From Russia With...

I arrived on the USS Belleau Wood in August 1996 (after chasing her down a bit) while the ship was taking on equipment and personnel for a future exercise in Vladivostok, Russia. I originally would have been kept at the ship’s home port in Sasebo, Japan, but given the importance of the trip and my role as a staff journalist, I was told my services would be needed for this particular excursion.

Arriving on the quarterdeck of the ship with my gear, I introduced myself to the petty officer of the watch and handed him my orders. As I did, a crew member in civilian clothes stopped and listened. And then extended his hand and introduced himself.

“I’m Senior Chief Mike Mattigan. You’ll be reporting to me while you’re here. I’m headed off the ship for a few hours, but will be back to talk with you further tonight. The petty officer of the deck here will get Petty Officer Thomas down here to meet you and get you set up. Talk soon.” And with that, he bounded into the bustling crowds and off the ship.

Looking around while I waited, the interior of the ship’s hangar was more massive than I could have ever imagined. Roughly the size of a World War II aircraft carrier, the Belleau Wood was essentially designed to start and end a war (possibly almost entirely on its own). In addition to her complement of just over 900 Sailors, she was to be the temporary home for approximately 2,000 Marines and all of their gear for the trip. And believe me, the Marines have some fun gear.

On the flight deck was everything from single and duel prop helicopters to Harrier jump jets. You know, those jets that can takeoff and land vertically? As a true amphibious ship, the Belleau Wood was designed to open its aft area and intentionally sink further into the water to allow a variety of landing craft, LARCs (the military version of the tourist friendly Duck Boat) and hovercraft to exit and enter. Also during wartime, the onboard medical clinic could triage to up to 500 beds.

Petty Officer Thomas bounded out of what seemed like a labyrinth of hallways and entrances to collect me. He quickly shook my hand, introduced himself and we were off. Thankfully he also took one of my sea bags. I didn’t exactly pack lightly for the trip.

Our first stop was the compartment where I would be sleeping for the duration of my time on the boat. For some unearthly reason, journalists on the ship (there were only two, myself and Thomas) were placed in the ship’s Combat Systems department. This meant that instead of being roomed with easy going admin types we were instead amongst some of the rough and tumble of the Navy. People who handled guns and bombs for a living. It made for interesting bedfellows. So much so that my first night on the ship a drunken Aviation Ordnanceman threw a chair at me for no particular reason.

Thomas showed me to my bunk and locker. He assured me there would be additional storage near the ship’s TV studio as there was no way everything I brought with me was going to fit. I stowed what I could and followed him like a lost puppy up countless flights of stairs, over knee knockers and to the studio and broadcast station.

Once there, I met Petty Officer First Class Curt Hunter (an interior communications specialist – essentially someone who specialized in repairing shipboard telephone systems and broadcast television equipment) who was to be my LPO or Leading Petty Officer during my tour. Hunter seemed to be a nice enough guy. He explained that as we technically reported to him, he had no earthly idea what we should actually be doing on a day-to-day basis as the majority of orders would actually be coming from Lieutenant Junior Grade Aiko Saito, the ship’s public affairs officer.

During my first night I was permitted to use one of the ship’s phone lines to check in and call home. Due to the time difference and the fact that I was calling the U.S. East Coast, it was often easier for me to dial my father who ran a small business selling commercial cleaning and paper products. The phone line had a buzzy echo to it as it rang in my father’s warehouse office on the other side of the world.

“Robin’s Supply, how may I help you?” my dad answered.

“Dad, it’s Scott.” I choked out, just happy to hear his voice.

“Son! How are you?” he returned, with genuine interest.

“Well, I’m on the ship. Kind of hard to tell how much I’ll like it or not. For right now, let’s just say it doesn’t suck as much as I thought it would.” (I had psyched myself into a sort of frenzy about how bad life aboard a ship would actually be. This actually may have helped me since I was expecting the absolute worst of everything and was pleasantly surprised when all of my internal doomsday messages failed to materialize in reality.)

“Glad to hear it, boy. Your mother will be happy to know you’re doing okay.”

“I shouldn’t stay on here too long. It’s the ship’s phone. I’ll call you when we get back from our trip here,” I said, wanting to keep talking with my father but also knowing my fellow shipmates could hear every bit of my conversation as they were not 20 feet from me.

“Take care of yourself, son.”

“Thanks, Dad.” And with that, I hung up. It was a long day and I was pretty tired. Although I admittedly had no earthly idea how to make it back to compartment so I could go to sleep that night. Sensing my confusion, another IC-man, Petty Officer Holm piped up, “Are you heading back to the compartment to get some sleep? Follow me, I’ll show you the way back down.” I bid everyone farewell for the evening and followed him down many more stairways and hallways than I was prepared to count.

