Is the Enemy in Control?

A Carrier Task Group is a group of ships assigned to work with an aircraft carrier in order to accomplish a specific mission. This group consisted of one carrier, one defensive submarine, one missile cruiser, a couple of guided missile destroyers, one destroyer, and a couple of destroyer escorts, an oilier (refueling ship), and a supply/ammo replenishment ship. The mission of the carrier in this case was to provide protective cover for the South Vietnamese forces during the final stage of the war. The other ships were there to protect the carrier from any possible attack: air, surface, or underwater. The refueling ship and supplies ship would run between a support base (in this case Subic Bay, the Philippines) and the group to keep us on our assigned mission for as long as necessary.

Suddenly a message arrives saying that one or more MSTS ships had been taken over by the North Vietnamese. MSTS ships are controlled by the Navy and operated by civilian crews. They do many jobs, but their primary function is to carry cargo around the world for the navy. These are US flagged ships and this is a very serious situation, if it is true.

Within a couple of hours we have orders to break off from the group and head to a location where one MSTS ship is believed to be. En-route we will be provided with a group of Marines who will take back the ship from the enemy, if necessary, and provide protection for the ship on the remainder of her schedule.

The embarkation of the Marines would be an interesting event. An aircraft carrier normally has a contingency force of marines assigned. Due to the situation in Vietnam the force had been reinforced and small groups would be sent out to take control of the various MSTS ships along the coast.

We were to receive a unit of 18 Marines, their equipment, and supplies to support them for a month on their own. All these requirements would be sent to us by helicopter while we were dashing towards the MSTS Sargent Kimbro, a general-purpose cargo ship carrying supplies toward Saigon. They have not had any reports from her since she left port in Japan a week ago. We only know where the Sargent Kimbro should be and can only hope that she has not been taken over by the time we get to her.

The navigator (on a destroyer normally the Executive Officer) breaks out the charts for the area we expect her to be in and lays out a course to get us there as soon as possible. We break out of the formation and come to flank speed (the highest routine speed available) and head out on our search for the missing ship and unknown crew.

Within thirty minutes of breaking formation we get a report that the first of several helicopter flights is on its way to us. This first flight will bring the team leader and his orders along with the first group of his men and their weapons. As the chopper approaches we come to flight quarters. The navigator selects a flight course that will provide minimal side to side movement and provide a relative wind which will insure that any gasses coming out of our smoke stacks will be carried clear of the area the chopper will be working in. The ship’s course and speed and our readiness to accept the incoming flight are radioed to the chopper as it appears over the horizon

The helicopter hanger onboard this modified World War II vintage ship isn’t a real helicopter hanger. In fact it was designed for two unmanned torpedo carriers. With the advent of nuclear submarines it had been determined that it would be better if we could deliver torpedoes remotely. The DASH (Drone AntiSubmarine Helicopter) was designed to fill this need. It was little more than a helicopter motor and wings with legs that could straddle a torpedo. It was radio controlled from a station on the helicopter deck. It worked well, but was of limited use, since it could only be realistically used in line of sight. There were two ‘pilots’ stationed on the ships when they carried them, but most of them did not trust the indicators to fly the DASH out of sight.

Because the hanger and helicopter deck were built for these little remote vehicles, they were not big enough, or strong enough for a real helo. In order to transfer people or goods to us a helo would fly hovered above out ‘helo’ deck and lower people one at a time or one load at a time. Normally this is not a problem since we usually only had one or two people arriving or departing at a time. When we received supplies by helo we could only clear about one pallet of goodies between flights any way.

Now we were to receive a bunch of Marines and their supplies over a short time frame. When we have helicopters over head, we take all kinds of precautions to minimize any potential injuries. The fantail, the main deck, below and behind the helo deck is cleared of people and watertight integrity is increased to maximum in the last third of the ship. This restricts movement in that part of the ship but minimizes any possible damage in case of an accident.

We also have a fire-fighting detail set, hoses charged (filled with water), and safety nets around the helo deck lowered to provide an extra bit of space. On the deck is an officer responsible for insuring the safety of the operation and informing the OOD, on the bridge, of the status of the transfer. There is also an enlisted man to signal to the pilot our readiness or to have him depart in case of emergency.

Additionally there is a man who is on the deck to help guide whatever is coming down from the helo to the deck safely. He also has a pole that is used to ground the cable from the helicopter to the ship since the helo sets up it’s own electric charge. If someone coming down by the cable touched the deck before the cable was grounded he or she would become the conductor which equalized the charge. (A shocking situation).

Once the ship is on the proper course, the ship is physically set, and the proper people are stationed the helo is given the ok to go to hover over the deck both by radio and by the signalman on the deck. Once he receives the clearance the helo swings into position. A crewman in the helicopter puts a sling around the first man to be lowered and connects it to a hook on the cable. He then takes up the slack in the cable and the man slides out the open door of the helo. The helo crewman then lowers the man on the cable until the man with the grounding stick can make contact with the cable. Then the man is lowered to the deck where he is helped out of the sling. The hoist and sling are then raised until the next man is in the sling. This procedure is repeated until all the Marines in the chopper are lowered to the deck. Next the rifles of the men who have been lowered are put on the hook and lowered to the deck. We now have about one third of the Marines assigned to this mission.

Once the chopper is unloaded it is cleared to break hover and return to the carrier for it’s next load. Our navigator has plotted the revised course to the expected rendezvous and the ship comes back to full speed and to the correct heading. This procedure is repeated two more times before we have our contingent of Marines on board with their weapons. It takes one more flight, however, before we have all of their supplies on board.

