From Lepanto to the Persian Gulf
Don John's hunting, and his hounds have bayed--
Booms away past Italy the rumor of his raid.
Gun upon gun, ha! ha!
Gun upon gun, hurrah!
Don John of Austria Has loosed the cannonade.
Most of us rarely think about the Battle of Lepanto, fought between the Holy league and The Ottoman Empire that October day in 1571. After 4500 years it was the last major sea fight between fleets of oar powered galleys, the largest battle since Actium in 30 B.C. In a single day, the westward expansion of the Ottomans in the Mediterranean was stopped by an alliance of Spaniards and Italians, led by the 24 year old Austrian bastard son of the King of Spain, Don John. Sixteenth century warfare is a fascinating study, a transition period where combat systems that had existed for millennia intersected with those of the modern world. Lepanto was no exception, oar powered ships, iron rams, cannon, sword and axe armed knights standing next to arberesque and crossbow wielding commoners arrayed against Moslems with scimitars and compound bows.
I would bet that all of you at some point read about it in High School world history class, probably in one of those shaded asides in the text that gave you the hightlights and impressed the fact that is was a decisive battle that shaped the fortunes of rising western Europe.
Of course, what we miss are the little things, the connections, the details. For example, one of the solders on the Spanish side, a man named Miguel de Cervantes, received a serious wound to his hand, ending his military career. This life changing event sent him on a new path that would lead to the writing of Don Quixote, one of the classics of western literature, and eventually to "The Man of LaMancha", a Broadway play.
Anyone my age can remember that a lady's man used to be called a "Don Juan". Tells you something about our famous Admiral, which by the way, is a Turkish word.
A lot happens in a life, the strangest things happen to us, and we are often remembered for the strangest things. Remember William Bligh? Lost a ship named the "Bounty" to a guy named Fletcher Christian and a couple of love sick mutineers. We all know him. But do you know that years after the now infamous Bounty incident, Rear Admiral William Bligh was personally commended by Admiral Lord Nelson at the Battle of Copenhagen for his superior handling of his detachment of ships of the line? Bligh was a great Captain and one of the premier seamen of all times.
He was just bad at peace. His final act was as Governor General of Australia, where he was deposed in another mutiny, this time by His Majesty's Australian Subjects.
For all of that, he is still remembered as the clueless and repressed nincompoop that made Mel Gibson give up his girlfriend.
It must be clear from my recounting of obscure Naval History facts why I was fated at a young age to take up the life of Naval Officer. From the time I was six it was all I wanted to be. Applied to the Academy, but alas not jock enough for them. Still, I think someone back at the Pentagon appreciated all my effort, because the NROTC scholarship acceptance showed up not a week after the Academy told me to pound sand. Back then, NROTC grads were commissioned USN, so it all worked out.
When I got there, things were different. I quickly figured out that the Navy, while in many ways a great life, was not for me. I have a very low tolerance for official nuttiness and officious pricks, and some how the service seemed to breed them.
Hence, my story.
It was a warm night in the Persian Gulf, windy and clear, the stars crowded the sky. The gulf is like no other body of water, more ships and small boats per square mile than anyplace else I have ever been. Commercial Jets run conga lines up and down its length, helicopters swarm like gnats, servicing the oil derricks that flame like so many hundreds of tiki torches on the horizon. At night, there are lights every where, impossible to track, beautiful to behold. Once, the water was so calm that it was like a reflective mirror, and the night sky was reflected in the water, and it was as if we were sailing the star filled sky.
Like I said, I have seen things.
But this night, it was a very busy night, close in shore, stationed off Qatar, keeping an eye on the Iranians and Iraqis. They were at war back then, and our job was to let them know that the US Navy could sail anywhere, and keep from getting shot at by accident. My friend Mark was on the bridge, Officer of the Deck (OOD), nominaly in charge of the ship while the Captain was asleep. I was CIC watch officer, running the combat information center, keeping an eye on the radars and sensors that managed the tactical picture. In a warship of that era, the Bridge was the station for navigation and ship handling, CIC is where you fought the ship, or in this case, monitored the tactical situation. Technically, the OOD was senior and it was CIC's job to keep him informed of the entire tatical picture.
"Whoop Whoop" goes the sound powered phone. "CIC, watch officer" I respond.
"CIC watch officer, Officer of the Deck. When were you going to tell me?"
Mark was not a bad guy, but over the past few months all of us junior officers were observing his decent into official assholedom. He was becoming like the department heads, playing a constant game of "gotcha". We had been standing watch together for a week and he had been screwing with me pretty consistently. Hitting me with chickenshit and generally being arrogant, obnoxious and annoying.
