BATTLE CREEK, Mich. –
It felt like a race against time, going back aboard the Avenger-class mine-countermeasure ship USS Warrior, before it would be decommissioned to a fate yet determined, just as my previous two ships had met different fates. USS La Salle was used for torpedo practice and sunk off the coast of Florida to help create a coral reef, and then USS Independence was towed to Texas, for scrapping as part of DLA’s Ship Recycling Program. The only two remaining were the Warrior, where I was ship’s company for three years with many months and deployments at sea, and the USNS Mercy, where I served as mission essential personnel.
Warrior is now homeported in Sasebo, Japan. When I served on board, she was in Ingleside, Texas, among all the minesweepers and minehunter ships. My colleague, Environmental Protection Specialist Ben Skarp, and I traveled to Sasebo to conduct a DLA Disposition Services post-award meeting for local hazardous waste removal and disposal. First, we met with the contractor to discuss the performance work statement and bid schedule. Afterward, we visited the Navy’s hazardous waste consolidation point to evaluate contractor pick up and disposal requirements. Finally, Ben and I visited USS Warrior to see their storage locker and help him get a better understanding of a Navy crew’s shipboard hazardous waste accumulation processes.
While there, my mind was flooded with memories of living onboard from 2000 to 2003, when we endured the bombing of USS Cole in Yemen and then the September 11 attacks. Both had a significant impact on life aboard ships. Overnight watch standing increased, stretching the watch sections to their brink. But we never broke. I manned the .50 cal for 16 hours straight on 9/11, and we were on high alert, not knowing what was coming next.
What made the experience on board USS Warrior so significant for me was that we were a small crew of approximately 100 sailors, and you could not help but get to know each one. You knew their quirks, what made them upset, what made them laugh, their families, their hopes and dreams. We looked out for each other in town; we stuck up for each other on port visits when locals didn’t like us being there. We supported each other and nobody turned and ran when things got dicey.
We had nicknames. There was Bull, Tater, Chippy, Tobes, AKA “Big Montana,” to name a few. My nom de guerre was the endearing “Gumper.”
Standard watch requirements didn’t change based upon the size or manning of the ship, and with just 100 sailors, the Warrior had the same number of watches as larger ships. Especially after 9/11, our watch requirements spread us out quite thin. We were spending every other night on board the ship due to security reasons. We didn’t see our families much during those three years. We all had several collateral duties in addition to our assigned ones. I had 13, and my experience was no different than my shipmates at the time, and we were all chasing our tails.
What was most remarkable about my trip back to the Warrior was the muscle memory of navigating throughout the ship, to my old berthing compartment, the bridge, my old Admin Office, the mess decks, etc. Muscle memory in that, while traveling down a steep ladder, I instinctively grabbed a handle because 22 years ago, I used it thousands of times moving about the ship, and as of a couple days ago, it was still there to assist a safe landing below deck. I didn’t even have to think about it.
USS Warrior is not my home now. But it’s home to a crew of probably similar makeup to the crew I served with: some bright sailors giving clear guidance to the young ones, some salty sailors giving out stern orders, the quirky ones that you can’t help but call your own. Same crew, same experiences, just this time instead of being in Texas they are in the Land of the Rising Sun.
For an afternoon, in my role with DLA and supporting our warfighters, I stepped back in time and relived some good memories. It was well worth the trip.