A SEA STORY: THE UNTOLD STORY OF THE U.S. NAVY RESPONSE TO 9/11. Read online

  A SEA STORY

  Written by Joseph Pignataro

  and

  Barry A. A. Dillinger

  I wrote this book from my own memories and notes taken from a journal I kept while at sea. I wanted to tell the first story about the heroic actions of our nations great Navy during 9/11. All names have been changed . I kept my own name, because I won’t sue myself and well…I wrote the damn thing. Some parts are dramatized due to conversations up the chain of command I was not privy to as a lowly seaman and for good storytelling. Most importantly, I wrote this book in honor of all the men and women who shed blood and tears during this long and important War on Terror.

  DEDICATION

  To my fellow shipmates lost to the sea while trying to make the world a better place. You will not be forgotten. To the spouses who stoically await their service members return from the long deployments; I give my thanks and utmost respect. To all the vets out there…thank you for paving the way with your hard work and sacrifices.

  "A good Navy is not a provocation to war. It is the surest guaranty of peace."

  President Theodore Roosevelt, 2 December 1902, second annual message to Congress.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Awake

  Dark, briny water slammed into his face and head as he fought to keep his mouth and nostrils above the fray, spluttering with the sickness of an abundance of salt in his throat. Despite his frenzied attempts to keep himself afloat, it was becoming more apparent every moment that the buoyancy of his waterlogged lifejacket was being slowly overcome by the hellish weight of his steel-toed Navy boots. The boarding gear, meant for his safety and security, tugged him ever more gently beneath the inky sea like a persistent water nymph claiming her prey.

  The waves continuously rolled toward him, alternating in intensity between a gentle whiplash and a Frazier body blow. His legs were quickly becoming numb with fatigue as his lame arms bobbed lazily atop the water’s tempestuous surface.

  A lifetime had passed since he had first plunged into these seas. The thought to halt his struggling, place his face beneath the churning surface, and imbibe the cruel liquid until his lungs filled to the point of no return was almost too enticing. But, as had been the case several (and perhaps, dozens of) times before, his infant son’s face came to his mind, rescuing him from the blackness that waited far below.

  Another rolling punch of seawater struck him at the side of the head, feeling as if it had punctured his eardrum with sound that mimicked a gunshot. Then, something happened. Another gunshot! And another, not far distant!

  Adrenaline entered his body and his head swiveled about, attempting to discern its origin. Instead, a hollow flopping came to his ears; a sound he recognized immediately. It was the sound of a chopper. Then, the searchlight appeared as it swept in irregular arcs across the rough surface of the ocean.

  The helicopter slowly approached, its searchlight beam brushing close by and then, on its return path, caught him in its bathing gaze. The chopper hovered as the seas became eerily quiet and calm and the luminescense of the rescuing flight vehicle nearly blinded him.

  In the chaos of the moment, where imminent death blended almost seamlessly with defiant life, a new sound began, rattling the rest of this rapture scene with its strange cacophony of jagged realism.

  And he was jolted from slumber to the shrieking alarm clock next to his bed.

  Opening his eyes slowly, almost drunkenly, to the pre-dawn light streaming in through the threadbare drapes of his bedroom windows, Joe breathed deeply as his calm outer demeanor belied the blood coursing through his veins, his heart beating in rapid succession.

  Sitting up and listening to his bones creak, he shut off the alarm clock and peered down at his young bride, Toni, whose beautiful eyes gazed up at him.

  “Hey,” she whispered with a small smile curling her lips.

  Between them, their infant son, Liam, continued to sleep silently, completely content in his nestled position.

  “Hola,” he whispered back as he leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. A comical look came over her face as she sniffed with sarcasm.

  “You’ve been watching Dora with your boy again, haven’t you?”

  Joe feigned indignation.

  “No,” he answered as he touched a finger to Liam’s tiny cheek.

  “Yes, you have,” she insisted with a chuckle.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he continued as he climbed from the queen-sized bed. Pulling a white T-shirt from one of the two mismatched dressers, he drew it over his muscular frame and used both hands to vigorously rub the scalp of his head. The half-inch of hair that grew there was all that the Navy would allow. Looking around, he saw that his wallet was sitting on one of the nightstands, he socks draped over the foot of the bed, and his belt hanging crookedly from the crib railing.

  “We bought that crib for the baby, right?” he whispered as he nodded toward Liam’s bed. Toni stared at him quizzically. “It’s just that, I haven’t seen the baby sleep in that thing yet.”

  “I use it sometimes…” she came back with a defensive huff, “…like when he naps and stuff during the day.”

  Joe smirked as he shuffled out into the kitchen. The house was small and cramped, but it was home. There was a lot to be said for small, though, he would frequently conclude; it usually meant that you would limit the amount of clutter you could bring into your life. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to be the case here. As he approached the sink full of dishes, he stepped on a wooden duck on the floor, nearly falling onto the vinyl tiled floor.

  “Shit!” he whispered hoarsely, catching himself on the counter. Kicking the toy out of his way, he gazed down at the bills piled haphazardly near the old microwave oven.

  The envelopes bore red stamped labels reading “Overdue”, “Second Notice” and “Final Notice”. His eyes fixed on the mail as Toni’s soft voice floated over to his ears.

