eFish

By Jeff Jockel

Go-getter Ensign Jeff Carney is ready for his first assignment in the United States on board a brand-new nuclear attack submarine. But when a medical condition drastically changes his course, he accepts orders to step aboard the USS EYAK instead, a navy salvage ship also known as a “fleet tugboat” that hasn’t completed a mission in years.

 

Determined to pass inspections for a six-month deployment to the Mediterranean Sea, Ensign Carney harnesses his leadership skills—even as he faces setbacks and antics like a roommate with a flair for flatulence, a laundry staff who enjoy taking rides in the dryer, and a captain who doesn’t want him around. But despite every challenge on his sanity, he refuses to keep his dreams anchored.

 

When the USS EYAK finally sets sail, will the truth about navy life sink Ensign Carney’s spirit for good? Or will every day at sea prove that his ambitions are worth it, no matter what?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Publishdrive
• Release date: Dec 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798218252526

Book preview

eFish_Full-Cover-PDF.jpg

eFish

Jeff Jockel

If someone wrote a book about your life…would anyone read it?

-US Navy recruiting advertisement 2004

© 2023 Jeff Jockel

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

979-8-218-25251-9 (Paperback) 979-8-218-25252-6 (ebook)

Imprint Name:

CAPT JAJ II PUBLISHING

This book is based on actual events, however any names appearing in this book are purely coincidental.

Crew of the USS EYAK (ATS-1)

Commander Duncan McGlashin, Commanding Officer

Lieutenant Commander William Porter Lew, Executive Officer

Lieutenant (jg) Dan Splilone, Chief Engineer

Lieutenant Jerry Davids, Chief Engineer

Lieutenant Jason Gailbreth, Communications Officer

Lieutenant John Ramos, Operation Officer

Lieutenant Kevin Connell, Diving Officer

Ensign Tim Nooner, Engineering Administration Officer

Ensign Jeff Carney, Supply Officer

Master Chief Earnest Ernie, Command Master Chief

Chief Randal Baum, Chief Mess Specialist

Chief Ralph Slater, Ship’s Machinist

Petty Officer Bernie Grant, Ship’s Corpsman

This book is dedicated to all the great United States Navy sailors whose actions are not chronicled within its pages. This silent majority carried out their arduous and sometime mundane duties with pride and unassuming professionalism. The leadership lessons you have taught me are priceless and I am honored to have served with you.

Contents

Crew of the USS EYAK (ATS-1)

Prologue:

Drill Weekend

A Recommendation from God

What’s An ATS?

Picking the Best Orgy

Into the Vortex

Sure is Dark in Here...

Bliss is Ignorant

Oh the Humanity!

Those Crazy Star Wars

Gerund-ing is my Biggest Vice

Gary the Great

Spell Dessert With 2 S’s, Like in Insane Asylum

Battlin’ the Confederate Navy

Innovative and Resourceful Drunks

One Pair…Crabby Draws

A Horse is a Horse of Course of Course

A Hat Trick!

I Am Royalty

We Are ‘Loitering IV Lewdness!’ Good Night Cleveland!

Nip It In… the Bud

OCTOBER GAVE A KEG PARTY

Gorilla My Dreams

I’ll Have a Haze Gray Christmas!

And an Oakie Shall Lead Them

Doing Business With ‘The Dead’

On’st and Away!

ON THE BEACH

At the Wheel

Shower Watch

Augusta City

Mensch at Work

Ace of the Base

Ike’s Barber

Très Funky

War Tug

Babbis Likes Ouzo and Chix

Bizerte Party Animal

Boxing Her Out!

Port of Call… Ostend

Redemption Song

Drill Weekend

Prologue:

March 17, 1991: Surface Ship Commanding Officer’s detailer shop, Navy Military Personnel Command, Building 1001, Naval Annex, Washington DC.

The United States Navy’s Naval Annex, just outside the Pentagon in Arlington, Virginia, consists of the plainest complex of buildings ever constructed. The eight mustard yellow shoebox structures that form the Annex were hastily erected to provide office space during the closing years of World War II, and they resemble soviet apartments of the 1960s and 70s.

Most of the Annex was taken up by the Naval Military Personnel Command (NMPC)/Bureau of Naval Personnel (better known in the US fleet as The Bureau AGAINST Naval Personnel). NMPC’s mission is to assign all naval personnel to various jobs throughout the world every two to three years over their careers.

