Chapter Twenty-Four

 

 

Be Proud, Be Professional, Press On, Steam, Fly and Fight

Motto of the USS Kitty Hawk

 

The Outer Banks of North Carolina were formed over the ages as changing sea levels, storms, and the relentless currents of the Atlantic Ocean steadily gnawed and whipped at the protruding eastern shore of the North American continent. The continuous assaults resulted in a narrow strip of land stretched for 200 miles, forming the outer boundary of the state. The string of peninsulas and barrier islands were separated from the rest of the state by shallow bodies of water known as “sounds”. Historically isolated and home to pirates, (most notably Blackbeard), outlaws, and fishermen, the region became more accessible in the late nineteenth century as the state road system improved and travelers found it easier to access the remote islands. Word spread of the pristine sandy beaches and tall sand dunes that rolled along the seaside. Although still relatively remote and far from the burgeoning state capital of Raleigh 200 miles to the west, visitors began arriving.

Working in their bicycle shop in Dayton, Ohio, brothers Orville and Wilbur Wright had become possessed by the idea of creating a machine that would allow men to fly. For years they worked on designs and concepts, and by 1899, they had a working model ready for testing. Early versions of the young airplanes were unstable, difficult to launch, and nearly impossible to control. A friend suggested that the steady breeze, soft sand, and relative isolation when compared to Ohio would be a perfect location to continue testing and development of the amazing contraption. The brothers loaded up their tools, equipment, and models, and relocated their operation to a section of remote beach just south of the North Carolina town of Kitty Hawk. After years of steady progress marred by incremental setbacks and failures, on December 14^th, 1903, with Wilbur at the controls, the aircraft lifted into the breeze for three seconds before crashing. Progress came quickly, with the next flight by Orville going for 12 seconds and 120 feet. Subsequent flights continued to increase in time and distance. History had been made outside the small North Carolina town.

The desperate struggle in the Pacific between the United States and Japan had proven the importance and utility of aviation to military forces. Specifically, the floating, mobile air power that the innovation known as an Aircraft Carrier provided had been a key to the victory of the US in World War II.  As tensions rose between the US and the Soviet Union in the 1950s, a new generation of “Supercarriers” was designed. Named after the remote North Carolina town that had been the launching pad for the first flight of a powered aircraft, the USS Kitty Hawk, designated as (CV-63 – the C standing for Carrier, and the V designating that it carried fixed wing planes) was commissioned in April of 1961, just a few months after the inauguration of President John F. Kennedy. With a length equal to three football fields including the end zones, and a full displacement of over 81,000 tons, the “Battle Cat” was a floating city, loaded to the teeth with sailors, aircraft, and more firepower destructive capacity than most nations of the world. In addition to sailors, the crew of 5,624 included a detachment of Marines. Since the founding of the country, Marines had served on Navy Ships. Their mission was to repel attacks from enemies trying to board the vessel, as well as jumping, swinging, or climbing onto opposing ships to generally wreak havoc in often brutal and bloody hand to hand combat with pistols, knives, swords, or anything else they could get their hands on. Additionally, the Marines would be used to project power ashore to attack enemy strongholds or carry out other missions deemed necessary near the coast. The nickname of “leatherneck” stems from those early days, when Marines wore stiff leather collars to protect from sword blows meant to sever their heads from their bodies. The Kitty Hawk was no exception, boasting a detachment of Marines for any security mission that arose.

President Kennedy would visit the impressive ship in 1963, watching a demonstration of weapons capability from the deck. He addressed the crew and told them of the importance of their mission as part of the nation’s navy, providing for control of the seas. He later wrote of his visit “…impressed as I was, on my visit to Kitty Hawk, with the great force for peace or war, which these mighty carriers and their accompanying escorts provide, helping to preserve the freedom of distant nations in all parts of the world." (2)

The cold war with the Soviet Union was in full swing during most of the 1980s, with the world’s two super powers jockeying for position and preparing for a potential global conflict. In 1984, the Kitty Hawk found herself in the Sea of Japan, being closely followed by the Soviet attack submarine K-314 of the class “Scorpionfish”. Either by incompetence or misplaced boldness, a little after 10 PM one night, the K-314 surfaced directly in front of the bow of the ship. Too close to avoid a collision, the massive carrier slammed in to the Soviet sub a third of its length. As both vessels were thought to be carrying nuclear weapons at the time, the potential for a horrendous accident was high. Luckily, the carrier escaped serious damage, but the submarine was not as fortunate and sustained substantial damage. Unable to leave the scene under its own power, the sub remained in place for two weeks until a Soviet tug boat could tow it and its crew of 94 to a friendly port for repairs. (1) The crew joked that the “Battle Cat” was the first carrier to take out a nuclear submarine and painted a red sub on the side of the vessel near the bridge to commemorate the event. Unamused, Navy brass had them paint over the provocative image when it returned to home port in California. The Kitty Hawk served with distinction during the Vietnam years, launching aircraft for raids on targets and providing welcome close air support for Marines and soldiers fighting on the ground.

