John Roat
Real Frogmen
Stuff
My tour of
duty with UDT-11 included, what I consider today, my most gratifying operation while
in the Teams, UDT or
The President of the
"For extraordinary heroism in action during her
Second War
In 1953, the Tunny was converted to a missile firing submarine. She made
history while successfully launching the first REGULUS missile fired from a
submarine. On its deck, aft of the Sail[2],
was an oblong structure, the missile hanger. Its sole purpose was to house the
REGULUS Missiles. To fire their
missile, the Tunny would have to
surface, open the hanger and move the REGULUS to firing position. Keep in mind that a submarine is most
vulnerable when on the surface.
In her new
capacity Tunny would add to its proud history; "TUNNY made ten Nuclear
Missile deterrent patrols and successfully launched one hundred REGULUS exercise missiles, the
only submarine in history to
accomplish such a record feat. For
meritorious services rendered during her deterrent patrols TUNNY was awarded four
Commander Submarine Force, Pacific
Fleet Unit Citations, and one
Commander-in-Chief, U.S. Pacific Fleet Commendation"
When the
Polaris Submarines became Operational in 1965, the Polaris could fire its
missiles while submerged, all REGULUS missile submarines became obsolete. For all of us involved in Special
Warfare[3]
this was a good day. In 1966 the
TUNNY'S missile hanger was converted into a
troop berthing compartment, and she was designated a troop transport
submarine (APSS). Army Special Forces, Recon Marines, Navy
Underwater Demolition and SEAL Teams would safely pull repeated Special
Operations with the TUNNY.
Submarine sailors are a proud lot, and it's justifiable,
those Dolphins they ware don't come easy.
The first step is attending school at
All hands, from the cook to the Captain were required to qualify
at every station on the boat. On the old diesel boats, that was around twenty
stations. They had to learn to operate each station error free, for a
predetermined amount of hours.
The trainee is then given an oral, and a written test on each station. After achieving qualification on all
stations , then and only then, are they eligible for the real TEST.
On submarines in the United States Navy, the Chief of the
Boat, known to all hands as the COB, is at the center of everything. Everything coming down from on high,
comes through the COB, everything going up, goes through the COB. To finally qualify for their
Dolphins the trainee takes a little walk through the sub with the COB. The COB is going to ask some questions,
let's say he asked the trainee a question about a cretin valve in the forward
torpedo room.
It's not good enough to just know the name of the valve, and
what it does. You had better be
prepared to name every valve in that particular system, and what position each
must be if the valve you named is open.
Before he gets his Dolphins a Submariner has to be able to do that with
every system on the submarine. When
the world turns to Ka KA on a submarine running submerged, there is no time to
look it up in some manual, or find an expert. If the crew doesn't react fast and do it
right the first time, that long metal tube may damn be their final resting
place.
The Tunny had a great crew, but so do most submarines. What the Tunny had, that no other
submarine I operated of off had, was a troop space. The old REGULUS Hanger was fitted out
for bunking and gear storage. Most
of you would have taken one look at the accommodations and felt ill. Down the center of the hanger ran three
sets of six bunks high, since this was an oval, the center line was the highest
part of the room. There was about
fifteen or sixteen inches between bunks.
Not enough space to turn over in, without lifting the guy above. All our personal, and some our
operational gear was heaped in piles on the floor, or hung off the bunks and
bulkheads. The single largest piece
of equipment we had was our
Inflatable Rubber Boat Small. I believe we had five of them. Those were stowed
in a locker between the inner and outer hull of the Submarine.
When our platoon came aboard the TUNNY in Subic Bay
Philippines there were twenty-one of us.
Without that troop space, every hand on the submarine would have been
Hot Bunking[4]. For me operating off a submarine, is one
of those bedrock frogman things, something no amount of discomfort could spoil.
As far as I was concerned, that hanger made the TUNNY the most comfortable
submarine I ever operated off of.
Before we operated with the TUNNY'S crew, we already knew
they could stand toe to toe with the Out to Lunch Bunch[5],
on Liberty. In 1967, Subic Bay
Philippines Naval Station was homeport to both the TUNNY and the forward
deployed Underwater Demolition Team[6]. Subic Bay was in the running for the
wildest liberty port on earth. Most
of the Out to Lunch Bunch had done a little hard core young guy partying with
the TUNNY crew, in Subic Bay.
Nothing like a little party hardy young guy craziness, before going on
operation in The Nam, to bond us together for a little old guy craziness, WAR.
Subic
Bay, known far and wide as Pubic Bay, was the Military Reservation leased to the United States as a Naval
Base, by the Government of the Philippines. Olongapo City was actually part of that
Military Reservation. There was a
fence and a gate, between the base and Olongapo, but that was just to keep work
and play separate. I will not bore
you with details, but Olongapo had more bars and whores per square inch then
any place I had ever been. They
were everywhere side by side, upstairs, downstairs, around back, and across the
street. Most of us sailors and
marines stationed there, made no pretense at tourism. It was nothing more or less then barroom
fighting…knee wobbling...gutter crawling . . . drunken lust. For young men raised in the good old
U.S.A. of the fifties, truly culture shock.
