04 May 2016

Editor’s Note: If you think you are going to get incisive commentary on what happened last night when I was getting the coffeemaker set up for the morning ritual, that amazing concession and the realization of what it is likely to be like for the next six months, you are not going to find it here. Sorry. But I am going to be ready for just about anything from here on.

-Vic

INPORT MARSEILLE

(Marseille and the Vieux Carre at night. What an amazing town!)

20 DEC 1989:

There was a great Foc’sle Follies show last night with much merriment at the expense of Oz, the Air Boss. Many rugs thrown at VADM Ilg, referring to his dark edict of three years ago which forbad the mention of his at-sea toupee. Then the Ops O meeting this morning at 0900; I awoke with a headache from the post-follies follies. Then a Staff Meeting followed the Ops meeting…mostly about not letting things fall through the crack over the holidays while France is crooking her finger and giving us the come-hither look.

Scooter and other Air Wing notables such as the Monsterchief are going back to Florida for Christmas. I’m glad the wife is coming here with the group of the more adventuress spouses.

At lunch- the last meal to be served in Wardroom One until we go to sea again- I ordered a chili-burger and tried to fend off questions from the air crew about the U.S. declaring war on Panama. I didn’t understand what it was all about although I bluffed fairly well until afternoon, up to my elbows in Campaign documents with France calling me from the distance.

I quote White House Press Secretary Marlin Fitzwater who said at an emergency press conference at 0140 Washington time: “The President has directed United States Forces to execute pre-planned missions in Panama to protect American lives, restore the democratic process, preserve the integrity of the Panama Canal treaty and apprehend Manuel Noriega…”

(Former president of Panama and drug-thug Manuel Noriega in his better days).

Heavy fighting is reported in The Zone. Goddammit, I’m in the wrong theatre again! We were part of that contingency operation with the black helicopters during FLEETEX off Puerto Rico, when we were abruptly pulled our of the exercise and went “lights out” to strike all aircraft below decks and accept five big Sea Stallion copters that arrived in the dead of night, filled with steely-eyed men who wouldn’t talk about what they were doing. We managed to unravel the secret when the SEALs discovered the bounty of charts and support materials we had on board.

We were going to be part of a snatch on Noriega as he visited a seacoast villa to pork his mistress. Someone breathed word of it someplace- in Washington, probably- and the SEALs and their Stallions disappeared as quickly as they had come, leaving us a little breathless and confused and unwilling to go back to pretend operations when we had been part of something urgent and real.

The fact that Noriega knew we were (finally) serious about his corrupt regime had made things deteriorate, and not the shit had hit the fan. None of it was coming our way this holiday season, though, and we find ourselves safely ashore and at peace in France.

We waited in a long line of sailors for a bus to get out of the port area. For security, we are located way out in the sticks. In some ways this is worse than being at anchor, where the boats take you right to the heart of the city.

Suddenly, our friends from the Flag Staff appeared and our Transportation problems were solved. We piled into a tall Mitsubishi van with Spanky M at the wheel and we were free and on our way to the real and stories land of Voltaire and Joan of Arc! Spanky had already made a familiarization hop into Marseilles, so we are not flying blind.

We rocketed out of the customs/douane area and onto a strange elevated freeway and headed downtown. A cathedral on the hill beckoned in the distance and rows of quaint fin-de-siècle apartment blocks stood guard parallel to the expressway.

Marseille’s port area sprawled for miles to our right as we rolled south into town. We miss a sign or two and roll into the Vieux Port area through the old fortifications. We are immediately into a traffic jam and the urge to park the car is virtually overwhelming. We see an arrow that points to what could very well be a garage and Spanky bolted for it.

It is underground and the concrete ramp is steep. The van is tall. The van does not fit.

We are fortunate to escape without having to let the air out of the tires, and someone is going to be picking up the tab for the deep dent in the roof. We wandered the streets and wound up at an outdoor cafe with our crazy waiter with the Art Garfunkle hair. He likes my French accent.

I am nearly totally immersed in the cultural milieu by the time we finish five beers 
or so. We pub crawl through the Gut and enjoy pizzas and artichokes in the Vieux Port. Later, there are more gratuitous beers at the Bistro New York where Bulls CO Shaky is holding court with several of his junior officers.

Shaky announces to the crowd that he is going to “give me another chance” to improve my dismal performance in support of his squadron. I resist the sudden and severe visceral urge to punch him out there and then, and instead stalk away into the night avec my wingman Josh. Best decision I have made in a long time. We get back to the ship via the last bus @0330. This extended port visit over the holidays is intentional, and partly a result of the Salt Water Summit.

No one wants us crashing around with the Soviet Kirov death star or the potent Slava cruiser while the USSR is unraveling, and this is an unprecedented opportunity for liberty. Who would have thought that the Cold War might be coming to an end with such great food and drink? I bought a beret to celebrate.

Copyright 2016 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com