A Veteran's Journey

You light ‘em, we fight ‘em

Q – Who said, “Try to be a rainbow in someone’s cloud.”?
Q – In what movie (and who said it) did we hear the line, “It’s not the years, it’s the mileage.”?
Q – Who sang (and what song) the following:
“Relax said the night man, We are programmed to receive.
You can check out any time you like, But you can never leave!”?

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Picture this: the wide, crystal-clear, deep blue ocean… clean, crisp air… and beautiful sunrises and sunsets. All easily seen from the flight deck of an aircraft carrier with a 90-foot drop straight to the ocean surface.

Working on the flight deck of an aircraft carrier has often been called, “the most dangerous job in the world.”

A mixture of beauty and danger, every second of the day–every 20-year-old’s dream. Well… maybe not everyone.

Of course, back in 1975, it didn’t seem that dangerous to me. I worked on the flight deck of USS Kitty Hawk in the Crash & Salvage Crew. It was just another day on the job. Or as we veterans often said, “Another day in paradise, livin’ the dream!”

The job of Crash is simple: sit around and wait for an aircraft to crash and, when it happens, try to put the fire out quickly and rescue the pilot and crew before things get really scary.

Our motto was, and continues to be, “You light ‘em, we fight ‘em.”

Most of the time during the Westpac ’75 cruise, flight ops ran from 10am until midnight. Crash had to be on deck an hour before and stay until an hour after.

At that time, there were 14 of us in Crash. Navy regs required a minimum of 11 Crash crew members to be on the flight deck during flight operations. It made for a long day, but it was our job and we did what was needed and most of the time (well… some of the time), we didn’t complain.

It was not uncommon for us to pull double, rotating shifts during extended flight ops, which happened more often than you’d think.

Flight ops became a rewarding and challenging experience and sometimes, an “interesting” routine. Stay with me here.

I learned to drive Crash firetrucks when I was stationed at NAS Agana, Guam. That was fun back then on Guam, but as you can imagine, even more challenging on Kitty Hawk.

The main difference between driving a Crash firetruck in Guam (they were the same model, an Oshkosh MB-5, for those keeping track of such things) and driving one on an aircraft carrier was, well, tight spaces. NAS Agana, Guam had hundreds of acres of paved runways, taxiways, and side roads–a “luxurious” drive in the country.

Kitty Hawk flight deck was a little more than four acres with upwards of 50 aircraft parked and constantly moving. No matter where I drove or parked the Crash truck, I was always in the way.

When I was a teenager, growing up in Gainesville, Florida, I wasn’t that careful of a driver. I had four accidents and three speeding tickets before graduating from high school. But, who’s counting?

Of course, none of them were my fault.

But something about driving a fire truck… on the flight deck… of an aircraft carrier. Yeah, I grew up quick and became a more responsible driver.

One day at sea during the Westpac ’75 cruise, I was driving the Crash truck; it was during daytime flight ops. I was parked just aft of the “waist” launch catapults (amidships), because aircraft were being launched off the forward bow catapults.

An A-7 Corsair was hooked up on Cat #2, ready to be launched. Everything looked normal and the plane was armed to the gills with both missiles and bombs. The Jet Blast Deflector (JBD) was up, the plane at full power, and the Shooter (Catapult Officer) signaled to launch the plane. The launch was smooth except for one thing—the A-7 dropped one of its 700-pound bombs on the flight deck on the way out. It skidded to a halt about fifty feet short of the ship’s bow.

Everybody in my truck saw it and there was one big collective, “Oh crap!” Actually, we said something else, but I won’t repeat it here.

The V-2 Division catapult crews cleared the flight deck, heading in all directions. Fortunately, none jumped overboard. We didn’t know how these bombs worked, whether this one was armed and ready to explode, or whether we should bend over and kiss our butts goodbye.

Bos’n Robuck (the Crash Officer) was the first one to approach the bomb.

Let me pause here a moment and tell you a little about Bos’n Tyrone (“Ty”) Robuck. He was one of the officers I admired the most while aboard Kitty Hawk. He was a Chief Warrant Officer (CWO-2), a proud Cajun, originally from Louisiana. Prior to the Navy, he was a former Marine, who (I believe) had two tours in Vietnam. He wasn’t a big man at all, physically, but he had mustered up a chest full of ribbons. So many, in fact, that he walked with a port list (ribbons were worn on the sailor’s left side). He was confident, he was fair, he was a good listener, and a great leader.

Bos’n Robuck casually strolled over to the bomb and looked it over. He then turned, looking straight at me, and signaled for me to drive the Crash truck up closer. I shook my head and politely mumbled, “Hell no! That’s a live bomb.” Actually, I said something else, but I won’t repeat it here.

Within a few minutes, a couple of the EOD (Explosive Ordnance Disposal) team came onto the flight deck, examined the bomb, and declared it safe—it had not yet been armed.

What did we do? Another Crash crew member (Gary Borne, I believe) drove the Crash forklift over to the bomb. The ordnance guys helped move it onto the forklift and Gary was directed to dump the bomb overboard. Everything was suddenly routine again and we got back to regular flight ops.

Total time for this little “challenge” was less than 10 minutes.

Just another fine day in the Navy.

Several points to make here.

The average age of men (and now women) on the flight deck is 19; I was 20 when I first arrived aboard Kitty Hawk. It is a time in my life that I will Never Forget (see how I cleverly slipped in the title of my new yet to be published book).

Where were you and what were you doing when you were 20 years old? Go ahead, I’ll wait.

Even though we trained constantly for different situations–putting out aircraft fires and rescuing pilots and crew members–how can you train for a bomb dropping on the flight deck? You really can’t. But your training, confidence, and experience automatically kick in and you react as best you can as a team.

I sometimes “joke” about the above story, but it really happened as written. My good friend and shipmate, Glenn Law, was the Yellow Shirt Director on Cat #2 that day. He later told me that he ran like hell toward the fantail when the bomb dropped. I think he said, “I made Bob Hayes look like a turtle.” (Bob Hayes, by the way, was an Olympic sprinter and at one time, the “fastest man alive.”)

Fortunately, on that occasion, there was no explosion or death and no one was hurt. That wasn’t always the case on the flight deck. But that’s another story to be shared at a later time.

Most veterans periodically think back on their time in the service. Some have good memories, others don’t. But, we all have those memories. We all served our country the best we could with what we had. I like to think that we’re all proud of that service.

When I see another veteran (usually identified either by uniform, by a ball cap, or with a certain type of tattoo), I try to acknowledge their service. Sometimes they want to talk a bit, other times they are just appreciative.

When you see a veteran, if you thank them for their service, they’re, of course, appreciative. If you really want to thank them, take a moment to ask them about it. And… listen.

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.

Answers:

1. Maya Angelou
2. Raiders of the Lost Ark. Indiana Jones (Harrison Ford)
3. Eagles, Hotel California