No Substitute for Ability

“This is a drill! This is a drill! Fire, fire, fire! Class Alpha fire in compartment 2-65-4-Echo. Ship’s Office. Away the duty inport fire party and provide from Repair 2. This is a drill.”

“Aw, man.” Gunner’s Mate Seaman Jeff Bowen closed the novel he was reading, then stood up exited the crew’s lounge. He walked aft to Repair Locker 2 where other crewmen were gathering. He stood to one side as men moved in and out of the small room, gathering equipment and tools. His friend Tommy from Deck division putting on an oxygen breathing apparatus and Jeff moved over toward him.

“Hey, Jeff. You on the fire party, now?”

“Yeah.”

“Fun, fun. What job did they give you?”

“Plug-man.”

“That’s a good one, but you don’t come here for that. You go directly to the scene and get the hoses ready.”

“Where’s the scene?”

“Ship’s office. Go down this passageway and make your first right.”

“Okay, thanks.” Jeff started down the passageway. He rounded the corner he and his chief standing near the Ship’s Office. Beyond him another crewman was unstrapping the hoses from a rack near the Fire Main plug. Jeff stuck the book in his pocket.

“Bowen, where the hell have you been? Get over here quick.” Jeff trotted over to Chief McDonough. “Were you coming from the Repair Locker?”

“Yes, Chief.”

“I told you that you are supposed to go to the scene. You’ve got to be the first one there. That’s why you have to listen to the drill announcement.” They walked to the fire-plug and stood next to the crewman. “Pratt here is going to show you the ropes. Pay attention!” The chief looked at his watch. “I’ve got to get ready for eight o’clock reports. After this drill I want you to start on those Damage Control Qualifications. I want you signed off on them as soon as possible.”

“Yes, Chief.”

The chief turned and walked briskly down the passageway. Pratt, who had paused in removing the hose from the rack, watched the chief go, and then replaced the hose and began strapping it down again.

“Don’t we lay the hoses out?” said Jeff.

“This is a drill. We are going to simulate laying the hoses out. That way we can secure from this drill faster. I’ve got to go on watch at midnight and I was hoping they’d have done this before dinner.”

“What do I do as a plug-man?”

“Well, in a real fire, you get here first and lay out two hoses. Then you stand by the plug and open the valve when they tell you. There’s nothing to it.”

Jeff nodded and looked around. At the other end of the passageway crewmen were approaching the Ship’s Office. Some wore O.B.A.’s with facemasks and gloves. One man, the On Scene Leader, wore a helmet and carried a clipboard. He was a 2^nd class petty officer named Alwyn.

“Number one hose-man, check if there is heat behind the door!” he called out, reading from a checklist. The hose-man took off his glove and held the back of his hand near the door.

“On Scene Leader, there is no heat behind the door!”

“Very well. Number two nozzle-man, open door slightly and insert Low Pressure Fog nozzle…” the On Scene Leader looked around. “Where’s your hose?” The nozzle-man shrugged. Alwyn looked toward the fireplug.

“Hoses simulated laid out and ready to charge!” Pratt called out.

Alwyn shook his head. He looked down at his clipboard. “Plug-man, charge fire hose!”

Pratt nudged Jeff with his elbow as he called out, “Charge fire hose, aye!” He reached up to the valve and made a motion as if to open it. Then his hand dropped down. “On Scene Leader, the fire hose is charged!”

“Very well!” The fire drill continued.

Pratt turned to Jeff. “You see? There’s nothing to it.”

“Looks like a piece of cake.”

“It is. Now, if you think you’ve got it, I’ll tell my chief that you’ve relieved me. Maybe I can get off this fire party. I’ve been doing these drills for seven months.”

“I can do it,” said Jeff, nodding. He looked down the passageway where the hose teams were now entering the Ship’s Office making swishing sounds with their mouths. One of them spoke to a crewman inside. “You’re all wet, Ortiz!”

“Knock off the chatter! Continue the drill!”

“On Scene Leader, the fire is out!” called a nozzle-man.

“Very well. Thomas, you are now posted as the Reflash Watch. The rest of you put this gear back in the locker. I want it stowed properly. Don’t just throw it on the deck.”

The drill was concluded and the fire party members headed back to the Repair Locker with the equipment. Pratt nudged Jeff on the shoulder and pointed.

