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Post by blaird on Jul 1, 2016 19:56:37 GMT
"All the boats in port are tied up at the tender, USS Turtle. You might want to check there.” Kyle gives Marshall directions to locate the tender. “If they’re trying to save their money they’ll have a berth there rather than a room in town. Of course, if they’re single you might want to check out where the women can be found. Even if they’re not.” Robinson smiles. “What about you?”
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Post by nfiltr8r on Jul 2, 2016 23:54:48 GMT
December 5th, 1941. Approx 10:30pm.
LtCdr Marshall stood staring out at the subs tied up to the tender. It was quiet; only the sounds of a few boats running about in the harbor, which with their lights, looked like fireflies on a cool night, could be heard in the distance. Closer in, a work detail was just wrapping up some materials on deck of one of the subs. Looking towards the bow of the boat with the small work detail aboard, he could clearly see the word "Weatherfish" emblazoned in white paint.
So, that's her, he thought. I need to write a letter to my fiance, Marshall thought. From first sight of the Weatherfish, he was in love with his first command. Nearly 350 feet long, and over 30 feet wide, she was a big girl. And sporting two 6" guns, she had more firepower than some of the surface ships.
Marshall walked over to the SP stand where two Seamen stood watch over the gangway to the Turtle.
As he approached them, they snapped to the ready at Port-Arms. One Seaman, a 1st Class Gunner's mate, judging from the three chevrons with crossed artillery muzzles on his right sleeve, spoke "Halt, Sir! State your name and your business."
"The name is Marshall. Lieutentant Commander, Marshall. Recently assigned to take command of the Weatherfish in the morning. I was hoping to find my XO aboard."
The GM1c came to present-arms. Both Sailors returned to order-arms and rest once LtCdr Marshall returned their salute.
"Welcome sir. My name is GM1c McGuinness. This is GM2c Smith. You're to be our new CO, sir. I regret that the XO isn't on board. He left a few hours ago."
LtCdr Marshall sighed briefly and spoke, "Nice to meet you, gentlemen." Marshall was horrible with names, and had already forgotten the names of the two men he just met. "Could you tell me where the XO might have gone? I'd like to meet him before the formal change of command ceremony in the morning..."
"I believe he went to the Palm Frond club, sir.", replied McGuinness. "Would you like directions, or for us to call a car for you, sir?"
LtCdr Marshall smiled, "directions... no. I"m actually staying at the Royal Hawaiian for the night. I think that club is right next door. However, a car would be splendid, Seaman."
"Certainly, sir!" replied McGuinness with a smile and nod, as he looked toward Smith who had set down his rifle and began to dial the main switchboard to have a car brought around. ".... yes.... thank you..." could be heard behind the small booth that was the SP station next to the sub tender as Smith made his way back out.
"The car is on it's way, sir. They report they should have someone here for you in just a couple of minutes. Would you like to go aboard the Weatherfish while you wait, sir?", replied the Seaman.
"No, not just yet. I'll save that for the morning, after the ceremony.", replied LtCdr Marshall to Smith.
Marshall, turning to the men, said "Alright Gentlemen. I'll take my leave for the evening. I will see you both in the morning." McGuinness came to attention again; "Goodnight sir, and welcome again. We are sure glad to have you, especially after..." the Seaman's voice trailed off after getting jabbed in the ribs by Smith.
Marshall saluted the men. As he turned away, he cocked an eyebrow and thought.. after what? What was he referring to?
The car pulled up and stopped with a sqeak, as LtCdr Marshall got in the back of the Chrysler Town-Sedan, dark in color. The driver, a woman, with curly-but-neatly done up hair turned around. "Good evening, sir. Where to?"
"Take me to the Palm Frond club in Honolulu, please... Thank you, miss"
And with the squeak of the parking break coming off and rumble of the motor, LtCdr Marshall was off for a date with his new XO, he hoped....
