Another surprise about sailor problems I would have to deal with but at least I got to see how the flyboys worked. A very educational day. I read David Lamb’s book about a war reporter returning to Viet Nam when he went back to Hanoi in 1997 for the LA Times. He visited all the places he wanted to see in the North when he wrote from Saigon in the late ’60s. He wrote that in 1972 the permanent population of Vinh was zero. Great job, A-7 guys!

Flyboys

After plowing through the morning paperwork and setting the appointments for the afternoon, Phillips thought after a quick coffee break, he could have some downtime to wander around the ship and get his bearings. No such luck. When he walked into the office, he noticed a pilot with a file waiting for him.

“Are you LT Phillips, the new legal officer?” “Yes, sir.”

Although the pilot was a Lieutenant, the same rank as Phillips, these were the guys the ship revolved around. 120 pilots required about 5,000 other sailors to do business. And they were the ones risking their asses every day of operations. So, in Phillips’ mind, the guy was owed some deference. Phillips freely admitted to anyone who asked about his status that he was not brave enough to have been a Marine or a Navy pilot, although his nearsightedness would have likely disqualified him from flight school, but he sure wanted to work with and for them. It looked like he might have his first air dale client. The guy was of average height with blond hair and light blue eyes. Probably slayed the chicks when the ship was in port.

“I am LT Draper, an A-7 pilot with VA-211. I am also the squadron Legal Officer. I don’t know how much LT Hansen told you about how we work but I have a legal problem, actually it’s my plane captain, AM2 Simpson who has the problem, and I need some advice. I just had the JAG 7-week course for non-lawyers and handle the routine claims.  I also have done some charge sheet work but on this ship Captain Turner wants to handle all disciplinary matters including the Air Wing’s so I will give you a heads up if we have problems. Our squadron is pretty ship-shape and has had no masts yet. Although the Squadron CO does have heart-to-heart talks when some of the guys screw up.  But I am not qualified to give legal advice in this situation.  I did not want to bother LT Hansen with this when he told me you were taking the California Bar exam, and this just came up. I thought it would make more sense to raise this with you.”

“I did take the California Bar exam in July. Won’t get the results for a few months. So I know a little about California law. How can I help your guy?”

“Simpson is my plane captain. One of the best mechanics I have ever seen. Always has me ready for the next operation. But he got in some trouble and a jeweler in Fresno is threatening to sue him. Kind of a mess.”

“What happened?”

“Girlfriend problem. Actually, an ex-girlfriend, and that’s the problem. He tells me the gal was pressuring him to get engaged. Been seeing her for a few months and he was really into her. I actually met her at a squadron function at NAS Lemoore before the cruise. Cute secretary in Fresno; a few years older than Simpson but she looked legitimate. So, the guy buys her an engagement ring on credit.   Something like $2500. Making regular payments although no automatic deduction from his paycheck. Gets a letter a month ago from the b*tch dumping him and telling him she is going to marry another guy. Typical Dear John stuff we see all the time. The kid is pissed and stops making payments on the ring.  He asks for the ring back and it turns out the girl sold it for cash. So, no ring, no girl, and the poor guy owes about $2,200 and the store owner says he will sue if he doesn’t get all the money by next week. Anything we can do to help the kid?”

“Yes.  Sailors, or anyone in the military, cannot be sued while they are deployed. LT Hansen has a standard letter I will send to the store owner. Just give me the file with the information in it. In the meantime, have Simpson come down when he has time, and I will try to figure out if he has a claim against the gal for disposing of the ring. There are some statutes involving gifts in anticipation of marriage, but I don’t have them at my fingertips. Will check that out.  In the meantime, maybe we can come up with some offer to settle with the store owner for less than the total demanded. Most businesses don’t want to waste time on collections. Saw this come up a few times when I did some Legal Assistance in my prior job.”

“Really appreciate it, Lieutenant. Would sure help Simpson’s morale to know he does not have to do something until the ship gets back.  And I really depend on this guy. By the way, have you been to flight ops or the squadron ready rooms yet?”

“No. This is just my second day. But I would like to.  Sure, I wouldn’t be in the way?”

“Not at all. We like to show off for the staff officers. The docs are always wandering into the ready room asking who is bombing today. We have a briefing at 1330 for the afternoon mission if you would like to come.  Our ready room is on the Second Deck behind the Repair Shops.”

“Thanks for the invite. Looking forward to it.”

So, Phillips was going to get to look at the business end of the ship.  Would sure be more interesting than shuffling charge sheets. But the jeweler problem of the plane mechanic made Phillips curious about how widespread the debt problem might be aboard ship.

“Yates, LT Hansen briefed me on the standard response to wife divorce lawyer letters. Do we use the same one when responding to the claims of creditors the sailors owe money to like the guy in VA-211?”

