The ship’s Captain stood by his chair on the bridge in his Service Dress Blues, his binoculars fixed on the channel marker just outside the carrier turning basin at Naval Station North Island, California. He briefly suppressed, and then just as briefly gave in to the temptation to sweep the pier with the binos, looking for his wife and children. Seven months. It had been such a very long seven months. There were thousands of people thronging on the pier, waving flags and signs “Welcome Home, Son!” and “We Missed You Mommy!”
The civilian harbor pilot stood just to his right, in amiable but meaningless conversation with the Officer of the Deck – this was an experienced crew, and the pilot’s main purpose was to control the three tugboats that brought the great warship alongside the pier after it had made its final turn, gliding in.
The flight deck was starkly bare of aircraft and gleaming in the mid-day light – the air wing had flown off earlier that day, at 0600 that morning, and for the first time in half a year, he could see the full sweep and breadth of the real estate entrusted to his care. The handler and his men had done a brilliant job in the post-launch scrub down, and – combined with the rust work done while in port in Perth, Australia – the ship could receive visitors just as soon as she was moored without fear of embarrassing herself. So long, the Captain had to admit, as they didn’t see her port side, the side that faced to sea when moored – there had not been enough money available to touch up the port side.
The reality of what he had accomplished – what they had all accomplished – was thrusting itself upon him, even as he tried to keep focused on the task at hand: Mooring 100,000 tons of aircraft carrier to unyielding concrete with only a breasting barge and some Yokohama fenders to separate them was not child’s play. Still, he was bursting with the pride of what his crew had done, and he had to admit that he was proud as well to be their commanding officer: They had gone half-way around the globe and back again carrying persistent combat power with them. They had provided critical, life-saving support to embattled soldiers and Marines and they had done so superbly, generating over a thousand combat and combat support sorties, dropping tons of high explosive ordnance. They had navigated through some of the most challenging strait transits on the globe and conducted six port visits, including two in the Arabian Gulf itself, and in doing so had amassed an almost flawless record – only half a dozen liberty incidents had occurred, none of which had been deemed particularly significant. The flag had been shown and it had not been disgraced. There had been a few more “crunched” aircraft on the roof than he would have liked- one was too many – and they’d hit a rough patch controlling foreign object damage to the engines of embarked jet aircraft. The FOD problem had eventually been overcome through the application of “intrusive” leadership techniques. On the positive side, the crew’s promotion levels had been high, as had their re-enlistments – morale was superb. Taken as a whole, a solid record of operational achievement. Very solid. Not much longer now and it would be over. Suddenly ambivalent, he pursed his lips again at the thought – soon it would be over. It seemed so long since he had known anything else but this.
The pilot was at his shoulder saying that in his considered opinion, it was a good time to shift over to Aux Conn. The Captain concurred saying, “Officer of the Deck, make it so.”
“Aye, aye, Captain. Attention in the pilothouse, the Officer of the Deck is shifting the conn from the pilothouse to Aux Conn.”
“Quartermaster, aye!”
“Bosun’s mate, aye!”
“Helmsman, aye!”
“Lee helmsman, aye!”
Aux Conn then, for the last time in his career as an aircraft carrier CO. The ship would go into a maintenance period as soon as she moored ” she was as tired as any of them – and his change-of-command was just one month away. Barring an unforeseen emergency, he would never again get this ship underway. It had been the longest two years of his life, and yet somehow the shortest. Where had the time gone?
“All stop, Conn,” the pilot said.
Having first made eye contact his with his CO, the conning officer spoke into his microphone, “All engines stop.”
“All engines stop, aye,” came the answer from the lee helmsman, followed by, “Conning officer, all engines are stopped.”
“Very well.”
“Left rudder, captain?” the CO asked the pilot.
“Yes, Captain, I think so.”
The Conning officer nodded to both of them spoke again into his mic, “Thirty degrees left rudder.”
“30 degrees left rudder, aye. Conning officer my rudder is left 30 degrees, no new course given.”
“Very well.”
Two years in command, and how nervous he had been at the beginning of it, how carefully he had sought to hide that emotion from his crew. He had worked his entire lifetime to be here and now it was almost over. Although he had gotten a great deal more rest during the oceanic transit than he had in the cramped and bustling Arabian Gulf, the time zone changes every other day for the last two weeks had left their toll on him, especially when combined with “channel fever” ” the excitement of almost being home. When this is over I will sleep for weeks, he thought. But not right away, he added with just a hint of a twinkle in his eye. Not right away.
