"Steaming
Alone and Unafraid" By Jim Campbell
Years
ago I found myself sailing aboard the USS Peleliu through the South
Pacific Ocean on a humanitarian mission for the United States Navy.
It was the first of its kind, an Amphibious Assault Ship designed to
deliver Marines and Sailors to a hostile beach had been deployed with
a full complement of construction men, helicopters, doctors, nurses,
and the Marine Corps Band to travel to the poorest countries in
Southeast Asia to heal the sick, build up infrastructure, and promote
good will. My chief responsibility onboard the ship was skillful
navigation through the vastness of the sea and avoiding the thousands
of islands and atolls that make up that part of the Pacific. My
secondary undertaking to that was a plethora of arbitrary political
debacles that are ever present on a naval vessel. Men left to
themselves on a ship for months at a time can create a quagmire of
intrigue that takes skillful navigation in its own right, so most of
a sailor's time is taken up by many battles that lie perpendicular
to the main mission. Aside from the daily maneuvering of ship life,
I partook in expeditions to assist an ailing orphanage in Vietnam, to
weld dumpsters together in the Marshall Islands, and rebuild a ruined
village on the side of the most active volcano in the Philippines,
but there is one particular night that is etched in my mind. It's
the night that I truly understood what it meant to be a sailor.
"Quartermaster,
how does our course look," The Officer of the Deck asked as I put
the finishing touches on my calculations of the ships position.
"Well
sir, according to this we seem to be way off course and heading
toward one of the thousand or so islands out here," I said chewing
on my pencil, trying to make sense of my 'math.'
"My
God, Helm change course too..." He started to yell as the bridge of
the Peleliu came to life, and hearing the commotion my boss,
Quartermaster 2nd
class Josh Cox, came out of our office giving me a very stern look.
"Hold
on, everybody calm down!" he shook his head in disapproval, "What
did I tell you about saying things to the OOD? Do the math again
Campbell."
"Never
mind sir," I hung my head, and turned to QM2 Cox, "In my defense,
it's not like this is an exact science, I'm sure we would have
been fine."
"No
Campbell, it is an exact science, you just happen to be terrible at
it!" I could tell he was not amused.
"Come
on buckaroo, just 15 more minutes of watch then Marshall and Grieger
will be here to take over. Then we can get a dozen hot wings from the
Mess deck and forget all about this." I said with a smug smile.
Keeping my boss on his toes was my favorite way to pass time on long
uneventful navigation watches.
"I'm
not eating hot wings with you, you bastard, and don't call me
buckaroo. You can address me as QM2 Cox!" His tone was unyielding
but I could see it in his eyes that he was only half serious, "And
what if the Captain had seen the course change on his GPS screen or
we hit an island? Old Ed Rhoades would have had me hung from a
yardarm during your court martial. This would have never happened on
the USS Ogden." He said referring to his last ship which was
waiting to be sunk off the coast of San Diego.
"Of
course the mighty warship Ogden, next thing you will be telling me is
that the USS Ogden is what killed the dinosaurs," I laughed, "I
heard that boat was so rusty you could push a paint brush through her
hull."
"We
did kill the dinosaurs, they were all Al Qaeda!" He lightened up
and gave me a big brother punch to the arm, "Let me show you how to
do it again, I think I know where you went wrong."
My
mentor and I reviewed how to lay a fix on our chart using a parallel
motion protractor as Quartermaster 3rd
Class Marshall opened the hatch and came onto the bridge pulling his
long pick through his way out of regulation afro. As he walked to us,
he greeted and shook the waiting hands of everyone on the bridge,
officers and enlisted alike. After his rounds, his massive figure
slide quietly through the red lights to our map table.
"Big
Game James, how you doing man," his huge hand dwarfed mine with a
hand shake.
"Oh
he's good, he almost ran the ship aground and killed us all," QM2
said flatly.
"He
is exaggerating Mars, and anyway if I ran the ship aground we would
all have beach front property, I would be doing you a favor."
"But
what if the Captain or the Navigator would have been on the bridge?
Marshall, I don't even know why you hang out with this kid." Josh
smirks as he shows the OOD our actual position.
"Shit,
Campbell is my white friend, every time I hang out with him my credit
score goes up," Marshall laughed, " And I wouldn't worry about
Old Eddy Rhoadey, He's so senile he can barely find the bridge on
this gray turd, and last time I saw the Gator, he was stumbling down
the hallway shirtless mumbling something about 'Strawberry Fanta'."
