U.S. Army Sea Tales: Have You Ever Seen a Tug Boat Pull into a 7-Eleven? & Other True Stories by U.S. Army Mariners

By Walter L. Grey Jr.

The army marine field is a little known part of the army by both the civilians and the many soldiers. People think of the combat arms (infantry, armor, and artillery) and while they are the heart of the army, there are other branches without which the combat arms would cease to be an effective fighting force. Arguably, the most important element ensuring that the combat arms have beans and bullets is the Transportation Corps. The motto of the Transportation Corps is Spearhead of Logistics because Nothing happens until something moves. In my years as an army mariner, I have had many interesting and sometimes humorous experiences. My experiences are nothing compared with those of other army mariners. This book is not just about my experiences, but of other sea-going sailors as well. Some of the stories are hilarious, and I believe all are interesting. The book is divided into three elements. The heart of the book is the Sea Tales, but Mr. Richard Killblane, the Army Transportation Corps historian graciously provided me with many fascinating interviews of army mariners conducted by personnel in his office. The histories of many army watercraft companies are the final elements of the book and provides the reader with the differences of watercraft units and their missions.
I have found my own experience to be very interesting and rewarding. I recall one day working on the engine room logbook, sitting at the galley table and glancing out of the door at the water in Skiffs Creek and thinking of how fortunate I was to be sitting there and not working in an office. I have had a wide variety of duties in my twenty-two year career, but nothing compares with working on the water. I can relate to what Samuel Clemmons wrote in his book, Life on the Mississippi, For I loved the profession far better than any I have followed since. I feel that says it all. I am now retired, but I have the memories of my experiences.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 16, 2010
• ISBN: 9781453549759

Walter L. Grey Jr.

Upon entering the army in 1969, I was unaware that the army had a watercraft element. Seven years later, I reenlisted and reclassified as a watercraft engineer. Upon completion of training, much to my chagrin, I was not assigned to a vessel but to an army amphibian unit at Fort Story, Virginia. Five years later, I was assigned to Fort Eustis, Virginia, and served on a number of watercraft, sixty-five-foot and 100-foot tugboats, an army freight ship and finally culminating with assignment in Hawaii to the U.S. Army Vessel, Lt. Col. John U.D. Page, the army’s largest ship.

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PART ONE

Sea Tales

Stories by Army Mariners

CHAPTER ONE

Have You Ever Seen a Tugboat Pull

into at a 7-Eleven?

Walter L. Grey Jr., Master Sergeant (Retired), U.S. Army

In the spring of 1983, the ST-1989 (89), a sixty-five-foot army harbor tugboat, assigned to the 73rd Transportation Company (73rd Trans. Co.) at Fort Eustis, Virginia, was tasked to deploy from Fort Eustis to Brunswick, Georgia, to participate in a military logistical exercise conducted along the East Coast of the United States. The Skipper of the 89 was WO1 Peter Hicks and the Chief Engineer was CWO2 Larry Easter. I was the senior enlisted engineer on the boat, the Bull Oiler, and worked directly for the chief engineer. Because the 73rd Trans. Co. had more soldiers assigned to it than there were tugboats to accommodate them, most vessels had a larger-than-normal crew complement. For operations in the Hampton Roads area, which did not require the crew to remain with the boat overnight, this was no problem. However, the round trip to Georgia would take about three weeks and the boat had sleeping accommodations for only eight people, including a cook.

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Tugs Preparing to Tow BD Crane

Because an army vessel the size of the 89 was only authorized to have one licensed deck officer, the boat was operated no more than twelve hours, followed by a minimum of an eight-hour rest period. In most cases, the eight-hour rest period was extended to avoid operating at night when possible.

Unlike the larger tugboats that could travel along the coast, the 89 was restricted to the calmer waters of the Atlantic Intracoastal Waterway (ICW) that extends from Norfolk, Virginia, to Key West, Florida. The ICW or The Ditch, as army mariners know it, is an inland waterway that facilitates navigation along the East Coast. This 1,200-mile waterway is composed of man-made canals, bays protected by barrier islands, natural river channels, estuaries, and other inland bodies of water.

When the tasking was received, the soldiers were initially told that those who remained behind for the duration of the exercise would be restricted to the port area and the barracks. We later learned that this information was erroneous. While not everyone enjoyed sailing on overnight trips, no one wanted to be left behind for this mission because being underway was vastly superior to being at the mercy of the first sergeant.