As
in all things Team, our Chief was the key.
Chief Joe L. Smith, was a tall man six foot two or three, with a very
calm demeanor. I worked for him in
the Parachute Loft, and he was an all around good guy. Not that you couldn't get Chief Smith
pissed off, I had managed to do that just after I arrived at UDT-11. He was giving me a little guidance as to
my military career, when my big
mouth had placed me in a special place on the Chiefs forever Ka Ka list. He had been looking at my Service Record[7],
and noticed that I had not taken the test for advancement in Rank, the last two times
I had been eligible. Chief Smith
had done all the right things.
Taken me aside, and privately explained the importance of advancement to
my military career and my young family.
When I told him I still didn't feel like taking the test, he asked me
why?
In
the United States Navy the first rank with any power attached is E-4 or Third
Class Petty Officer, my rank at the time.
My Chief was an E-7, his full title was Chief Petty Officer. My answer to Chief Petty Officer Joe
Smith just proves how young and dumb I was; " Chief, have you ever looked
up the word Petty ? It means small and insignificant, who cares about being to
a small and insignificant officer?"
As soon as the words escaped my lips, I knew I had Ka Kaed, big time. Of
course my Chief, not a small and insignificant officer, by any stretch of the
definition, handled my verbal desecration of the last twenty years of his life
with Chiefly cool. He gave me a
long quite look, shook his head, and walked off. From that day on Chief Smith still
did his best for me in all things, including making sure I was on every nasty
detail[8]
that came along.
As
always in the Teams there was a heavy workload. Platoons would be on deployments,
training (both giving and taking), maintaining equipment, and of course
swimming and PTing our young green frogmen asses off. One of the best training courses I took
while in the Teams, was at Subic Bay,
a 3/12 day course known as JEST, or Jungle Environmental Survival
Training. You might think there's
not much you can learn about the jungle in three and half days, which was
exactly my thought before taking the course.
The
course was run by Negrito's, the
earliest known inhabitance of the Philippine Islands. For the most part they lived as nomadic
stone age tribes, in the jungle, and rejected about 90% of all other forms of
civilization. In the area of Subic
Bay Naval Station, there were two tribes.
In the 60s, besides running the JEST Training, both tribes were
contracted to guard the perimeters of the base that ran through the jungle.
They knew more about the jungle then anyone I ever met. They not only lived in it, got all their
food from it, but they believed their
forefathers inhabited the animals, and trees that made it up. What they got for performing
there duties, was dump rights. The
Negrito's thought our culture was nuts;
as they saw it, we throw away more then anyone needed to live. So as long as they guarded the base
fence and ran the school , they could remove anything from the Subic Bay dump
they wanted.
The
Negrito's had come to my attention in 1960, as a seventeen year old on one of
my first liberties. I had come across
two children over a hundred feet up in a tree near the Subic Bay Naval Exchange[9]. Hell I had been one of those children
that climbed tall trees, but these little kids were scaring the crap out of
me. As it turned out they weren't
children, they were very small men. When they came down from the tree, I had
gone over to see what it was the had wrapped in their loin clothes. It was bird eggs, they had been
gathering dinner. These guys were
naked except for a small loin cloth, and maybe four foot tall. They were well
muscled, dark brown and moved with confident grace. Each had a spear taller then me, six
foot one, and a knife that hung to there knees. One thing struck me right off the bat,
these people didn't feel out of place.
Believe me they had my attention, I spent some of my precious liberty
time finding out about the Negrito people.
I
was told one scary rumor that has always stuck in my mind, and whether true or
not, was wildly believed among base personal. It seemed that jet parts were disappearing
from a hanger on the Naval Air Station.
When Base Security couldn't
figure out who was doing the steeling, so the Negrito's came under
suspicion. Now the Tribes were not
responsible for any security, other then the base fences that ran through the
jungles surrounding at least half the base. Well when they came under suspicion, the
Negrito's took matters into their own hands. They quickly caught two Phillipino
civilian employees of the base steeling parts. The thieves where hung, half dead, from
the top of the 12 foot fence near
the base main gate. The scariest
part of the story was; the tribes
had surrounded the area, fully armed and would not let anyone take the two down
until they had died. They had hung
there for a day and half, in full view of the inhabitants of Olongapo City.
I
was also told, that they had resisted all attempts to change their culture, by
force when necessary. The
Negrito's had been successful at
this, because they knew the jungle better then anyone. It boiled down to this: Come after us in
our jungle and die. The
Japanese, had learned the lesson the hard way, during W W-2. Even after winning the Philippine
Islands from us, they could not subdue the Negrito people, many Japanese died
trying. One thing that I observed
having to do with the Negrito's and the Japanese is the Negrito's have long
memories. Even though the War had
ended in 1945, in the 60s when Japanese ships came into Subic Bay, if one of
them left their ship, they would be followed by two fully armed Negrito's,
every where they went.
