The View From the Deck Plate
Sagire – Classis – Destructum. As any ping jockey worth his headphones will tell you, that’s the motto of Fleet Anti-Submarine Warfare Training Center. Search – Classify – Destroy.
Listen until you find something. Figure out exactly what it is that you’ve found. And if the something in question turns out to be a hostile submarine, you put ordnance in the water and kill the bastard.
Of course, the process is a bit more complicated than the Fleet ASW motto makes it seem. In fact, killing an enemy submarine is arguably the most challenging and dangerous facet of modern naval warfare. A fully submerged submarine is impossible to detect on radar, and the odds of a visual sighting are extremely low unless the sub is running shallow and the water conditions are nearly perfect. To make matters worse, acoustic energy tends to bend downward, toward colder and deeper water—carrying the submarine’s target noise away from your sensors.
All of this means that the sub will usually detect you first. And he’ll probably kill you while you’re still carrying out the search phase of the ASW engagement.
In my opinion, the only thing crazier than trying to kill a hostile submarine is trying to catch one. But that’s exactly what happened on June 4, 1944. Operating in the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Casa Blanca, U.S. Navy Task Group 22.3 under the command of Captain Daniel V. Gallery, detected the Nazi U-boat designated as U-505, and commenced a prolonged attack with ships and aircraft. Ultimately, the enemy sub was damaged so badly that it surfaced, and the crew abandoned ship.
The story of the hunt, attack, and capture is thrilling. I’m not going to spoil it for you by trying to pare the account down to a few paragraphs for my blog. Instead, I’ll say this…
Go see it for yourself.
The U-505 is on display at the Chicago Museum of Science and Industry, along with log books, uniforms, photos, film footage, and other artifacts from the battle.
After years of wanting to see the U-505, I finally made it out to Chicago a couple of weeks ago. I walked through the exhibits, and I followed the excellent guided tour through the interior of the captured U-boat. I laid my hand on the rounded hull of that captive metal shark, and realized that this wasn’t a replica. It wasn’t a movie prop, or a clever simulation. This was the real thing. The actual Nazi submarine that ravaged Allied shipping in the Atlantic, and then fell into U.S. hands during one of the most daring naval operations in history.
The experience was powerful, and fascinating, and everything that I had hoped it would be. Despite a lifetime spent chasing submarines, and studying the science and history of ASW, I soaked up so many new facts that my brain is still spinning.
I need to go back there again. The hours that I spent there were not enough. There is more to see, more to hear, more to touch.
Which leaves me wondering if there might not be a more fitting motto for Fleet Anti-Submarine Warfare Training Center. I have one in mind. Sagire – Classis – Perceptum.
Search – Classify – Learn.
I just got back from the year 2065. After many adrenaline-fueled months in the company of my old friend, David Stalin, I’ve reluctantly dragged myself back to the here-and-now. The adventure is over, at least for me. Angel City Blues is finished, and I find myself languishing in that strange limbo that overtakes me between book projects.
I’m not talking about having too much free time on my hands. There’s still plenty of work to do before ACB will be ready for readers. Polishing, editing, collaborating with my artist/designer to finalize the cover art, and a hundred details, both major and minor. But as far as this particular book is concerned, the magic of discovery is now behind me. Any surprises I encounter at this point will come in the form of incremental adjustments to the plot, or opportunities to sharpen the narrative and dialogue.
Like many authors, I tend to plan my books in advance. Not a scrupulously detailed outline that captures every beat and nuance that will occur in the story. (I’ve tried that before, and it robs me of all sense of creativity.) More of a general arc of flow for characters and action, including major plot points and a strategy for resolving the main dramatic conflicts. This leaves me plenty of elbow room for exploration along the way, and I need that room, because my characters (and my plotlines) like to go rogue when I’m not looking.
A main character insists on turning left when my plan calls for him/her to turn right. An incidental fragment of description from Chapter 3 evolves to take on enormous significance by Chapter 27. Two minor subplots conspire together to derail the main narrative. Some throwaway character with three lines of dialogue suddenly takes it upon himself to hijack the entire book. And every once in a while, the project itself takes a crazy detour. Case in point: I’ve been playing around with a short story idea that should probably shake out to something like 2,500 words. I left it alone for a couple of weeks, and now it’s trying to turn itself into a full-length novel. I love the idea, and it would be hell of a lot of fun to write. Unfortunately, I already have three books in the queue. I don’t have time for another one, but I may not get a vote in the matter. If the project decides that it needs to be written, I’ll have no choice, because I can’t concentrate on one story while another one is screaming for my attention.