Since one crewmember would remain awake while on watch during the night, the boat could carry nine personnel. The wheelhouse would be unoccupied at night so a tenth soldier could put up a cot there while the eleventh crewmember was able to suspend a hammock on the rear deck. One of the deckhands had a secondary military occupation specialty (MOS) as a cook and held a valid food handler’s permit. The boat had enough deck hands and he volunteered to help the assigned cook with his duties.

The 89 began the voyage by providing additional power and steering assistance to the LT-1972 (72), a one-hundred-foot tugboat that was towing the BD-6701, a one-hundred-ton barge crane, to the Little Creek Naval Amphibious Base in Virginia Beach, Virginia. There, the 72 would rendezvous with another hundred-foot tugboat to assist towing the crane to Savannah.

The 89 and the 72 departed Fort Eustis for Virginia Beach in the early afternoon and turned downstream into the James River. A short time later, the tugs and the barge were sailing past the ships of the James River Fleet that were anchored on both sides of the channel. These ships are a part of the National Defense Reserve Fleet (NDRF) that consists of mothballed ships, mostly merchant vessels, which can be activated within one to four months to provide ships for the U.S. Merchant Marine during national emergencies. At the time of this trip, the reserve fleet consisted of over a hundred vessels, including dozens of World War II Victory ships, along with a variety of other cargo vessels. As an army mariner, it is not uncommon to hear something like, I heard the army has more ships than the Navy. Not today, but during World War II, the 2751 Liberty Ships and 534 Victory Ships built for the U.S. Maritime Commission were operated by the U.S. Army using civilian Merchant Marine crews. In this case, it can be argued that at one time, the Army had more ships than the Navy.

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ST-1989, LT-1972 & BD Crane in James River

Sailing under the James River Bridge, we passed the Newport News Ship Building and Dry Dock Company, the largest shipyard in the United States. We than sailed through Hampton Roads Harbor where the USS Monitor and the CSS Virginia (Merrimac), two Civil War ironclad ships, fought their famous battle in March 1862. About six hours after leaving Fort Eustis, the tugs and barge arrived at the Little Creek Naval Amphibious Base. The 72 and the barge crane were tied up to await the rendezvous with the other tug boat. The 89 then sailed alone and tied up for the night at the Norfolk Naval Base.

Early the next morning shortly before sunrise, the 89 departed Norfolk and continued its voyage through the ditch en route to Savannah, Georgia. The skipper allowed most of the crew to sleep and it required only Mr. Easter and me to prepare the tugboat to get underway. After lighting-off the main engine and waiting for it to warm up, I went to the galley to make coffee.

While in port at Fort Eustis, no rations are stored on the vessel so the crew donates to a coffee fund for the purchase of coffee for the boat. But when on a trip, coffee is of course a staple of the food rations that are carried onboard. Since the crew had consumed the last of our purchased coffee the day before, I searched the dry food locker but was unsuccessful. When I awakened the cook, he mumbled something like, I guess I forgot to order it. On some vessels, this might not be an issue, but to the crew of the 89, coffee was considered the second most-important fluid for the operation of the boat after diesel fuel. We had departed Norfolk and were traveling down the Elizabeth River in Southeastern Virginia, and we were out of coffee. A crew of dedicated coffee fiends populated the boat. It is a small boat and the cook has no place to hide.

After leaving the Elizabeth River, the 89 entered the Albemarle and Chesapeake Canal in Chesapeake, Virginia. A short time later, we entered the Great Bridge Lock and completed the transit of the lock around 8:00 AM when the 89 approached a swing bridge at Great Bridge. During the daytime, this bridge opens only on a schedule of every hour on the hour and we missed the bridge opening by about five minutes. I talked to Mr. Hicks, our coffee-loving skipper, and he moved the boat to an area of deep water where I could jump onto land and then walk down the highway, not knowing what I would find. My plan was to walk for about twenty minutes and if there was no store to purchase coffee, I would walk back in time to board the boat before the next bridge opening. I walked for about fifteen minutes and I spotted a 7-Eleven. After buying enough coffee to last until the boat replenished the food supplies later in the trip, I walked back to the boat, and we continued the journey. Obviously, the 89 did not pull into a 7-Eleven parking lot, but it got as close it could.

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Along the Intracoastal Waterway

For the next few days en-route to Savannah, the trip was pretty much uneventful. Each evening the boat would tie up for the night at a location such as at Coast Guard station, commercial marina, or other suitable location that had fresh water available. The 89 had a nine-hundred-gallon fresh-water tank, but with eleven crewmembers on board for this trip, it did not last long and had to be replenished frequently. This water was used for drinking, cooking, cleaning, making coffee (lots of coffee), and showers, as well as for the engines. Because the main engine had a non-pressurized cooling system, it would lose some of its cooling water through evaporation while it was operating. With normal usage, nine hundred gallons would be consumed in about two or three days, longer if water was rationed. If something caused us to use an inordinate amount of fresh water, we could have a serious problem.