The
two tribes around the base had free access on and off Subic Bay Naval
Reservation. I don't know what most
people thought of the Stone Age tribesmen, but I never saw anyone show a
Negrito anything but respect. I had been in Subic Bay when General of the Army Douglas Mac Arthur had
returned to the Philippines for the last time. The people of the Philippines couldn't
have been more excited if Jesus had returned. The whole island had turned out to see
their hero and Tribes of Negrito's had come from all over the islands.
During
the festivities set up around
General Mac Arthur's visit was an Open House[10]
for the public. At the time I was
stationed aboard the USS Thetis Bay, a helicopter carrier. My job during the open house was to run
the elevator up and down. Normally it was used to bring
helicopters from the hanger bay to the flight deck, that day it transported the
visitors. The Negro’s loved
that elevator, all day I had groups of them, riding up and down, time after
time. The thing that struck me
most, was the space everyone gave these little people. It may have had to do with the fact that
they were all armed, big knife, long spear, some with bows. No one else, except
the Military Police, were allowed to carry weapons.
The
first half day of the course was spent in and around the classroom. It
was perched on top of a hill, over looking the base and harbor at Subic
Bay. That is till you turned you
back to the bay, from that angle, the classroom set on the very edge of the
jungle. When the half day of
classroom was complete, we would walk a few feet from the classroom and be
surrounded by that jungle for the next three days. Each man would be carrying a bag of
salt, and a Bolo[11]
knife. The two Negrito tribesmen
that would lead our jungle trek, assured us we would not go hungry in the
jungle.
It
was an amazing three day walk through a Negrito Super Store. The only thing not on the shelf, a sharp
knife and salt, those we carried.
Our little stroll through the jungle was a none stop hands on learning
process. We were shown what plants
to eat and how to prepare them. How to recognize what plants were poisonous and
which had medicinal value.
The best way to move through the jungle, and how to prepare safe
sleeping areas. It was hands on
learning, the most effective way for me to learn. The most important thing our Stone Age
teachers taught us was; to be
conformable in the jungle. In the
not to distant future, many of us would find ourselves doing the bad business
of war in that environment.
Just
prior to our departure for The Nam,
aboard the Tunny, I had a particularly heavy work load. We had returned from deployment aboard
the USS Weiss, and had just five days to pull a little liberty before our
departure on the Tunny. Well guess
what, while we were deployed on the Weiss,
the XO, and his office friends
had jumped all the parachute we had.
Ever parachute had been packed when we departed on the Weiss. Since there was no other team Parachute
Rigger in Subic Bay, other then Chief,
it was up to me to get thirty something Parachutes packed in two
days. The XO had scheduled another
jump for all hand. Jump day wasn't
even a brake, Chief Smith was training me as a Jump Master[12].
So not only did I jump that day, but I carried out the duties of Jump Master
under the direct supervision of my Chief.
Now to top that off, I had to have all the parachutes re-packed, before
I departed on the Tunny. Chief
Smith was not about to do anything but smile at my little dilemma, well hell
"That's No Hill For A Climber."
The
XO of UDT-11, was Lt. George Worthington, and he wasn't finished screwing up my
liberty yet. I had been pretty damn proud of myself, for getting the job done
single handed, while my Teammates partied hardy. Old George would turn that pride into
anger, while we were in The Nam. I
of course would not be able to let it go, I had to have my revenge, but more on
that later.
When
we and all our equipment moved aboard the TUNNY, I may have been the only guy
onboard without a hangover.
The rest of my platoon, and the crew of the TUNNY, had spent every night
in Subic Bay doing the party hardy thing.
Now it was go to war time, for most of us, our first time. The odd thing was, I don't remember
anyone making a big deal out of it.
All of us had practiced for this time and again, thank God for
that.
I
had figured out the must important thing about sleeping in that 6 high stack of
bunks, TOP BUNK. The only drawback
was also an advantage, climbing up and down. If I slept on top, no one was sticking
their feet in my small living space, I was doing the sticking. Plus, if one of my Teammates became seasick,
it wouldn't come spewing down on me.
The guys in the bottom bunks suffered the added indignity for having
their teammates park their green frogman butts on the edge of their bunk.
Underway,
unless you're part of the crew, the only thing you had to do was be ready, and
stay out of the way. On the trip
from Subic Bay to Vietnam, many of us would start getting qualified as watch
standers at several different stations.
During our tour with the Tunny, I became qualified as a watch stander at four stations:
Forward Look-out, After Look-out, Bow-Planes, and After-Planes. Hell, your gear can only be so
ready, you can only sleep so many
hours, play so many games of cards, or read so many books. You might as well
learn something on the long ride to war.
Our
Mission in The Nam, wasn't combat, it was gathering information in a combat
zone. If we ended up in a firefight
we had done our job wrong. On a
personal level, worse we would be
in a world of SHIT! You might say
we were the most lightly armed fighting men in Vietnam. Each of us would be carrying a standard
issue knife, with one man carrying an M-3 Grease-gun. In a nut shell, we were to go in, get
the information, and get back without being seen. All our operations from the Tunny, were
done under the cover of dark, the darker the better. Ideal conditions would be; cloudy with
no moon or stars, rain, low wind and flat seas. Of course we couldn't wait around for
those conditions.
