A Veteran's Journey

Trivia Questions (Answers @ end)

1. Who said, “Look deep into nature, then you will understand everything better.”?
2. Who said (and what movie) did we hear, “Fasten your seatbelts. It’s going to be a bumpy night.”?
3. Who sang (and what song) the following?
   I read the news today, oh boy
   About a lucky man who made the grade
   And though the news was rather sad
   Well, I just had to laugh
   I saw the photograph

---

“General Quarters…”

…probably not the best blog “title” to begin the New Year, but I couldn’t resist. After all, when you go from “20” to “21,” you’re now drinking age… right?

Yes, we are in the middle of a pandemic and some parts of the country are experiencing worse conditions than others. I don’t want to play that down, because this COVID is serious stuff. I’m just trying to do my part to stay safe.

That 70s Thing We Did

Back when I first joined the Navy in 1973, we were still at war with Vietnam. Even though the war was winding down when I came aboard USS Kitty Hawk in March 1975, the United States military was still on high alert. And, like most other military units—not just Navy—we drilled, and we trained… constantly.

I don’t think we ever went to sea without at least a few “General Quarters” drills.

Most civilians have heard the term and probably know a little about what happens. But allow me to relate my own experiences aboard an aircraft carrier in the 70s.

First thing to remember is that GQ is a heightened alert status. Everyone aboard a Navy ship is assigned a “battle station.” That’s basically a specific location and a specific duty. No matter where you are on the ship and no matter what you’re doing, when the General Quarters alarm sounds, you spring into action and hoof it to your GQ station.

The first time I heard “General Quarters,” I was already at my GQ station—the flight deck. I had been assigned to Crash & Salvage, part of V-1 Division. That was logical, since I’d just transferred from NAS Agana, Guam, where I worked Crash & Rescue for 15 months and… I knew how to drive the Crash fire trucks. Crash was short on both crew members and drivers.

I was a young ABH3 (Aviation Boatswain’s Mate, 3rd Class Petty Officer) and had turned 20 years old a few months before leaving Guam. Even though I’d been in the Navy for a year and a half, I was still an FNG on the flight deck. Fortunately, we had a great Crash crew—all 14 of us, including Bos’n Ty Robuck (Air Bos’n), Jeff Atteberry (Crash LPO-leading petty officer), Shelby “Big Willie” Williams (Crash Asst. LPO), and Gary Borne, my good buddy who’d transferred earlier from Guam.

My Flight Deck Orientation

My first time at sea in V-1 Division/Crash was spent… observing… NOT on the flight deck.

Kitty Hawk sailed for a “Family Day Cruise,” a one-day cruise allowing sailors’ dependents on board for a day. I thought that was so cool—“see what daddy does at work.” Note: back in my day, there were no female sailors aboard.

Since this was my first time on the ship when at sea, I was told to stay off the flight deck during flight ops and hob knob with the civilians. I wasn’t a happy camper, but I understood the reasons and I followed orders.

Vulture’s Row

“Vulture’s Row” is an open air balcony on the ship’s island overlooking the flight deck. I got to observe flight deck operations for the first time from a great vantage point: Navy jets being launched off the catapults and returning to land on the carrier. It was pretty exciting, and I couldn’t wait to get onto the flight deck.

It was loud and jaw-jarring. Later, I would learn just how LOUD Navy jets are, when I’d stand about fifteen feet from an F-4 Phantom in full-afterburner, ready for launch.

Before joining the Navy, I could hear a rabbit fart at 200 paces. After the Navy, well… let’s just say I learned to say “huh” (before marriage) or “what was that, honey” (after marriage) with a bit of panache.

I think most of us Airdales would agree that once you’re out on the flight deck for a day or two during flight operations, you quickly learn two things. One, you better know where you are supposed to be and more importantly, know where NOT to be.

And two… know that experienced Airdales are always watching your back. I’ve twice witnessed a Yellow shirt director literally tackle someone on the flight deck who was in the wrong place, keeping him from being sucked up into the intake of an A-7 Corsair.