In January of my freshman year in college, the Kitty Hawk set out from her home port of San Diego for a scheduled cruise that would take her around the entire world. As a Midshipman, a part of the summer was reserved for active duty to gain experience and learn more about the Naval Service and its role in the defense of our nation. I eagerly awaited my assignment for the summer of 1987. After finishing the Spring semester, I received official orders from Headquarters, Marine Corps, and was on my way to my assignment. After several flights and plane changes, I ended up at the US Navy facility in Sigonella, Italy where I boarded a flight to my final destination along with a handful of other Midshipmen. Glancing at their collar insignia, I noticed I was the only one that had the Eagle, Globe, and Anchor of a “Marine Option”. Soaring about 25,000 feet above the Mediterranean, a small propeller driven plane carrying mail, supplies, and a few passengers lazily banked in a wide arc over the deep blue sea below. Far down in the distance, I first saw a small dot in the ocean. The dot grew steadily as the plane descended, I could make out the distinctive shape and dull grey of an aircraft carrier. As we descended further, the host of airplanes on the deck came sharply into view. I picked out F-14 Tomcat fighters, helicopters, and few aircraft I didn’t recognize. The flight deck was a beehive of activity, with every figure wearing goggles and brightly colored helmets. I disembarked the plane, carrying my cover tightly in my hand as I had been sternly warned that a cover blown into the turbine of a jet engine could cause millions of dollars of damage. As directed, with my sea bag over my shoulder, I followed an officer off the flight deck, replaced my cover, saluted the Ensign (US Flag) on the stern of the ship, turned and saluted the Officer on Duty, and asked “Permission to come aboard, Sir?” Permission granted, I made my way to a briefing room for an initial orientation. We were given a small map of the ship and told about areas we should avoid. The flight deck was specifically off limits, as were certain weapons storage and aircraft maintenance bays. The young Navy Lieutenant also added that we should stay out of the Marine spaces, as there was no reason for us to go there. He told us that the ship had just traversed the Indian Ocean, then made a port call in Mombasa, Kenya before continuing on through the Gulf of Aden and into the Red Sea. They crossed through the Suez Canal, and out into the Mediterranean where I had embarked. After some flight operations and training, they were going to make a couple more port calls then set out across the Atlantic to the east coast of the United States. To my surprise, rather than being assigned to the Marines, I was assigned to the ship’s Air Conditioning and Refrigeration (AC&R) maintenance crew. I removed my khaki midshipmen’s uniform and donned the dungarees and soft blue cotton shirt of a sailor. The dungarees featured wide bell bottoms, that looked odd to me at first, but they explained that the style was functional, as the wide bottoms allowed you to get your jeans off over your boots to be able to swim better if you got thrown into the sea. We were also shown how the jeans, once wet, could be removed and used as a short-term emergency float.

The AC&R shop was home to a great bunch of sailors. I eagerly followed them through bowels of the ship, checking on various components of the AC system. After a few days, I understood the basics of how the system worked. At night, I would spend time on the bridge. It was a fascinating place to be. From the radar technicians who kept track of was around us, to the plotting station where our past and future course was plotted out, to the communications office, where messages from around the world came in. The most amazing experience though, was watching the night operations of the aircraft. In total darkness except for a few dim running lights, the F-14 Tomcats would rev up their jets, which would quickly glow orange and red. After safety checks completed and permission was granted, they would rocket down the ship’s runway and off into the blackness. Eventually they would return, circling, coming into a path centered on the deck, slowing, and dropping a hook from the undersection of the plan. The hook would catch on a cable stretched across the deck which would quickly slow the plane, allowing it to come to a safe halt. This magnificent choreography of machines would play itself out over and over during the night, as the pilots and crew perfected their part in the intricate and potentially deadly dance. The show at night would have been impressive for anyone, but for an 18-year-old only recently graduated from high school, it was simply the most amazing thing I had ever seen. I loved being at sea, and I loved being on the ship. The salty smell of the ocean breeze, the indescribable vastness of the water, and the sharpness of the stars in the unobstructed night sky filled me with an excitement and overwhelming appreciation just for being alive and present at that very time and place. I would often go to the fantail (rear) of the ship to watch the evening sun slowly descend through the horizon, wondering how many of my ancestors had sailed that same sea in search of a home.

Eventually, curiosity got the best of me, and I wandered down to area that held the Marine spaces. The entrance was painted red, with a gold Eagle, Globe, and Anchor stenciled in gold paint. As I approached, the door opened, and a Marine walked out. Catching the door as he passed by, I entered. By the standards of the ship, the space was generous, but filled with weapons, packs, helmets, and stacks of lockers containing other equipment. There were bunks, a table, and a few chairs scattered around. A weight set occupied one corner. Young Marines focused intently on manuals, continuing to work despite my intrusion. A young officer walked over, and I told him what I was up to. He was pleasant enough, nothing like the Major at the armory in Chapel Hill. He spent a few minutes explaining his role, and told me his Marines stayed busy studying, working out, cleaning weapons, and reviewing tactical references. He told me I was welcome to come down anytime, but there wasn’t a lot of action there, and I’d probably enjoy learning about other parts of the ship and its operation while I had the chance. I’d have plenty of time to learn about weapons and tactics in the future. I continued my work with the AC&R crew, and spent time in other parts of the ship, but mainly around the bridge. I continued to be amazed at how the Captain coordinated the activities of the crew, and how the whole ship functioned with precision around the clock and in all sorts of weather. After a short time, we anchored off the coast of the island of Palma de Mallorca, Spain. I explored the historic island and relaxed on the beach with the sailors of the AC&R team. The ship was soon underway and conducting flight operations again, but before long dropped anchor in the harbor of Cannes, on the French Riviera. One of the local universities hosted a party for the ship’s junior officers, and the midshipmen were invited to come along. At the party I met a group of students from Sweden, and one of them became my tour guide and companion for the next few days. I was enthralled as Christina described how students in Europe travelled the continent cheaply and quickly by train, and I wished I could take a year off to visit the region. She showed me around Cannes, guiding me through the narrow cobblestone streets to cafés, surrounding beaches and countryside. Before long, the port call ended, and we were back on the ship heading towards the Straights of Gibraltar, out of the Mediterranean and in to the Atlantic Ocean. My first period of active duty coming to an end, I boarded a helicopter and was flown to a nearby base in Spain, and then back to the US. The summer experience had thoroughly sold me on military life. I loved the travel, the excitement, and the mission. I couldn’t wait for the next adventure