Russell Moran: The Gray Ship

The idea behind SEAL training is to cheat reality of its surprises. When a SEAL is lying in a pool of mud and cold water, having not eaten for 24 hours, with two hours sleep, surrounded by a superior enemy force, he has one thought: “Been here, done this.” Lt. Conroy was a typical SEAL. Six feet one-inch tall with a wiry build, Conroy was ready for anything an enemy may throw against him. After two tours in Iraq and one in Afghanistan, Conroy was a hardened combat veteran.

But nothing prepared Conroy for the Daylight Event , and in that regard he’s just like every other human being on the California . He’s frightened. His training prepared him for explosions, gunfire, bayonets, and all the other horrors of combat. His training did not prepare him for daylight at night.

At 0600 Lt. Conroy entered the wardroom and sprang to attention.

“At ease, Lieutenant,” the Captain said. She explained to Conroy what Bradley had told them at the briefing a few minutes earlier.

“Bottom line, Lieutenant, we’re out here on a nuclear powered cruiser with the best that technology has to offer, and yet we’re cut off from the world. I’m sure you’ve noticed the lack of Internet and email.”

“Yes Ma’am, I’ve noticed. I didn’t get my 0315 briefing from headquarters in Little Creek, which I can usually set my watch to.”

“Lieutenant, I’ve decided to send a SEAL squad ashore to assess what’s going on. The problem is, we don’t even have a theory or a hypothesis to give you. What we need is information, and your mission is that simple, to gather information. Recon and report.”

“One of my people could be our best source of information,” Conroy said. “Petty Officer Smith told me that he was here in Charleston about five months ago visiting his cousin. Since he can’t call her, maybe he’ll just ring her doorbell.”

“Who will be in charge of the mission?” Captain Patterson asked.

“I’ll take the squad in myself, Captain.” The CO of a SEAL platoon seldom takes command of a specially tasked squad, but would send in a senior petty officer, just as the officer in charge of an Army platoon would assign the job to a sergeant. “I like to brief my people on what to expect, and, as you said Ma’am, we have no idea what to expect. I’ll take a squad of eight, including me, just enough to fit in one of the Zodiac inflatable boats.”

“Remember, Lieutenant, we’ve got no satellite or cell tower communication, so we’ll have to rely on two-way radios. I want radio silence if possible. We don’t know what we’re dealing with. We’ll break radio silence only for a good reason. What’s the range on your radios?”

“We can get good reception up to 35 miles, Captain. If you could position the ship about 30 miles off the harbor entrance, that should be ideal. I’ll dictate everything we see into my recorder. Chief Petty Officer Duane Jackson will be second in command.”

“Do you want backup from the Marines?”

“No Ma’am. I’d have those guys covering my back anytime and anywhere, but this will be a recon mission. The fewer the better.”

“The time now is 0730 hours,” Captain Patterson said. “Prepare to leave tonight at 2030,

about 45 minutes after sundown. There’s a quarter moon so it should be very dark at that time. You’ll have six hours to snoop around. Be back at the ship by 0300 or earlier if you decide that you’ve accomplished the mission.”

“Aye aye, Captain. 2030 hours we leave, 0300 we return.”

Conroy called a meeting of SEAL Squad Alpha and briefed the men on their task. He called on Petty Officer Smith and told him that he had a key role in the recon mission because of his recent visit to Charleston. He told them to get some sleep because the mission would stretch into the wee hours.

It would be a mission that none of them would ever forget.

Ashley spent the day reviewing reports from all department heads. There wasn’t much else to do until the SEAL squad returned to give their report the next morning. She stepped out onto the portside weather deck off the bridge to get some fresh air. The day was sunny and clear, and the temperature was 62 degrees.

From the deck below she heard shouting. She peered over the rail to see what was going on. A tall gangly kid was cornered by three other sailors. He was blond with a pallor to his skin, and his long skinny arms protruded far beyond the cuffs of his shirt. The bottom of his fatigues were a couple of inches above his ankles. He had a hard time finding uniforms that fit. He was being taunted mercilessly.

“Hey, I’m talking to you shithead. Say something,” shouted one of the bullies.

“You’re so fucking ugly you make a fish look good,” said another.

“Hey, dickless, open your mouth before I punch it in,” offered a third bully.

Ashley grabbed Ensign Martin, the Junior Officer of the Deck by the arm. “It sounds like a fight is about to start on the deck below. Go break it up and get me the name of that tall skinny kid who’s being bullied.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” said Martin. He went below and ended the incident. Martin returned to the bridge and said, “Captain, the kid’s name is Simon Planck, Seaman First Class. He’s assigned to the clerk’s office.” Martin also handed her the names of Planck’s assailants.

Ashley called Lt. Cdr. Karen Sobel, the ship’s personnel officer.

“Karen, please come to the bridge. I need to talk to you about something.” When Sobel appeared, Ashley told her what happened and asked if she knew Planck.

“Yes, Captain. Planck is assigned to the clerk’s office and I see him often. He gets picked on a lot. I’ve stopped it a couple of times myself, but we can’t control what happens when he’s out of sight. It’s a shame because he’s a good kid, bright and efficient. He’s just homely and insecure, and that makes him…”

“A bully magnet?” asked Ashley.

“Yes, that’s a perfect way of putting it, Captain.”

“Send him up to the bridge, Karen. Make up a story that he has to pick up a piece of paper from the Captain to deliver to you.”

Sobel was happy that the Captain wanted to do something about this. She, like Ashley Patterson, detested bullying.

Planck appeared on the bridge and saluted his Captain.

“Good afternoon, sailor, how are you today?”

Planck couldn’t believe that the Captain addressed him personally. Ashley always liked to get to the point and said, “I saw some sailors giving you a lot of shit recently. Do you have any thoughts on that?” Planck was shaken by the captain’s bluntness.

“I’m used to it, Ma’am. It happens all the time. I try not to let it bother me.”

“But does it bother you?” His eyes started to fill up. He’s tall but Ashley’s taller. She leaned over and gave him what people called an Ashley Patterson Eye Job. Ashley had large expressive eyes, eyes that could express anger, concern or, as in this case, sympathy. “Listen sailor, this is my ship and it’s your ship. Nobody in my command gets treated with anything but respect.”

Ashley then shared a plan with the sailor.

“SEAL Petty Officer Peter Campo is a martial arts instructor with the SEAL team. He runs a regular class for all ship’s personnel twice a day. Martial arts are great training for a person’s body, but it’s also a way to improve your attitude. He won’t turn you into a SEAL, but he’ll do wonders for your head, not to mention your body. I could recommend this to you sailor, but I’ve decided to give you a direct order. Join Campo’s class starting tomorrow.” Another Eye Job: “You’re a good person, Simon.”