In
truth the job could have been done much faster and easier, in the
daylight. With say, a Company of
Marines guarding the back shore area, to keep our green Frogman posteriors from
being shot off. Just one problem with the easy way, Every VC on God's earth would have known
what beaches the Navy wanted to use for landing troops. It's this simple, getting the troops on
the beach before they get there asses shot off is always best. The Navy wanted Hydrographic Surveys
done on all possible landing sights from the DMZ[13]
south, and they didn't want the enemy knowing which beaches had been done.
Hydrographic Survey, sounds like some big scientific endeavor,
hears what it boils down to for Frogmen. You are gathering information that
will allow the Landing Craft bringing in the marines, to get to the beach
without sinking on submerged obstacles.
Plus, back shore information, such as: What weight will the beach bear[14],
what are the exit points[15],
and are there enemy emplacement or activity. The tools to do the job are very
basic; One Platoon of Frogmen, one
weighted line each, one plastic swimmer slate each, one compass, and a set of
Range Polls.
It's
important for the Navy to have the information a Hydrographic Survey provides,
even for landings where no one is trying to sink your ships and kill our
Troops. The currents, the gradient
of the bottom, and obstacles hidden just under the water, are all things that a
man in the water can find best.
To bring large to medium size ships, and large boats barring troops
close to the beach, they have to know what might rip the bottom from our
vessels. Well here is how
that information was gathered,
under-fire or not.
Up
on the beach being surveyed, the Beach Party[16],
would take compass bearing, and set up range poles that could be seen by the
swimmers in the water. One man in
the Beach Party would taking care of back shore security, finding beach exits,
sand samples, enemy emplacements etc.
The swimmers would line up on the range poles, about 25 feet apart
perpendicular to the beach. As the
Range Poles were moved down the beach, 25 feet at a time, on compass bearings,
the swimmers stayed in line with the poles, and took soundings on each
station. Now this may sound like a
fairly easy thing to do, not so.
Each man must cover the area between himself and the next swimmer in
line. So your swimming along the beach, staying in line with
the other swimmers, taking soundings, skinning down and checking out anything
that isn't smooth and flat, while writing everything down in proper order on a
small plastic slate.
All
this information would be compiled by the Platoon Cartographer[17]
and placed on a Chart. Any
landing would be planed by Admirals and Captains, using our information off that
Chart. If there were any obstacles,
man made or natural, that would impede a safe landing we would remove them with
explosives, just prior to any landing.
During landings, it was our job to make sure our troops didn't
drown. Many times, the landing
craft will bottom before they're close enough to drop their ramp on dry
sand. Those ramps can come down in
two to three feet of water, a couple hundred feet from dry sand. If a Soldier or Marine trips or
falls before he gets to dry sand, they can quickly drown. With fifty to eighty pounds of gear and
weapons strapped on their back, it's easy for them to be held face down,
sucking sandy water into their lungs.
The
TUNNY would run all day submerged, in the early afternoon it would settle on
the bottom, two to five miles off the beach we would survey that night. The crew would have run the sub in slow
and easy, taking compass fixes, through the Periscope on our beach for the night. When she hit bottom, the TUNNY would
have approximately forty feet of water over her main deck. Enough water to hide the submarine, but
shallow enough for to lock out and free-assent[18]
to the surface. This all may have
been done before we woke up from the previous nights operation.
Once
we had arrived of the coast of Vietnam, their had been little down time for
either the TUNNY crew, or us. We
had a Hydrographic Survey secluded for most every night. Since we were doing free accents, from
the TUNNY, there would be two divers in SCUBA gear out there while we did our
lock outs. Those divers would be part of the TUNNY crew. The only breaks would be for bad
weather, meaning heavy seas, that we couldn't operate our Inflatable Boats
Small in, or a long run for the Tunny between our assigned survey beaches.
Each
operation would start with a Warning Order! Basically a Warning Order will consist
of a general heads up, and lets you know; type of operation and when the full
briefing will be held. Specific
assignments, and all other explicit details of the operation would be given at the
Operational Briefing an hour or two prior to locking out of the TUNNY. Who would do what: what equipment each would carry, what
order each would lock out of the TUNNY, which of the four inflatable boats each
man was assigned to, challenge and replies both visual and verbal, how far off the beach to anchor
the boats, each mans survey assignment, rendezvous points and what to do if the
whole world turned to Ka Ka. We had
all done this time and again, what was new for most of us that first night off
the TUNNY in Vietnam? There
where people out there that would happily kill us.
There
are just four operations, done off the TUNNY that deployment, that stick out in
my mind. Our first , two that are
just flat ass funny, and one around the end of our deployment, were I felt
closer to dying then I ever have.
As you'll see, that one even ended with a good laugh.