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Post by crushedhat on Jul 7, 2016 1:24:43 GMT
6 Dec 1941, evening, USS Turtle “Why don’t ya join us?” RM2c Adam Jones asks PM2c Michael McGinty, the latter’s face buried in medical books.
Michael looks up to see his friend and shipmate decked out in his best ‘going ashore’ rig. Shaking his head, USS Bristlemouth’s pharmacist replies, “Can’t, Jonesy. Gotta study.”
“There’ll be time enough for that later. Some of the fellas are meeting at the Grass Skirt to celebrate Wanabe’s making 2nd class. Maybe we’ll even meet some girls.” An anticipatory smile crosses Jones’ face.
“Someday you may be glad I spent my time shut up here studying rather than partying.”
“I sure hope not,” Jones fires back.
Reflecting for a moment, McGinty has to agree. “I sure hope you’re right. Have fun,” the last is directed at Jones as McGinty turns his attention back to his studies. Dismissing his shipmate’s serious attitude, Jones heads out to join in the celebration.
(continued in Grass Skirt)
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Post by crushedhat on Jul 12, 2016 15:00:06 GMT
19 January 1942, evening, USS Bristlemouth, tied up alongside USS Turtle (continued from Grass Skirt posting) “Mr. Bolling!” EM1c Roger Evvens calls back toward Bristlemouth for the OOD as he watches a procession of SP jeeps pull up.
“This don’t look,” SM2c Gregory Smith, standing harbor watch with Evvens, murmurs.
Checking to make sure he has the regulation .45 strapped to his hip, Lt(jg) Tom Bolling heads topside to see what the issue is that has aroused Bristlemouth’s harbor watch. Like the two sailors, he gets a bad feeling upon seeing the laden SP jeeps. Coming to stand beside the two guards, Bolling waits.
Using their billy clubs freely, the SPs prod the other men out of the jeeps and march them toward Bristlemouth’s waiting trio. Arriving, the PO in charge of the SP detail asks, “These yours?” He steps to the side so that Bolling can see their charges. Trying not to show shock, Bolling recognizes Bristlemouth’s entire radio gang, though it takes a moment given their beat up and disheveled condition.
“Yes,” Bolling admits.
“They’re to be confined to the boat pending a decision by the Provost,” the SP leader states firmly.
“But their dunnage is all ashore. At the Royal Hawaiian,” Bolling protests.
“They’re to be confined to the boat pending the Provost’s decision,” the SP PO repeats. Indicating for the ‘prisoners’ to move forward, the PO begins again, “They’re to…”
Bolling finishes for him, “Confined to the boat. Yes, yes, I understand.” A smug smile forms on the PO’s lips, the man thoroughly enjoying giving commands to a commissioned officer. Behind Bolling, Evvens and Smith surreptitiously share in the experience.
“Alright. Below, all of you!” Bolling barks at the bruised brawlers. He then tells Evvens, “Better inform the XO.” Bolling then turns to follow the little band and try to get the story of what happened.
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Post by crushedhat on Jul 13, 2016 13:07:52 GMT
20 January 1942, morning, onboard USS Bristlemouth tied up alongside USS Turtle LCdr Kyle Robinson is not the least bit pleased that he has to admonish four of his men for getting into a fight last night. His displeasure is not so much over their behavior, they were defending one of their own, but with the fact that he needs to tell RM2c David Wanabe that, per directive, he is being discharged from the Navy. After reading the men the customary riot act, Kyle hopes he sounds convincingly stern, he dismisses the men, all except Wanabe.
After the others are gone Kyle looks at his radioman. Wanabe blanches at the expression on his commander’s face, fearful of further punishment. “It wasn’t me who started it, sir,” Wanabe offers in his own defense.
Sounding much softer than a moment ago, Kyle tells the young man, “I know. I didn’t ask you to stay behind for another ass chewing.” Kyle pauses, trying to figure out how to say what he must. Deciding there is no easy way to tell a loyal sailor that his government doesn’t trust him, Kyle goes straight to the point. “A directive came out yesterday. All crewmen of Japanese-American descent are to be discharged. I’ve already brought this up with Captain O’Mally,” Kyle gets in before Wanabe can protest. I have my orders.” Saying the words does nothing to relieve the guilt and sense of failure Kyle feels seeing the expression on RM2c Wanabe’s face.
