The Reluctant Admiral
"الامر الماضي للنظر؛ وكالة الاستخبارات في مسألة لديها القائد الجديد الله أكبر". "
(“"It's the last to consider; intelligence agency in question has a new leader Allahu Akbar.")
It is both a sad time and happy as 10,000 plus Sailors and Marines, men and women, sail towards home aboard the several ships of a U.S. Navy Carrier Battle Group.’
A few hundred miles distant, for safety separation, a similar Strike Group, The USS John F. Kennedy was headed into the War Zone of the Middle East.
Those are my floating thoughts as I make final reports from Combat Intelligence to The Executive officer aboard my flat-top, the USS Eisenhower, (Ike) to every one who had ever served aboard her. Ships are called, ‘her’ or ‘she’ and you damned well better respect the Lady or she’ll dump you overboard in a second.
I had eight women and six men working in my tiny but effective unit; eight hour shifts of four personnel each, with two as fill-ins, but during intense operations we ran 12/12 and I was on duty for 16 to 18 hours at a time. It is my job and these were my people and I love all of it.
The entire ship felt different as she pointed her nose to the West and stood down from the constant alerts, launching and recovering aircraft.
There is a continual alert status, exciting and dangerous on deck, even more so than serving on a Nuclear sub. We are Nuclear powered too, but I never notice it or even think about it.
I would notice and choke up when my crew departed for other duties, as would I. Not the first time, but I never got used to leaving people I had spent months with and would most likely never see again.
Ninety days, give or take, I would be training a new crew for another deployment in about six months.
The hand-off of duty was basically complete but the training and the exercises kept the crew alert and ready at all times.
The ten days or so it takes for the ship to return to the Eastern Seaboard of the USA passed rather quickly as I tried to guess from previous assignments, what ship I would be aboard next.
Daily briefings with the Exec.’ were not out of the ordinary; business as usual as I was called to the Flight Bridge for a get together.
“Hi, Jeff, ready for some shore duty for a while?”
I saluted, being informal with superior officers was not my thing but I did open a smile and take the hand that was offered. “Rather be at sea, Sir; those shore bound sailors get under my skin.”
“Heh, yeah, I know. Jeff, once again your performance report is first class, top of the line, but the overall fitness report has that same criticism it always has. You don’t mix with the officers and their wives when you are ashore and you are never seen in the ’O’ Club or making friends among the powerful. Why is that always the case; going back as far as your first duties?”
This was by no means the first time I had heard that. I stared at my shiny black polished shoes and shuffled my feet, “Sorry, Sir, I am not good at small talk, I don’t play cards and I always take online courses when I am at sea, and ashore, classes every day, I just can’t find time to party.”
The Exec shook his head, “I know, a good answer and an honest one but it makes you come across as a loner, not one of the group, the peers you serve with and this man’s war is not for cowboys.”