"Tell you what, Mark?"
"Watch Officer, Officer of the Deck, when were you going to tell me about that air contact?"
Oh brother. So he wants to be formal, what the fuck.
"Watch officer, aye. What air contact?"
"Watch Officer, that contact at 065 degrees."
"Aye, let me check."
Mark is laying it on thick. The guy is technically junior to me and his tone could not have been more condescending. I was a nuclear engineer, spent most of my first tour in the engineroom, this was the end of it and I was getting a chance to come topside. He was not a nuke and loved to dick with us engineers.
So I get on the Oscar ( the big radar repeater), run the cursor to the bearing and follow it out from the ship to, lets say, 400 miles. Nothing. Checked off bearing.
Nothing.
"Officer of the Deck, Watch officer. " Hey, two can play at this game.
"Officer of the Deck, Aye."
"Officer of the Deck, Combat holds no contacts at that bearing."
"Well I can see it right in front of me. Perhaps you need someone to teach you guys how to use a radar."
Fuck head.
"Officer of the Deck, Watch officer coming to the bridge."
I turn to the watch supervisor. " Chief I am going to the bridge."
So I walk up to the bridge. It takes a minute for my eyes to adjust to the dark. It is as I described before, stars everywhere, only some moving in strange ways. I walk over to Mark.
"Ok Mark, lets see this contact."
We walk out on the bridge. The enlisted guys follow, sensing that at least one officer is going to get it tonight. They were guessing me.
"See watch officer, that contact right there."
I look, he is serious. I ask "are you sure?"
More serious " yes, right there" as he points.
"That's Jupiter, Mark."
It is never silent on a ship, always the sound of machinery and the ever present wind, either natural or from moving a 11,000 ton monster through the air.
But Mark was silent. Not a peep, And all I could hear was the suppressed snickering of the bridge watch.
"If you have nothing further, Officer of the Deck, I will resume my watch."
Smiling.
"Unless of course, A lesson in astronomy is desired."
Not a word.
The rest of the watch was very quiet.
I love the sea, I loved the Navy in my own way. But it was clear I was not meant for this.
Booms away past Italy the rumor of his raid.
Gun upon gun, ha! ha!
Gun upon gun, hurrah!
Don John of Austria Has loosed the cannonade.
Most of us rarely think about the Battle of Lepanto, fought between the Holy league and The Ottoman Empire that October day in 1571. After 4500 years it was the last major sea fight between fleets of oar powered galleys, the largest battle since Actium in 30 B.C. In a single day, the westward expansion of the Ottomans in the Mediterranean was stopped by an alliance of Spaniards and Italians, led by the 24 year old Austrian bastard son of the King of Spain, Don John. Sixteenth century warfare is a fascinating study, a transition period where combat systems that had existed for millennia intersected with those of the modern world. Lepanto was no exception, oar powered ships, iron rams, cannon, sword and axe armed knights standing next to arberesque and crossbow wielding commoners arrayed against Moslems with scimitars and compound bows.
I would bet that all of you at some point read about it in High School world history class, probably in one of those shaded asides in the text that gave you the hightlights and impressed the fact that is was a decisive battle that shaped the fortunes of rising western Europe.
Of course, what we miss are the little things, the connections, the details. For example, one of the solders on the Spanish side, a man named Miguel de Cervantes, received a serious wound to his hand, ending his military career. This life changing event sent him on a new path that would lead to the writing of Don Quixote, one of the classics of western literature, and eventually to "The Man of LaMancha", a Broadway play.
Anyone my age can remember that a lady's man used to be called a "Don Juan". Tells you something about our famous Admiral, which by the way, is a Turkish word.
A lot happens in a life, the strangest things happen to us, and we are often remembered for the strangest things. Remember William Bligh? Lost a ship named the "Bounty" to a guy named Fletcher Christian and a couple of love sick mutineers. We all know him. But do you know that years after the now infamous Bounty incident, Rear Admiral William Bligh was personally commended by Admiral Lord Nelson at the Battle of Copenhagen for his superior handling of his detachment of ships of the line? Bligh was a great Captain and one of the premier seamen of all times.
He was just bad at peace. His final act was as Governor General of Australia, where he was deposed in another mutiny, this time by His Majesty's Australian Subjects.
For all of that, he is still remembered as the clueless and repressed nincompoop that made Mel Gibson give up his girlfriend.