“Three Two, push one,” the pilot spoke into his handheld VHF radio, and the CO looked at the plan he”d inked on the back of his hand ” Tug 32 was on the port quarter, to bring her stern side to.
“Three Two, push one, captain,” acknowledged the tug”s master.
“Two Four back two,” said the pilot – port bow, the Captain noted, nodding – that would swing her head around.
“Back two, aye, captain.”
It took so long, the last hundred feet. It seemed to take an hour and there she was on the pier, and the Captain felt his heart leap into his throat ” she had always been the most beautiful woman he had ever known, but he lowered his glasses again, put the emotion back as best he could. Soon. Soon.
“Three Two back one”
“Back one, captain.”
“Rudder amidships, Captain?” the pilot offered quietly.
“Make it so conn.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” and speaking into his microphone, “Rudder amidships!”
“Rudder amidships, aye!” followed by, “Conning officer my rudder is amidships, no new course given!”
“Very well.”
She was surging slightly forward. ‘shall I back engines, captain?” the CO asked the pilot.
“Back one-third for a shot, Captain,” and then speaking into his VHF, “Two two, stem on ” push two.”
“All engines back one third.”
These commands were quickly answered and in a matter of moments it was time to stop the engines again, her surge checked. She crept in towards the pier, pressed by the thrashing tugs.
The ship’s XO joined him in Aux Conn with 50 feet to go. “We”re all set, Captain. Quarterdeck watches are manned and the reception team is ready in your in port cabin for the Three-Star’s visit. The hangar deck is mostly clear, but the air wing guys are waiting for liberty call like they think they’d earned it or something.”
The CO shared a brief smile with his XO – both of whom had, as airwing pilots waiting impatiently on hangar decks earlier in their careers wondered what on earth could take so long to moor a ship – before thanking him for all his hard work making the ship ready for visitors ” he’d make a great CO some day. Thirty feet. Twenty-five. Now twenty.
“Captain, Boats ” permission to fire shot lines forward and aft?”
“Permission granted to fire shot lines forward and aft, Boats.”
Ten feet now, and suddenly rifles cracked on the hangar bay, startling some of the family members on the pier as shot lines raced out over the heads of waiting linesmen on the pier, standing by their mooring bollards. These sailors attached messenger lines to the shot lines, which were hauled back aboard and in turn attached to the great mooring lines, each of them as thick as a man’s forearm. Those heavy cables were pulled back ashore, and the CO held his breath as the first mooring loop was passed over the bollard. “We”re moored, conn.”
The conning officer spoke into his mic once more, “Moored, Boats.”
“Moored, shift colors,” the Bosun’s Mate of the Watch cried into his 1MC announcing system. It was done. They were home.
On the jackstaff forward at the tip of the bow the jack ran up ” red and white horizontal stripes and a coiled viper in the center of its field ” ‘don”t Tread On Me” it read, as it had read during the War of 1812, as it had again since shortly after 9/11. The Captain knew that the ensign at the mainmast was coming down, just as he knew that it was being raised aft on the flagstaff, even though he could not see either event occurring from Aux Conn. He knew because he had trained this crew, three thousand men and women and because he loved them.
“That was a good cruise, Captain,” remarked the XO, “congratulations.”
“It was a good cruise XO, welcome home. The best part is that we brought all of them back. Every last one of them.”
No mean feat to bring all of them home alive. The flight deck of an aircraft carrier was a hideously dangerous place even in peacetime, nor were a ship’s engineering spaces to be trifled with. It was altogether too rare that a ship came home unscarred by violence and loss.
Seven months he thought. Seven months and two years. He wandered back into the pilothouse and looked at his chair there on the port side of the bridge. How many hours had he spent there, awake, asleep? How many meals had he eaten in that chair? How many hushed conferences, how many critical decisions? How many near misses?
Far too many to count, and in any case it didn”t matter anymore. All that mattered was that his ship and crew were safely home from the uttermost parts of the world, their mission accomplished – that and the fact that his wife and children were waiting for him on the pier. He took one last look up and down the length of the naked flight deck, nodded slightly to himself. A good ship.
“I”m going below,” he announced to no one in particular.
“Captain’s off the bridge!” rang the answering shout of the bosun’s mate of the watch.
With the wonder of Google Reader, I caught this just 8 minutes after you posted it. Maybe I’m the first to read it.
Thanks so much. Brought a slight tightness to my throat.
