The Greatest Navy in a Whirl

More than almost anything, I loathe going on board ships. The smell of burned grease from the Hardy's rejected food cooked in the galley permeates everything and leaves its residue on all surfaces. That smell, the overpowering smokey smell, combined with wet metal leaves its mark in one's nostrils. The ladder wells, the mattresses, the decks and bulkheads and a person's skin are slick with a combination of oil and sea water. The glazed look in the eye of each blue jumpsuited Sailor is telling of the poor nutrition, lack of excercise and sunshine and the loneliness they endure. In dark corners men and women can be found lurking, planning port rendezvous, or flirting heavily with one another before they sit down to write emails to their children and spouses waiting for them at home.

Ships are never really clean, despite "sweepers" or "cleaning stations" or "field days" which sounds like fun, but never is. These jobs end up being delegated to the lowest ranks, to those who are disgruntled, and it shows. Time spent waxing decks or polishing brass is, within hours, ruined by careless fire hose teams dragging damp, mud smearing hoses through passageways while some Ensign (no doubt a graduate of the Naval Academy), younger, and with less time in service than they have, screams at them to go faster, be safer, hydrate, don protective gear and doff protective gear. The hose team prays for the order to doff and hydrate as they stand in a passageway in which the air has been secured in the middle of an afternoon with 100 degree, 90% humidity weather wearing 20 lbs of protective clothing.

On a ship, a Sailor's solace is his rack. It is behind those thin, blue curtains, 4x7 foot coffins, stacked three high, that Sailors find the only privacy to be found in the six, eight or ten months they are cutting through the ocean toward a hot war that doesn't mean anything to them. They float along at night, half of them in their coffins, while the red lights overhead create a womb-like calm for the coming day in which they will carry out the orders of their Chief, who's carrying out the orders of his Lieutenant, who's carrying out the orders of the Captain, who's carrying out the orders of the TYCOM, who's carrying out the orders of the CNO, who's carrying out the orders of the Secretary of Defense, who's carrying out the orders of the President, who is carrying out the orders of God and the Rich.