“See? Our stuff is already put away. Now, do you have any questions about what you’re supposed to do?”

“No. I know what to do.”

“Good. See you later.” Pratt turned and headed down the hall. Jeff went forward and up one deck to his work center. He went inside and put his novel on the desk. Then opened a file cabinet and took out a form that listed the ship’s Fire Party Qualifications. Next to each item on the list was a place for a signature. He took the list and went below again. Across the passageway from the Ship’s Office was a room called Damage Control Central. It was where all of the damage control, firefighting, and flooding countermeasures were coordinated. Inside D.C.C. Alwyn was talking to another man seated at the worktable. They both looked over at him as he approached.

“Hi. I need to get my D.C. quals. signed off. Who can I get to help me with that?”

“Are you ready to be signed off?” asked Alwyn.

“Uh, no. I just started.” Jeff handed the paper to Alwyn. The Damage Controlman glanced at it briefly, then handed it to the other crewman.

“Petty Officer Brown just came on watch. He can help you.” Alwyn looked at Brown and said, “Teach him what he needs to know. Make sure he knows what he’s doing.”

Brown, making a derisive salute, said “Aye, aye.” Alwyn shook his head and left.

As Brown glanced over the sheet, Jeff noticed that Brown had been a 2^nd Class Petty Officer, like Alwyn, but the chevrons on his sleeve had been altered.

“Why is it blackened in between the two chevrons?”

“It’s called a wide-stripe. I was reduced in rate from 2^nd Class to 3^rd Class.”

“How come?”

“I was popped on the urinalysis.” said Brown. “Are you ready to get on with this, or would you just like to talk about me?”

“I guess we’d better get on with this.”

“Too bad.” said Brown, looking down at the paper. “I’m a lot more interesting than this junk. Look at this one. Now, why do you need to know that this ship only has one fire main loop?” Brown put the paper down on the worktable and took a pen out of his pocket. He wrote his initials in the space provided. “Well, there’s one for you.”

“Thanks.”

Brown nodded. “You don’t need to know all of this.”

“I know! I’m a Gunner’s Mate. We learned firefighting in boot camp.”

Brown grunted. “Were you in the fire drill tonight?”

“Yes.”

“So you know where Repair Locker 2 is. How about Repair Locker 3? Do you know where that is?”

“No.”

“It’s on this same deck, just aft of the mess decks.” Brown wrote his initials again. “There’s another one.”

Brown continued, entry after entry. Jeff smiled to himself but said nothing. At this rate he might knock out the whole list tonight. Won’t the chief be surprised? he thought. But I won’t show it to him right away. I’ll give it some time so he won’t get suspicious. He watched as Brown marked two entries without even asking a question.

Four days later Jeff’s section had duty again. Liberty call was passed at 4:00pm and most of the crew had either gone home to their families or had gone into town. Jeff settled himself down on a couch in the crew’s lounge to start a new novel. He had been reading for about 30 minutes when a call came over the ship’s PA system.

“This is not a drill! This is not a drill! Fire, fire, fire! Class Bravo fire in compartment 1-279-1-Lima. Paint Storage Locker. Away the duty inport fire party and provide from Repair 3. This is not a drill!”

Jeff stood up and paused a moment. He thought the Paint Locker was near the stern, but he couldn’t be sure. He tossed the book on the couch and ran aft down a long passageway, jumping through the watertight doors. He came to the doors that led to the mess decks and went through. The area was deserted except for one mess cook setting up for dinner.

“Where is everyone?” Jeff asked, catching his breath.

“Probably at the fire.”

“Yeah, but where is the fire?”

“Paint Storage Locker.”

“Where is that?”

“It’s on the weather decks, starboard side aft. That’s why they give you the frame numbers!”

Jeff didn’t answer. He ran to the ladder and ascended to the main deck, then stepped quickly through a door to the outside. Here it seemed the entire ship’s company had gathered. He elbowed his way past a few people, enjoying a brief feeling of importance, but that feeling quickly evaporated when he saw Alwyn un-strapping and laying out the hoses.

“I’ve got this hose! Get the second one!” Alwyn said, looking up. “And get into Battle Stations dress. Come on!”