BTW, does the “make it so” come from Star Trek, or did they get from the USN? Is the XO ever called Number 1?
When do we ship out again? I’ll be ready very soon.
It has taken me three days of part time reading to finish this fantastic story. It is spell binding. I spent almost 27 years in the Infantry and I know what fear is. The members of this crew, to a man/woman atre asked to do a very stressful job. They did. Congratulations.
Glad you liked it!
Buy the book
Progress on that front?
It’s at the top of my list of non-income generating things to do in my spare time
Many of us hope this Epilogue is Prologue.
Sniff…
Let’s ship out again. You write 50 million more chapters. I promise to read them!
THX Lex, nice surprise on a slow Saturday afternoon.
It’s hard to think of a very senior officer like a Ship’s Captain as being human at all. Thanks for reminding us that even the Godlike figure of a CV Captain is still a person.
I am a recent discoverer of your websites and wonderful writing ability. I have lived in the San Diego area after doing eight years in the USAF as a aircraft weapons mechanic(1966-1974). I worked in the electronics assembly field and then got a job at General Dynamics at both the Kearney Measa and Lindbergh Field plants on the Tomahawk and ACM programs.
Many a trip was taken to the Point Loma Light house to take in the beauty of the San Diego vista from the fog shrouded hills over looking the Sub base and the ammunitions bunkers at NASNI.
Before we moved to Missouri in late 2003 I worked for 6 weeks doing a refit at North Island of the DSRV-1 Mystic at the DSU facility. During our work breaks I could see many Navy ships comming and going and wondered about their missions and where they were taking their crews.
I hope to some day see a collection of your work in a published book and who knows you may be another Tom Clancy.
ManlyDad: In Patrick O’Brian’s Aubrey/Maturin novels of the Royal Navy in the late 1700s, the term “Make It So” was used by the Captain. I asume it became an American Navy tradition from that era to the present.
Lex: I forgot to add that I would hope you become an author of O’Brian’s status and scope.
And so it finally ends.
Ready to ship out again, sir. On your command.
And not so secretly, hoping it will be soon.
What a pleasant surprise for my afternoon. That puts me in a great mood to begin the tedious process of providing my share to keep this great land free (too bad all that I’m providing can’t be directed toward that cause). Thank you Lex!
I look forward to buying the hard-copy some day
ManlyDad,
The term “No.1″ in reference to the Executive Officer is not used by the US Navy, however, I am nearly positive it is used by the English, as well as other European navies.
The problem with learning to speak navalese is that it infects your vocabulary to an amazing extent. Years after leaving the service I still slip up and refer to going upstaisr as going topside. Ceilings are overheads, etc. My son thinks it’s funny, my wife.. not so much.
Respects,
Tim,
I figured that if “make it so” had carried over from Star Trek, mebbe “No 1″ had also. But I imagine that naval tradition tops all, and that modern pollution might be unwelcome.
To me, it seems that the Navy has more, and more meaningful traditions than any other service, probably given to the detailed commands necessary to operate a ship. All of those are deeply pressed into my memory, and generate strong emotions after the passage of more than 35 years.
Things like, “Underway–shift colors”, the bosun’s whistle piping command and flag aboard or ashore, the 1/2 hour bells–it’s all damn exciting.
On the Midway in ’71, assigned to an air squadron, I was really pumped about our first General Quarters drill. This would be real-life, not just a movie. Come the drill, everyone was already in place, so no running about. I was in the ready room, and instead of a klaxon or siren, the alert was a very much non-stimulating electronic blip. When the alarm sounded, with “General Quarters, general quarters–all hands man your battle stations,” the only thing that happened is one of the pilots walked over and closed the door (not hatch–the hinged door) so we could watch the movie. Quite a come down for little me.
(sigh…memories)
Thank you Captain, a most pleasant surprise.
What a fitting end to a classic tale of the sea. Never having been to sea or having commanded a’ship of the line’, it’s difficult for me to completely relate to the emotions the Captain must be experiencing. However, it must be something akin to saying goodbye to a loved one.
Hey Jim Howard,
Interesting observation. Usually (with exceptions) the Captain of a Carrier is a pretty good gent and easy to deal.
The XO, well the XO was a different matter. In an effort to be stern and prove themselves, they often forgot their roots and made life a bit painful for us air wing visitors. (We called him the “Big XO” in the squadrons because we had our own XO’s)
It’s an interesting thing that most don’t realize, but the real leadership on a CV/CVN is mostly aviation peoples. Capt, XO, OPS O, Air Boss, Navigator, are all post squadron command positions. SUPPO and Reactor Officer are probably the “biggest” surface types.
