The Pipeline: Shame

Continued from The Pipeline: Doubt.

An excerpt from Ian’s journal, April 2014.

I may not have been an expert tactician or an authority on the Aegis Weapons System, but I knew ship driving.

I was a midshipman who steamed a nuclear cruiser in formation. An ensign the captain assigned to the most challenging situations. A department head exclusively trusted to coach conning officers when leaving or entering port.

I can drive the hell out of a ship. When it came time to practice in the simulators, I knew I could finally prove to myself that I deserved to be in the Surface Commanders Course.

Our class broke up into groups of three for each session. On this afternoon, the instructor placed the three of us in near perfect conditions for our first attempt at landing a ship on a pier. A slight onsetting breeze. Near slack current. Clear visibility. 

I had done this so many times as a department head. Naturally, I volunteered to go first.

With the simulator in run, I aligned the ship in the center of the channel, marked the bearing to the south corner of the pier and put on a left full rudder to bring us into the slip slightly left of center. Perfect.

Aligned in the slip, parallel to a ship moored next to my assigned berth, it was time to reduce speed. As a department head on a frigate, we would start the auxiliary propulsion unit on the bow to balance our single screw pushing ahead. So, I attempted the same idea on a destroyer.

“Port engine ahead one third, starboard engine back one third,” I ordered.

The instructor took a deep breath. My two classmates whispered. I knew my approach was unconventional, but I also knew they would come to understand my plan as it unfolded. 

I checked speed through the water, expecting a cool three knots.

Zero. What?

Speed dropped almost immediately. A ship without propulsion is at Mother Nature’s mercy, and the sea teaches you that Mother Nature couldn’t care less about your puny little ship. The ship’s heading fell slowly to the left as the wind set her down right onto the other ship.

I needed to regain control, and fast.

“All engines ahead one third.”

Another gasp.

“All … all engines ahead one third for three knots,” I stammered.

The ship moved in slow motion past the other ship, bollards and light posts gliding through my narrowing vision. I crossed my arms to hide my shaking hands.

Control the stern. With a twist? Left rudder, right? Wait. The bow! It's falling toward the pier. What's the order for a tug? Frigates don’t need tugs. How do the vectors work? 

What do I do?

Nine thousand tons of steel continued to slide toward an immovable object.

“All stop!” 

It was all I could manage. I felt like a fish on a boat struggling to breathe.

By some cosmic act of mercy, the onsetting breeze was just enough to set the ship on the pier gently, and her forward momentum stopped fifty feet from the quay wall. Dead quiet but for the whine of the gas turbine engines and the ringing in my ears.

The room felt so hot and so cold. I wanted to fold inward, to collapse like a dying star until I disappeared. 

I turned around. My classmates had their hands in their pockets and eyes on their shoes. The instructor stood stone faced. 

“Captain,” he growled, “you gave up the ship.”

To be continued...

This is a work of fiction based on actual events.

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