Jeff went to the second hose rack buttoning his top shirt button. As he tucked his pant legs in his socks he looked up and noticed Lt. O’Bannon, the command duty officer, watching him. He finished hurriedly and turned to the rack, but he couldn’t loosen the strap that held the hose.

“Petty Officer Trippe, give him a hand,” said Lt. O’Bannon. A large 1^st class Boatswain’s Mate stepped quickly over and nudged Jeff aside.

By now the nozzlemen and hosemen were coming through the door dressed out to fight the fire. Alwyn had donned his helmet and was back at the paint locker door. Jeff took the nozzle from Trippe and was about to stretch it out on the deck when someone called out, “Where’s the foam?!”

All eyes turned to Jeff. He looked at Trippe questioningly.

“Give me that,” said the big man, taking the nozzle. “Go to the Repair Locker and bring a jug of foam!”

“Foam?”

“Yes. Bravo fire! Foam! Hurry!”

Jeff took a quick glance at Lt. O’Bannon before hurrying off. The officer did not look pleased. Jeff went in through the door and had descended the nearest ladder before realizing that he had no idea where Repair Locker 3 was. Desperately looking around, he went forward until he saw a small room where a crewman was organizing the damage control equipment.

“I need a jug of foam!” he shouted.

The crewman picked up a blue five-gallon jug with the letters “AFFF” stenciled on it and handed it to Jeff. Surprised at its weight, Jeff took the jug and retraced his steps. He labored up the ladder with the awkward load and crabbed through the narrow door to the deck outside. He hurried the jug to where Alwyn stood but saw that the fire team had already entered the space. Black smoke billowed out from the paint locked where the hoses, now stiff with pressurized water, were bent around the doorway.

“Just set it down and man the plug.” said Alwyn.

Jeff set the jug down out of the way and trotted quickly back to the fireplug. Trippe backed away and Jeff took his place. He faced the paint locker and held his hand on the valve handle.

As Jeff waited, with everyone else, for word that the fire was out, a feeling of shame grew within him. The lieutenant and the rest of the crew were standing behind him and Jeff could feel their eyes boring right through his inadequacy. Never before had he felt so conspicuous, or so useless.

Soon the fire was put out and the fire team backed out of the space. Gloves and masks were removed and Alwyn began questioning the men. The crowd, led by Lt. O’Bannon, surged forward to assess the damage.

“You can secure the water now,” said Trippe, almost helpfully, as he too went to see the damage in his paint locker.

Jeff shut the valve, and then went quietly to open the nozzles and drain the pressure. As the crowd began to disperse Alwyn moved over to him.

“Make sure all of the water is out of the hoses before you put them back on the rack. And remember to keep the loops six inches off of the deck.” Jeff nodded quietly. Alwyn stared at him for a moment, then said, “Good hustle.” Jeff nodded absently and returned to the fireplug.

By the time Jeff had completely drained the hoses and had painstakingly looped the hoses back onto the racks, precisely six inches off of the deck, he heard the announcement for supper. He took the jug of AFFF back to the repair locker, and went to the mess decks.

As Jeff sat by himself and ate quietly, a thought began to form in his mind. As he embraced it, an excited determination began to grow within him. Jeff hurriedly finished, dropped off his tray, then went forward to his workstation. He took his damage control qualification list out of his file and looked at it for a moment. The initials embarrassed him now. But he took a deep breath and left the work center.

Returning to the mess decks he saw Alwyn seated at a table eating dinner with another crewmember. Jeff approached and sat down at the table with him.

“Hey, Bowen. What’s going on?”

“Could I ask you a favor?”

“What is it?”

Jeff held out the list. “Could you go over these with me? To make sure I really know them?”

Alwyn took the list and scanned down it. He nodded slowly then looked back up at Jeff. “Sure.” He looked at his watch. “I’ve got to relieve the watch in D.C.Central for dinner. That’ll take about twenty or thirty minutes. Meet me there and we can go over some of it then. Afterwards I’ll walk you around and show you some more.”

“I’d like that.” Jeff smiled.

Alwyn took a bite of his dinner. “We won’t get it all done tonight. I want to make sure you know it. Besides, they’re going to play a movie tonight at eight.”

“Okay.”

“We’ll work on it some each duty day. We’ll make sure you feel good about it. Who knows? Before long you’ll be signing people off.”

Jeff smiled. “I’d like that.”