|
|
Tales from the Ship...
SWIM CALL!
by
Bob "Banzai" Norris
USS INDEPENDENCE - circa 1982
While on deployment in the Mediterranean, many of us were excited to learn that the Captain had authorized a very unusual event in an effort to raise morale in honor of our one-hundredth day at sea without a port call. We were to have a swim call! Since I grew up in the water and have been accused of having gills, the irony of spending those hot summer days on one of the most beautiful bodies of water in the world without being able to take a dip had weighed especially heavy on me. That the only way to get wet was to leap from the hangar deck (a mere 40 feet) served only to make the adventure more exciting.
Telling my squadronmates that I would be first in line, I fully expected them to join me. Surprised by their reluctance, I even challenged their manhood (this was before Tailhook), but to no avail. Nevertheless, I was eager to go and made arrangements to be the very first man overboard by bribing the ship’s Morale Officer with a cherished six-pack of
Coca-Cola hoarded for months by my sleeping roommate in a not-so-secret stash.
The morning dawned in a gray haze that the sun had great difficulty penetrating. By the time we mustered on the hangar deck for the great event, the "crowd" of swimmers was down to less than one hundred. This out of a crew of 5,000! As it turned out, I was the only officer to sign up to take the plunge, though there were several I recognized
watching from the cheap seats. I snickered with the troops about these Naval Academy boys, prima donnas too good to muss up their hair. It didn't occur to me that these gent had spent years learning the ropes and might just know a thing or two about seamanship.
When the ship's bell rang on the hour and the boson's mate piped swim call, I walked up to the deck's edge, intent on diving headfirst into azure waters. I was greeted by a nasty, dull-grey sea full of whitecaps. The size of the waves was emphasized by the pitching boatload of Marines who were standing anti-shark guard, one of whom was being held by the belt by his sergeant, head hanging low over the side, in the ancient pose of the terminally seasick.
"Well sir?" asked the grizzled Master Chief who managed - while checking off the names of swimmers - to pack a pound of sarcasm in those two little words. It was
as if he knew that a lifetime of being a younger brother/cousin had built a Pavlovian instinct to react to all challenges with blind stupidity. Of course I leaped. It was a
long, long way...Impacting at near terminal velocity, I plummeted below the surprisingly cold water, stunned, but exhilarated. Opening my eyes, I looked up to find, not light, but the incredible dark mass of the ship's hull. The current had pushed me under the edge of the ship.
A shot of adrenaline burst into my heart as I fought my way clear. Breaking the surface, I had not yet gasped a full breath before being stunned by the impact of a body hitting the water mere inches from my head. I turned to look upward at the launch point only to find that I was blind. Thick diesel fuel (and much worse), coagulated in viscous clumps, covered the water's surface, and as it turns out, my
head.
It seems that a disgruntled engineer chose that particular time to flush the bilges. Rumor had it that it was part of his personal morale-building program. Swim call was summarily halted for health reasons. After being unceremoniously yanked out by the Marine lifeguards
who had trouble with our slick skin - this was no Baywatch crew, believe me - we had to climb up periously unstable rope ladders, blindly following shouted instructions
from laughing guides. Led to showers we were dismayed to find that water and soap beaded on us better than a freshly waxed Chevrolet.
For days, nothing cut the diesel smell. Shipmates demanded, none to politely, that I eat alone. My roommate took to volunteering for extra watches. I avoided open flames and became the butt of a dozen bad jokes. The best I can say is that, from that day forward, I never again longed to take that dip...
|
|