Sleeping that first night aboard the Belleau Wood was quite the adventure for me. In addition to the chair I had drunkenly thrown at me (see above), getting used to the cramped sleeping quarters was going to take some adjustment. My bunk, the lowest to the floor in a column of three, was probably as quaint and as comfortable as the Navy had to offer for us enlisted folks. In addition to my mattress, sheets and blanket I even had a set of curtains which slid back forth on a string.

After getting changed, I set an alarm and fell asleep. At about 2 a.m. or so, a problem arose when I went to roll to the left in my sleep. Not being used to sleeping in such proximity to the wall, my elbow hit it. Hard. I instinctively wailed, “Ouch!!!” Without letting me breathe another syllable, one of my fellow sailors yelled in my direction as loud as they could, “Shut the fuck up and go back to sleep!” I rolled back over, muttering to myself, “I hit my arm. My arm hurts…” my words trailing off as if spoken to no one but myself.

The next morning I got up early to get a shower and ensure I was cleaned up and ready for roll call and the day ahead. Gathering my toiletries, I headed for the shower stalls. After brushing my teeth and shaving, I entered one of the stalls. I was greeted with a sign I hadn’t seen since boot camp instructing me on how to take a 2-minute “Navy Shower.” Additionally, the shower head looked like an old fashioned radio microphone attached to a hose. It even had a button the side as not to waste water.   

After my shower I got dressed and quickly stalked someone who looked like they might be heading to the galley for breakfast and then roll call who I could introduce myself to and tag along with. My victim this morning was Electronics Technician Juan Garciavaca. We made polite conversation through breakfast and then directly following roll call Petty Officer Thompson grabbed me.

“Today, I have to teach you about the ship. You’ll be giving tours in a day or two,” he said. I looked at him incredulously.

“You’re freaking kidding me, right?” I asked quizzically.

“Hell no, I’m not kidding. Don’t worry about it. I’ve been here for two years and I still make this stuff up. Last year, I was giving a tour and I misidentified one of our helicopters as a CH-56 Sea Knight [it was actually a CH-46] and a 10 year old kid corrected me. A 10 year old! I just told him the CH-56 was farther on down the flight line and kept moving,” he said.

“Ummmm… okay.”

I did actually spend a great deal of time that day (and other days after that) studying the various capabilities and pertinent details about the Belleau Wood. For instance, the USS Belleau Wood derived its name from the WWI Battle of Belleau Wood in France. It was there that the U.S. Marines famously gained the nickname “Devil Dogs” after German soldiers remarked that the Marines fought with such ferocity that they were likened to “dogs from hell.”

The next morning, the Belleau Wood pulled up anchor and set sail for Vladivostok, Russia. I knew that we set sail because, as luck would have it, the compartment I slept in was directly beneath the forecastle (pronounced “fo’c’sle”) which is a fancy, Navy way of saying “place where they store the big, metal, clinking anchor chain.”

Either way, we were on our way. I was still trying to get used to walking around while the ship was in water, much less actually moving under its own power. I had a blast hanging out on the gangways while the ship was moving as well as being on the flight deck.

As the ship began to get closer to Russia, a flurry of rules, regulations, advice and information about our port visit began to be distributed to the crew. First, the ship would not be docking. Instead, we would anchor out in the bay and take landing craft back and forth between the ship and shore. Second, per the Russian consulate, all sailors on leave (regardless of rank) were required to travel in groups of four. Third, if you were heading ashore in a working capacity, you could travel on your own.

We had variety of additional personnel on board for the trip including a contingent of U.S. military Russian translators. Prior to making it to shore, I struck up a quick friendship with Marine Staff Sergeant Elsa Valarao, a 5’ 1” graduate of the Defense Language Institute.

On my first day traveling to Vladivostok, I was scheduled to work with Valarao in meeting and escorting various members of the Russian media back to the ship so they could take a tour. Instead of us taking regular landing craft, we instead took two LARCs (Lighter, Amphibious Resupply Cargo)… which are essentially trucks that can be driven into the water, propelled like boats and then driven back on land again as trucks.

We made it to Vladivostok just fine (about a 30 minute trip from the ship to land) and met our media folks at the dock. Even without Valarao’s translation, I could tell they were looking forward to riding the LARCs and seeing the Belleau Wood. We got everyone loaded up and were on our way. About 15 minutes into the return journey, the trailing LARC… the one I was on, began taking on water. Fast.

Our coxswain radioed the other to stop so we could pull aside them and quickly assess the situation. As the two LARCs were beside one another, we could see the situation was not good at all. Valarao was doing the best she could to keep the Russian speaking journalists entertained but was running out of things to say.