An early spring shower doused northern Virginia as Admiral Clem Hower perused a final draft of a message which would assign naval officers as Captains of thirty ships of the US fleet. This message had been submitted for Admiral Hower’s approval before the paperwork moved up the chain to the Chief of Naval Operations.

USS NIMITZ…USS KIDD…USS TICONDEROGA…

The list of impressive US Navy vessels in the message continued. Beside each ship on the list was the name of the officer who was to be assigned as her future Commanding Officer. Admiral Howe shifted in his uncomfortable UNICOR built in prison office chair from the 1980s, pointed to the very last entry on the ship list and queried to no one in particular, Does this guy McGlashin we got going to take over on the USS EYAK know that he’s being set up for failure?

Stewart Gates, a diminutive Navy Captain, who was in charge of assembling this list, pushed his glasses up on his crooked nose and answered up,

Sir, we really feel that Lieutenant Commander McGlashin is the right man to be the next CO (Commanding Officer/Captain) of this ship. We know EYAK has had her problems on the waterfront, but Lieutenant Commander McGlashin has a lot of experience turning around poor organizations and…

Admiral Hower gulped his cold coffee from a #1 NAVY GRANDPA pewter mug, shifted again and grumbled back as he scribbled his approval on the message with a red Sharpie pen and thrust it back at Captain Gates,

Has he ever experienced getting shit-canned from his assignment like the last two EYAK Commanding Officers?

Drill Weekend

March 14, 2008: Philadelphia Naval Shipyard, 1220

He was lost.

All the haze-gray ship hulls looked the same as Jeff crept down a side road at the Philadelphia Naval Shipyard. He cursed at himself for trying to drive around the myriad of old decommissioned US Navy ships during lunch hour on his navy drill weekend. Jeff Carney was a United States Navy Reserve commander, assigned to a logistics unit, whose job was to support the Navy Supply Systems Command.

The problem was that Jeff’s unit was never given any work to do during their once-a-month drill weekend periods.

This lack of work resulted in a bunch of middle-aged men and women in khaki, sitting around in an officer building classroom on foggy Saturday mornings, talking about where they were going to lunch and reading the newspaper. To break up the fast-paced environment, Jeff decided to try driving over to look at the old ships rotting away in ‘The Bone Yard’. Philadelphia Naval Shipyard was the final home for all old naval ships that had been decommissioned from service and were waiting to be turned into razor blades, floating museums or sold to other nations.

Between an old submarine tender and a CHARLES F ADAMS class destroyer, Jeff found a little lane that looked like it might take him out of ‘The Bone Yard’ and back to his quarter pounder and New York Times. The gravel way was leading him away from the haze-gray nightmare when it looped his ’98 Saturn SL to a small creek near an empty warehouse with broken windows. Moored in the corner of the creek was an old gray hull of a ship, with absolutely no superstructure.

She couldn’t have been more than 300’ long, and Jeff barely noticed her as he continued his quest to get out of the shipyard. Then he quickly glanced a faded 1 on the old hulk’s port side, causing him to screech to a halt. He parked by an abandoned pickup, got out and squished through the March shipyard mud to the hulk’s stern.

Jeff could make out faded letters on the back of the ship which spelled out:

E ‘ ‘ A’ ‘K

Holy shit. EFish!

Jeff’s mind raced back sixteen years to February 22, 1992, when his budding naval career and life changed forever.

A Recommendation from God

February 22, 1992, US Naval Submarine Base, Groton, Connecticut.

The Rotten Groton Motor Inn, overlooking the Groton, Connecticut, exit of I-95 North, was once a very respectable place for an intimate New England getaway. Jeff’s folks had planned to stay there on their wedding night back in 1960, but his dad forgot to make reservations, and due to the Rotten Groton’s popularity at the time, there was no room at the inn when they showed up from Brooklyn on their wedding night. Jeff remembered his mom saying that they ended up at some hole in the wall motel down the road in New London. At the time Jeff was five, and he thought she meant that their room really had a hole in the wall. Maybe it did.

Thirty-two years later, the Groton Motor Inn had become the Groto Moto nn, courtesy of some faulty neon lighting on the large sign that overlooked I-95, the gateway to New England and all of her treasures. Old as it was, the Moto Groto’s mahogany-adorned cocktail lounge was still bumping as locals and travelers alike boozed and smoked away a gray brisk March evening.