Our
first combat lock-outs off the TUNNY, everything was moving like clock
work. The TUNNY'S safety divers had locked out first, set up breathing stations[19]
on the deck. Then removed the four
IBS's[20]
from there storage locker between the inner and outer hulls, inflated them and
secured the boats to the Periscope. Now it was our turn, the real frogman
stuff. Three of us at as time, with
all personal gear and whatever other equipment had been assigned, would climb into the
escape trunk in the Foreword Torpedo Room. Three at a time in that trunk, can
only be described as "up close and personal." We could have done it two at a
time, but that would have increased the time to get the platoon out of the sub
by 1/3. Since we had to get out of
the sub, get the survey completed, back to the Tunny and be fifteen miles off
shore before daylight, comfort was not an issue.
I
locked-out in the second group of three that night. We had all locked out of subs many
times, so there was no problem getting a seal on the bottom door, flooding the
trunk above the side door, or leaving the trunk. As each man left the side door of the
escape trunk, we were met by one of the TUNNYs two safety divers and guided to
the emergency air supplies on the outer hull deck. I was the second guy out, and as soon as
I left the trunk, something just didn't seem right. The side door of the escape trunk,
opened between the inner and outer hull and it just seemed to damn bright. There were no underwater lights being
used but everything seemed so bright.
As I lay on the outer-hull, breathing off the emergency air, I could see
the bottoms of the IBS's, floating forty feet above, all of the TUNNY'S Sail,
and the rope that we were to follow from the deck to the boats above. Then as I lay there it got even brighter,
almost like a bolt of lightning, except it stayed that way.
As
we were ascending the guide rope, the intensity of the light dropped off to
just bright. I couldn't imagine
what in the hell was going on. Well
I found out as soon as our heads broke the surface. The seas were flat, not a ripple, the
moon was full with no clouds in the sky, not a good night to be sneaky. I could clearly see the coast line,
three miles away, and hear a helicopter off in the distance. As the three of us started to crawl into
our boats, again the sky lit up. I had been half in the boat, when it got
bright again, I was quickly back in the water. You might say I had felt like I
was on stage, under very bright lights, and was experiencing a little stage
fright.
That
damn helicopter had dropped several parachute flares[21],
which seemed to make the already bright night, like day. Admittedly nobody could see us from
three miles away, but think of it this way. We were about to sneak into the enemies
backyard, and all of us but one were armed with a six inch knife. There is an old Team saying that when
said the nice way goes "BETTER YOU THEN ME!" Well that night I was in the swimmer
line, and that's how I felt about the beach party. Being up on a sandy beach, under a
bright moon with parachute flares falling, just didn't sound to sneaky to me.
The
only problem with my "Better You then Me" thought, was our tradition
of never leaving a Teammate. If the
whole world had turned to shit, for the beach party, we Hairy Assed Frogmen with our six inch
knifes, would have tried to do something!
It was one of those, "Oh Well, Ware the Name, Play the Game",
times. I mean a crazy man running
out of the water, with a knife in his teeth can look pretty imposing, if not
effective. Thank god the whole
operation went smooth as silk that night.
One
night I was on the Beach Party, moving one of the Range Poles down the
beach. It was a perfect Sneak and
Peak night, heavy clouds, a light rain and low wind. All of us up on the beach, had our fins
hanging from our knife belt. If
things went bad, we were to get in the water, and swim the hell out of
there. Leonard B. Scott was
our back shore security, so he was carrying the Platoons one serious weapon, an
M-3 Grease gun. His job that night
was to move through and behind the sand dunes, making sure the Beach Party
didn't get surprised. Ideally, if
anyone was behind us, Leonard would
find them without being seen, sneak back to us, and we would all happily swim
away.
We
had completed half that nights Hydrographic Survey. As I moved the back Range Pole, I saw
Leonard come staggering over the top of the sand dunes. It looked to me, like he just crumpled
to the sand. I hauled ass, about
twenty yards over to Leonard, to see what was going on. He sat there holding his heart with one
hand, and his Grease Gun with the other.
He was breathing like he had just run ten miles, and kept repeating over and over, "It's OK, It's
OK". When he got his breath
back, and told me what had happened.
We both laid there in the rain and wet sand trying not to make to much
noise laughing.
Leonard
had been slowly moving around low profile, sneaking and peaking from shadow to
shadow, looking for any VC[22]. On the back side of the sand
dunes, he had walked down into a depression to check it out. As he stepped on a large rock in the
bottom of the depression, the damn thing had gotten up. That rock, had turned out to be a very
large and pissed off Water Buffalo.
On
another night we had a strange encounter, with a large segment of the
Vietnamese fishing fleet, while returning to the TUNNY. Along the coast the Vietnamese's main
fishing vessel was what we called a Basket Boat, and that's just what it
was. The damn thing was round,
about six feet in circumference, with two feet of free board. In appearance, it looked like a ball cut
in half. Hell, I could never figure
out how come they didn't fall out of the boat, I mean it didn't even have a
flat bottom. Each Basket Boat
carried one to two fisherman, their nets, and a Kerosene Lantern so they didn't
get run over by a ship. Somehow the
Vietnamese fishermen would net fish with these things miles out in the
ocean.