“Not exactly. They are handled a little differently.”

“How so?”

“When the letters come in about money the kid owes, they are automatically directed here. Then LT Hansen, or one of us, sends it to the sailor’s Division Officer. One of their counseling jobs, about being responsible, staying out of debt.  Then the Division Officer may write his own letter and hopefully the problem is taken care of and the guy pays up.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

“Then we get another letter. That you will have to forward again.  To the Division Officer.”

“How many of these are pending?”

“Let me see. We usually file them in this cabinet over here.”

Yates pulled out a drawer of an ancient gray 1950s-era metal filing cabinet.  He fished out a huge file with hundreds of pages of paper.

“This is our creditor file. Quite a few here.”

“And these are all inquiries from creditors that have not been resolved?”

“I assume so.”

Phillips took the file and started wading through the paper. A lawyer’s specialty. Jesus, he thought. There must be over 100 scofflaws on the ship avoiding payments for one thing and another. Phillips noticed that the huge majority were from jewelry stores or collection agents for jewelry stores.

“Yates, most of these claims are from jewelers. Having never bought any jewelry for a girl I am a little unfamiliar with the process. Why are there so many claims like this?”

“Sir, you should see the way these guys operate. Usually have runners just outside the base in Alameda when the ship is in port. Flyers offering cheap gold jewelry, no credit check required. Only $5 a month payment plan type bait. Then the guys buy it on credit at some huge markup and interest rate and are on the hook. Most of the guys are trying to impress their girlfriends; a few get hooked into buying engagement rings. But a lot of the stuff is for themselves: gold necklaces, watches. You know, to look like studs.”

“I don’t get it. Most of these claims are for what look to be expensive items; $500 and up.  And the sailors buying this stuff are Seaman rate or below. They could not be making more than $300 a month even with combat-zone pay. And I assume most of their check gets eaten up by hookers, booze, or drugs.  Something does not compute here.”

“What can I say, sir? Most of these guys aren’t real sharp.”

“I guess not. So, I assume a lot of my time will get spent on these guys in addition to the mast screw-ups. So be it. Yates, I want you and Clinton to give me a chart of every outstanding creditor claim. I want the date of each letter, identity of the creditor, what, if anything, the division officer has done about it and how much is owed. I need to get a handle on this.”

“OK, sir. We can do that. What do you intend to do next?”

“I don’t know yet. I want to think about it. I have not had much consumer law experience, but I don’t like the smell of this.”

One more unanticipated problem for Phillips. Being a collection agent for aggressive businesses that preyed on young sailors was not a task he was looking forward to. Time for lunch and then an audience with the flyboys.

The VA-211 ready room where the pilots in the squadron got their briefings looked like a cleaner, cooler version of a high school boy’s locker room. Comfy seats with grease boards in each seat for the pilots to take notes. LT Draper introduced Phillips around to the other pilots. TV screens on the ceiling were tuned in to other parts of the ship, including the flight deck showing the recovery of aircraft from the last mission. The large blackboard at the podium was dominated by a huge map of North Viet Nam. Or part of it. The part below Hanoi-Haiphong was the day’s target. Someplace called Vinh. Phillips had never heard of it before. Other than the capital and the port of Haiphong, the only other place in the north he remembered was Dien Bien Phu. Where the French took it up the a** in 1954 before skedaddling back to Paris.

A grey-haired guy with an air of authority took the podium and everyone stopped talking. A Commander. Must be the Squadron CO.

“OK, guys. No surprise here. You see the map. It’s Vinh again.” Groans of “aw, sh**” and “not again.”

“Pipe down. It’s today’s job. We’ve been there before. And may have to go again. Just keep your wits about you. Weather report first. Then the intel briefing. The XO, Commander Johnson, will be the flight leader. He will go over the flight plan last. Good luck.”

The TV monitor then tuned to an officer in front of a weather map. Like the nightly weather report only for a very tiny area. Like 30 miles square. The young Lieutenant JG starts droning on about cloud layers, wind direction, and the usual stuff no one pays attention to on the nightly news. But all the pilots were paying attention and taking notes. The A-7s were the older version of a light attack bomber manufactured by LTV and were not geared for all-weather use like the heavier two crewed A-6 Intruders. These guys needed clear weather to insure hitting their target. Looked like they are going to get it today.

A jaunty-looking intelligence officer was next up.  Tall with a handlebar mustache. Looked almost British.  Expected to hear “OK, blokes, here is the scoop.”  Instead, just the cold facts:  “They are getting a little better on camouflaging the anti-aircraft batteries.  Used to have 7 now we count at least 9 and under some pretty good screening.  Here are a few photos although only the F-4 guys need to study them. Fighters will go in first and clean them out. Only one or 2 SAM batteries on trucks; fairly easy to spot. Two of fighters will hold back during the rest of VF-118’s runs and jump on them when they limber up. I think the fighter cover here will be more than adequate.”