Class 92-003 of the United States Navy Submarine Officer’s Basic Course took up the rear third of the room, and the volume back there grew louder and louder as the evening wore on. With graduation from the three-month course for newly minted naval submarine officers less than one week away, it was party time for the twenty-nine twenty-somethings heading to their first at-sea junior officer assignments on US submarines all over the world.

Ensigns Cash and Wence, two self-appointed class clowns, had arranged this booze fest with the help of a couple of other guys who were living at the hotel while attending submarine school. The evening was capped off with the presentation of a parting gift to each member of the class. Rubber chickens, Frisbees, stupid hats and women’s undergarments were distributed to the neophyte submariners.

Each presentation included a brief explanation of the gift which included a merciless jab at its recipient. Towards the end of the show, Wence stood, stretched out his six five frame (Jeff had no idea how this guy would ever fit into a submarine) and proclaimed, And now we have a very special award…a can of WD-40 lubricant to the man in the class most screwed by the Navy…Jeff Carney!

Jeff’s road to WD-40 fame began two weeks prior, on a drizzly March morning in Room 221 of Maury Hall at the US Submarine Station, Groton, CT. Just as he was preparing to redraw the electrical system of the Los Angeles class submarine from memory for the 9th time since 0700, Jeff was interrupted by the smoke-choked, Rhode Island accent of Lieutenant Barrington, his sub school class’s sponsor.

Barrington was a former enlisted man who had been in the navy since the Spanish Armada ruled the high seas. What was left of his hair was cropped into a no-nonsense flat top, and on his tip toes he stood about 5’5’’. He was responsible for making sure that all class’s paperwork was processed from the day the new naval officers started sub school, until their departure for their first submarine assignment.

LT Barrington was famous for his butchery of the English language. One time he was describing to the class how his old boss was madder than he had ever seen anyone get.

Ya shoulda seen it…man…my old boss…my old boss…he was really vivid, he stated.

Did he really mean that his former superior was incredibly detailed when he described something?

Old Barrington snuck up on Jeff that day in Maury Hall and blurted out, Ensign…uh…Carney…uh…I needs ta speak wid yas.

LT Barrington reminded Jeff of that little skinny boxing rooster that used to guest star on the Fog-Horn Leg Horn cartoons and punch the nearest being anytime he heard a bell.

Jeff was convinced that the old man was going to tell him that he would have to go on a monitored study program because he had failed last week’s exam on the torpedo ignition cycle. Momentarily departing the excitement of the electrical system of the Los Angeles class submarine, Jeff headed down to the sub school administration office on the first floor of the building.

As he entered the small waiting room and began to acclimate to the smell of old Sanka and chalk, ‘His Shortness’ approached from behind and squeaked.

Ensign Carney…uh…I got some uh…bad news fowr yous. Your uh…medical waiver didn’t come trew…so as of now yous are no lownger qualified to soive on United States Submarines.

Jeff stood there like he had just been punched at a stop light in Maryland by a road-raged Mike Tyson. A couple things intrigued Jeff about the good Lieutenant’s edict. First, he had no idea that he even needed a medical waiver in order to qualify for assignment to a submarine. Second, Barrington said Jeff was not qualified for United States submarines. Did he still have a crack at serving in the Ethiopian fleet?

Sir…what are you talking about?

Jeff asked, looking down at the little bald spot on the top of the oldest Lieutenant in the Navy’s head. Ensign Jeff Carney’s open-ended question was answered later over at the sub-base hospital.

Lieutenant Grogan, a bald slovenly medical service corps officer, obtusely explained to Jeff that since he had experienced episodes of migraine headaches in his past, he was not physically qualified to serve on submarines. The young ensign’s first reaction to this dipshit in rumpled navy-blue wool was instinctively hostile.

Why didn’t anyone tell me about this medical disqualification from submarines before I attended fourteen weeks of submarine training in beautiful Groton, Connecticut? Do you mean I just wasted the last three months?

Jeff attempted to compose himself and speak in a more rational tone.

There must be some kind of waiver I can get for this. What if I get a letter from…

Fat boy wasn’t happy with Jeff’s reaction and cut the plea short.

RULES ARE RULES ENSIGN!…even if you got a recommendation from GOD HIMSELF, there is no way you will be allowed to serve on submarines!