On this trip, when the twelve-hour operating limit was reached with no marina or other docking place nearby to take on fresh water, the boat was tied up in the middle of nowhere on the Alligator River until the next morning. That evening, the crew took Navy showers, which is where the individual turns on the shower just long enough to get wet, then turns off the water and lathers up, and finishes with a brief rinse. It’s not what could be described as an enjoyable, leisurely shower, but it is hot, fresh water—the grime is removed and only a small amount of water is used per person. If the boat had traveled another day without taking on fresh water, the skipper may have ordered no showers. Fortunately, that didn’t happen. The following evening the boat was moored at the state pier in Morehead City, North Carolina, and the fresh-water tanks were topped off.

Two days after leaving Morehead City, the main-engine governor began to malfunction. We tied up at Georgetown, South Carolina, and the chief engineer determined that the cause of the problem was a relatively simple issue, but the part required for repair of the governor was not available on the boat. In normal operations in the engine room on this type of a boat, an engineer would frequently take various readings (oil pressure, water temperature, etc.) but the engine room was not manned full time. However, due to the malfunctioning main-engine governor, it required an engineer to continually hold pressure on the governor fuel control rod with a pair of vice grips pliers and be in communication with the wheelhouse via a sound tube. Engineers would take turns at this task, as it was quite tiring and, being within inches of the main engine, it was very hot work. Fortunately, it only took about a half-day to reach Charleston, South Carolina, where we tied up at the U.S. Coast Guard station. We attempted to locate the specific part needed for the governor at the Charleston Naval Base without success, not surprising when you consider the engine was thirty years old and many of its engine parts are not readily available. Phone calls revealed that a replacement part was available in another state and would have to be shipped to Charleston via airfreight, but the part received was not usable and Mr. Easter had it manufactured at a local mom-and-pop machine shop in Charleston. After three days of being tied up in Charleston, we were underway again and arrived in Savannah the following day.

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In Georgedown, SC preparing to get underway

Upon arrival, we learned that only one of the two sixty-five-foot tugs was needed, so we spent the next several days tied up along the waterfront. A few days later, when the exercise had ended, the other boats and the one-hundred-ton barge crane (BD-6701) arrived and tied up along the waterfront promenade. A couple of days later, as we prepared to get underway back to Fort Eustis, our skipper was informed of a family emergency, and he had to depart the boat. In other circumstances, we would have been stranded because the boat was suddenly without a licensed deck officer, and the chief engineer could not legally operate the boat. However, the other sixty-five-tug took us in tow and we headed north, although somewhat slower than we would have had we been underway on our own.

When we arrived at the state pier in Morehead City, North Carolina, and prepared to tie up, Mr. Hicks was waiting for us. A decision was made to proceed with both tugs tied to each other. Because there were now two licensed deck officers, for the remainder of the trip we would travel twenty-four hours a day. Every twelve hours, one boat would shut down and the other boat would tow the other. The only place on the remainder of the trip where we experienced trouble was in Currituck Sound just south of the Virginia, North Carolina state line. Currituck Sound is a very shallow body of water, except where it is dredged to twelve feet for the Intracoastal Waterway channel. It was night and the tug had strayed outside the dredged channel and had run aground into the mud bottom. Fortunately, it was not too shallow and the boat was able to plow through the mud and find the channel again. The following day, we arrived back home at Fort Eustis.

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Army Boats Tied Up In Savannah

CHAPTER TWO

The Army’s Navy in Vietnam

Robert G. Scott, Sergeant First Class (Retired), U.S. Army

(Copyright © 2006)

The 329th Transportation Company (Heavy Boat) ran landing craft up the rivers of the Mekong Delta and along the coast anywhere there was water and a need for us. The Landing Craft Utility was 115 feet long and could carry 180 tons of cargo—200 tons in an emergency. It was designed so the front would drop and form a ramp for loading and unloading cargo. It had a flat bottom so it could easily ride up on a beach. Armed with two .50 caliber heavy machine guns and one M60 light machine gun, plus our individual M14 rifles and an M79 40 mm grenade launcher, we could defend ourselves, and thanks to the .50s we could reach out and touch someone. We seldom needed to fire our weapons—it seemed Charlie didn’t know our capabilities and was afraid to take us on—so we never had escorts or air cover unless working with the Riverine Forces.

