Present Day: We have snow lingering through the weekend. The meteorologists claim it will be 60 degrees by the end of the week. We have a third war breaking out in the Red Sea, an unexpected development that is going to shift all sort of resources all over the world. We thought you might enjoy the mobile chaos that goes with a Fleet Deployment to the Mediterranean!

This is the contrast to what is happening not far away in the Red Sea this morning…and we have young American out there at risk and engaged! Keep the safe! This Chapter is from the book “Last Cruise of the Cold War.” It is available, as is everything these days, on Amazon by Vic Socotra.

– Vic

15 March, 1989:

A lost day. Up at 0630 to begin preparations for the Final Planning Conference (I rather like the sound of that). We power through a variety of issues dealing with our next exercise and host a group of thirty-odd Israeli Defense Force (IDF) officers. That goes on till 1300, whereupon we lurch uncertainly into our next crisis. This one deals with the dual carrier Battle group operations coming up next week. Can’t wait, everything is changed, crash action.

I have my intel guys make up new charts and stand by for tasking. We are still on the ship at 1600, nothing seems to be getting any better, so I take a nap. I set the alarm for 1800 and when that happens I blow it off and sleep until 2100. More action items, Hof is out of his mind, the usual. I am down at Midrats where I see Robert Pittman who has some major league Band-Aids across his nose. I ask him how he got those and he replies casually that one of his squadron mates tried to bite it off. I can see that this has truly been a memorable in-port period for everyone.

I secure for the rack about 0014. Israeli Air Field tour at 0730 tomorrow. Great deal except the operations order specifies Certified navy Twill (CNT) Khakis, ribbons and no flight jackets. It was freezing today; I don’t know what we are supposed to do without coats. This is what you get when the Naval Attaché is a frigging Black Shoe.

16 MAR:

The day of the great Jacket flail begins early. Everyone is nattily attired in CNTs and helmet bags, the bags containing flight jackets. We stumble down to the Fantail precisely at 0730.

The group is attired in a motley assortment of outer garments. The Fighter Squadron guys (VF-31) are defiantly attired in green nylon jackets. A few guys who didn’t get the word are wearing brown leather jackets. Those who have complete sea-bags are sporting the geek-ish khaki windbreaker. The Deputy, ever conscious of the letter and spirit of the regulations, is attired in a long black raincoat. The rest of us, walking the fine line, wear no jacket at all but carry suspiciously lumpy gym bags.

Thus was it ever, I suppose, but the intent of the instruction to standardize resulted in no less than five variations of the uniform.

Thankfully the day is balmy and the issue never gets to the front burner. Still, we start the tour with bile rising in the back of the throat. Boating is inexplicably delayed for a half hour; there appears to be no known connection between the people who make the announcements over the 1MC and the very same individuals who could look over the end of the ship and notice that there isn’t any boat there.

I could go on for a couple hours of ranting about the boating.

Lack of etiquette and decorum. Anarchy in the lines. The drunks, the mismanagement, the horrible condition of the ship’s boats. It is enough to drive you berserk each time you essay the journey ashore.

Here, with the swells high and the wind blowing, virtually everyone has been arriving soaked because the canvas covers have been ripped away. It looks like hell. I don’t know what our guests think about all this.

Anyhow, we wound up on a Eurobus making the northward trip to Ramat-David Air Field. We followed the signs to Nazareth, passing the industrial suburbs of Haifa and passing into the rich green country of the Kibbutzim. In between we saw pleasant homes perched on the hills that could have been in California.

We get to within 16KM of Nazareth. The hills in the distance under the beautiful blue sky must be the Golan Heights. The turn to the base is not marked. We follow a two lane for perhaps three kilometers and arrive at the Security Checkpoint. We wait while things are explained to the gate guards. I look out the window and watch a cluster of kids on their national service periods trying to hitch rides home.

The bus was particularly entranced with a girl with a leonine mane of blonde hair and an UZI sub machine gun. Apparently, troops are billeted at home in order to keep costs down.