That
night we had left the TUNNY about three miles off shore, it was overcast with
calm seas, not a Basket Boat insight.
The whole operation went without a hitch, that is until we tried to go
home after work. As we swam
back out to our IBS's, it looked
like a city had appeared at sea.
We took our compass bearing and starting paddling our boats back toward
the TUNNY. It was quickly apparent
that our submarine was somewhere under all those Basket Boats. To put it mildly, this was going to make
it very difficult for us to get to our submerged home.
On
every other night the sonarman could guide us straight home. We would hang several saltwater
activated pingers[23]
of the bow of our lead boat. The
TUNNY's sonarman would listen to the strength of the pinger sounds and vector
us with clicks over the radio. In
the Teams, voice communication was kept to a minimum, if we were on course we would
get one click, come starboard two clicks etc. We also had an inferred scope, when we
were close they would run an inferred light through the periscope. Through the inferred scope we could see
the light, paddle to the periscope and attach our towing bridle. When we signaled, the TUNNY would slowly
raise just off the bottom and tow us fifteen miles to sea. They would then
surface, and recover their tired frogmen.
Well that's how it worked every other time.
Normally
,once we were a half mile or so to sea, we could sit up and paddle hard for
home, not that night. We had to lay
on the tubes of our IBS's, taking short quite strokes, as we sneaked and peaked
our way through the fishing fleet. This paddling position made less for the
fisherman to see, but slowed our progress. For a mile before we reached the
TUNNY, there were Vietnamese fishermen, in their kerosene lit Basket Boats,
happily fishing the night away.
Well we made it through the
maze of fishermen without being seen. Finally we had our boats attached to the
periscope, gave the Tunny the signal, and got comfortable for the tow. That's when the real fun began.
Ballastesting
a submarine is a precise science, that if not done correctly can lead to bad
things. In the worse case, lose of
the submarine and all hands onboard.
At the best, the submarine will make some startling movements. I don't
know how many of you ever saw the television show "Victory at Sea",
but at the start of each episode they would show the bow of a submarine come
shooting out of the water. Well
that's what the TUNNY did that night.
The sequence of events went something like this: there was a large rumbling boil of
water, followed quickly by
the voices of excited Vietnamese fishermen, then the bow came popping about
fifteen feet out of the water. Hell
the Vietnamese weren't the only ones excited.
The
Vietnamese fishermen, were hollering back and forth, pulling in their nets, and
trying to paddle their Basket Boats away from the monster that had just popped
above the surface. We were having to make some quick decisions, so radio
silence had been broken. The TUNNY
wanted to know if we were OK, our boats still up right with our tow bridle
attached. We just wanted to know if
we were going to have a home to go to.
All
that hard work Submariners go through, to earn there Dolphins, isn't for when
things are good, it's for bad times.
Well, we were having one of those right then, and the TUNNY crew quickly
overcame the KA KA. Within minutes
the sub was again submerged ballast properly and starting to tow us to
sea. There was just one problem,
the TUNNY was towing five boats, not four.
One very upset Vietnamese fisherman was also being towed along just
behind us, his fishing net was fouled on the TUNNY.
I
must admit it was funny, but this guy had a life threatening problem, Basket
Boats were not ment for towing. His
boat was being pulled down on the side where his net was attached to the boat,
water was coming over the gunwale[24]. He had only one option to save himself and
his boat, cut away from the net that fed his family. Now I couldn't understand a thing he was
screaming, but as he hacked away at the net, I had the feeling this guy thought
he was in the grasp of some Sea Monster.
Well he got his net cut, so what could have been a tragedy ended on a
good note. Knowing humans as I do,
I'm sure there were some strange tails told when those fisherman reached their
villages.
The
last little TUNNY adventure I'm going to share with you, would leave UDT-11
with a top of the line reply for anything.
There was an Operation going on along the coast of South Vietnam called
Market Time. It's main objective
was to interdict weapons that North Vietnam were trying smuggle into the
South. Mainly they used a boat
called a Swift. Now to my mind this
the Swift Boat is proof positive of that old saying, "NEVER JUDGE A BOOK
BY ITS COVER". It didn't look
fast, it just was, it didn't look bad, it just was. On this particular night a bunch of
frogmen would become educated as to just how effective a weapon it was.
The
winds and seas that night were heavy.
That alone would have made it a ruff paddle. What made it worse is, that within
minutes of leaving the TUNNY we could hear two Swift Boats. Since what we were up to was Secret, the
Swifts had no idea we were supposed to be there. Since we knew they had a new high tec.
radar, we were again forced to paddle from the low profile, laying on the
inflation tubes of our boats. If it hadn't been for the heavy seas and us
laying down, they would have nailed us from the get-go. With them and us bouncing all over the place, us laying on the
tubes, they were having a hard time keeping us on their radar scope.