And then the decision was made: the second LARC wasn’t going to make it back. Directions were given (in both English and Russian) to abandon the sinking LARC in an orderly fashion for the other which was still seaworthy. About 10 Russians climbed aboard an already full LARC. I followed behind Valarao who was herding the journalists ahead of her. Our coxswain was the last to step on board as the damaged LARC sank beneath the rippling water just moments later.

We simply proceeded back to the Belleau Wood like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Pulling onto the rear of the ship which had been ballasted into the water to allow for amphibious craft to go back and forth, the officer of the deck on watch was the first to notice.

“Permission to come aboard?” boomed the coxswain.

“Ummmm… weren’t there two of these that left about an hour ago? Where’s the second LARC, Jenkins?” He asked pointedly to the senior man on board.

Without saying a word, Jenkins simply pointed out the back of the boat to the open water.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” the OOD said.

“I wish I were, sir,” said Jenkins.

“Do you realize how much paperwork this is going to be?” the OOD lamented.

“Well, we left the Russians a souvenir,” Jenkins joked.

“Get down here right now. We’ve got to figure this out. The rest of you are welcomed aboard.”

After the clearly rocky start, the tour went well. I ended up having to go back to Vladivostok on my own later that day (this time in a landing craft) with a photographer to write an article about a wreath laying ceremony occurring at a WWII Russian sub located in town. Sadly though, since I was working I didn’t get a chance to explore the town much. I wouldn’t be able to do that until day three of the port visit about 48 hours later.

The next morning, I woke up early and headed to the television studio where I was scheduled to stand duty (yes, I know it’s a tough life being a journalist). After setting up some tapes that needed editing, there was a knock at the door. It was Petty Officer Thomas. Looking at him, he had obviously had a very, very rough night.

He took one look at me and began to feel his empty left chest pocket. “I need. Ummm. I need. Ummm. I need. Ummm…” his sentence trailed off.

Anticipating his hung-over request, I piped up.

“Aspirin?! I’ll grab the first aid kit.” As I jumped to the other side of the room to fetch him some aspirin and water. He sat down at the table in the studio and kind of stared off in the distance a little. Kind of like he was attempting to will his hangover to cure. And then suddenly, he spoke up.

“Where’s Holm at?” Thomas asked. (IC3 Holm was a fellow sailor who worked in the studio repairing video and phone equipment on the ship.)

“I haven’t seen him,” I said as I shrugged my shoulders.

“He’s got to be around here somewhere. I checked his rack this morning and he didn’t make it back there,” Thomas said.

“I haven’t seen him. How bad of a night did you guys have?” I asked.

Thomas ignored my question and immediately began looking around the studio, behind editing equipment until he was satisfied that Holm wasn’t in the space. And then it hit him.

“Come with me!” I jumped up and followed behind him. We went out into the hall and just past the studio to a janitorial closet. Thomas swung open the unlocked door. There we found Holm, slumped over the janitor’s sink, asleep. The small closet smelled heavily of vodka.

Thomas nudged Holm awake. We both picked him up by a shoulder and brought him into the studio. And now, I was curious.

“What in the hell happened to you two last night?” I asked.

Holm, still groggy, looked at Thomas and said, “You should really ask this guy?”

“What the heck does that mean?” Thomas asked.

“You know what I mean. It took all three of us to carry you,” Holm said.

Apparently Holm and Thomas went out with two others as a group of four to explore Vladivostok. The alcohol started flowing and they eventually decided to return to the ship. The problem was that Petty Officer Thomas was so drunk that he couldn’t actually put one foot in front of the other and walk. So the other three decided to carry him through the city and back to the dock. Although, Thomas, even though he couldn’t walk, was so drunk that if he thought he heard music, he could dance.

While his group of fellow sailors was trying to walk back to the pier holding him, he was laying horizontally in their arms, screaming the Bee Gees “Dance Fever” at the top of his lungs, attempting to disco dance.

In between laughing and just shaking my head at them, I caught a glance at the clock. We needed to hustle if we were going to be on time for role call.

Once we arrived in the compartment to check-in, we were informed of someone who was having an even rougher night than Holm and Thompson.

Chief Singer, a tall electronics technician with the build of a linebacker, spoke up. He was accompanied by my translator friend, Staff Sergeant Valarao and we could tell by the tone of his voice that he was not happy.

“Before we pulled into port, we gave all of you explicit instructions not to get into drinking contests with the locals. You may notice that GM2 Wilkinson is not with us this morning. He has yet to stand before the Captain, but he’ll most likely be restricted to the ship for quite some time after he lost a drinking contest with a Russian national and attempted to bite the gentleman in the arm,” Singer said.

