#nanowrimo Day 9 Goal is 15003 words, I have 7778, meaning I'm 7225 words behind the pace.
Just after sunrise the ship is sitting just off a short beach with a steep hill behind.
At General Quarters you are on the log.
"Make sure you get every command," Churbuck turns from the wheel to warn you," there's going to be a lot to write."
You tell him you'll do fine. "Trade with me, if you're worried about it."
"There's nothing to the helm when we're sitting still like this," he says.
"But I'll stand there" you push, "and you sit back here" meaning at the log desk, where you're sitting.
Churbuck likes the idea, doesn't report the change in stations, he's writing down commands and you're standing with your two hands on the wheel when the first "Fire" command is given. The gun's report shocks you. You've got ear plugs in and over-the-ear protection and yet the bright sound hurts, ten times louder than you expected, deafening. The little ship violently shakes with the recoil.
Several more shots from the big gun rip the atmosphere, distant thuds marks the delivery of a heavy shells. You think about ancient catapults, hurling boulders over castle walls, how that improved with gun powder cannons about five hundred years ago and little has advanced since then.
Two air bursts are fired. You feel the brutal gun's assault, then hear a loud, yet more distant blast a hundred feet above the beach. Horrible sulphur smell lingers.
They fire each of the two anti aircraft guns, very tiring, painful sound from them, too. Now the machine guns are fired, they too are louder than you expect, but the sound and rhythm is familiar from movies.
Churbuck's writing in the log notebook, when rudder and engine speed commands are given. A Boatswain orders the speed responding and adding the "Aye, Sir." You repeat the rudder command adding your "Aye, Sir," while you put on the rudder and the ship is moving. You're on the wheel during GQ. You turn to Churbuck, he looks up from writing and says "You can stay there until you fuck up."
Your ship joins several others in your squadron. You've seen a few of them along the way from San Diego, you've understood there are about a dozen total who crossed with you, though most of them kept beyond the horizon, you had, at times, cruised in a formation of four or five. At four hundred feet in length, your ship is the smallest in the squadron and also sits the lowest in the water, The fantails of the other ships tower above, yours is only about ten feet above the waves. Often, when you've been out on the after deck while cruising in normal seas, you look up at the swells. You marvel at the mechanics involved in this hollow metal ship steaming at flank speed through swells, even gentle ones that are like moving mountains to your little engine that can.
Oahu is beyond the night horizon as your squadron sits within sight of each other. Some merchant ships are also there, farther out. All are waiting for our appointments to enter Pearl Harbor.
You see the message, you're excited you'll going in at first light. When it's all done, the pilot let on and Churbuck on the wheel, the tugs maneuver the ship into a berth and the crew gets it all tied up, it was mid-afternoon. You have duty, you must stay aboard, while others go into town to shake off seven days at sea.
You are determined to get off the ship early the next day, you confirm that you can have liberty from 8am to midnight. You study the transit maps, you see which bus to take on the base, which bus off base to get to Waikiki, you want to go surfing, at least in the morning, you don't know what else there is to do there but you figure you can get a decent cheeseburger and a movie and some pizza, Hawaiian pizza with the pineapple!
As planned, you've rented a board, you've walked out waist deep, you flop the board in the comfortable water and pull yourself laying down to the center of the board, then up on your knees to paddle in the familiar way. You paddle out over wave after wave, dodging incoming boards and out-rigger canoes with a big native steersmen in the front with sharp bladed paddles they wave at you when you come too close to their load of life-jacketed tourists.
Once you get all the way outside, past the last rideable swell, you rest, straddle your board, leaning on your hands. It's a long way out at Waikiki. No wonder surfing was invented here, even small boats can ride these waves. The waves don't actually break here. The fast moving swells get to a peak and start to curl over, but never break, they continue looking like they’re almost ready to break all the way in, overtaking some slowing swells, making a larger, even closer-to-breaking wave with steep rideable walls that continuing four or more times until you can ride all the way into water so shallow, your skag hits sand.
It's a gloriously easy beach to surf. You take a few quarter-mile rides, then decide to kick out after a short ride, stay outside where's there's less other riders and no tourist canoes. Keeping entertained by catching one gentle swell after another. Not very challenging surf, but fun.