I caught a ride to Vung Tau on a Mike 8 landing craft, arriving on the 28th of March 1967. My first day was full of shocks. I had expected the reception received when I signed in at the company; orderly rooms are pretty much the same everywhere. Few of the people working there can understand why anyone would want to be in a line platoon—you can get killed out there! There’s no PX, club, women or bars. None of the amenities available back at the headquarters existed on the boats. When it was learned that I had been a clerk before they assumed I would join them—they also assumed I must have screwed up royally to have had to leave Saigon. When they discovered I actually wanted to be assigned to a boat and had been pulling strings to get there, I was an instant pariah.

I hung around the company area for a few days waiting for my boat to get back from a trip. It wasn’t too bad as the company had pulled a lot of people off the boats to work as bartenders, club managers, and other essential positions. Leaving the boats short-handed didn’t seem to be a problem for the rear area types. The company had its own club, complete with a bar, night club, fast food to include pizza, and I could go to downtown Vung Tau to enjoy the bars, restaurants and hookers.

My boat finally returned to Vung Tau and I was on the pier to meet it. I was expecting something like the LCM that carried me from Saigon to Vung Tau—this thing wasn’t a boat, it was a ship! Well, technically it was a boat—it could be deck loaded on a ship, but it was pretty big. I immediately doubted that I could do the job. I should not have worried; within a couple days I had the ship handling down pat, and within a couple weeks I was splicing rope and tying knots with the rest of the crew.

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Army LCU in Vietnam

Most of our runs involved hauling supplies to and supporting the 9th Division at Dong Tam or the 11th Armored Cav at Beria. We would pick up cargoes for My Tho, Vinh Long, War Zone D and the Rung Sat Special Zone. We would occasionally work with the Mobil Riverine Forces and if we had no trips for a couple days we would pull guard duty on ammo barges anchored in Vung Tau’s outer Harbor. For this detail a small Boston Whaler would take one man out at sunset to a barge loaded with hundreds of tons of ammunition. We would be armed with our M-14 and a few pop flares. If we saw something wrong we would pop a flare and light it up. Supposedly it would also summon help from a patrol boat.

If we were lucky we would have a trip into Newport Pier near Saigon. I learned early that Army sailors were a breed apart from the regular GIs. We didn’t have much contact with the Lieutenants and Captains, and operated independently of the rest of the Army. We developed an attitude that was somewhat different than regular soldiers. We weren’t all that military in appearance, attitude or deportment. This was hard for the regular officers and NCOs to accept, and they would often try to make soldiers out of us. They failed miserably.

The duty was enjoyable, and at times exciting. We had the opportunity to see a lot of the countryside, and a lot of villages and cities. We showered with clean water, not green swamp water with things in it. Our meals were cooked on board by a real cook. We had a washing machine so our clothes were clean. These might seem rather minor to some, but to us they were real fringe benefits not enjoyed by most of the troops.

We worked out of Dong Tam (9th Division) in the Mekong Delta on a regular basis. One night while we were there they showed movies. The theater consisted of a truck with a bed sheet hung on the side in front of the projector. This night they were showing movies of the Combat TV series. American Heroes fighting the Germans.

We were heavily engrossed in the movie. A scene of heavy combat came up. Damn the sound was realistic! That really sounds like machine guns and mortars! A line of holes appeared in the screen. A pile of lumber became airborne behind us. A little too realistic. We made a scramble back to the boats; the grunts hit their bunkers. We were being hit by a ground assault at the best possibly time—for Charlie. During a war movie!

We off loaded the troop ship General Nelson M. Walker in the outer harbor at Vung Tau. The ship had had a rough crossing, and the troops—about 4,000 or so—were mostly seasick. As we approached the landing stage the crew of the Walker was hosing down the troop decks. We could tell what the troops had eaten for the last couple days from the contents of the overboard discharge.

The weather was getting worse, and we were requested to get all the troops off the ship as soon as possible. We were rated for around 350 troops without equipment, 200 with equipment. We packed nearly 400 on board with all bags and baggage. It became a competition between our boats to see how many we could pack in. The run into the beach took about an hour, and we just had to have some fun. The new troops were all clerks and headquarters types, and had never been to Viet Nam.

We went to General Quarters. Our passengers could not see what was in front of the boat, only a little directly off the side. They did see us break out our weapons and lock and load the machine guns. We paced around nervously and chain smoked and tried not to grin. There were several large explosions in the distance when captured ammo was blown and it added to the impression that we were going to drop these green troops on a hot beach under fire with all their bags and baggage.