“The sneaky b*stards have moved the red cross sign down a few buildings since we saw this place last time. Now on some warehouse about 150 yards closer to the rail junction.  I can’t say ignore it. But if you hit the building and the sign is in tatters it will be on Cronkite by tomorrow night. Don’t do any dangerous turns to avoid it either. That’s about it. Ask any questions of Commander Johnson, if you need additional photos.”

A tall, lean, gaunt-looking guy with a Commander’s oak leaves stood at the podium. Must be the XO and the mission leader.

“OK, guys. You know the drill. We are 10 minutes behind the fighters unless they find something unexpected, and the mission gets aborted. As much as you might be hoping for that, you know it’s not gonna happen.  I will take the first flight in and focus on the railroad junction. We have hit that many times so the parameters should be drilled into you by now. LT Stilwells’s flight behind me will be going after the buildings here just to the west. Then LCDR Boston and his crew to clean up anything still standing. Regular angle of attack; bomb release at 1500 feet then get out of Dodge. Two of the fighters will be our rear guard. Any questions?”

No one raises a hand.

“OK, get to it. On the deck in five minutes.”

Phillips watched the aviators file out on their way to the locker rooms just off the flight deck for their harnesses and sidearms. Didn’t look very pissy and vinegary. More like stoic. Another day at the office for these guys.

“Hey, lawyer. See you when I get back in about an hour.”

It was LT Draper. He looked a little more confident than the others. Maybe he was a born optimist like Phillips.

“Good luck, Lieutenant. Can’t wait to hear about the mission.”

Phillips wandered back to the cluster of executive offices near the Legal Office. While his pilot shipmates were bombing the hell out of the fine denizens of Vinh, People’s Republic of North Viet Nam, he had a confab with the Personnel Officer over the dirtbag list. The Personnel Officer was Warrant Officer 2 Jeff Bell. In the meticulous Naval Bureaucracy, Warrant Officers were neither officer fish nor enlisted fowl. The Navy had more personnel classifications than the Indian caste system. Instead of officer commissions, they were given “warrants” which Phillips guessed were about as valuable as Sheriff appointments in the old West. But they could bunk in Officer’s Country and were paid better than enlisted men. Just like the limited duty officers such as Trumbull they were specialists. And Bell was a specialist in analyzing the Navy paperwork for every sailor on the ship.

“So, what do we have here Jeff?” Phillips tried to sound nonchalant. Even though the subject was the possible short-circuiting of scores of young sailors’ careers.

“Not sure, sir. Went through LT Hansen’s list of troublemakers and repeat mast offenders. Not exactly a murderer’s row but some real screw-ups. Compared that to their test scores in their records. As you would expect, pretty good correlation between lack of a high-school education and trouble.  But of the 75 or so that had two or more masts and no high school diploma or GED we have fairly wide disparity from the performance evaluations. You know, what the Division Officer says the kid can do or is capable of. Many of them, at least two dozen, show real potential. And it was not just the deck apes. Some of the kids in AIMD, which handle the planes on the hanger deck getting ready for repair work, showed a real interest in their work. So, it’s hard to say all these kids are lost causes.  So, I drilled down on the other 50 or so.  Not much potential there.  Offenses are borderline; some drugs, a few fights and assaults, one theft. Should we start teeing these guys up to get canned?”

“Maybe. Give me the files to review tonight and I will read them and get back to you with a hit list. And then we go to the XO and maybe the Division Officers to get a little more feedback and a final decision before I pull the legal trigger. But I have a question about the race of the 50 on thin ice. Are they mostly black?”

“No. Maybe a quarter of them. A little higher percentage than for the crew as a whole but all with 9th- or 10th-grade educations. And bad attitudes. Several of them are the militants we always hear about. But the white kids’ attitudes in this group aren’t any better. Just screw offs.”

“Thanks, Jeff. I know that’s something the XO will want to know. I will give him a preliminary report and then we can meet tomorrow.”

“It is a stand-down day tomorrow. Can we do it later in the day?”

The ship was scheduled for a day off from flight operations. Which meant a reduced work schedule for staff and crew to rest up for the next 10-day push before a Subic port call.

“Sure. Talk to you after dinner.”

Phillips went to the officer’s wardroom where meals were served.  A TV in the small lounge area was focused on the flight deck and the Legal Officer got some coffee while watching the aircraft return from the Vinh mission. The fighters landed first. The F-4 Phantoms sucked down the Av Gas much quicker than the A-7s and there was no refueling on this mission. Then came Draper’s squadron. It was fun to watch the wobbling of the planes as they lined up for their final approach.  Not too much crosswind this afternoon and most of them hit the No. 3 of the four arresting cables, the safest place to land. All 20 planes came back so no losses. Another bullet dodged by the good guys. Phillips wondered if they did any good.