Those sailors needed to take a quick break to go below and change their skivvies…

Danger Everywhere

I’ve been blown down on the flight deck more times than I can count from the exhaust of a taxiing aircraft. I’m sure I’m not the only one here. Not on purpose, mind you—I don’t think I pissed anyone off enough for them to do that. All Yellow shirts train to not only watch where the aircraft they’re directing is going but also what’s behind the jet.

Sometimes, you just find yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time. But that’s also something you train for. We were trained that if blown down on the flight deck, roll to one side or the other, reach out and grab a pad eye, if you can—they’re all around. And if you find yourself blown off the flight deck, remember your training… don’t activate your life vest CO2 cartridge until after you hit the water.

For those who want to see what it’s like being blown down on the flight deck, here’s a short 50 sec YouTube video. Don’t worry, nothing “bad” happens, and there’s a happy ending. You can thank me later…

Flight Deck Drills—Continuous Training

Training on the flight deck was constant, even during flight ops.

We’d have simulated crash drills and “rig the barricade” drills at least once or twice while at sea. That typically only involved those of us on the flight deck. But that training was imperative to keep us on our toes in case… you know… we had a real crash.

There were times we trained on an aircraft that just trapped (landed). This would be the last one in the flight cycle, so there were not any more planes waiting to land. The drill was that the aircraft crashed, there was a fire and we had to extinguish it, and rescue the crew. Flight deck personnel would man four fire hoses from the catwalks, the Crash truck and Crash tractors would be on the forward side of the plane all pretending to fight the fire.

Lessons Learned from Training Exercises

On one particular training exercise, I was the hot suit rescue man. It was up to me to rescue the pilot and co-pilot from the A-6 Intruder that just “crashed.” I climbed up the plane’s ladder, unstrapped the pilot, and inserted the ejection seat safety pins. Then I pulled him out and threw him over my shoulder (yes, he helped).

He was nervous and asked if I was sure I could carry him. I climbed down to the flight deck, then with the help of a couple of other crash crew, carried him over close to the island and gently laid him down on the flight deck. Not bad for a day’s work.

We learned several things during that particular exercise. Not everyone was big and strong (I was 6’4” and weighed about 185 pounds; I’m still 6’4” today—don’t ask me what I weigh).

When we debriefed the exercise, one of the Crash crew members suggested rigging a rescue basket on the forklift and use it to help get the crew out and onto the ground. It would reduce the risk of dropping the pilot on his head when getting him out of the cockpit. That made sense to me, so Crash rigged up a basket and we used that for rescue training the rest of the cruise.

Training Throughout the Ship

When at sea, we’d constantly drill, not just of those of us on the flight deck, but also the entire ship. Other divisions held their own training exercises, specific to their areas. Again, the purpose to keep them on their toes and sharp.

Sometimes, there would be mock drills, like chemical gas attacks, or leaks and explosions where several designated crew members would either feign wounds, injuries, or be “missing.” And most of the time, those of us on the flight deck weren’t aware these exercises were happening in other parts of the ship. We knew, though, that training—as tedious as some of us thought—was necessary and beneficial.

But General Quarters would put the entire ship into an almost perfectly orchestrated response…

General Quarters—This is a Drill

Several times at sea we’d hear with no prior warning, “General Quarters, General Quarters. All hands man your battle stations!” Sometimes that would follow by “This is a drill” or… a few times I remember, “This is NOT a drill!”

And to make you a little more anxious, we rarely knew what the emergency was until you reached your GQ station. I think they did this on purpose to get everyone “off their ass & on their feet,” so to speak.

It was important to know where we were supposed to be and what we were supposed to do when we got there. For most in V-1 Division, our battle station was on the flight deck.

Traffic Rules

When an aircraft carrier goes to General Quarters, no matter where they are, 5,500+ guys hoof it to get to their GQ station as quickly as they can.

The traffic rules are simple: if you are going up or forward, your path is the starboard side of the ship; if you are going down or aft, you stay on the port side. You would cross over from one side to another in any of the many passageways.

Also during GQ, watertight doors and fireproof doors between bulkheads are shut and latched down, and security is increased around sensitive areas, such as the bridge and engineering rooms.