With that last bit, the look of everyone in the room went from curiosity to stunned amazement.

Singer continued, “Thankfully for us, Staff Sergeant Valarao just happened to be present and diffused the situation after promptly beating the shit out of Wilkinson and handing him over to the Shore Patrol before he caused an international incident.”

“Those of you who still plan to make it ashore during this port visit: do not mess this up. I can promise that if you do, the Captain will make an example of you just like I’m sure he will do to Petty Officer Wilkinson,” Singer said. 

After roll call, I pulled Valarao aside and asked her what happened. She recounted the whole story and told me that Wilkinson, a good ole boy from Alabama who was about a foot taller and 100 lbs. heavier than her, did not take kindly to being beaten at drinking.

Apparently after losing his vodka drinking contest, he went to bite the Russian in the arm. Valarao happened to be in the same restaurant with her group of four and immediately jumped into the fray, pulling him off the guy. Flailing, Wilkinson kicked Valarao in the chest.

With that, the marine beat the hell out of him and then handed him over to the rest of her party of four so he could be escorted to the shore patrol. From there, she calmed down the Russian gentleman in his native tongue, assuring that he would not press changes against the sailor, but still taking down his contact information should it be needed for future inquiries.

The rest of my day consisted of putting the final touches on an article I was writing as part of the visit. The next day, our last in Vladivostok, I would finally be able to make it into town and see what Russia was like while not in a working capacity.

Being new to the ship, there were very few people who I knew well enough to make up a gang of four. Thankfully, there was a group of people amassed in the hangar simply waiting for a third or fourth to join them so they could venture into town. It was the pick-up basketball version of military tourism.

I joined a group consisting of Petty Officer First Class Juan Ramos, Petty Officer Third Class Mike Steveland and Airman Joe Young. We boarded the landing craft bound for the city and got to know each other along the ride.

Our first stop was to get some currency exchanged, as American dollars were not exactly very useful in Russia. As I soon found, the exchange rate at the time was, in a word, insane. Not knowing how best to proceed, I handed the teller $100 American dollars. The exchange rate at the time, was roughly 5,300 rubles to one American dollar. They handed me a stack of Russian currency that could have cushioned my fall from a 10-story building (or so it felt). I folded and stashed the bills in every pocket I could find.

As a group, we walked and talked a bit about what we should do next, but truthfully none of us had a plan or idea as to what we should do. Ramos, a really likable guy, had a better idea.

“Excuse me. Do you speak English?” he asked of a college aged Russian girl who just happened to be walking by. She stopped and turned back at the question. “Yes. Why?” she responded.

Ramos introduced himself and explained that we obviously did not know the area (and stuck out like sore thumbs in white U.S. sailor uniforms) and wondered if she could recommend any special sights that we should see.

“I have a better idea. I’m free today. How about I just show you?” she said. With that, we all introduced ourselves and set out to explore Vladivostok. Annika (that was her name) first recommended we check out some of the shopping areas downtown. I was thankful to be able to find some interesting souvenirs and lighten my load of rubles.

We had lunch at a decent restaurant – not too nice, but not too formal either, and were on our way. We all decided to chip in to pay for Annika’s meal, as she was kind enough to be our guide. From there, we went by some statues (everything from Charlie Chaplin to Lenin) and also checked out a local outdoor aquarium.

Throughout the day, we talked and learned that Annika was a college student studying political science. Toward the end of our day together, she suggested we take a cable car to see Vladivostok from above. The view was amazing. We were able to see the USS Belleau Wood moored in the bay with the two other Russian ships directly behind. 

At the top of the hill, a makeshift market had been set up by some industrious Russian nationals looking to sell their wares. I found a gentleman who was selling a variety of Russian military items and selected a military officer’s shoulder board adorned with all sorts of Russian military and propaganda pins as well as a traditional Russian Navy winter uniform hat (complete with pin and earflaps). Annika was kind enough to help me negotiate what she felt was a fair price and I happily paid the man.

As we were wrapping up our day, Annika kindly guided us to the port so we could pick up a landing craft back to the ship. Each of us thanked her profusely and offered to pay her in some way for the amazing tour guide services she had provided. She refused, and simply stated that she enjoyed our time together (as well as the chance to practice her English) and hoped we would come back some day. We all each gave her a hug and boarded the landing craft to head back.

When I awoke the next morning, the Belleau Wood was already underway and heading back to Sasebo, Japan. Apparently, even though they had pulled up the anchor around 4 a.m., I was tired enough from the trip that I slept right through it. And I didn’t even try the vodka.

- Scott Kaminski

* - All names have been changed.