Death by Fire Watch

Let’s be honest. For the most part, ships in port can be kind of boring. It’s much more fun for them to be out at sea, taking on the waves and traveling to far and distant lands. Then again, even while moored to the pier, the USS Belleau Wood was a pretty busy place in the fall of 1996.

While there’s the normal chipping and grinding of paint that regularly happens aboard a US Navy ship (needle guns are fun!) this was different. Soon enough, word came down that the Belleau Wood would be going through an extended repair period. Had she been ported in the US, the ship would have been pulled into a shipyard and infested 24/7 with a myriad of talented tradesmen to bring her back to tip-top shape. The fact she was located in Japan complicated things a bit.

The first thing needed to be done was to offload the ship’s store of ammunition, no matter the size. This meant that all rounds (with the exception of small rounds maintained by the Masters-at-Arms) had to be taken off the ship and safely placed in the Sasebo base armory.

I was quickly assigned to one of the crews lugging very large rounds of ammo for various sizes of armament down steps and to the ship’s hangar bays where they were inventoried and transported off the ship. I can tell you from experience that, if you’re not used to it, your hands get mighty slippery carrying 50 lbs. things that are prone to explode—especially down steep staircases. A very nice ensign was kind of enough to give me some solid advice one day while I had one of these explosive devices n hand, “Don’t drop that,” she said. I stopped, looked at her and sarcastically replied, “Thanks for the advice, ma’am.”

It was about this time that I was given a different duty assignment. While out at sea, I would generally be assigned a duty such as running the television station for the ship or something communications-related. This task was a bit more militaristic, but this technically being the military and all, that was okay. I reported for duty the following evening to begin training as a member of the ship’s security force.

The non-commissioned officer (a Chief Gunner’s Mate) leading the training took one look at me and asked my rate. When I responded I was a journalist, he nearly spit out his coffee in disgust.

Throughout my time on the ship’s security force I was taught (or in some instances I relearned) proper handling of a semiautomatic handgun as well as a pump action shotgun. We were also schooled in additional fun activities such as conducting bomb sweeps and riot control techniques.

Whenever on duty, we always had to listen for announcements over the 1MC system as some were technically code words for us to muster at specific locations throughout the ship and—in typical military fashion—our response times were graded and then we were drilled.

Admittedly, it did feel at times as though I was in a movie or something—especially running around a ship with a loaded .45 caliber pistol or a pump action shotgun.

During this time I got to witness what was, without a doubt, one of the most blatant and idiotic wastes of government money I had ever personally witnessed. A message came down that the one-star admiral in charge of our amphibious ready group (ARG) had scheduled his change of command ceremony for an upcoming Friday two weeks out and demanded it be help on the Belleau Wood. To make matters even worse, the then Chief of Naval Operations was due to visit the Belleau Wood that Saturday to meet with sailors, do a question and answer session, etc.

At this point, the crew of the Belleau Wood had been chipping and grinding paint from its hull and other areas of the ship for at least three months. Once these messages came down, that work immediately ceased. Instead, pretty much the entire ship received one solitary, fresh coat of paint. It was the size of a WWII aircraft carrier and they painted the whole goddamned thing. We hosted both events (which went wonderfully, I might add) and then immediately started removing that brand new paint again so the repairs could proceed and be kept on schedule!

As the Belleau Wood progressed toward its full-on repair period, I had a feeling that things would be changing but had no idea how much. Soon enough: the ship was moved onto a floating dry dock (in fact, at the time, it was the biggest one in the world), enlisted sailors who regularly bunked aboard the ship were transitioned to another ship brought in as a floating hotel and I was taken off of the ship’s security force and given a much uglier duty: fire watch.

As one of the younger, newer members my department, it made sense to send me. And I didn’t like it one bit. The hours were downright horrendous. Welders were being flown in from Bremerton, WA and working around the clock. I was assigned to work 12-hour shifts, six days a week (Monday through Saturday) from 7 p.m. until 7 a.m.  

Fire watch is exactly what it sounds like. During my shifts, I would accompany welders to the far reaches of the ship while wearing boots, flame retardant coveralls and a flame resistant hood with a fire extinguisher. And then I would watch them weld. My job was to hit any flare up with the fire extinguisher.

The crew assigned to work with me at fire watch was, for lack of a better term, the Belleau Wood’s team of misfit toys. It was as if each department on the ship sent every undesirable person they had to one place. Then again, after thinking about it like that, I guess I should have looked in a mirror. And we all reported to a chief petty officer who no one could stand—Chief Robertson, an aviation boatswain’s mate.

Robertson was the kind of guy who you imagined had been hit in the head repeatedly throughout his career and it had taken its toll. He had a seemingly violent temper and would fly off the handle at people for simple things, yelling such gems as, “Don’t test me, sailor! I have a mind like steel trap! I remember it all. Nothing gets in or out!”

While I wouldn’t call it a benefit, I will admit that I did get to see some really unique and interesting parts of the ship. For instance, I had one day where I actually stood beneath the ship while it was on the floating dry dock. That was a little surreal. That said, it’s still no fun to crawl through some random, cold steel opening and then wedge yourself into a terribly uncomfortably position for hours on end so you can wait for someone to yell, “Fire!” and then spring into action.

Throughout my entire time on fire watch I never put out one fire. The duty itself was mind numbingly tedious. Also, if the welders were busy enough you could find yourself standing for upwards of at least 10 hours of your 12 hour shift—sometimes more, if needed.

It was around this time where I began to have a tremendous amount of pain in my feet. Being genetically gifted with two flat feet, apparently all the time pounding the steel decks had begun to take its toll and had become a legitimate, chronic pain. The medical staff on the Belleau Wood thought it was so bad that they recommended I be sent to the naval hospital in Okinawa for evaluation by their podiatrist and a few other medical professionals. Within a week, I had both orders temporarily assigning me to work at the hospital and a plane ticket in hand.

- Scott Kaminski

* - All names have been changed.