We
could tell when they had a good read on us, their big ------engines would rev-up
and we could hear them barring down on us. When they lost us on their radar
screen, they would idle down, and wait for another good radar hit. Their problem that night was false
hits. Sometimes they would move in
the wrong direction, having picked up wave action that they thought was
us. Our little cat and mouse game
went on for more then two hours.
Toward the end, we figured they had given up, as we had heard no
throbbing engine sounds for awhile.
Just
after anchoring our boats, a couple hundred yards, off the beach to be
surveyed, we heard a Swift. It
sounded like the damn thing was headed right for us. Our platoon officer decided it was time
to give the Visual Challenge, and proceeded to do just that. Now here is were things started to get real
dicey. In all of our Briefings,
each man is told what the Challenge and Reply is for the area we would be
working in, both oral and visual.
These are vary important, particularly to us, as we worked in areas with
other Americans units that didn't know we were there. That night the Visual Challenge, was a
horizontal figure eight, and the reply was to be a vertical line, both to be
done with a red light. While the rest
of lay in as low as possible, Ltjg Woodard set up and started making horizontal
figure eight's. There was no reply.
I'll say one thing for us, when push came to shove, we followed
orders. None of us went for the
water, the safest place for any Hairy-assed frogman. That damn Swift sounded like it was
going to run right over us. In fact
after it had shut down and thrown
it in reverse, the boat ended up sitting over us about 10 feet away. Then came the sickening sound of Twin
50s being racked back, and those damn things were pointed at us.
Laying
on the inflation tube of our IBS, I could see the Swift and its crew
silhouetted above me. There where
at least four crew members pointing M-16s.
Each of us knew that if one of those sailors pulled the trigger, they
all would. Hell, I mean not
only were we out gunned, four M-16s and two fifty caliberty machines guns,
against fourteen six inch knifes and one M-3 Grease Gun, but we knew who they
were, there was no way we would shoot.
Now a voice from the Swift, called out " What State are you
From?" To tell you the truth, I can't remember what we thought the Verbal
Challenge was for that night, but " What State are you From?" wasn't
it.
None
of us said a thing. The second time
the question was ask, there was a lot more tension in the voice. Still none of us said a thing. The third time the voice ask the
question, there was so much tension I could all most feel the triggers pulling.
"I DON'T KNOW ABOUT YOUALL, BUT I'M FROM TEXAS!" God Bless Jackie
Lee, with his accent there was know doubt we were Americans. In my life there have been other times
when people have pointed guns and even fired them at me, I have never felt
closer to dying then that night. As
soon as Jackie Lee's made his declaration of Texas-hood, we were all laughing
with relief.
We
had a very productive deployment aboard the USS TUNNY, all assigned task
completed, none of us injured.
It was a nice relaxed cruise back to Subic Bay, and what I assumed would
be some well deserved Liberty. Well
as my wife is fond of telling me, never assume, it just makes an Ass out of U
and Me.
Again, UDT-11s XO, Lt. George Worthington had struck, he and
his office friends had made several jumps while we were in The Nam. They had
not washed, or hung to dry the parachutes they had used for a water jump. Ever parachute had been jumped, and to
top it all off, they had used newly packed reserves chutes for their water
jump. Reserve Parachutes were
required to be repacked every ninety days.
You didn't use newly packed reserves for water jumps, it just made extra
work. To add a little punctuation
to my return, King George had scheduled another jump for all hands, four days
after the TUNNY's return, with a Sneak and Peak on the base that same
night. You might say, I was not a
Happy Frogman. This time my Chief
took a little pity on me, and forgave me my big mouth, you remember "the
small and insignificant officer thing". The two of us busted ass and had
everything ready to go in two days.
Thanks to the Chief, I was able to do a little steaming in Pubic Bay,
and plan a little revenge on our XO.
Jim Redline, Rat Miller, Smoky Stover,
Ltjg. John Roberts and myself were drinking Mojo[25]
a well known mind alerting substance, in the Magic Glow, a favorite Team
hangout . As we slugged back our
individual pictures of Mojo, the main topic of conversation, other then women,
seemed to be the XO. I must admit
most of it was just normal sailor whining.
That is except mine, I wanted revenge. And to answer your question
"Yes" Team members whine, the difference is they know it's whining. Smokey and myself would be leaving
Subic in less then a week. There
were six of us from UDT-11 going back to the States to join SEAL Team 1. I was trying to come up with a special
little kiss good by for our XO, without ending up in the brig. God Bless him, Ltjg. John Roberts, would make Mojo
induced scheme come true.
Lt.
Worthington had a special place in his heart for those of us in the "Out
to Lunch Bunch". Any time he
suspected we had been pushing the limits of our endurance on liberty, King George
would give us a little endurance test of his own. I'll give you a fine example, a swim the
XO held right after Monday Morning Quarters[26]. Most of the Out to Lunch Bunch,
had managed to sneak out early for liberty on Friday. So for the better part of three days we
had been testing ourselves against all the attractions of Olongapo City.
