This relatively short excursion was preparatory to my desire to deploy with the ship in the spring for five months: an opportunity to get some experience onboard, meet the crew, familiarize myself with the ship, and start working on my qualifications both on the bridge and in combat.
The command cadre knew of my background: an inescapable explanation for why I was available, what my background was, and just how I'd managed to take only 1/3 of an important "pipeline training" school. It was accepted as part of my package, and otherwise ignored.
The crew, on the other hand, knew nothing other than that I was a restless seafarer uneasily anchored to a land desk, desperate for that one prolonged blast. I crossed the brow, then, with no baggage but a hastily packed seabag.
The two weeks were relentless. I flew out to meet the ship less than two days after I'd returned from South Africa. We had barely reached the sea buoy when a fireball blew out of the stacks; and that was only the first main space fire: at midnight that night, we had another; and the next evening, the threat of a third (though it turned out to be only billowing smoke). Drill followed drill, non-stop, from daybreak to taps, preceeded and followed by training team briefs and debriefs. Almost every morning and evening, we were either pulling into or out of San Diego, anchoring for brief moments (for "score"), or exchanging crew members and shipriders via small boat. At last, the TACT drills took a brief hiatus, so we could squeeze in a 48-hour battle exercises with a Navy strike group. I volunteered for the morning 4 - 8 break-in watch: sure, it meant days lasting from 0230 to 2200, but it was the only chance I could carve out to stand a watch uninterrupted by drills.
Nor were my watches uneventful. I conned away from one pier and took the deck inport homeport, maneuvered the ship to protect a "high value asset" during a Navy exercise, coached for recovery of a deflated gunnery target, and tracked down and assisted a sinking sailboat before dark one windy morning. We even beat the helo to the scene. Down in combat, I observed a multiplicity of drills before filling in, somewhat uncertainly at first, as the Watch Supervisor. Eventually I took a turn as TAO (tactical action officer) to practice identifying and defending the ship against inbound missiles. I loved every minute of it.
The best part, though, other than finally casting away the lines (OK, shouting rudder commands from the bridge wing and "wardroom movie night" featuring Sink the Bismarck! were also pretty cool), was that I was simply one of the crew: a landlubber with a bit of sea time trying to make the cut for a high-stakes deployment. It was not that I neither asked for nor received any special favors; it was that they weren't even under consideration. Held to the same standards, and subject to the same expectations, as any of my shipmates, I at last felt free from the stigma of sickness. (Even seasickness: 378s ride well, and the weather was mostly calm.)
I was just one of the crew.
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