The Officer of the Deck chuckled at that last part, but quickly
turned it into a cough to avoid suspicion. The Navigator of the
Peleliu was a fat jolly man that seemed blissfully unaware of his
rank or stature on the ship. He would often mumble and stutter his
way through missions, and whenever we actually saw him, we would yell
"Gator" at him instead of saluting.
My
first day on the Peleliu, QM3 Marshall had been sent to collect me at
the brow of the ship, and I came aboard lugging all of my earthly
belongings in two overstuffed duffle bags. He met me looking like a
bewildered and half asleep giant, and I could tell he had no
intention of helping me with my burden. I learned later that he was
supposed to help me get accustom to the ship, and find me a place to
sleep, but he did none of that, instead he looked at me with one eye
and gave me the only speech that I remember word for word of the
million that I have heard in my life.
"Hey
what's your name man?"
"Campbell."
I said.
"Well
Campbell let me tell you a little secret about life, white people are
crazy. They are always doing crazy shit, like they're always saying
obvious shit like 'nice day we're having' yeah Mother Fucker, I
know it's nice out. And this one time I was going to do my laundry
and this guy was like 'Oh going to do laundry' and I'm like
'Yeah Mother Fucker, that's why I got the detergent and shit!'
But anyway look over there, there are alarms and shit going off over
there and what are the white people doing? They are running around
over there for God's sake! But what are the Black people doing?
They are way the fuck over there! So what do you think you should be
doing?" He looked too me for an answer, and I said the first thing
that came to my mind.
"Do
what the Black people are doing?"
He
smiled very pleased, "There you go, you remember that and you are
going to live a long time." He smacked me on the back almost
knocking me over, "And if you ever see Black people running away
from something, you better run with them because there is some scary
shit coming your way."
Then
he strolled off down the hallway while I struggled to lug my sea bags
to my berthing. I had originally took Marshall's comment as some
kind of crazy joke, but it proved to be incredibly valuable advice
that has saved my life on several occasions.
Marshall
slapped me on the back so hard I almost fell over again, then he
grinned at me "Hey Campbell, how's that skeezer of yours doing'?"
Marshall
had met my girlfriend once before we left San Diego and had become
instantly infatuated with her, and committed to torturing me by
insulting her.
"Dammit
she isn't a skeezer, a hoe, a jump off, or a mark ass trick. She is
my girlfriend, and if you keep talking that way about her I will be
forced to kick your ass Marshall!" I transform into my most
dangerous war stance.
Marshall
laughs and mocks my best boxing pose, "Campbell what do you weigh
150 pounds? I could squash you like a bug, get out of here!"
"I'm
the most dangerous 150 pounds on this boat I promise you that!" I
punched him hard in the arm, but it seemed to have no effect so I
chalked it up as a victory and went back to studying the map.
Then
QM2 Grieger came onto the bridge, and meandered over to the map table
starring down everyone in his path. Even in the red lights his gaze
was intense and unrelenting as he moved to where we stood. His giant
head looked even redder in our lights, his puff of hair floating on a
sweaty face.
"Here
comes Puddles." I said to Marshall quietly. We called him 'Puddles'
because no matter what the temperature of the ship, he was always
sweating profusely. He would wipe the moisture off his huge head with
his hand and throw it on the deck of the ship leaving nasty little
puddles everywhere he went.
"Hey
Cox I'm surprised you haven't let Campbell kill us yet, six whole
hours and we are still on course." He said peering out of his thick
glasses that made his eyes look massive and distorted. He smiled
maliciously, and it reminded me of the day he had told me that I was
being sent to the Peleliu's kitchen for having a 'bad attitude'.
It was
soon after my arrival on the Peleliu that I developed a reputation
for being difficult. It was absolutely not my intention, but while
QM2 Grieger showed me too what was to be my Battle station it became
evident that I was not paddling my canoe in the same direction as
most. Grieger took me to the very top of the ship to a small box on
the 08 level called the Signal Shelter and said, "Listen New Guy,
this is where you are going to run too if you hear the Battle station
alarm. We are responsible for all the signals coming from and coming
to the Boat." He knew my name, but he didn't use it the first
year I was on the Peleliu, "We are also responsible for operating
the equipment that detects chemical, biological, or radiological
attacks on the ship. That's what that thing is out there, but I'm
going to let you in on a little secret. No one knows how to use the
damn thing."
That
confused me, "What do you mean? How do we figure out if we've
been attacked by that stuff?"
"I'm
glad you asked" He grinned, "Basically we are going to throw you
out of the hatch and see if your skin melts and you die. If that
happens then we know it's not safe to go outside."