“You’re no longer confined to Bristlemouth,” Kyle tells his now former radioman. If you’re not in the Navy, the Provost has no authority over you.”
The two men stand in silence for a moment. Then Wanabe comes to attention. “Aye aye, sir.” He salutes and, as Kyle did earlier with O’Mally, does an about face and exits.
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Post by crushedhat on Jul 14, 2016 23:11:59 GMT
29 January 1942, morning, onboard USS Bristlemouth tied up alongside USS Turtle “Whaddya think, sir?” Chief of the Boat CTM Ralph Groton’s voice carries a tone of pride as he asks his skipper, LCdr Kyle Robinson about the flag hangning on the wall in the crew’s mess. Some o’ the boys put it together. Kinda a visual history of Brisltemouth’s war.”
Gtoton’s smiel broadens as Robinson says, “I like it.” Running his fingers over the Battle star Bristlemouth received for her first patrol as well as the flag representing the Japanese freighter sank and the symbol for the POWs they rescued.
“Don’t you worry none, sir. We’ll add more,” the Chief assures his commander.
Kyle agrees, “I know we will.”
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Post by nfiltr8r on Jul 16, 2016 17:56:37 GMT
Feb 1st, 1942. Morning.
Deck of the Turtle, the Weatherfish currently laid-up in Drydock #1 in Pearl Harbor.
Men and machine are working hard to repair the Weatherfish, as heavy machine work can be heard coming from the other side of the neighboring peers. Pearl was a hotbed of activity with all the ships getting repaired and refitted.
Lt Lindsey turns to LtCdr Marshall. "Skip, repair chief says it's gunna be another 10 weeks in drydock. Maybe 8 if he can get a fire under his guys. Both periscopes are totally shot. The optics are busted, shafts are bent, hydraulics are shot too. Says when the scope broke and flooded it also flooded the whole hydraulic system. All the lines are shot, as well as all the cylinders and pumps that run those rams. New optics have to be shipped in from San Francisco. The hull, port side midships are going to get ripped down to the pressure hull. They don't think the pressure hull took any damage, but they need to rip off everything to be sure. The good news is that the diesel that got knocked off its mounts has already been moved in place and fires up just fine. The electric that was flooded is getting re-wired as well so that should be fixed soon as well."
Marshall sighs. "Alright. Not much we can do if the scopes are shot. We are gunna need those when we go back out. Anything else for me at the moment, Lieutenant? "
"Not at the moment, sir. The crew is due to get their mandatory leave soon. Now that the boat is in the care of the repair crews, there isn't much to be done."
Marshall replies. "Very well. See that you work out a rotation for the officers to oversee the repair crews. Also see that you schedule leave for the officers as well. Make sure you get your rest as well, Brent. I'm heading on leave this week. You have the boat."
Lindsey snaps a salute. "Take care sir. Enjoy your week off."
Marshall gives a salute and a firm handshake to his XO. "Thanks, Brent. Going to try to learn how to surf." Marshall smiles, and grabs his bag and heads off.
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Post by nfiltr8r on Jul 16, 2016 18:40:07 GMT
Feb 2nd, 1942. Aboard the USS Turtle. Main wardroom. Having heard of the flag that the boys on the Bristlemouth made, Ltjg Bridges, not to be outdone, was just putting finishing touches on their own flag. Painted upon some old blue curtain material scrounged from central supply, the paint was just drying as he hung up the flag to display until the Weatherfish was out of dry dock. Attachments:
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Post by blaird on Jul 16, 2016 22:47:57 GMT
not to be outdone, LTJG Tommy Lancaster, walks up to the flags, and hangs a third flag, that his girlfriend had just finished sewing.
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