The web doesn't do it justice. The "main" hole ran from water line to water line and ran about 90 feet along the keels...both of which were broken. Pretty impressive when one considers the keels on Newports were twin I-beams about a meter high and half a meter wide. The superstructure is what kept us from breaking up...and after a few days of wave action we watched a hand wide split form down the center line of that. That was the day I learned how to weld aluminum AND the local fisherman brought us beer and a dog to play fetch with. (damn good dog, really kept many of us from loosing it!)
While the wreck itself is an exciting story the salvage operation was amazing. The tow to Concepcion was fun too.
This is where I developed my trademark "Swing down from the overhead of the tank deck in a five point and scare the bejeezus out of the really hot DCA" maneuver...also known as the "Ghost of the County". (Damn, that gal was a looker, but that is another story....)
I think the best though is how I got an "unnoficial" Marine Corp Commendation. (Yes, I am bragging here.)
Some of you may know a bit about LSTs, but for those that dont our job is to haul a bunch of pissed off Jarheads and their AAVs to some shithole, pull right up on the beach shooting, and then open the bowramp and unleash Mother Green and Her Killing Machines onto some unsuspecting landmass.
Troop berthing was the hardest hit of the interior spaces, forward troop being open to the ocean and aft troop being well below the waterline.
Those guys lost everything. Literally came swarming up onto the decks like rats on a waterlogged barrel. It was around 0500 so most of them got out only with what they were wearing. (Many of us were in nothing but skivvies for the first few days. everything was contaminated with seawater, CHT and DFM)
The enlisted folks in the crew all donated our civilian rags and extra uniform parts so these guys werent virtually naked on a dangerous wreck. There were a lot of jars, and not much clothing left. Most everyone but the officers had enough left to have one change of clothes....sort of...
Since there was no need for any weapons geeks, I was drafted into sounding and security as my snipe drinking buddies knew I could be trusted to stay awake and actually do Sounding and Security watches properly. While on watch a few weeks later I saw a horrible sight.
Troop berthing had been effectively written off untill we could be sure the hull wasnt going to go Titanic on us. Part of my watch was to check the depth in there to see if things were stable or getting worse. We didnt have divers yet, so we sure were not certain how bad things were out there.
Forward troop Head was half a deck above the berthing, so it was still open. There I observed the entire enlisted MARFOR in line, systematically running a laundry line in the sinks trying to wash what little clothing they had.
I didn't say a word to the poor bastards. Many of them had to cycle through the line naked, and they were out of soap so were using spray degreaser to bathe and wash clothing in the sinks.
Next morning I tried to get the crew to donate some cash so we could buy out the ship's store and at least get these guys some spare skivvies and some soap. Typical squids, they all laughed at me. Well, not all. I threatened and blackmailed a few thanks to our antics on shore leave previous...
Ended up with about 25 bucks in loose change and soggy bills. Not nearly enough.
I was pissed. No one should have to live like that on my ship. Period! I got even more pissed off when the storecreatures and supply officer refused to open up "official Navy Stores" for "f*cking Marines".
Finally, I bribed a storecreature with a jug of my top secret CIWS brewed whiskey. (You can do interesting things with an ethanol based RADAR coolant circuit...)
I got him to open the ship's store. This helped as people could get junkfood and smokes to ease the stress of the situation, but it didn't help the jarheads at all. They lost all their cash and cards to the grounding.
By this time everyone had developed immersion foot and chemical burns. The marines had it worst of all. It took me a few days to figure out what to do, since the squid zeros were all too goddamned worried about saving their own asses, the enlisted didn't give a shit, and all the jareen zeros were to proud to ask for help.
I approached the Supply Officer and asked him what the retail value of all the clothing and hygenie supplys for the ships store was. Being a typical spineless Navy Reserve officer, he wouldn't tell me.
So, that night, I broke into his office, hacked his primitive Windows NT computer and got the answer for myself. Also discovered he had a predication for Philipino porn...
The following day, as one of the ships master at arms, I had to investigate the break in. I had one of the other MAAs cuff me and haul me to see the Old Man.
