The Story Of A Cold War Warrior

Since 12-31-05

http://www.usscasimirpulaski.com/seastories.htm

USS Casimir Pulaski (SSBN-633) -- The Story Of A Cold War Warrior

One distinguished member of our crew was a Torpedoman named John. Now John was a true TM. He stood about 5’5, 230 pounds or so (mostly muscle) and a very basic outlook on life. A kind of John Wayne


THE BATTLE OF FASLANE (A.K.A. "REVOLUTIONARY WAR PT. 3") - This is a little known Cold War battle between the US and British Navies.

Now, I can only tell this story second hand as I had the duty that day and the LOS watch that evening.

Now if any of my shipmates that took part in this epic battle can add some first hand knowledge to the story it would be greatly appreciated. We had been on patrol for a while when we received word that we were going to have a port call.

Wow, a port call on a boomer!

Who’da thunk that! London perhaps! …no not London. Hey the CO has been pushing for a visit to Iceland, that’s it! Nope… not Iceland. The States!!! No, not the States. What’s that? A place called Faslane?!?

What and where in the hell is Faslane? As it turns out, Faslane is a British Naval Submarine base in… Scotland of course…. About 12 miles from Holy Loch…

Oh well. Fresh air, green grass, milk… it’s better than nothing. First night in port and I have the duty (of course). I was standing a quiet, uneventful evening watch as the LOS (Launcher Operations Supervisor) until around 10PM as I recall when things started picking up a bit.

I began to hear the crew returning from the beach. They were loud of course, louder than normal but hey, after a month or so at sea, its okay! Their voices were excited but I had no idea what they were talking about. That is until a few of the gang from the weapons department started to show up.

They looked excited like they just saw a combination of Farrah Fawcet nude and a train wreck at the same time. Turns out, there was a little skirmish at the British enlisted men’s club. Now the story as I heard it was as follows:

A few of the guys, after going into town and having a few adult beverages decided to have a night cap at the EM club. One distinguished member of our crew was a Torpedoman named John.

Now John was a true TM. He stood about 5’5, 230 pounds or so (mostly muscle) and a very basic outlook on life. A kind of John Wayne view. You know, I won’t do this to someone and I expect the same of them.

Anyway, John and some of the crew are standing at the bar minding their own business when they began to hear things. Things like “f**king Yanks this” and f**king Yanks that”.

Eventually one of England’s finest sailors walked over to this small band of brothers (if I may borrow the phrase) and had a few choice words for John. Now I’m not privy to the exact words exchanged between these two stalwart representatives of their two great countries, but keeping in mind John is a John Wayne kind of guy, in the blink of an eye the fellow from the Navy across the pond was flat on his back and out for the night.

This is when the proverbial “shit hit the fan”!

I hesitate to reference John Wayne too much in this tale however, as the ensuing fight was described to me, you can only have a proper understanding of what took place by remembering a bar fight in a John Wayne movie. No one really gets hurt too bad and no one dies.

Now our boys were out numbered but a large percentage. However our English brothers in arms did not gang up on my shipmates. They all waited their turn to enter the fray. The fight was going along nicely for a while. It went from inside the bar to the stairway.

It was here that the most serious injury may have been dispensed.

A couple of our lads were fighting side by side when a hapless sailor from the opposing team stumbled up to them. They, not wanting to impede this young fellow helped him on his way, down the flight of stairs.

Upon his arrival at the foot of the stairs, he did not seem to have the power to continue his journey. My two colleagues stood in wonder looking at this poor fellow when they were bumped from behind and went down that same flight of stairs landing on this unlucky gent. He did not make a sound. Gulp!!! Now this is when things turned interesting.

The marines arrived!

Yes, the dreaded Royal Marines. Her Majesties best. Our boys now knew their goose was truly cooked. They had to fight the Royal Marines and the Royal Navy. But wait!

The Royal Navy sailors just like the U.S. Navy sailors have a deep seeded dislike (but great respect) for the Marines of any Navy. Just when all looked like the end was near, it became a Navy versus Marines battle.

Yep! That’s right.

The Royal Navy and the U.S. Navy standing side my side fighting the Royal Marines. If only I could have been there. The battle continued for a short while until the distinctive siren used by the police force in most of Europe could be heard approaching the EM club.

This was the sound that stopped the battle. Every one scattered, and this is where my story began. Eventually the excitement died down and every one hit the skids. The next morning however, we heard from the CO. To say he was not pleased was an understatement.

Those of us who were not on watch mustered topside for quarters. As he began to tear us a new rectal orifice, we noticed that there were already British sailors lining up along the pier. Good Lord, IF we have liberty, we may have to fight our way off the boat.

A few minutes into his ranting, the base commanding officer arrived and came on board. After a few moments, handshakes and the like, the CO returned to us and basically said, “Liberty commences for the starboard crew.”

Just like that!

Every thing was peachy keen!

As it turns out, the Royal Navy does this sort of thing to all the US crews that pull in to their base. We were the first US Navy submarine crew, as it turns out, to oblige our English brothers. I can’t say for certain but I believe the British base commander came to apologize to our CO and ask that he not hold us accountable.

 It also turns out that the British Navy sailors lining up on the pier were waiting to trade trinkets with us and to invite some of the combatants from the previous nights festivities to enjoy their hospitality.

John Wayne would have been proud!

Oh, and that poor fellow at the bottom of the steps?

 I again cannot say for certain but we did see a young sailor walking around the base that day with his arm and shoulder in one of those casts with a brace to hold it at a 90-degree angle and then straight forward at the elbow.

 I think that is normal for a broken shoulder (story submitted by Mike Brand).