I’m On a Boat by Johnny Atkins

For those of you who’ve never been out of the country or deployed during any era of military service, chances are you’ve read some of the posts on this website or headlines from our current Long War and tried to imagine what it would be like to find yourself in some far-off land, thousands of miles from your home. Those of you who have probably find many distinct memories and experiences called to mind each time you think about your travels, regardless of how or why you wound up there. I’m no different, really. But given my current circumstances, I’m compelled to impress upon you one solid fact:

It’s a totally different ballgame when you’re on a boat.

(Except Grin & Barrett, who was probably a loblolly boy on the maiden voyage of USS Constitution… but I digress.)

The trip to Haiti was actually pretty damn fast for this tub – we made “best possible speed” as directed, and that was about 24 knots. Slow going, until you consider that this “small deck” displaces about 11,500 tons – empty.

Four or five days underway were just enough to notice little things like a gentle swaying motion when you lay down to sleep at night, or the deck moving up to meet your feet on occasion. After that, we were anchored for a good three weeks or so – just long enough to lose our collective sea legs. We were there long enough that the battle cry among Marines shifted from “Kill Bodies!” to “Save Babies!” (Seriously.) Then, a few days ago days ago, the fun REALLY started…

I never in my life imagined that (for a strictly random example) sharing one-third of a $400 St. Patrick’s Day bar tab in Chapel Hill and staggering down Franklin Street at 3am would be considered a perfectly-tailored military training opportunity. Yet whenever I try to walk down one of the narrow 40-foot long passageways on this can, that’s exactly what it’s like. Well, everything except that I’m perfectly sober and my body still isn’t moving the way it should.

Thankfully, I’m a big fan of roller coasters and I’m very easily amused, because this is all still cool as shit to me. We hit 28 degrees pitch fore and aft today, and I’m sure we’ve exceeded that in roll more than once. Standing amidships having a cigarette this morning, I couldn’t stop looking out over the gunwales on each side of the ship to see nothing but water… wait 6 or 8 seconds, and… nothing but sky. One of our machinegunners, a 6’4” twentysomething broad-shouldered stud, was leaning against the bulkhead, covering his eyes and sweating profusely. After about the third time I saw his face go completely ashen, I made sure to tell him he was missing out on some good chili-mac on the messdeck for lunch, and they still had plenty of greasy steamed cabbage to go with it.

(I’m sure he’ll probably bag-tag me next time we go ashore, but I just couldn’t resist – it was totally worth it to see spontaneous projectile vomiting without a game of beer pong involved.)

Luckily, most of the embarked Marines are adjusting to the new experience with no problems. As we slide by each other in the p’ways, Marines have already started cracking jokes, many referencing a recent late-night comedy skit:

“Hey, Sergeant, how are ya?”

“I’m ON A BOAT, motherfucker, ON A BOAT!!!”

Being underway also greatly enhances my dull, everyday routine of paperwork, meetings, and general busywork. When I open the armory each morning, I make a little Indiana Jones-style game out of trying to undog the 200 lb. hatch and latch it open with a tiny metal hook before the sea swells roll us and the thing slams shut on one of my more useful body parts. I thank God that I was able to find enough Class III giganto padlocks to secure all my gun lockers last week, because I can also hear the constant, rhythmic CLANK… (pause a few seconds) CLONK! as the spare barrels of my .50 cals shift around on the racks inside. When I sit at my desk to check email and write my morning sight count, it’s as if I’m in an F-16 going 350 knots, gently yanking & banking with no rhyme or reason. Honestly, the typos are not because I’m a dumbass – I just haven’t discovered the best way to zip-tie this damn keyboard to the desk.

Though the novelty of it all probably won’t wear off for the entire trip, it has given me still more appreciation for my predecessors who clawed their way across the Pacific and terrorized veteran Japanese forces island by island in World War II. Yeah, okay, I know Guadalcanal sucked because of the heat, the devastating arty and machinegun fire sweeping the beaches during the invasion, the lack of supplies (thanks, NAVY!), building an airfield with captured enemy equipment, shitting all over yourself from malaria, and other generally accepted inconveniences that come with the territory.

What I’m beginning to realize is that even with a few months’ training and some liberty in Australia or New Zealand before making that initial assault… the ride over had to REALLY SUCK. At least my boat’s comfortable and has good chow… cable TV and Facebook access too, even!

All in all, it’s been a blast so far – and long overdue. The past several years have seen the Corps rotating mass deployments of our most capable combat units through Iraq and Afghanistan for extended inland operations. We’ve lost much of our currency and inherent identity as an expeditionary amphibious force, without which we become “another 82nd Airborne” – no disrespect intended. As a force and as individuals, we need to get back to the point where forced entry from the sea comes naturally, for a Platoon or for three Divisions. That’s what makes the Marine Corps unique and necessary to the defense of our nation. We hit the beach en masse, kill many bad guys, and sustain ourselves until the job is done.

It has crossed my mind in the past couple of days that I would rather be “where the thunder is”, alongside some personal friends who kicked off Operation Moshtarak this week.

Then again, if I can’t go and get some, my second choice would be going somewhere ON A BOAT…