We pick up LT Danna, who is typical of PAO officers around the world. She is pretty and her hair falls down over one eye. She is accompanied by a young man whose purpose is undetermined. I presume it is security- a military intelligence minder? DCAG mentions that no one is in charge and Danna looks at him and says deadpan “I could tell that.” The bus erupts with hoots.

We drive to the Club where we are served sweetened black coffee and a lavish spread of breakfast pastries. This is followed by a briefing from one of the XO’s of an F-16C squadron. He gives us a history of the base.

Built by the Brits in 1937. Supported Mid-East operations during the war. Evacuated by the Brits in 1947. First Israeli Meteor jets in 1955. Combat ops in ‘67, ‘73 and 1983. There is another war in there somewhere that I do not recall. The Major recounts the kill numbers from all engagements, and mentions that the base was hit by Syrian SCUD missiles in 1973.

He mentions that this is a small place several times. Flight time for him in his F-16C to overhead Amman, Jordan, is 3.5 minutes. 5 minutes to Damascus. He is less than forthcoming during the question-and-answer session. DCAG asks him how many aircraft are in his squadron. The XO clears his throat and looks to the back of the room for guidance.

Someone says something and the XO says: “Not enough.”

I turn around. The classification expert is the bus driver, who I must presume is the Mossad representative. DCAG follows up his question by asking the number of pilots in the squadrons but the XO says “About as many as the airplanes” and smiles.

This is clearly going nowhere, so I refrain from asking whether U.S.-supplied satellite imagery is used by the strike planners and how is the RF-4 photo-reconnaissance imagery processed and can we meet with their Air Intelligence people?

They then show us some fantastic gun-camera footage of MIG kills from 1983 which plays to rapt attention and then we are off to the maintenance hangars. We look at some F-16C’s in Squadron Level Depot Maintenance (SLDM) and some venerable F-4’s and note the engine canisters stored outside that still have the words “property of USAF” stenciled on the side.

Then we pile back on the bus to the flight line and watch some routine flight operations. We get to see a take off and landing by the F-16’s, a low fly-by and a section of Phantoms in the break. It is clear as a bell, warm and a perfect delight to be outside.

Danna hands out some zappers, which we exchange for squadron and Air Wing Six stickers and DCAG manages to get the fact that they have 13 pilots in the squadron out of the XO. They also fly about 15 hours a month.

Then the tour is over and we are back on the bus and rolling through the pastoral valleys of northern Israel. The kibbutz workers are in the fields and it is quite lovely, almost like SCUD missiles were not lurking on the next set of ridges waiting to crash into the earth.

We arrive back at Fleet Landing at noon and go back on the ship to change clothes and hit the beach and enjoy the gorgeous day.

We are no more than aboard when the 1MC crackles to life and we hear that Boating will Be Secured until further notice due to spray painting on the Stern.

Trapped! Major Bummer! What perverse son-of-a-bitch runs the boats around here?

We cannot get off the ship again until nearly 1600. Cast of characters includes Toad, Doc Feeks, Mark Sickert, me and Scooter. We have DCAG’s car- we are supposed to try to take the flat tire back to the Hertz People, but we are pushing the closing times of the Sabbath and decide to blow that off. I have to find the little shop that sells military insignia so I can outfit my Boys with some trinkets back home; Toad wants to find a jewelry shop and Scooter has actually decided to come ashore for the first time in the in-port period. We wind up on top of the mountain at the Hotel Dan Panorama, which is one of the only two open bars in town as the sun lowers on the horizon. We buy newspapers and read with interest of the events of the day.

The Libyans are claiming that the Pharmaceutical plant at Rabta has burned to the ground. I make a note to check the master target list. The NCAA playoffs are starting back home. The Israeli-PLO talks are continuing to wreak havoc with the Government.

Drinking with Emil. Mom and Dad- our nicknames for the Airwing Commander and his deputy are no-shows. Pizza and wine; this is not the Sabbath we had heard so much about. In fact, this is wild!

Back home by 0050. We are thinking there might be some more to see in this Holy Land…

Copyright 2009 Vic Socotra

www.vicsocotra.com