In The Port of Perth, part 1

"lost a good man, sir. mmm. he was a mighty good sailor - mm did a real noble deed for his country"

These situations were hardly rare for captain boswell. he was the steady hand which constantly maneuvered his fully displaced 92,000 ton class A arsenal ship with effortless lure into the dock at their base outside of Perth, Australia. She was commissioned in october of '62, carrying twin terriers and an ASROC launcher.


'A sailor went overboard, apparently drunk, causing a mass hysteria to folks on the port. many moved quickly to try and save him but he was too tangled in the cargo net, which fell to the water, causing him to drown. wernt no noble deed. if anything, he made an embarrassment to the rusted iron ship... the mighty american navy. after a 3 year voyage of roaming about in the vast seas, nobody could recall the sailors name. so a mandatory attendance check was scheduled at our eating quarters at noonthirty.
Steady hand boswell has been a little shaky lately. been losing it. we can assume by his unthoughtful attempt to take an arsenal ship into quarter twain water, and getting her stuck. he doesnt belive in reading topography. listening to advice. or maintaining his position as a navy captain. i cant blame him, 3 years on sea can do it to a man.
this morning, the weather was of no concern. though we got jerked out of our bunks and onto the cabin floor. torpedo! the sailors scattered to deck, ready to fight... but it was only boswell being drunk again. we noticed the vessel was starting to gain speed. rumbling. gears rotating... pressing upwards of 40 knots. nobody knows what he does up there. nobody wants to know. i often wonder if we are even working for the military. or... are we just pirates with state-of-the-art SPS surface-and-air search? with a bow mounted sonar, towers hovering 60 feet above deck?
When we began our voyage boswell would get on the intercom and announce our next docking location, the weather... our maintenance jobs for the day. he had a strange voice - rather high pitched, hypnotic and ascending. always rushed his first few words in a sentence and by the time you can piece together what he's saying, you've already missed it. we had our officers relay the message. most of them didnt know either. as time when on, the intercom announcements became shorter - until, finally... they stopped.
He seems to know nothing of the ocean. he does not boach down the crest of a wave. the vessel becomes a sitting duck when afloat over an inlet. Every day we are subjected to heavy bashing and plumes of spray in nearly all directions. rumor has it that when dark clouds are approaching, boswell hides underneath his radar desk, and begins sucking his thumb.
i sleep on a top bunk in the sleeping quarters. it is where i spend the least amount of time because its so damn cramped with wretched men playing cards all the time and smoking so many goddamn cigarettes a fire couldnt be found. how all 44 of us would even know what to do if there was a one... know where i wouldnt like to be if there was one, so i aint gonna be there.
no work has come in yet. no wars for miles. only 3 long years of aimless floating, everyone becoming more inept and more out of touch with reality. having lost our second sailor this morning, things are reaching a tipping point... 2 lives lost without a single battle! none through disease!? something was happening. tonight, i am going to assemble a crew of men and we are getting to the bottom of boswell.'

- TO BE CONTINUED -