At dinner that night one of the line officers who stood Officer of Deck watches invited Phillips to come up and watch the night landings. A separate reconnaissance mission had been launched to check out the Vinh damage and help plan more fun strikes in two days. After the night shift legal assistance meetings, more sailors with the damn Dear John divorce letters, Phillips wandered up the seemingly endless series of steps to the very top of the superstructure which contained the ship’s bridge. The place was so large Phillips could find a corner with a bird’s eye view of the flight deck and stay out of the way of the dozen officers and sailors who were running the ship.  Phillips noticed a Marine Corps officer with binoculars slung around his neck barking orders. What is a Marine doing on the bridge? A Quartermaster Chief whose job was to assist the Navigator on this four-hour watch noticed Phillips and came over.

“Evening, sir. You must be LT Hansen’s replacement. I am Chief Decker and have the Quartermaster watch. Your first time up here?”

“Yeah, Chief. I have only seen the bridge of an AFS. On my summer ROTC cruise. This place is pretty roomy. Who is the Marine and what is he doing?”

“That’s Captain Carlotti. He’s the Marine Detachment CO.  He’s the Officer of the Deck. He had a real interest in learning about seamanship and got permission from the Captain to be trained as a Junior Officer of the Deck.  Took to it like a fish to water and got certified as the OOD several months ago. One of our best ship drivers and the Captain says he is an outstanding trainer of the new crop of JOODs.”

As odd as a Marine driving an aircraft carrier seemed to Phillips, he was sure the crew was safer than if the ship’s lawyer were in charge. He learned a little navigation in ROTC but was hopeless in his summer JOOD training. He could barely tell starboard from port and had no feel for the drift of the ship or how quickly it could turn. Better he was not commissioned a line officer.

Phillips’ attention was focused on the flight deck. Guys in various colored jerseys moving planes hither and yon as they landed. It appeared completely confusing to him. He could sense that there was an urgent need to move a plane that had just landed out of the way so that others could land but the many bodies scrambling around seemed more chaotic than ants on a Tennessee anthill.

“Chief, what are the different colored jersey guys doing?”

“The white jerseys are the Landing Signal Officers and quality control types.  They signal the pilots on their final approaches and keep track of where everyone lands. There are four arresting cables that will grab onto the tail hook and stop the aircraft. The planes are always at full power on landing so they can take off if they miss the cables. It’s tough if they land too close to the no. 1 wire. Might be too close to edge of the angle deck.”

“The green jerseys are the arresting gear crews. When a jet hits a cable with its tailhook it drags the cable about 100 yards until it yanks the aircraft to a complete stop.  Then the tailhook drops and the cable snakes back into position. They also manage the upkeep and lubrication of the catapults and arresting gear below decks.”

“The yellow jerseys are the aviation bos’n mates; the plane handlers. They drive their little tractors to put planes into position on the flight deck or onto an elevator if being stowed or repaired in the hanger bay. The red ones are the bomb guys; load the bombs and weapons and defuse them if a plane comes back with a full load. Purple people eaters are the fuelers. A few more but that is the basic flight deck line up.”

Phillips was fascinated with the flight deck ballet. How do these guys stay out of each other’s way in such a constricted space?  They must have to be constantly looking over their shoulders to see if any planes are close by. Hansen had shown him the photos from an investigation into a tragic accident a few months before when a flight deck officer, an experienced Lieutenant Commander, momentarily lost his bearings and his balance near the forward catapult and was sucked into the engine of an A-7. Upper torso chopped to pieces. Guys often get blown overboard by the tail blast of a turning jet.  Yet these 19- and 20-year-old kids were running around like they were on a school playground. And only looked forward to a few days every couple of months to lap up beer and get laid. It looked like the U.S. Navy was in good hands.

Phillips headed below decks for a quick cup of coffee and an early turn in when the jarring alarm sounded:

“FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE IN THE FORWARD MEZZANINE LOCKER. AWAY THE FIRE AND RESCUE TEAM.”

Sh**. Another reminder he was living on a giant, floating powder keg. Furious pounding of feet as the designated firefighters, among the ship’s most valuable sailors, tore down ladders and hallways to reach the blaze. Shouts of “Make Way” as the path was cleared. It could not have taken more than 30 seconds for the guys in protective gear with foam sprayers to charge into the space and let loose a stream of chemicals. Turned out to be a minor flare-up near the rope storage area. Not near any bombs or ammunition. Two minutes later the relieving announcement “FIRE IS OUT” came over the 1MC.  Phillips wondered how many of these dramas he would get to experience. At least he would get to sleep in tomorrow. Maybe he would stay in his rack until 8 and pretend he had a civilian job.