Immediately Jeff had this image of the Almighty himself, white beard and flowing robes sitting at a 1920s roll top desk with one of those big feather quill pens attempting to save the submarine career of Ensign Jeffrey Carney.

When he returned to reality, Jeff was still in the pale green hospital conference room and Grogan was finishing whatever the hell he was saying.

Ensign Jeff Carney’s submarine dreams were torpedoed like a German U-boat in 1943.

What’s An ATS?

Still numb from the news break that he would never be allowed near a submarine, the pride of the US Naval arsenal, Jeff trudged through the late winter slush back to Room 221 of Maury Hall. A rousing lecture by Lieutenant Wilcox, who had the world’s largest forehead (he was referred to as ‘5-Head’), was in progress on the importance of weighting down garbage on a sub when you shoot it out into the sea so spies can’t skim it off the ocean surface.

Jeff returned to his seat in the second row and tried to pretend that this disqualification thing was some kind of bad dream.

No such luck.

He had just settled into ignoring 5-Head’s lecture when the class was interrupted by a small pock-marked sailor knocking on the door inquiring.

Sir?…Ensign Korney…Jack Korney has a phone call?

The whole class turned their eyes on Jeff like he was back in third grade, and the school nurse had just announced that he was the source of the latest head lice outbreak.

Jeff guessed that he was the closest thing to Jack Korney in the room at the time. He was informed that he had a phone call down in the school administration office.

ENSIGN CARNEY!!!…Lieutenant Mark Hennings here!

Jeff nearly dropped the phone. The voice on the other end sounded like it was coming from a bullhorn. He had no idea who Lieutenant Mark Hennings was or what he wanted. ‘Lieutenant Loud’ continued.

Say Ensign…I’m calling from Washington, DC, and I’m really sorry to hear about you getting the ol heave ho from subs.

Jeff didn’t know what to say. Yes sir…I uh…

Hennings continued like Jeff wasn’t there. So Ensign, now we need to find a quality non-submarine assignment for you somewhere out there in our Navy. Let’s you n’me make this happen…wahattayasay?

Jeff thought, Holy cow! How did this guy find out about his disqualification from submarine duty so fast? Did a carrier pigeon fly into his office window? Were leaflets dropped over DC informing all hands of the big news?

Hennings just kept going, saying, So Jeff…we wanna find you a non-submarine assignment that will enhance your naval career.

Jeff wanted to know if the man on the other end of the phone was wearing a loud plaid jacket, and if Henning’s next move was to try and sell him an ‘87 Yugo with no accurate mileage.

Jeff my man…I see a real career opportunity for you as the Ship’s Store Officer on the aircraft carrier USS America. She’s getting ready to start a 2-year maintenance period in the Philadelphia Naval Shipyard, it’s a great location and a wonderful opportunity for you to excel!

Ok now that job offer was just plain insulting. How big of an idiot did this guy think I am? Two years in the Philadelphia Naval Shipyard monitoring the status of the sixty soda machines on the USS America didn’t sound like too much of an opportunity to excel to him. It seemed like more of an opportunity to get car jacked.

Jeff had to slow this carnival game attendant down. Uh sir…I just pretty much found out about this whole—

Hennings cut in again, saying, Hey how bout a challenge as the Billeting Officer up at the air station in Adak, Alaska…ever been up to Alaska? Good living!

Oh great! I’d be breaking up some Navy Senior Chief’s barracks prostitution ring north of the Arctic Circle.

No sir, I’ve never been to Alaska…like I was trying to tell you…I just found out about this whole situation a few days ago and…

Jeff Carney meant nothing to Lieutenant Hennings. Hennings was only concerned with slotting new naval officers into the shitty jobs he had to fill and moving on to his next victim.

The Lieutenant interrupted Jeff again with a chipper, Ok great! No sense sitting around Groton, right? Sounds like that Ship’s Store Officer job in Philly will work out just great for you. I’ll call you tomorrow with all the details ol’ buddy.

The phone clicked before Jeff could issue a stammering response.

Oh shit!

Jeff made it through the rest of the day and headed back to his apartment off Route 12.

Fast forward nine months. Norfolk, Virginia.

As I count the gray ceiling tiles over my steel bunk for the three hundredth time, I am interrupted by the metallic CLANG of keys as the steel door of my cell swings open. A 6’5 marine guard in starched fatigues fills the cell doorway and grunts, Carney…chow time."

