The Bombardment
I kissed my new bride
and headed down the hallway to the elevator. Little did I know that I would be responsible
for the deaths of hundreds of people later in my shift at the command center in
Naples. It would also be one of many times that I would make plans to travel
with my family and not come home for days or months.
The eleven-story ride ended in the modern lobby of
our seaside apartment building. The ocean hissed nearby as I exited the lobby
and hopped into my convertible BMW on a brisk winter day. My Navy dress blues
neat and pressed; bell bottoms popping in the wind. I was proud to be in the Navy
and especially proud to be on an admiral’s staff.
I negotiated the large heavy gate at the entrance to
the Military housing complex and descended the narrow road near the sandy
beaches that gave way to white washed shops and pine trees in Pinetamare,
Italy. The beach side resort was a great place for a new couple to start out. A
broad, curving road winded past luxury condos and stores. It gave way to the
Tangentiale, the freeway. There was no speed limit enforced. It was fun being
able to drive at high speed on the freeway. My thoughts drifted to how
wonderful it was to live in Italy and how lucky I was to get an assignment that
allowed me to work four days and get four days off.
The pungent smell of the ancient volcano Solfatara
greeted me as I exited the freeway after the 17-mile drive. Humpty Dumpty, a
well-known prostitute sat on the wall she was so famous for.She offered her
services near the freeway exit and the military bases. She was not attractive
at all as her name fit her well. I approached the gate at the Navy Annex and
saw many Marines with scared faces walking the parking lot going to and from
the hospital and the headquarters buildings. They had been injured during an
explosion at the Marine Barracks in Beirut. Little did I know but I was to
become an integral part of this battle and I would not be going home or
sleeping for many days.
I clipped on my security badge and saluted as I
passed the quarterdeck and entered the elevator at headquarters. The long white
hallway lead to the control center. I entered the code on the push button
security lock and it buzzed open the door. The ultra-modern computers (for that time) whirred
and the control room was frigid. A large wall was covered with charts of the
Mediterranean and it was adorned by magnets with ships names attached
displaying the locations of NATO and Soviet vessels all over the area. Multi
colored tape revealed the locations of surveillance operations being conducted
by elements of Commander Fleet Air Mediterranean.
I began gathering my information necessary for my
daily reports following my turnover briefing. The relieving watch was elated to
get off and enjoy four days off in southern Italy. I loved gathering
information on the system that later became The Internet. Emails were called
Swixes and I had a whole stack of them coming in from units all over the world.
We had great camaraderie in terms of display of
humor during briefings. A Russian ship called KRUZNETSOV was called “The Cut
Your Nuts Off” during briefings. There was the “Scratch and Itch 3” rocket. Twenty
years later I would be using this technology to shop, do business, seek
romance, everything.
I was not expecting the Vice Admiral to come in. Suddenly
he was there. His broad gold rings around his sleeves and chess full of ribbons
put my three to shame. I began to stand up at attention, he motioned for us all
to be at ease. This was the commander of the Sixth Fleet standing there, now directing
me to type messages for him to be emailed out to the fleet. I was so happy that
I had taken typing in high school and I could type at 76 words per minute. I
typed his messages flawlessly. I knew lives were at stake and a typo could end
up costing the lives of innocent people.
He asked me to establish secure communications with USS
NEW JERSEY surface action group. I went to the red phone and it buzzed as I
established the connection with the task force commander. I handed the phone to
the Vice Admiral and he began to issue orders after a brief conversation. “Fifteen
rounds, target A, 16 rounds target B” and so on. “Commence firing” he barked
calmly. My computer terminal began to light up with reports including the phrase
“U.S. ships have opened fire on Beirut”.
The battle went on for days. I did not go home. In
1980’s Italy, it cost $6000.00 to get a phone and the waiting list was longer
than my tour in the country. It did not make sense to try to get a phone. Cell
phones, texting and personal emails were not accessible then, so, my wife did
not know why I did not come home.
The admiral loosened his tie and began to lounge in
the control center as we followed the progress of the battle. He would disappear
into the back room with the “Spooks” or Intelligence Specialists. There were
times when he directed me to order the ships to “Commence firing”. My hand
trembled as I issued the orders. I knew hundreds of people were dying as a
result of my voice.
I gathered information and developed summary reports
to be sent out to U.S. and NATO forces. I was tired but the Adrenalin flowing
kept me up for the days that followed the initial attacks and follow on
battles. A black fighter pilot was shot down and I coordinated his rescue by
directing naval air forces to his location.
I developed summary reports for intelligence
briefings. We did not have flat screens at the time for graphic displays. We
did have plastic overlays and charts. I was proud of myself as I placed
overlays on the charts and briefed figures such as estimated civilian casualty
rate, estimated foliage destruction. In subsequent years I would learn more
about the people I had killed and the people I had killed for. I woke up from
the fog of American International policy propaganda and realized that I was not
a freedom fighter, I was a storm trooper. The story of the Syrian infants made
this very clear. Little babies, arching their backs in agony after being chlorine
gas bombed. I had been a part of a team that had killed hundreds with hundreds
of high caliber explosive shells. Shells that traveled 26 miles and weighed as
much as a Volkswagen.
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