You take one last long ride all the way in, return the board go into locker room.
At General Quarters you are on the log.
"Make sure you get every command," Churbuck turns from the wheel to warn you," there's going to be a lot to write."
You tell him you'll do fine. "Trade with me, if you're worried about it."
"There's nothing to the helm when we're sitting still like this," he says.
"But I'll stand there" you push, "and you sit back here" meaning at the log desk, where you're sitting.
Churbuck likes the idea, doesn't report the change in stations, he's writing down commands and you're standing with your two hands on the wheel when the first "Fire" command is given. The gun's report shocks you. You've got ear plugs in and over-the-ear protection and yet the bright sound hurts, ten times louder than you expected, deafening. The little ship violently shakes with the recoil.
Several more shots from the big gun rip the atmosphere, distant thuds marks the delivery of a heavy shells. You think about ancient catapults, hurling boulders over castle walls, how that improved with gun powder cannons about five hundred years ago and little has advanced since then.
Two air bursts are fired. You feel the brutal gun's assault, then hear a loud, yet more distant blast a hundred feet above the beach. Horrible sulphur smell lingers.
They fire each of the two anti aircraft guns, very tiring, painful sound from them, too. Now the machine guns are fired, they too are louder than you expect, but the sound and rhythm is familiar from movies.
Churbuck's writing in the log notebook, when rudder and engine speed commands are given. A Boatswain orders the speed responding and adding the "Aye, Sir." You repeat the rudder command adding your "Aye, Sir," while you put on the rudder and the ship is moving. You're on the wheel during GQ. You turn to Churbuck, he looks up from writing and says "You can stay there until you fuck up."
Your ship joins several others in your squadron. You've seen a few of them along the way from San Diego, you've understood there are about a dozen total who crossed with you, though most of them kept beyond the horizon, you had, at times, cruised in a formation of four or five. At four hundred feet in length, your ship is the smallest in the squadron and also sits the lowest in the water, The fantails of the other ships tower above, yours is only about ten feet above the waves. Often, when you've been out on the after deck while cruising in normal seas, you look up at the swells. You marvel at the mechanics involved in this hollow metal ship steaming at flank speed through swells, even gentle ones that are like moving mountains to your little engine that can.
Oahu is beyond the night horizon as your squadron sits within sight of each other. Some merchant ships are also there, farther out. All are waiting for our appointments to enter Pearl Harbor.
You see the message, you're excited you'll going in at first light. When it's all done, the pilot let on and Churbuck on the wheel, the tugs maneuver the ship into a berth and the crew gets it all tied up, it was mid-afternoon. You have duty, you must stay aboard, while others go into town to shake off seven days at sea.
You are determined to get off the ship early the next day, you confirm that you can have liberty from 8am to midnight. You study the transit maps, you see which bus to take on the base, which bus off base to get to Waikiki, you want to go surfing, at least in the morning, you don't know what else there is to do there but you figure you can get a decent cheeseburger and a movie and some pizza, Hawaiian pizza with the pineapple!
As planned, you've rented a board, you've walked out waist deep, you flop the board in the comfortable water and pull yourself laying down to the center of the board, then up on your knees to paddle in the familiar way. You paddle out over wave after wave, dodging incoming boards and out-rigger canoes with a big native steersmen in the front with sharp bladed paddles they wave at you when you come too close to their load of life-jacketed tourists.
Once you get all the way outside, past the last rideable swell, you rest, straddle your board, leaning on your hands. It's a long way out at Waikiki. No wonder surfing was invented here, even small boats can ride these waves. The waves don't actually break here. The fast moving swells get to a peak and start to curl over, but never break, they continue looking like they’re almost ready to break all the way in, overtaking some slowing swells, making a larger, even closer-to-breaking wave with steep rideable walls that continuing four or more times until you can ride all the way into water so shallow, your skag hits sand.
It's a gloriously easy beach to surf. You take a few quarter-mile rides, then decide to kick out after a short ride, stay outside where's there's less other riders and no tourist canoes. Keeping entertained by catching one gentle swell after another. Not very challenging surf, but fun.
You take one last long ride all the way in, return the board go into locker room.
