When you’re on the deck of a ship at sea, there is little to do to alleviate boredom. The novelty wore off faster than any of us could have thought possible.
It was 1995, and I’m pretty sure it was my second two-week annual training with my good ‘ol Uncle Sam and about two hundred of my closest brothers (plus a few logistical fellows)—there were also a thousand-plus Naval cousins. We were onboard the U.S.S. Duluth for some amphibious training. Now, I’m pretty sure about the timeline because the Duluth was not available in 1994 or 1996, and given that information, and when I enlisted, it should have been in 1995 when some of the fun occurred. If not, it was 1998 and my mind is more shot than I thought. (we’re going with ‘95)
For almost all of us Reserve Marines, being on an actual Naval vessel was a new experience—one of the downsides to being a reservist. However, because it was new, it was new (I know what I wrote). I’m sure most of you, at some point or another, have become all silly over what others would view as a trivial thing. And, you did so because it was new—to you. Your first [anything]. Think about it. The novelty of it. This is what it was like for most of us.
So many things happened during that training. Oh, the stories… (that will be written, later) It was such a short time on the ship, but it was fun while it lasted.
One thing to get used to is the rocking. I wasn’t sure how bad it would be—on a regular basis. Within the first hours of us setting up in our berthing quarters (where we slept. the bunks were so stacked so closely that if you wanted to roll over, you had to get out of the bunk, turn over, and get back in. no exaggeration. bunks went from the deck to deckhead—floor to ceiling) my Platoon Sergeant stepped through the hatch (after just taking a shower) right as the ship leaned—hard.
For those who don’t know and have never seen a movie with a submarine or a battleship in it, the bottom of a hatch (a doorway) is not flush with the deck. It’s like this so any compartment can be sealed shut to prevent flood waters (or whatever) from passing from one compartment to another. Why is my sergeant’s shower so important? No boots. He wasn’t wearing boots. The Duluth leaned hard right as Sgt. Shoenfeld raised his right foot. The hard lean sent Shoenfeld forward and in his attempt to plant his foot for stability, it hit the metal frame of an ALICE pack. The pack was next to me. Shoenfeld almost fell onto me. From the look on his face, his toe was broken. Two hours on board and already a casualty. Fortunately, it wasn’t broken.
“Is that your pack, Bagnall?” my Sergeant’s face was a pained grimace.
“No. That’s Cpl. Nielson’s.” I quickly cleared up.
“You mean Lance Corporal Nielson?” The message was clear. It was also funny. But it wasn’t. (but it was)
It didn’t take long before every landlubber was hitting bulkheads with each swing and sway of the ship. Standing in line, the ship rocks, Marine Reservist hits the metal bulkhead, *thunk*.
The Navy was having fun watching us. None of them had any issue. I watched one Sailor drink his coffee (from a mug) right when a huge wave hit—his torso and mug remained upright while his legs shifted and a Marine hit (hard) and almost fell over. Fortunately for me, I had ballet training and never had an issue. A few others had martial arts skills or something similar and adjusted quickly. However, for the most part, many of my unit struggled for the first 36 hours.
Where am I going with this? You may be asking. Good question. Not where you think. See, we were only on the Duluth for a few days. Because it was an amphibious launching vessel it was perfect for us to practice our amphibious launches. Marines are green amphibious monsters, after all. And, we can only launch our practice drills every so often (for reasons I can only assume are related to logistical, safety, and weather) there was plenty of time to kill. And, because we were not part of the Duluth’s regular complement of troops, we were not part of a duty roster. This gave us plenty of spare time. Plenty.
We got bored pretty quickly. There is only so much exploring of the vessel we were allowed. The library was not much bigger than a closet that held only a handful of books. Although, in the library, there was a card table where myself, my Fire Team Leader, and a couple of others spent a lot of time playing cards. A lot of time.
During one of these dull moments, several of us found ourselves out on the flight deck (a small, helicopter landing area) watching the California coastal traffic whizz along.
“Can anyone tell what kind of cars those are?” or some question phrased like that started it all. Pretty soon each of us were making guesses as to what we thought we may or may not have seen. I believe at one point Peck was asked what he could see whereupon he responded with, “I wear glasses. They don’t make me see better than I can, they just make everything not blurry.”
“Isn’t that still better?” It came anonymously from the crowd.
“Shutup. I’m going back inside. No, I’m not. This is still more entertaining than laying on a shelf that’s supposed to be a bed.” He wasn’t happy, but he wasn’t sad either—which made his statement a little depressing. Still…
The Duluth was about a mile from shore. To the best of my recollection, for our drills, we didn’t get much closer than that, and at farthest I believe we never were farther than three miles. So, at where ever we were at—distance-wise—the cars were more or less colored blobs of greater and lesser volume. Trucks were pretty easy to spot—due to the sticky-outy part on their back end. Sports cars too (flat). Everyday sedans were the tricky ones. “What model is that?” Someone would ask. “It’s a red one.” Came the sarcastic response. We all would chuckle. Then, I got a little arrogant and started to actually try and make them out.
Now, I’m not a car guy. I only know a few models (at best). And, my eyesight is no longer what it used to be all those years ago. Still, it once was. And, this is what happened…
It only took a few of my supposed car model exclamations for the group to divide into two parts. Those who believed and those who didn’t. Those with the best vision were the judges of my accuracy—some from both camps. “Yup. He’s right.” or “Mmm… Close.” were the first few vocalizations. However, one member of the group was not having it. For whatever reason this particular Marine was not going to let me get away with my self-inflicted ego boost.
“There’s no way you can tell that from this distance.” This was a challenge. Again, I used to have excellent, outstanding eyesight. Used to. “Anyone know where some binoculars are?”
Someone did. They had been issued a set for the training. It didn’t take long for them to leave the group and quickly return with them. I needed to be put in my place. I was not as great as I thought I was. I needed to learn my lesson.
While we waited for the ocular enhancement that are military grade binos, I continued to call out car after car. Members of the group that believed I could see that far and accurate continued to verify my findings. Members of the other group were unsure.
“Now we’ll really see.” I don’t know if he intended the pun, but with binoculars in hand, this Marine focused in on the coastal road and the cars. “Alright, I can see everything. Let’s do this.”
It was now all on me. I called out a make, model, and color. No good. Too many similar cars with similar colors. I could be talking about one vehicle and he could be focusing on another (by accident). My score was dropping. I needed a car that stood out. Then, I spotted it. The perfect target.
“White car, headed North,” me.
“Got it,” him.
“Subaru hatchback,” me.
“Lucky guess. I can see it’s a hatchback from here without the binoculars,” him.
I squinted my eyes, and leaned forward slightly to physically emphasize that I was focusing on the car (for the onlookers’ benefit), “License plate…”
“Oh shut up…”
“Four… Looks like an eight…”
He was done. My cocky arrogance had pushed him too far this time. License plate number indeed?! In anger, he almost threw the binoculars to the deck as he handed them over to the Marine that brought them and then stormed off.
“Wait! Did he get it right?” Somebody called out. The group needed to know what had caused this uncharacteristically radical temperamental outburst from such a normally calm individual.
As the Marine huffed away, he didn’t even look back, “Yes.”
Almost Heroes 