Long Run Patrols Chapter 8
The late summer of 1967 found “The Skipjack” off the coast of Britain. The boat surfaces at sea, somewhere near a coastal military base. A helicopter approaches, its after midnight. The small spotlight flashes the sail bridge commander. The signal is returned. The British black navy chopper is hovering over us. Two men in black uniforms, one at a time are lowered to the wet deck. Skipjack crewmen await and catch each arrival. They are escorted below down the forward hatch. The North Atlantic sea state is confused and cold. This action happens quickly and the boat submerges with two British agents on-board. One man is a left lieutenant officer, the other a technician of some sort. The captain and lookouts come down the bridge tube and the last man shuts the two watertight hatches. I'm training on the helm and sail planes. This was so cool, the officer in the conning tower shouts, set your course north 000' compass heading and then make your depth one-hundred and sixty feet. I say, “aye aye sir” make my depth one-hundred and sixty feet and steering compass heading, north 000,' ... "Wuga' Wuga" Dive! Dive! The boat turns and starts the dive. The course is northward into the cold gray Arctic region.The officer shouts, increase your speed to thirty knots. The rabbit acknowledged the order. The best news, I wasn't a mess cook anymore. I took over as ship's photographer in training. This trip, I was now qualified to drive the boat. Living the dream and now a part of the crew. These accomplishments earned and signed off by the captain. Wow... this is better than serving coffee. These first months on patrol are very exciting carrying British agents and special equipment to run the coast near Russia.. Now eight weeks later and back from our patrol northern run, we will stop in Scotland. There is a real chill in the air as we cruise in. The Skipjack is on the surface, the maneuvering watch is set into Holy Loch, now the middle of October. This is the start of my second year on submarines. The port is appreciated by the crew and officers. The spies leave us here. The crew hit the town in civilian clothes as ordered. Everybody on the sub is sporting a beard, except yours truly. A milk mustache would be my only real try at that. The town of Dunoon was my first experience out of the United States. The Simon Lake submarine tender was now a temporary home, to our boat. Liberty awaited me. New adventures in Scotland and the pubs.
The best news, did I tell you? I wasn't a mess cook anymore. Seaman Alley was also an armed topside watch. This sailor now a part of a repel boarder, topside group. Submarine defense in foreign ports. The team is armed with Thompsons, a forty five caliber sub-machine gun. Living the dream and now a part of the crew. The prize was my submarine dolphins' a slow work in progress for me. Now standing in a local Scottish Pub, with my crew letting off some steam. The rabbit is enjoying the moment. A torpedo man has been awarded his dolphins by the captain on this trip north. Now the crew celebrates this honor. We all have a great respect for this achievement. That said, the Chief of the Boat, another qualified torpedo man drops the silver metal emblem into serving pitcher and begins filling it. The different alcohols and all sort of other liquids mixed together. The crew starts the chant as the man picks up this chalice. He drinks this sick brew, spilling much of it down his chest. The prize at the bottom sliding into his lips and teeth, success and applause. This poor guy is now violently ill and shoots a shower of liquid into a large garbage can. The crew goes insane and hugs the soaked guest of honor. He is now a made man. Life at sea with my new family, feeling the love. Tom Jones wailing on the jukebox, " I'm coming home". I step up to the bartender and asked for a VO Press. Well son, we serve only one whiskey here, and its scotch. How would you like that? sailor. I said, straight up of course. This home brew went down with a bite. "Big Problem," the torpedo man wasn't the only one that had to be carried back to the boat. I was singing, I'm coming home, at the top of my lungs. That's the last time, I've ever had scotch, anyway the beer tasted better, life was good. The history is kind of skewed again. I had made multiple runs north on the sub. I was in uniform on the train ride to Edinburgh the capital of Scotland. The train ride was not to bad, a two day pass was needed. I was a loner and I liked it that way. Seaman Alley loved the crew but living in close quarters for months got old. Traveling through the green countryside was wonderful. I had ordered a big glass of milk in the club car. I was then sporting a new white mustache. The truth was all dairy was gone after the first week at sea, no green salads, The real eggs disappeared also. Funny what you miss on a long patrol at sea. The family and home were a real issue on these trips too. That said, I was making memories. The train station in this big city was amazing. I carried a small shaving kit and a change of socks. Sub Sailors travel light. The walk through the cobble stone lanes and the old structures was interesting but alas no camera. Downtown onto the main square, it was early afternoon. I was hungry and stepped into a Pub and Restaurant. The place was packed. The crowd feeling no pain and staring at me. Hey "Yank" come have one with us. This lone US Sailor is welcomed into their warmth. Set him up with a Scottish ale. The tankard mug had a glass bottom and the dark liquid was warm and syrupy. I looked through the bottom of the mug at all my new friends. They were watching intently. It was like drinking my dolphins, I thought. Benito had to finish it, thank God it was only a pint. The whole crowd cheered as I sat down the empty Stein. The pats on the back followed. I felt on top of the world. "Yank," you must see the Queen, you must see the Queen. They pushed me out the door into the square. Still shoving the sailor up to the front. Lines of people were gathering on the public parade route. Let the "Yank" through to the front with him. The tomb of the "Unknown Soldier" was in the foreground. The crowd hushed as the Royal Entourage came into view. The Judge Magistrate and his court walked by. They all were wearing long black robes and powdered wigs. The true meaning of a long hair. This Lady was wearing a yellow chiffon hat and dress. The dress was cut at the knee. She was carrying a bunch of yellow flowers. Queen Elizabeth was beautiful and actually waved at me and smiled. I stood there, the only US soldier present. My heart almost left my chest. She was surrounded by the masses, no real security near. Only fifteen feet from myself and others. She continued up the steps to this monument and bow to the royal kilted, Scottish guard. Then placed the flowers on the unknown soldier's tomb. The crowd roared. "OMG " I was my country's representative that day. I have no words for that moment. I wasn't hungry anymore. The tears weld up in my eyes. These people loved their soldiers. Life had strange benefits. One day your alone and wondering, why me? The next day your surrounded by the masses and cheering the Queen. These American submarines were an important vanguard for these Scottish people too. The smiling faces probably didn't know why we patrolled either, but their Queen did. The twist of events far from home. This sailor welcomed the tap on his back, it's for luck, mate'. The locals said, the stars on the back of your navy uniform, that's for luck. Local superstition or what? They all tap my shoulder. They would smile and grin at the American sailor. The luck was mine. I loved these people and there kindness to this boy from California. The long runs, we patrolled were important to them and us. The British, French, Canadian and American submarines all apart of the cold war effort. Opening the door to others. This sailor was moved that day. "It's for luck mate"
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