Abe's Misadventures 9
Skin-on-skin
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]A common misconception about missiles, reinforced by Hollywood, is that they are like artillery shells and must hit their target directly to be effective. With few exceptions, particularly with missiles for air-targets, one only needs to get within a range of proximity and explode to disable or destroy the target. Concussion waves do the damage. Abe learned the lesson in the chatter after a live missile test, which was apparently wildly successful. Not only was the target destroyed, it was a "skin-on-skin" strike, a rarity.
The mood among the weapons techs and officer ranks were high as they headed to drills in deeper waters of the Pacific. But Abe noticed the persisting lack of enthusiasm in their practice runs leading up to the inspector’s arrival. It would continue through the inspected drills and debriefings afterward. The layer of tension was now seeping deeper into the hearts of the crew. Starting on such a high at the ship's commissioning, there was nowhere to go but down, reasoned Abe. Even average morale would feel low.
The ship stopped again in Hawaii only to take on supplies. It was an all-hands on deck affair. Most of the crew was hesitant and slow with the exception of the Boatswain's Mates who specialized in on-deck operations and knew how to load supplies efficiently. The laggard efforts of a weapons tech motivated a young Boatswain's Mate to tap his shoulder and say, "Step aside and lemme show you how this works." A second Boatswain's Mate stepped up and they proceed to stack the oncoming boxes of supplies with energetic flair. Abe went forward and asked to let him take a turn. The Boatswain's Mate nodded, and announced to the rest, "Just like workin' the cola plant back home. Grab an' stack, grab an' stack. Two by three, then rotate."
The next thing to happen was as predictable as recruits being yelled at in bootcamp.
"What the hell are you all standing around for? We don't have all day," barked the supervising chief, a leader in top three tiers of the enlisted rates who wears khakis like officers instead of dungarees. The crowd scattered to do something, anything, to not be seen as inactive.
Abe stacked boxes of food and cases of canned drinks as best he could until another Boatswain's Mate tapped him on the shoulder to take his place.
“Not bad for a snipe,” the man said with a smile and took over for Abe.
Abe joined the chain of sailors in bucket brigade style passing boxes and cases up the gangway from the dock. The term ‘snipe’ triggered his memories and his mind raced with making connections. At the front was the fraying morale and the main deck divide. It marked a racial divide, mono vs. mixed. Abe didn’t see it clearly until the supply loading brought the technicians and deck crew together. The contrast was distinct. Abe could only wonder if leadership was aware.
It reminded him of his own ancestry his family didn’t talk about. Abe’s father was from the backwoods of the deep south and escaped it, along with the Vietnam War draft, by becoming a university student. The relatives still in the swampland, with hardened stereotypical views of the world, were one of the unspoken taboo topics in his family. The next town over back home, a university town, drew students of all races, creeds, religions, and colors, exposing Abe and his brother to an island of diversity surrounded by an agricultural ocean of uniformity. Abe joining the military violated a part of that taboo, shunning classroom education for real-life service.
No matter how far he ran, his past tagged along.
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