Needless
to say on Monday morning we were hoping for a nice quite day, with a normal work load. Our Chief Master at Arms, Harry Tindell
put an end to that hope. He held a
quick muster, and told all hands to be back in twenty minutes, ready for a
swim. To a Team guy, this ment
something different then a normal human.
We weren't going to the pool or beach and have a nice time, we were
going on a frogman kick, stroke and glide.
From the get-go I knew the XO had some evil plan, he just seemed to damn
happy.
At
the time Lt. George Worthington was the second fastest swimmer in the Team, Jim
Redline was fastest, and I was usually number three. Redline was a different stroke, even for
the Teams. First off he looked like he was out of shape,
never believe body fat means someone is out of shape. Jim was a natural leader, who most
usually, just didn't give a crap. I
don't mean he did a bad job, he didn't.
What he did do, was get away with almost anything. To top it all off, he left them smiling
no matter what he did.
I
had never beaten Lt. Worthington. I
had beaten Redline, he only won when he gave a crap. All Team swims were done as Swim
Buddies, two guys with closely matched times swam together. So two of you were racing against
the other Swim Buddies. Any racing
done between Swim Buddies was done in last hundred or so yards of a swim. For our special little swims in Subic
Bay, King George had modified the Buddy system. There was one swim threesome,
Worthington, Redline and me.
He was going to make sure we pushed it every inch of the way. This particular Monday morning in
question, King George had a little extra Ka Ka to throw in the game.
He
gave each swim pair a number, and told us we would leave the boat in that
order. The swim would end in front
of the Subic Bay Administration Offices. The boat coxswain was instructed to
position the boat about three quarters of a mile in front of the Subic Bay
Administration Offices, and head for Grandie Island. The Island was part of the Military
Reservation, about three miles out in the bay. At about one mile out, our XO signaled
the first pair to leave the boat.
Since we had the last number, even my hung-over brain could figure out;
King George was going to do his best to make Redline and me suffer.
He
had been kicking swim pairs off at a fairly even rate, every hundred yards or
so. When it was down to just us
three, George seemed to have forgotten the interval. Just before we hit the water, I looked at my Swim Buddies. The XO had a big shit-eating grin. Redline looked kicked back, like he didn't have a care in the world. If I could have seen myself, I'm sure I
would have looked as sick as I felt.
We left the boat somewhere around two miles out. The only thing I could think of, that
made me feel just a little better was; HE HAD TO DO IT WITH US, AND WE WEREN'T
GOING TO MAKE IT EASY!
The
lead swapped back and forth, between Worthington and Redline. One or the other, would be about a half
of body length ahead, with me generally half a body length behind the guy that
was number two. I have to
give it to Redline, he edged the XO out in the last hundred yards. Both were pulling away from me, I just
had nothing left.
As
I drank my Mojo, and whined to the guys about George, a plan with just one
small flaw came to mind. I'm going
to TRASH the XO's room at the B.O.Q.[27]! The flaw, how the hell to get the key to
his room. Ltjg John Roberts, a man
after my own heart, made it easy.
"Hell Roat, that's no problem". With that, John commenced to tell us,
the guy on the desk doesn't know who lives in what room. I'll just ask him for the extra key to
my room. He'll ask me my room
number, I'll give him Worthington's,
he'll hand me the key to George's room. In fact that's just what happened. With John's willing assistance, Smoky
Stover and I would have a great last sneak and peak at UDT-11.
All
the guys going to SEAL Team -1, were assigned land based targets. In other words, our insertion points,
targets, and extraction points were all on dry land. Sneaking and Peaking around the base at
Subic Bay was nothing new. All of us
had done it many times for military training. Many of us would frequently do it for our
own prepossess. You might call it
self-motivated extra training or, if you cared be to more accurate,
illegal liberty. Our self-motivated extra training or
illegal liberty, generally took place due the frequent suspending of off-base
liberty. UDT-11s Out to Lunch
Bunch, had a bad attitude about not being allowed off base. It was easily curried, climb the base
fence, and swim the Olongapo River, without being seen, ergo, self-motivated
extra training.
We
had no problem getting into B.O.Q., on to the second floor, and with the key
into King George's quarters.
When we arrived in Lt. Worthington room, it was neat and squared
away. George was a Naval Academe Graduate
and his quarters reflected it. When
we left, everything in the was in complete disorder. To start, we put sand in everything; His
bed, shoes, shorts, shirts, uniforms, civilian close, every draw and
shelf. We wrote "HOO YEA SEAL
Team 1" on a sheet, and tacked it to the wall.
Now
I have to hand it to our XO, he maintained his cool. King George had to have a damn good Idea
who had TRASHED his room , but not
a word out of him. If he had wanted
to play his trump card, the one every team member would fold on, he had known
the culprits would confess. All he
had to do was; say he would make the whole Team suffer. We both would have spit it out a
confession, in less then a heart beat.
One of the main things Instructors screen for in training, is guys that
will let their classmates suffer for their actions. To this day I wonder, who cleaned his
room?
On to