment kind of on edge by the time it was nearly over, ready to take offense at, well, who knows what? All I remember is that we weren’t very happy with the command for some reason.

Someone got the bright idea, a couple of nights before we got back into Long Beach California, that we should change the name of the ship. The night before landfall, we procured the appropriate supplies and repainted the name on the stern. It only took a few strokes to convert the ‘Burton Island’ to the ‘Hurtin Island’. Great care was taken to keep any hint of paint off of us and all the evidence went over the side when we were done. It was a little difficult because of the distance below the rail that we had to reach. The job was done by laying on the deck with someone sitting on the painter’s legs. The painter was bent at the waist over the side of the ship, reaching down to do the deed. The next morning dawned sunny and peaceful.

We launched both helicopters toward Los Angeles Air Station, with extra crew on board. One of the birds needed some maintenance on shore that we didn’t have the parts for on board. (A pilot had hooked the tail wheel on the edge of the flight deck while landing. Instead of following the LSO’s signals to back off and approach again, he’d pushed forward on the stick and the whole aircraft strained forward until all the seals in the strut blew. With the anticipation of having it break free and crash into the hangar, the entire flight deck crew ran for their lives, leaving only the LSO and his telephone talker in place.)

We had launched the first bird without incident and prepped the second to fly. Three extra men boarded it. Just as the first had, it lifted off, eased off the port side of the ship and then transitioned to forward flight. The only change in the program occurred as it passed the bridge, where the Captain and the XO stood watching its departure. The crew door slid open and someone ‘mooned’ the command.

A very irate XO was up on the flight deck immediately, demanding “That man’s name and number!” Of course, there was ‘no way’ we knew who it was with the extra people on board. (We did have a pretty good idea, though.)

He gave up on us and went back to wherever Officers hang out. But he was back within half an hour, right after we passed a couple of Japanese frigates that were leaving Long Beach harbor. He was really steaming this time. Seems he was suddenly aware of the new name his ship was wearing. (We think maybe the frigates radioed a greeting….)

I had never before seen a full Commander (O-5) jumping up and down, shaking his fists in the air and screaming at the top of his lungs. He was blaming us, US! for the name change! With no evidence! Of course we knew nothing about it. We stonewalled and denied all knowledge.

He ordered us to repair the damage, and, while still maintaining our innocence agreed to do this little favor for him.

We procured paint and brushes and the Bosun’s mates rigged a bosun’s chair over the side for us. This was a lot more comfortable than the lie and stretch we’d practiced the night before. It only took a few minutes to correct the previous depredation but that wasn’t quite enough. The XO came back just as we were finishing, and went off again. Although he’d ordered us to do the job, he hadn’t thought it through. The bosun’s chair (perfectly secure, of course) was positioned directly above the massive ship’s propellor and he had visions of the chair breaking and the painter (following his orders) being chopped up by the prop. The bosun’s mates hauled the painter back on board and, amidst subdued giggles, promised to finish the job themselves.

We were put ashore with minimal delay, once the ship was tied up.

On my third and last cruise, there was also a bit of dissatisfaction with the Captain. Again, I don’t remember why. We were on board ‘Glacier’ a 310 foot long ship that was the only one in its class. We had snapped a chain and lost an anchor, then sheared one of the main shafts and lost one of the propellers. ‘Glacier’ was returning to home port but the Aviation detachment would shift over to ‘Burton Island’, which had come up to replace ‘Glacier’ and finish up her mission.

Petty Officer Evil happened to walk onto the mess deck during midrats (midnight rations) one night and stopped to talk with a couple of guys who were snacking on a can of sardines. They finished their snack and the (nearly) empty can struck a chord.

Ships have deck plans posted on the bulkheads so that you can find your way around. You can also find other things on them, though you might have to go from deck to deck to consult several plans. Things like, oh, which machinery space provides the air conditioning to the Captain’s cabin. All of those things have access panels, of course.

We shifted to ‘Burton Island’ the next day and ‘Glacier’ sailed off, so I never heard if pouring a can of sardine juice into an air conditioning system provided proper sea going ‘atmosphere’ or not, but it did give a topic of discussion for the remainder of that cruise.