Lieutenants moved around redistributing ammunition, preparing to fight their way off the beach. All were at least a little frightened, some down right terrified. We dropped the anchor and backed the engines. We hit the beach and dropped the ramp. The green troops grabbed their gear and charged off the ramp—and saw GIs lying around drinking beer and sodas. Oh well, we thought it was funny. We welcomed them to Viet Nam.

We had one very educational and entertaining afternoon at one of those bars. Because of changing security conditions in the area we were at times required to carry weapons. This was one of those times. Two of us entered the bar and immediately noticed the subdued atmosphere. Something was very wrong. We looked around but nothing was obvious, just some Vietnamese sitting in the corner drinking beer. We sat down, leaned our rifles against the table and were served by a very nervous waitress. As our eyes adjusted to the dimness I saw that the peasants in the corner had AK47 rifles at their table. They were Viet Cong soldiers taking a break, and like us were in an off limits bar. The situation was a bit tense until I told the waitress I wanted to buy them a round of beer.

Everyone relaxed, and I asked them to join us. The newbie with me looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole somewhere, but stayed cool. One of the VC was actually from Hanoi and had volunteered to go south and join the Viet Cong. He had taught English at the University of Hanoi but his position had been eliminated. He served as the group translator. By the end of the afternoon we were all a bit drunk but happy.

They were on R&R at the nearby VC rest center. Our conversation was typical of GIs. We talked about how we became GIs, we talked about our officers and NCOs. We talked about women and the people we left behind. No one brought up the subject of politics or whether The War was right or wrong, just or unjust. After our good-byes they went their way and we went ours.

We occasionally made runs into Saigon, a welcome trip for us because it was a low stress mission. The river was wide, the channel was deep, and the whole area was well guarded. The only hazards were mines laid in the channel in an attempt to sink large ships. Several were hit while I was there, but we figured we were too small to be a target.

We are berthed along side a pier at New Port near Saigon. The pier pilings are protected with chicken wire to prevent mines or swimmers from getting under the pier. I step over from the pier to the boat with several cases of beer in my arms when I hear a warning yelled—STOP!!, and people are pointing below me. I look down and see a beautiful cobra between my legs. Its body is intertwined in the chicken wire, and about three feet of its working end is up and swaying. Some fool throws a pipe at it. That only makes the snake mad. Its hood flares open and it starts to look for someone to bite. Its head is now between my knees. A cobra ready to strike is indeed beautiful. I see how the story about the cobra hypnotizing its prey got started. An MP comes over, borrows a rifle and takes a shot—it grazed the snake’s neck. Now it’s really mad. I tell him to use his .45 for close work. He tells me to mind my own business! It is my business! After several more shots—all misses—the snake goes on its way.

I was having so much fun that when October rolled around again I reenlisted for six more years and extended my tour in Viet Nam for another six months. One of the incentives to extending the tour was a 30 day leave, with free travel, to anywhere in the world that wasn’t under communist control. I couldn’t take the leave right away, as I was needed for operations. We waited one night at anchor during Operation Coronado V, and as darkness fell the fireworks started. We watched artillery fire and tracers—both theirs and ours—throughout the night. The long awaited radio message came—my extension leave had finally been approved. All I had to do was present myself to the clerk at Long Bien and pick up my orders. My problem? I was on a Coronado mission with the Riverine forces, and we would not be returning to Vung Tau for several days. Time was wasting. My skipper told me that if I could get—get. I waded through a freshly fertilized rice paddy at the French Fort to reach the helipad and hitched a ride to Long Bien. I would be home for Christmas!

I must make a comment about rice paddy mud. The fertilizer used is organic, consisting primarily of human waste. There is a very distinct aroma, but I had become used to it; the rear area clerks seldom came in contact with rice paddies. I arrived at Long Bien Headquarters and thought I was Stateside. Spit shined boots and starched fatigues. Air-conditioned buildings. Paved roads and sidewalks. I found the right building, found the right room—and there was a line stretching out and down the hall. I stood patiently at the end of the very long line. The GI in front of me sniffed the air, looked at me, and decided to get a beer. The next man sniffed and left, and the next, and the next. I soon found myself at the clerk’s desk. He sniffed and decided to take a break. I told him to go ahead, I’d just sit in his chair with my boots on his desk, and patiently await his return. He changed his mind and typed my orders.

(This is an extract from chapter three of the book: A Soldier’s Tale: Memoirs of an Army Sailor by Robert G. Scott. Reprinted with permission of the author.)

CHAPTER THREE

USAV Page

If I’m Getting Wet—

Everybody Is Getting Wet

Walter L. Grey Jr., Master Sergeant