My understanding is that the Mini Boss no longer “fleets up” to become the Air Boss (mistake in my opinion, but CNAF didn’t call and ask me).
Nose
I’m sure that somewhere in that final mooring event the Captain says a small prayer under his breath to the effect “Lord, please don’t let me screw it up now…”
[...] fans get a “special happy” in the Easter basket – he posted the final chapter to “Rhythms” today. If you have to ask then you need to start from the beginning. Or you can hold out for the [...]
Relating to comment #17, Yeah, I actually thought “what a guy, he gave us an Easter present!” Thanks, Lex.
Thanks very much, Lex.
The cap to a lovely bit of writing, and I say that as someone who makes a living as a writer.
So…when do you start the next one?
Bravo!
Thanks, Lex!
Hi Mike folks, you said:
I hope to some day see a collection of your work in a published book and who knows you may be another Tom Clancy.
I would submit that the biggest difference between Lex and Clancy is that Lex actually knows what he is talking about! I like Clancy’s stories, but I’m a stickler for details, and Clancy misses a lot of them.
I also think Lex is a better wordsmith, but everyone has their own particulars when it comes to that…
(If anyone tells Lex I said any of that, I’ll deny it.)
N
I loved Clancy. I was totally addicted to his books. Read everything in the Ryan/Clark universe. But by Teeth of The Tiger I was really bored with him.
Can’t imagine getting bored with Lex though. Ever. In large part because when Lex writes you’re not just in the cockpit, but you feel like you’re the pilot. You’re gripping the edge of the cockpit. Clancy never game me that.
But as Nose said, best to keep this quiet from Lex. Plausible deniability and all. After all, its not like anybody can even prove we ever had this conversation.
Glad to see some others calls of “Author! AUTHOR!!!!”
Maybe one day soon, he’ll listen (and stand to make more than slaving away as a salaried “contractor”).
Lex;
Great end, and in May I’d like the opportunity to talk to you and one of your ghost writers (SGT B) about extending this fine work with linked add ons…a “blogvel” as it were, of many posters.
As a side note, one of my COs was the Engineer on Enterprise when they had a 4 hour intermission off Alameda on the same portion of the return from cruise you wrote about here. He taught me many important things about making sure people were trained and qualified and also that the CO has a “safety officer” to check his work.
I never thought reading the words “Moored, shift Colors” could ever bring a tear to my eye, thanks Lex for allowing me to relive that emotion again. I’ve heard the Bosuns Mate call that out over the 1MC more’n a 1000 times I guess, but none so vividly rang out as it did in your story. Thank you… and when does this manuscript get put together into a book? I would like to request a signed copy, Please Sir. Do I need a special request chit for that, or will this suffice?
BZ Lex, brought me back and reminded me how good it felt to hear those words. Irish
Lex’s writing makes me think of what I can remember about Naval Aviation and brings a lot to my attention what I thought I knew about but didn’t/don’t! Remarkable work.
b2
Well done. Looking forward to seeing it in hardcover someday.
Geez Lex, what does the crew have to do to get the Captain to publish this???
I have been bugging you for a couple of years. Now the “pile on” has begun…
Skip the next weenie conf up north and spend two solid days getting yourself a publisher… Send those kids to college with efforts already undertaken!
And, write me another sea story. I need one bad!
OK, I’ll wait…
Neptunus Lex’s “Rhythms” series winds down…
Dear reader, this is excellent writing…….
Never did one for 7 months
But
Well…
I don’t think anyone who has been at sea for a long time does not have that thought.
Again, sir, I must echo those who clamor for your writing to be published. Maybe it is just me, but…I feel it. It is real to me…
(Yeah, I know I am late to the game on this one. My excuse: an Easter cruise…)
Wow! Great story. I read it straight through.
Nice inside look at the the people that make up the machine.
Fun-nee. What would be great is if Lex can track down the star of the show, haul his butt to Oshkosh, and be part of the “Rhythms” book tour kick-off. Post that chapter for folks to read and they’ll be standing in line!
When does the book come out? Where can I submit my pre-order? I’ve been hooked on this for three days…I’ve stayed up late to read “just one more page” and thrown work to the wayside. Excellent story…if you ever do develop it into a book I promise you I’ll be the first one in line to buy it.