Dakota Viking Sends: A Sea Story (For Real!)

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Time for a Sea story?

So there I was … this ain’t no … (you know the rest).

“Number one nozzle! You just broke your leg! What do you do!?” Yelled the disembodied voice out of the dark and smoke.

“I’m down! Number one hoseman take over!” Voices always sounded strange in an OBA (oxygen breathing apparatus)

I slump to the deck, (didn't have far to fall as we always low “duck walked” the hoses) I held the Vary nozzle up to the hoseman shuffling forward, and proceeded to try and stay out of the way.

“Broken leg! You are panicking and fighting the men helping you!“

Me, "Okaaaay … here goes …"

I start thrashing and screaming stuff like “Get off me!, Don’t let me burn!” and forearm crawl (broken leg) to the ladder out. Never did see the voice in the smoke.

How did I get here?

First two Westpac deployments, Cold War before the breakup of USSR, for General Quarters I was in unit locker 53 one watertight bulkhead aft of repair Locker 5. Our unit locker was responsible for the area below the hangar deck, including the aft galley on 2nd deck, the machine, welding and motor rewind shops on the 3rd deck, and as needed assist the #2 main machinery room personnel as needed. (4th deck to the bilge).  

Constantly training at least one or 2 GQ’s a day. Can’t remember which training entity was testing us. But it was kind of a big deal.

“General Quarters, General Quarters, All hands man your battlestations. The route to GQ is as follows: up and forward starboard, down and aft port, Now GQ!” followed by the countdown to set condition Zebra … button the ship up and shut all water tight doors and hatches.

I arrive at the locker, and start the many ton armored hatch to #2 MMR on its way into place and dog it down, leaving the center scuttle open for stragglers into or out of the space.

Climb the ladder up to where the 2nd-3rd deck non-armored hatch was two other sailors are waiting for me to get clear, then they drop it into place (scuttle open) The guys from the MMR were supposed to drop the port side hatches.

Looks like we’re almost all here, time to dog down all the doors and scuttles left for access. We’re now locked in.  Locker officer LtJg. Taking a muster and takes his position at the damage control board near the phonetalker who was busy putting on his sound powered phone set.

I was throwing on an OBA when I heard the clank of a door shutting (shouldn’t be any open)

I gathered up my heavy thick firefighting gloves, Steel pot helmet (painted red), battle lantern and helmet light checked. Stepped out to see three officers wearing training armbands and talking with the locker officer

“Petty officer 'Viking'! We will be charging hoses! And running OBA’s with canisters!” Couple light grumbles. (A bitching sailor is a happy sailor).

I go to my “voice,” “Listen up! We will charge hoses!” more grumbles. “So, Nozzlemen, keep those bails shut, and don’t soak anyone that doesn’t deserve it.” Quiet chuckles.

Charged hoses meant a fight with the water weight and bending those stiff hoses through tight spaces.

OBA’s with canisters meant we’d be breathing dry chemical-smelling (tasting) air the whole time. Then having to manage the O2 production so the rubber “lung” bags didn’t overfill and stop the reaction, causing you to have to retreat to fresh air to “jump start” the reaction or get a new canister with a fresh “candle” in it. All while “fighting the fire”. Don’t ask about disposing of these hot awkward canisters.

The trainers dropped down a deck. Now we wait. Announcements of battle damage, one “missile?” hit near our locker.

“Scouts OUT!”

 Designated sailors started checking for “damage.”

Portside scout returns immediately without his fire extinguisher, “Smoke and fire in the weld shop!”

We start flaking out the hoses to attack across to the port side and down.

Starboard scout sprints up the ladder from the machine shop and pops out of the scuttle “Smoke! heavy smoke coming from the rewind shop!”

I bark out to Doug, (#2 Nozzleman), “Get your hose team to port and get a hose on those Oxy & acetylene bottles down there. Keep them cool with a 4’ applicator and set up another hose team. You lead the second down and hit the weld shop, I’ll set a second hose on this side and they can follow me down."

Electricians secured power to the spaces, we started charging hoses, fill slowly, get the kinks out, then shut the firemain isolation … the man said charged, not live.

Firing up our OBA’s now: lanyard tab flipped out, pull the cover off the foil seal, slide my hand down the side of the canister lanyard pops and dangles, shove the canister into place, quick last check of the mask seal, pull up the bail, fumble for the lanyard string, pull, snap, raise the lanyard up to the facemask and tap the lanyard to both see and hear the cotter pin, all in 15 seconds.

The smoke of the candle burns my nostrils until it goes out and the chemicals take over after a minute or so.

I turn on my headlamp and start down the ladder with my hose team. Nice, they have smoke machines.

Wrestling the hose and switching on the battle lantern on the deck at my feet. I squat down, heat rises, so while kicking the lantern along the deck in front of me, I advance quickly into the space to get my guys off the ladder.

Can’t see a thing, honestly the smoke was so thick I couldn’t see the light from the lantern or the nozzle in my gloves. My second team is clattering down behind us. (Where’s the training team? They usually watch our space entry.)

I get to the rewind shop’s open non-water tight door and smack into it with the nozzle I can’t see.

I think I hear “Oh shoot, oh fudge,” or something similar. I really think they thought it would take us longer to attack from two sides.

Out of the smoke, a voice. “Nozzleman, how well do you know this space? What is flammable in here?"

I gave a detailed inventory of what I’d remembered seeing the last time I’d been in there, where the shelves of insulating paper were, the rolls of wire, I told him my greatest concern were the vats of dipping varnish, told him there was a closet in the back corner with bales of rags.

Because I knew I aced his questions and couldn’t stop myself … added, “And from the sound of your voice, you are seated at the desk with the wooden top, next to the refrigerator.”

The silence was deafening.

I think that’s how I got there, or, it could have been planned.

Editor's Note: Almost nothing the Old AF Sarge loves more than a sea story. Especially when it's real! Thanks, DV!