It must be clear from my recounting of obscure Naval History facts why I was fated at a young age to take up the life of Naval Officer. From the time I was six it was all I wanted to be. Applied to the Academy, but alas not jock enough for them. Still, I think someone back at the Pentagon appreciated all my effort, because the NROTC scholarship acceptance showed up not a week after the Academy told me to pound sand. Back then, NROTC grads were commissioned USN, so it all worked out.
When I got there, things were different. I quickly figured out that the Navy, while in many ways a great life, was not for me. I have a very low tolerance for official nuttiness and officious pricks, and some how the service seemed to breed them.
Hence, my story.
It was a warm night in the Persian Gulf, windy and clear, the stars crowded the sky. The gulf is like no other body of water, more ships and small boats per square mile than anyplace else I have ever been. Commercial Jets run conga lines up and down its length, helicopters swarm like gnats, servicing the oil derricks that flame like so many hundreds of tiki torches on the horizon. At night, there are lights every where, impossible to track, beautiful to behold. Once, the water was so calm that it was like a reflective mirror, and the night sky was reflected in the water, and it was as if we were sailing the star filled sky.
Like I said, I have seen things.
But this night, it was a very busy night, close in shore, stationed off Qatar, keeping an eye on the Iranians and Iraqis. They were at war back then, and our job was to let them know that the US Navy could sail anywhere, and keep from getting shot at by accident. My friend Mark was on the bridge, Officer of the Deck (OOD), nominaly in charge of the ship while the Captain was asleep. I was CIC watch officer, running the combat information center, keeping an eye on the radars and sensors that managed the tactical picture. In a warship of that era, the Bridge was the station for navigation and ship handling, CIC is where you fought the ship, or in this case, monitored the tactical situation. Technically, the OOD was senior and it was CIC's job to keep him informed of the entire tatical picture.
"Whoop Whoop" goes the sound powered phone. "CIC, watch officer" I respond.
"CIC watch officer, Officer of the Deck. When were you going to tell me?"
Mark was not a bad guy, but over the past few months all of us junior officers were observing his decent into official assholedom. He was becoming like the department heads, playing a constant game of "gotcha". We had been standing watch together for a week and he had been screwing with me pretty consistently. Hitting me with chickenshit and generally being arrogant, obnoxious and annoying.
"Tell you what, Mark?"
"Watch Officer, Officer of the Deck, when were you going to tell me about that air contact?"
Oh brother. So he wants to be formal, what the fuck.
"Watch officer, aye. What air contact?"
"Watch Officer, that contact at 065 degrees."
"Aye, let me check."
Mark is laying it on thick. The guy is technically junior to me and his tone could not have been more condescending. I was a nuclear engineer, spent most of my first tour in the engineroom, this was the end of it and I was getting a chance to come topside. He was not a nuke and loved to dick with us engineers.
So I get on the Oscar ( the big radar repeater), run the cursor to the bearing and follow it out from the ship to, lets say, 400 miles. Nothing. Checked off bearing.
Nothing.
"Officer of the Deck, Watch officer. " Hey, two can play at this game.
"Officer of the Deck, Aye."
"Officer of the Deck, Combat holds no contacts at that bearing."
"Well I can see it right in front of me. Perhaps you need someone to teach you guys how to use a radar."
Fuck head.
"Officer of the Deck, Watch officer coming to the bridge."
I turn to the watch supervisor. " Chief I am going to the bridge."
So I walk up to the bridge. It takes a minute for my eyes to adjust to the dark. It is as I described before, stars everywhere, only some moving in strange ways. I walk over to Mark.
"Ok Mark, lets see this contact."
We walk out on the bridge. The enlisted guys follow, sensing that at least one officer is going to get it tonight. They were guessing me.
"See watch officer, that contact right there."
I look, he is serious. I ask "are you sure?"
More serious " yes, right there" as he points.
"That's Jupiter, Mark."
It is never silent on a ship, always the sound of machinery and the ever present wind, either natural or from moving a 11,000 ton monster through the air.
But Mark was silent. Not a peep, And all I could hear was the suppressed snickering of the bridge watch.
"If you have nothing further, Officer of the Deck, I will resume my watch."
Smiling.
"Unless of course, A lesson in astronomy is desired."
Not a word.
The rest of the watch was very quiet.
I love the sea, I loved the Navy in my own way. But it was clear I was not meant for this.
posted by Maurice_Basilius at 11:24 AM
2 Comments:
Well, sometimes it's fun to be right-especially to someone being an asshole. That's excellent.
Awesome!
Gotta love the dipshits. Inspires me to post some of my better Marine Corps stories, and since you were in the Navy, you know very well that Jarheads aren't the brightest bulbs in the box.
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