Hoofin’ it, you get into a rhythm: trot, trot, trot… hop; trot, trot, trot, hop… Many of the passageways seemed spaced so that an average size sailor (not me) would run three paces, then step (or hop) over the “knee knocker,” or door, as some civilians call it.

Some sailors tried to run faster, but with narrow passageways, you could only go as fast as the guy in front of you.

We would run mock torpedo drills which were announced over the 5MC (flight deck PA system). The Air Boss would state, “Brace yourselves. Torpedo impact starboard side in fifteen seconds,” at which time we’d find something to hang on to, squat down, and brace ourselves. Most of us sat down on the flight deck and just grabbed a pad eye.

There were times, though, when I imagined “what if,” but I wasn’t worried about a torpedo. I was more concerned about an air or missile strike. Thank the good Lord that never happened on my watch.

General Quarters – This is NOT a Drill

During Westpac ’75, we left Hawaii on Wednesday, June 4. Our next stop would be the Philippines, a trip that would take about two weeks.

A little over a week out of Hawaii, Kitty Hawk experienced a major problem. One of the main engine rooms flooded around midnight: a steam line ruptured, followed by a sea valve malfunction, causing flooding of the machine room space. Thank God, no one was hurt and everybody down there got out. That was the good thing.

Kitty Hawk went to General Quarters. Since it was midnight, most of the crew were fast asleep in their berthing compartments. We hustled to our battle stations.

Shortly after announcing “General Quarters… this is NOT a drill!,” the CO came over the 1MC and announced, “Anyone with scuba equipment please report to engine room #1 … and… bring your equipment.”

That last comment was scary. I began to think about abandoning ship, but those were just fleeting thoughts. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one.

Once up on the flight deck and informed of the emergency, we moved all the crash equipment and aircraft to the port side of the flight deck since the flood caused the ship to list to the starboard side.

That was a fun night and we got to watch the sun rise. We didn’t return to our berthing compartments; we still had work to do on the flight deck.

From what I heard, the snipes (those are the sailors below decks who keep the ship’s engines and boilers in good working order), were able to seal off the flood, pump out the engine room, and get everything back in order, all (I believe) within a day.

Kitty Hawk kept cruising toward our overseas home port, PI (The Philippines).

Winding Down

This past year has been challenging, no doubt about that. I think most of us are still on “high alert.”

I just turned 66 this past December, so I’m in a “high risk” category (i.e., Medicare age), though I certainly don’t feel like it, either mentally or physically. I’m sure I could still lift a (short, skinny) pilot out of an A-6 Intruder again, but… coming down the ladder with him over my shoulder, I don’t think my knees could handle that.

I continue to wear my mask when out in public, which is rare for me. I try to social distance (that’s still hard for me) and our only dinners “out” are takeout. I’m okay with that, because like everyone else, I know people (family and friends) who have experienced COVID. Because my wife is a retired ICU nurse who also has a lot of friends in the health profession throughout the country (it’s a small world), we know and understand the impact many hospitals are currently experiencing.

I know we’ll get through this. I have no doubt. Meanwhile, what do I do to keep my sanity?

Well, I write (this blog & working on a book) and I spend a lot of time outdoors. We walk, we bike, we hike. Nature is my healer.

As John Muir once said, “In every walk with nature, one receives far more than he seeks.” True ‘dat!

Until we meet again,
Andy

Andy Adkins is a US Navy veteran (’73-77) and the author of several books. His newest novel, NEVER FORGET, is the story of A Vietnam Veteran’s Journey for Redemption & Forgiveness. NEVER FORGET is FREE (eBook, PDF) for all veterans. Download your FREE copy HERE.

Previous posts mentioned in this blog:

• #57—That 70s Thing We Did
• #10—You Light ‘em, We Fight ‘em
• #61—There’s a Reason for the Flight Deck Foul Line
• #20—Port Call: Philippines

Answers

1. Albert Einstein.
2. All About Eve (1950); Margo (Bette Davis).
3. A Day in the Life (1967); The Beatles; written by John Lennon, Paul McCartney.