"You're
fucking with me right?" Alarm is an understatement for the way I
felt.
"No
son, that's your duty to the ship. You are the youngest, and you
don't have any kids so you have the least to lose." He smiled
gaily, "It has to be you, and I'm here to make sure that
happens."
I
panicked and stumbled over what my next statement was going to be,
but then I noticed a very fundamental difference between my future
executioner and myself.
"If
that's the way it has to be, I guess I understand." I said
humbly, "Tell me Grieger, do you carry a knife?"
"No
I don't have one on me, why?" He said puzzlingly.
"Well
I do," I pulled the switch blade out of my boot, "And I can
promise you that I'm not going out into the hazardous fucking cloud
of death!"
Shortly
after that incident I found myself toiling for three months scrubbing
pots and pans twelve hours a day, but my attitude did not improved,
if anything it only served to sharpen my edge.
I snap
back to the present to hear QM2 Cox say "No he did great. I was
asleep until about 15 minutes ago."
"Sure,
sure I bet." He slapped his hands together and twisted his smile
into a wicked grin, "Well son do I have something for you! You are
on trash watch tonight. The cooks are dumping all the garbage over
the side of the ship and I am sending you to help them."
"What
the hell, I just did that two days ago, it should be someone else's
turn." I recoiled in horror at the thought of mountains of decaying
garbage, and the slippery deck on the side of the ship throwing
hundred pound bags of trash into the ocean.
"Listen
New Guy, you're the hammer and I need you to stay focused on the
nails not the Carpenter." QM2 Grieger said, very pleased with his
analogy, "And if you don't help the cooks I'll know, and you
will be standing in front of the Captain in the morning I promise you
that."
As I
left the bridge I looked back at the huge red face in the glow of the
map table light, his distorted eyes gazing out at nothing. I cursed
him and the entire infernal ship as I headed down the endless
stairwells to the Well deck of the ship. I needed to smoke, and the
Well deck is where a sailor could relax and reflect on the day's
trials and tribulations. I raised myself up on my hands and slide
down the handrails with the finesse of a bobsledder. It left your
hands filthy, but that was the best way to get down the eight ladder
wells to the Mess Decks of the ship, and eventually to the ramp that
led to the Well Deck of the Peleliu. The Well Deck allowed the ship
to submerge herself halfway in the water so we could deploy our troop
delivery crafts, as well as our hovercraft, from the very heart of
the ship. I smiled as I walked down the long ramp thinking about the
time the Hovercraft suffered a huge mechanical failure and we lost it
at sea. I laughed when I remembered the Captain yelling at the
Officer of the Deck "What do you mean you lost the Hovercraft!"
I
arrived at the Smoke pit in the Well Deck to discover it filled with
disillusioned and unkempt sailors. Like most things in the Navy, the
Smoke pit organization came down to job and race. Groups gathered
upon themselves filled with like-minded or like-orientated mariners
mingling and sharing sea stories and yelling vulgarities at each
other in five different languages. I took my usual place alone at the
bottom of the ramp that led to the huge door that let the cold sea
in. Leaning against the grey hulk far away from the crowd at the top
of the ramp, I remembered the best thing about this particular spot
was that it allowed me to analyze the rabble of sailors, and pick up
on dismay among the ranks. A wise man could rule the ship from that
very spot because among the sailor's bitching and complaining lay
the status of every aspect of the ship. All the smokers were
representatives of all the departments and all the ranks of what we
lovingly called 'The USS Dirty Liu'. I discovered early in my
military career that those that truly controlled the madness of Navy
life smoked like freight trains, and the best way to gather the mood
of a command was to observe the Smoke pit.
I
took in the attitude of my brothers, and leaned up against the
Peleliu to feel her shudder as we increased our speed. Through the
vibrations of the hull, I felt the old girl move like a lone specter
through the sea. That was always the malevolence of sailing aboard a
ship at sea. Nothing has ever seemed to be such a savior and a curse,
something I loved and loathed so much. She became my home and my
prison. She was my isolation and turmoil, but also a mistress that I
could never describe to a man that has never been locked in an
obsolescent struggle with a gray lady. Steaming alone and unafraid
QM2 Grieger would say, we were absolutely alone out there, and each
sailor aboard was alone in his own right. I discovered immediately
that a man onboard a ship was as important as his contribution to the
machine, that's why we called each other by an abbreviation of our
job title. Every man in the Navy is steaming alone and unafraid, only
validated by his function to our captor.