After turning myself in and facing a serious coutsmartial, i handed the CO a check for the damages to the door and another for the total cost of all the clothing and hygiene supplys on hand for the ship's store.
I won't disclose how much it cost, but it took every penny I had saved from three deployments, plus the lucky stroke of having 3k in overdraft protection.
CO dropped the charges and the ordered SUPO to deliver my purchases to me. He also orderd me to fix the office door out of the CIWS budget...kind of moot at this point, but the message was clear...he ripped up the small door check...
they piled up everything in the CIWS shop where I could lock it up away from all but three people. I got ahold of the MarFor CO. Pompous Asshole refused my gift. Told me his marines didnt need"...help from a shitbag squid in a filthy fart-sack..." (Never forget those words, me. to this day I feel bad for marines as their officers were even worse than spineless squid zeros)
I lost my f*cking temper. I sure as shit tore into that f*cker. Never in my life had I managed to use every single form of the word "f*ck" in a single run on sentence. I made threats. I yelled and got in his face. He laughed at my scrawny ass and walked away. Never did figure out what that shitbird's rank was....
Defeated at every turn, I had no way to get a couple of thousand dollars woth of stuff to some fellow military men that needed it.
Fuming mad I stormed out to the smoke deck and fired up one of my last, very precious Cuban cigars I got in Panama.
Some butterbars jarhead zero was out there sharing a bent smoke with another butter bar.
I stormed up to him and said the only good thing I ever said to an officer:
"Sir, you are to follow me to the CIWS Gun Shop now."
He started to argue.
I gave him the look of death and explained that if he didn't shut his pretty college boy mouth and follow me I was gonna sell him to the snipes. That worked, it appears legends and stereotypes DO have power over tiny minds. So, still puffing my bad-ass stogie, I marched the bastard to my shop and explaine he had ten minutes to get a working party of those "disgusting pigs you call marines" to get "this annoying shit the hell out of my gunshop before I pitched it all over the side"
He realized what all the boxes and bags were and ran back to the smoke deck and grabbed all the marines he could.
I went and hid after locking up the shop.
The plan worked. Nobody's pride got injured, those jareens had soap and toothpaste and razors and CLEAN clothing. Most importantly I shamed every single member the ships crew.
f*ck them. No one lives like that on my ship, sinking or not.
A few days later, that butterbar tracked me down. He found me drunk as a skunk on CIWS whiskey in my top secret hiding spot.
"Why did you do that, man?"
"Because I could."
Over the next few weeks random amounts of money mysteriously kept showing up on the CIWS mount. No squid would speak to me other than out of necessity.
Marines kept f*cking bothering me to say thank you. I told them all the same shit. "I don't want your thanks. I just want to get out of this nightmare." One of them magically produced a full carton of smokes. None of the packs match and none of the smokes were the same brand, but it appeared my fame as a four-pack a day smoker had spread.
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Over a year later, on a different ship, in a different ocean, a small box arrived for me on the helo. This was odd as it was well known I never got mail. The rumor was that I was married to my gunmounts and had no family or friends. (Not true, I hung out with civilians, not squids) I took it out to the smoke deck to open. Folks were standing around to see what the loner got in the mail.
I opened the box, and inside was a brand new Marine Corps Commendation Medal and a letter signed by some silver leaf I never heard of. I couldn't wear it on my uniform and it isn't in my record, but that unofficial medal is framed and hanging in my man cave.
All the letter read was:
"Presented with respect to FC2(SW/AW) [Sludge] for actions above and beyond the call of duty."
After the signature was a hand written line:
"I still tell my men about the goddamned squid that gave me clean boxershorts when I really needed them and explain to them that when the shit is going down, you never know who is going to save your sorry ass."[sic]
So there is a whopper for ya.
Haven't thought about that entire saga in years. In hind sight, this is less me bragging, and more me making a statement about pride and military service. Pride is for pussies, jarheads, and politicians. If a stubborn hillbilly squid can swallow his to help others, anyone can.
It also just made me realize that there is nothing wrong for admitting to myself that perhaps I should bluster less and concentrate more on asking for help.