He thrusts a cardboard tray in front of me containing a square fish patty, instant potatoes still in the perfect shape of an ice cream scoop, a scattering of peas and a lukewarm green drink in a plastic container with a foil top.

That’s right…jail baby! I had wound up in the Norfolk brig, the Navy’s big house. After five months as the Ship’s Store Officer on the USS America, I had been found culpable in the disappearance of over $50,000 in missing stereo equipment. Robbed blind and left holding the bag by the sailors under me, the biggest thing I now had to look forward to was my ½ hour in the yard to play basketball in my khaki uniform and sneakers.

Man I hate square fish patties…

Doused in cold sweat, Jeff jumped up from his sleeping position on the living room couch in his Groton apartment. The sweat was due not only to his navy prison nightmare, but also the hangover raging in his head.

It was four AM one day after Jeff’s disqualification from submarine duty in the US Navy. He had spent the previous evening attempting to forget the week’s events with one or six 20-ounce beers at the Ground Round Restaurant. The Ground Round was located right down the hill from the Country Glen Apartments, the complex he was camped out in during his time in Groton.

Stumbling distance, Jeff preferred to think of it.

Too afraid of returning to his navy brig fishwich feast, he headed into the kitchen for a chew of tobacco, and spent the rest of the cold dark morning chewing, spitting and trying to figure out what to do next.

Even at this early point in his naval career, Jeff had realized that you have to take advantage of any connections you have or the whole system will carry you away to Alaska…or worse…Philadelphia Naval Shipyard. At noon of that day, he placed a call to Lieutenant Karl Liebler, one of the instructors from Navy Supply School in Athens, Georgia, where Jeff had studied before coming to submarine school. LT Liebler was dubbed ‘Uncle Karl’, due to his genuine concern for their careers and his overall good nature.

‘Uncle Karl’ also had the hottest wife of all the instructors at supply school, and he was envied for that too.

‘Uncle Karl’ was quite helpful as he confirmed Jeff’s suspicion that the amiable Lieutenant Hennings (and his loud plaid coat) was indeed trying to stick Jeff with one of the real turkey navy jobs he was desperate to find a warm body for.

He said he knew of a few jobs that might be better for Jeff and that he should call back later that day.

Now it seemed like a race between Lieutenants Hennings and ‘Uncle Karl’ to see if Jeff would end up in an igloo, or ‘countin’ coke cans’ deep in the bowels of the United States’s oldest aircraft carrier.

Jeff decided to finish out his final ten days of sub-school, including the three-hour comprehensive final exam. The sub school’s Executive Officer, Lieutenant Commander Browne, who was such a nice guy that everyone referred to him as Lieutenant Commander ‘Mister Rogers’, explained to Jeff that his choices were either to remain in sub-school, or spend the next few weeks over at the Medical Department helping Lieutenant Grogan (the fat ‘letter from God’ slob) reorganize all the base’s medical records.

Class just wasn’t the same though, now that his assignment to a submarine had been cancelled.

Jeff just couldn’t get jazzed up about the merits of good navigation, when he knew that the closest he would get to a sub was watching his bootlegged copy of Das Boot (the non-dubbed version with subtitles) at 3:30 in the morning. Finishing sub school was no big problem.

Finding a decent new navy assignment was.

Lieutenant Hennings kept calling and leaving Jeff messages, asking when he was going to decide on Alaska or Philadelphia as his first navy assignment. When Jeff finally got a hold of ‘Uncle Karl’ again, he had seemingly good news.

Jeff, you call Hennings and ask him about the USS EYAK, stationed in Little Creek, Virginia. It’s an ATS, a small ship, and you would be in charge of the whole Supply Department.

USS EYAK…ATS?

Jeff had never heard of this ship, but his initial reaction was positive, especially if it meant staying out of the cold, harsh winds of the Arctic Circle or worse…Veterans Stadium in Philly.

Except for mentioning that the EYAK had a reputation of being a poorly performing ship, Lieutenant Hennings didn’t present too much pushback when Jeff asked about the job. He simply took down some information from him, and in two days Jeff had hard copy orders to report as Supply Officer, USS EYAK (ATS-1), in his hand. Hennings also provided Jeff with the name of the fellow from whom he would be taking over.

That evening, instead of studying for the sub-school comprehensive exam (Jeff could have drawn little spacemen all over his exam and it really would not have mattered), he headed over to the base