I
threw my cigarette in a flaming coffee can, and built the nerve to
escort myself to the trash room. On the Peleliu we separated our
garbage by its ability to be absorbed into the sea. Bones and metal,
paper and cardboard went over the side when our distance from
civilization was great enough, and this night was to be one of those
nights. The array of filth was kept in a signal dismal room that
stunk to a degree that is hard to describe. I arrived at the arena of
stench to find other unwilling trash men waiting for me. No words
were spoken, the smell made all the conversation for us. We glared
into each other's world weary eyes recognizing the dismay that lay
within, but all made a silent acknowledgement that each was on his
own. I collected myself, and looked toward the task at hand. This was
an old hat for me. I grew up a twig in the valley of chainsaws back
home, and I was used to being alone. I have always been sustained by
a durable fire all my own.
Soon
the fearless leader of our mission appeared and started barking
orders at us, and pointing at the pile of waste. I grabbed a heavy
bag of slimy trash and made my way to the side of the ship that was
allocated for garbage throwing. The leaking bag left a grotesque
trail behind me as well as sullying my coveralls and boots. The man
that was to be our guardian in this dangerous endeavor, our watcher
that was to let our superiors know if one of us was to fall out of
the gaping hole was flirting with a woman known as Rosie the Marine
Mattress. She was a kind girl who was plagued with a lust that
corrupted her and all men she came into contact with. I could see it
in her eyes, and could hear it in the way she spoke that her
sweetness was anchored in some desperate anger brewed long ago. Our
savior discussed copulation with Rosie in hush tones as I tried my
best to shake the heavy wet paper bag out of the plastic wrapping on
the slippery deck. I successfully released my load into the black
oblivion, and soon heard the satisfying splash 75 feet below, then
the smaller splashing of the fish that followed the ship to eat our
leftovers, then the alarming larger splash of the sharks that
consumed our ward of garbage eating fish. I shook my head, and
gathered the strength to conquer another hefty bag of rubbish. I
edged back to the trash room in no particular rush, but the mission
compelled me as it always had, regardless of stature or honor, no
matter how arbitrary, I have always been fueled by the intent of a
mission. I retrieved another over filled bag of refuse, and walked
back to the port hole in the side of the Peleliu to find that my
guardian and the majority of my trash kinsman had vanished into the
night. I lifted my charge to shake out its contents into the
blackness when I slipped on the garbage juice and found myself
descending into the darkness.
I felt
the weight of the abyss lean upon me, its blackness pushing against
my soul with a bleak enormity that corrupted the fickle flame that
smoldered in my heart. I looked out onto its ugliness, and gazed into
its terrible infinity. There I witnessed a gross truth beyond
anything that I had found until that point. That was the Wall of
Forever that most men run from. I caught a protruding piece of metal
and held on for dear life as I felt Death whisper into my ear. I
heard the sharks and trash fish fight below to grasp at their reigns
in the battle of the food chain as I righted myself upon the slime
ridden deck. At first there was the rush of panic that follows a
close brush with death, and then there was the plain pulse and slow
breathes of the realization that I was alive and unharmed. This was
my first meeting with what would soon become an old friend on the ink
black sea. This was my first true fight with the grim tenacity of
Death. The abyss beckoned to me that night. It had tasted me, and
wanted to consume me in my entirety, but I found that my soul had
other plans. I gazed into the Face of Forever and calm washed over
me. I stood with my feet planted on the edge of my floating
protector, on the very razors edge of what could have been. I looked
out onto the cold and perilous sea, and said the immortal words of
every seafaring man since the dawn of time.
"Not
Tonight."
After
that I needed a cigarette. I left the trash world behind to venture
my way back to the Smoke pit, but instead I found Seamen Jake Walters
walking gleefully toward me on the troop walkway leading to the Well
Deck.
"Hey
Campbell, how the hell are you!" He grinned, and then paused when
he noticed my grim demeanor, "You look like you're having a case
of the Mondays bud."
"I
almost fell off the ship Jake," I shuddered when I said it. He
laughed.
"So
what, I almost fell off six times yesterday, once to catch a seagull.
I almost got it." He jumped in the air demonstrating in seagull
catching prowess, "Don't be a pussy, let's go smoke!" He
pointed toward the starboard gun tub, and I followed him down the
dark walkway on the side of the Peleliu's hull.