When I’m reading someone else’s work, I get my dose of adventure by turning the pages to find out what happens next. When I’m writing, the real adventure begins when the story swerves away from my plan, and starts to do things I never intended.
Sitting here at my writing desk in 2014, that seems like a silly thing to say. After all, I invent the characters; I write the dialogue; and my fingers work the mouse and punch the damned keys to create the words that become the story. How could I possibly lose control of people and worlds that exist only in my imagination? All I can tell you is that it does happen, and that’s where the magic starts. The mechanics of the writing process vanish, and I find myself stalking the streets of a dark future Los Angeles, or standing on the bridge of a cutting-edge warship at the center of a raging battle.
Does it work that way for all writers? Probably not. But it works that way for me, and it’s just about the biggest kick you can imagine. It’s what keeps me coming back to this writing thing, day after day, and night after night.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, the year 2065 is calling my name…
For the record, I’ve never claimed to be a poet. Except for an occasional bawdy Haiku, I rarely turn my creative energies toward the poetic arts (or whatever they’re supposed to be called). But every once in a while, something vaguely poem-like will crawl into my head and set up housekeeping until I banish the damned thing by writing it down.
The short piece below is called ‘Tag.’ I wrote it in when I was serving aboard a guided missile destroyer during the Cold War, after a long night of playing chase with a Soviet Echo II class cruise missile submarine. I have no idea how it stacks up as poetry. As I’ve said before, this is not my forte. Despite its lack of artistry, I think it does a fairly good job of capturing the tension of stalking a (potentially) hostile sub back in the bad old days, when any encounter with the adversary could end in combat.
On May 17, 2014, Admiral William H. McRaven, commander of U.S. Special Operations Command, gave the commencement address at the University of Texas. Drawing on his experiences as a Navy SEAL, he offered the graduating students 10 lessons for changing the world.
Here’s a bit of wisdom from the mind and heart of a real American hero…
A few weeks ago, Commander Dan Dolan of the Naval War College had the opportunity to interview the commanding officer of the Navy’s newest combatant ship, USS Zumwalt. The lead vessel in a class of three next-generation destroyers, the Zumwalt isn’t just the most innovative ship in the U.S. Navy surface fleet. She is—quite literally—the most technologically advanced warship ever constructed.
Published on the U.S. Naval Institute’s website, the interview transcript offers a rare glimpse into the mind of Commander James Kirk, who is preparing to assume command of warfighting capabilities which have never before been operationally deployed.
Prior to the interview, Commander Dolan was kind enough to invite me to submit a few questions of my own. As a student of naval warfare, I’m intensely curious about what impacts the Zumwalt class will have on the future of combat at sea, so several of my questions were centered on the integration of new technologies into current tactical doctrine. Some of my questions made it into the final version of the interview, but my favorite one didn’t end up making the editor’s cut.
I think it was a good question, and I believe that Commander Kirk’s response was worthy of publication. I obviously can’t influence what the Naval Institute chooses to publish, so I asked Commander Dolan’s permission to reprint it here.
My question was this…
Who was the most heroic person you ever served with?”
Here is Commander Kirk’s response…
I have served with a lot of folks that have done a lot of great things for our Navy. I look at it in the context of great leaders that I have served under, great peers that I worked alongside of and great sailors that I have worked with on the deck plates. When I reflect I can look up and see the great sea Captains that I have served with… Admirals Kemp and Hebner, both now retired, and Captains Villotti, Woodridge, Hoffman, Campbell and Wagner, each one of these officers were great leaders.
Then you look to your left and right and you see the Officers whom you served with, and you really felt like you were part of a band of brothers and sisters that could accomplish what needed to be done because you knew that together you could overcome any obstacle.
Then you look to those you worked alongside on the deck plates. I still think of GSE2 Frasier, when I watched the work he did, I was amazed at this young sailor who could trouble shoot, fix, and operate the plant under very difficult circumstances at times. Every day you are either getting better, or you are getting worse. You never stay the same, and it is only human effort that makes you continue to get better as a ship, or as a person. It is the folks that hook themselves up to the sled and pull, and keep pulling no matter what the difficulties, that I consider heroic.
I was honestly expecting Commander Kirk to provide one or two names as examples of the heroism he has encountered in the fleet. He certainly did that, but he went beyond, and gave us his personal litmus test for spotting heroes. They’re the ones who hook themselves up to the sled, and keep pulling no matter what the difficulties.
To this old Chief Petty Officer, that sounds like a pretty damned good definition. I hope Commander Kirk doesn’t mind too much that I’ll be using it myself in the future. I wish him, his crew, and his fine new ship the very best of fortune.
May God bless USS Zumwalt, and all who sail in her.