Now we are in a high-speed race to the hoped for position of the missing ship. As we approach we the correct area we try to figure out which of several blips on the radar might be our target. Radio calls go unanswered. We soon narrow the field down to a couple of larger returns. We notice that the largest of the blips on the radar is not moving. We take a chance and head for that target. As we approach it becomes clear that we have selected the right target. Now the question is why is it not moving and why is it not responding to our radio calls. The tension is mounting.

Our 26-foot motor whaleboat is being prepared to make the last leg of out mission. The motor whaleboat is an open boat used as a utility vehicle to transport people and supplies to and from the ship. It is powered by a large diesel engine and is shaped like the whaleboats of old. It is very seaworthy and can easily hold our contingent of Marines, an officer, the bow hook, coxswain, and engineer.

The coxswain is the one in charge of the boat; he runs the throttle and the helm (or steering wheel). The bow hook is stationed in the bow of the boat and handles the hook on the bow that attaches the boat to the davits that lower the boat from the ship’s deck to the water. He also handles any lines (ropes) used to tie the front of the boat to something. The engineer is aboard to perform any necessary minor repairs to the engine. He also handles the stern (rear) davit hook and lines.

Since I was in charge of the ship’s weapons department I was elected to be the officer in charge of the boat, liaison with the USNS Sergeant Kimbro, and in charge of the Marines until they had boarded the new ship.

I withdrew my pistol and holster from the small arms locker. The ship has a supply of weapons for use by ship’s personnel under various circumstances. They range from 50 caliber machineguns to pistols. They are routinely stored in a walk-in vault called the small arms locker.

As we draw closer and closer to the ship we continue to try to establish radio contact and now try signal light communications with the Kimbro. We still get no response on the radio and more alarmingly, no response to our signal light. This is inexplicable.

The 50 caliber machineguns have been mounted on the bridge wings to provide covering fire if we, in the whaleboat, need it. The four five inch guns are way too big to be used even if we run into opposition to our boarding the Kimbro. Each of our 18 Marines has his own M16 and plenty of ammunition.

We close to within a few hundred feet of the ship and still are able to get no response to our radio or light signal, nor are we able to see anyone on board. We call to them with a bullhorn, no response. The Captain and XO and I discuss our options. It is decided that although we have not received any favorable communications from the Kimbro, we have not received any thing threatening either. There is a cargo net hanging down the starboard side of the ship. It is determined that I will take the boat and the Marines to the cargo net and I will proceed up the net to determine if the ship is in friendly hands or not.

I grab my helmet, strap on my 45 and my lifejacket and head for the boat. There I meet with the Sergeant in charge of the Marines. I relay the orders to him. He salutes and says, "We’ll cover you". I’m not really sure that is what I need to hear at that point.

We climb into the boat and it is lowered to the water. As we pull away I can see my gunners mates spotted along the our ship with their M16 rifles, I am surrounded by nervous Marines all armed with M16s and I am supposed to climb the side of a ship with a lifejacket on and my pistol in my holster. I haven’t climbed a cargo net since I was a midshipman. The adrenaline is flowing.

As we approach the ship there are no signs of life. On the one hand that is good, no one is overtly upset with a boatload of armed Marines headed for them. On the other hand no one is even acknowledging our approach with open arms. As we near the side of the ship the deck becomes more and more difficult to see. The radio to our ship indicates no signs of life on the Kimbro.

We came alongside the cargo net and still no signs of life. There is nothing more to do than climb the net. I time the rise and fall of the waves, place a foot on the rail of the boat and reach as high as I can to grab the net. No sooner does my other foot finds the net than the boat drops away. The climb of my life has started.

As I climb my thoughts are rushing. I hear the Sergeant yell once more, "We have you covered, Sir" and I can’t help thinking, I hope these guys can, and will, shoot around me. Then I notice that my hands are pulling the net way away from the ship while my shoes are banging into the ship like they are hitting a drum. I blame the problem with the net position on the lifejacket throwing my center of gravity too far out. I know I am just leaning back and making the climb more work than it should be, I just can’t pull it all together. It must be about 30 feet to the top of the net, but it looks like it goes on forever. I think of my 45 firmly holstered at my side – there is no way I will ever get it out to do anything. I keep thinking, why doesn’t someone come to the rail and welcome me, why am I doing this, I have a wife and two children waiting for me at home in Japan. Isn’t there a Marine officer somewhere on the carrier that should be doing this? I wonder how fast the Marines can get up here if I get in trouble.

As I near the rail I form a plan in my mind. I’ll grab the net just below the rail then bring my feet up an extra level. That way I can pop my head up, and if necessary pop back below the safety of the metal. I am sure that a couple of Marines will be next to me before I can even unsnap the cover on my pistol holster.

Finally, I pull myself together and stick my head above the rail. I spot a civilian near the deckhouse and shout, "Are you all right"? He responds, "Yes, what took you guys so long?" The next 15 minutes are lost to history. My relief overwhelmed all other senses.

I somehow got aboard the ship and the Marines were suddenly all there. My ship was notified that all was well and the boat returned to pickup the supplies for the detachment. It turns out that when they got the message about MSTS ships being targets for the Viet Cong they went into radio silence, which to them meant not saying anything to anyone under any condition. What about the light signals? Well, the guy who could work the signal light was a bit overwhelmed by the speed of our signalmen; he couldn’t read what they were signaling and was too embarrassed to even try responding. Why didn’t they respond to the bullhorn calls? They thought we were just telling them what we were going to do and they had no problems with our plan. After all, they had the cargo net set so we could come aboard. Civilians!!!!

My first experience with real combat had turned out to be nothing more than a false alarm. I returned to my ship and we returned to the task group. The Sergeant Kimbro continued on her mission with a detachment of Marines to protect her from being over run by Viet Cong.