Seamen
Walters was a member of the Deck Department on the USS Peleliu. They
were known as Undesignated Seamen, but truly they were sailors
without a job. They were A School drop outs, trouble makers, thieves,
cheats, and law breakers and they did everything on the ship that no
one else wanted to do and took enormous pride in it. The Deck
Department ruled everything on the decks of the ship, and they were
notorious for their cunning and brutality. Walters was the lividest
among them, always laughing manically and teetering on the verge of
violence. He was at the Engineering School in Great Lakes when he
was forced to leave for various unscrupulous reasons I have been
told. He could take the ship apart and put it back together again,
but had never stepped foot in a High School. He would routinely stop
while we walked around the ship to open electrical panels and flip
switches vigorously, often alarming the true owners of the equipment.
Everybody liked Jake, and everyone that didn't was afraid of him.
He was a loud, obnoxious degenerate that was always smiling a
jester's smile, but he was also a very loyal friend and a trusted
advisor.
We
arrived at our destination as the sun was about to come up. The
starboard gun tub was located on the side of the most forward point
of the ship, and we were absolutely not allowed to smoke there. We
sat down on the deck with our backs against the hull, and I lit a
Camel as Jake rolled a rough looking cigarette from his leather pouch
leaving loose tobacco on the ground all around him. We watched the
clouds roll lazy in the ocean sky as the sun began the twilight. Jake
regaled me with stories of his latest acts of debauchery as I looked
out silently into the cool morning. The aura of stench from my soiled
blue coveralls twisted about me in the dawn air, and I thought about
a nice hot shower and a comfortable bed, but I knew all that was
waiting from me was the cold dank showers of my berthing and the
small cramped bunk that I called home. The sun peeked over the
horizon painting the sky orange, red, and pink, and I felt its
growing warmth touch my face. The days at sea were always better than
the long unending nights. Danger was still ever present, but at least
it couldn't lurk beneath a cloak of darkness.
"I
almost fell off the ship Jake," I said still reeling from it, "I
don't want to sound weak, but what would have happened if I had
fallen off?"
"Well
you would have died, and we would have sent your family the
coordinates of where you went overboard," He said coldly fiddling
with the laces of his boot, "I would have probably had an omelet. A
burial at sea, that's a good death."
"I
would have been eaten by sharks," I said in debate, "That is not
a good death. That is being eaten by toothy monsters."
"What?
Sharks are awesome!" He seemed almost offended by my accusation,
"They would have torn you apart before you felt a thing."
Death
didn't seem to bother him at all. He lived with it every day, and
even ran toward it, but Death didn't bother Seamen Jake Walters. He
was a blonde haired blue eyed Fortress of Solitude. I took a gloomy
drag off my cigarette, and looked back too the dawn. Walters could
tell that I was in need of some sage counsel.
"Listen
Jim, anytime a ship goes to sea either it comes back home or it
doesn't. That's the way life is too, either you are going to make
it or you're not." He took a long drag off his cigarette as some
of the tobacco fell out still burning onto his coveralls, the small
torches melting holes in the fabric. If he noticed it at all, he made
no move to snub the tiny flames. "That's the truth of the matter
and you can either spend your life running away from it or you can
embrace it, but whatever you choose it's still going to get you."
Jake's
wisdom reminded me of when I asked my Dad about joining the military.
He said, "If you don't join it might bother you a little down the
road, you will wonder what might have happened and what could have
been, but you'll get over it and live your life." He paused and I
could see the memories of his days in the 101st
Airborne Division come flooding back to him, "If you join, I can
promise that it will change you in almost every way, and you will do
and see things you never thought you would experience. You will have
adventures that you will remember for the rest of your life."
That
was all I needed to hear. I enlisted days later. I was scared of
course, but everyone is on the cusp of such a monumental life
altering journey, but at the same time I wanted to run toward it. I
wanted to throw myself against it just to see if I could survive. I
was on the hunt for the true human experience, far from the safety of
my home, and alone to match myself against whatever was in front of
me. It's was odd that I only realized then that what I was looking
for on those cold seas, in those endless jungles, and dusty
wastelands was that Nothingness that I had seen out the port hole of
the Peleliu that very night. I was hunting for that dark lady on the
horizon always asking why, and never knowing where the next part of
the answer would come to me. That's what I was testing myself
against, how far and how hard I could push myself. My aim was to live
as hard as I could until finally I could find what life was all about
in the vastness of the World. I thought that maybe that's what
every sailor hunts in the abyss of the Sea.
I
flicked my cigarette into the ocean and looked at my scarred and
filthy arms. "God I'm getting a lot of scares from this job."
"I
like all of my scars," Jake smirked, "That's how I keep score."
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