  “Don’t worry, honey,” she assured him, “we’ll be okay.”

  “I know. It’s just that we shouldn’t have to live like this.” Joe reached over and turned on the coffee machine. Toni approached him wearing her oversized T-shirt and wrapped her slender arms around his chest. Her short blond hair tickled his neck.

  “You’re home now,” she said gently into his ear. “That’s all that matters. Everything’ll work out.”

  “Yeah,” was all he could muster as he didn’t have the heart to tell her that he disagreed with her assessment of their current situation. Joe thought about these things on a constant basis. Their money problems were always the first things on his mind. Day in and day out, he pondered where the next paycheck would be spent and whether or not they would have enough to feed themselves. It was something that irked him because it took up so much of the precious brain power; synapses that could be used for other better purposes.

  Toni released him and approached the cabinet where their only two coffee mugs were kept; in fact, they were the only clean things left. As the coffee maker began gurgling, she poured them both a cup of the steaming liquid and handed one to her husband. He sat down at the small wooden table that wobbled ever so slightly when he pulled out the chair.

  “Did you hear anything yet about that shipyard application?” Toni threw out casually, trying (unsuccessfully) to mask her apprehension.

  “Not yet,” murmured Joe as he sipped the coffee.

  “You should call the guy.”

  “Yeah, I will,” he answered, his thoughts a million miles away at the moment.

  “It’s good money, Joe,” Toni continued
when she noticed that he was drifting in thought.

  As if coming out of a trance, his eyes suddenly cleared and he looked up into his wife’s big green eyes.

  “Yeah, I know, sweetie,” answered Joe with a slight smile. “I’ll call him today when I get a break.” She continued to stare at his face. “I will,” he assured her. "Promise."

  At that moment, the baby began crying. Toni put down her coffee and strode off toward the bedroom, Joe passively watching her ass and long bare legs as she departed the kitchen.

  “You’re going to be late,” she tossed over her shoulder.

  Looking over at the clock, he realized that she was right. Quickly, he gulped down half of his coffee and strode off toward the bathroom. A shower, shave and rapid ironing of his uniform only took ten minutes before he was pulling on his shoes and gathering up his wallet and cap.

  As Toni held little Liam in one arm and cleaned up some of the toys and clutter in the living room, Joe ambled through and kissed her on the lips.

  “Gotta go,” he stated softly. Kissing his son on the head, he turned to depart. “Te amo,” he added as he walked away. Toni giggled.

  “I knew you were watching Dora!” she shouted toward him as he exited.

  Outside the home, Joe approached the white Volkswagen Jetta and climbed into the driver's seat, nearly catching a few fingers while clumsily shutting the door in his haste to get on the road. Starting the engine, he stepped on the clutch and pushed the stick into first. Immediately, he was reminded of the day that Toni announced that this would be their next car. He balked, not only because he would never have chosen a Volkswagen, but also because she wanted a standard. He could not drive stick and she insisted that she would teach him. The scene might as well have been written as a comedy as he haltingly drove down the deserted practice road like a hornet was let loose inside the car. At one point, between all Joe's F-bombs and Toni's hysterical laughter, he slammed on the brake, unbuckled his seatbelt, and spilled out of the vehicle in a furious tirade (the latter only causing Toni even more uncontrollable gasps of hilarity).

  Stomping angrily down the avenue a short way, hoping to God that the locals were not witnessing any of this, he heard Toni finally regaining her composure. It was at that moment that he dropped his gaze, shook his head in frustration at his own impatience, and finally turned, heading back toward the Jetta. At his approach, Toni peered down at her folded hands and tried with all her energy to remove the smirk on her face. Opening the door, Joe hesitated for one moment before flopping into the seat with a grunt.

  "You okay, bab—" she began, but was cut off by Joe's raised forefinger.

  "They invented automatics for a reason," he stated calmly and politely. Toni quickly and comically snapped her attention to the road ahead, miming the zippering of her lips. When Joe paused for a long minute, her gaze ever so slightly shifted toward him, but she kept obediently quiet.

  Joe's head began bobbing as he murmured almost inaudible words to himself in the form of instructions. Then, with a quick, curt nod, he stepped on the clutch once again, shifted into first, and smoothly rolled forward. Shifting into second and gaining speed, he was soon on his way down the road. Without a hesitation, a jerk, a stall, or a shimmy, Joe drove the Jetta a half-mile, before finally coming to a graceful halt and grinning to himself in triumph. Toni's eyes were wide and sparkling and her mouth was agape in a great smile.

  "Babe, that was awesome!"

  Joe shifted his eyes in her direction.

  "And that is how you drive stick my friend, " he said simply, to which she began laughing again. She hugged him around his neck and kissed him.

  Joe's mind strayed to the here-and-now as he looked ahead to the end of their short driveway. He donned his Navy issue cap, embroidered with the words, USS Leyte Gulf, and pulled the Jetta onto the street, ready for the ten-minute drive to Norfolk Naval Base.

  The Virginia Beach September weather was warm and inviting as Joe walked his way through the lanes and avenues leading to the now-famous naval base. Route 264 was a wide main highway that led directly up to the front gates of the base and the ride along this route was always easy. It was the line of cars at the front gate that was always the issue, however, as the gate guards had to check and inspect a myriad list of decals, numbers, IDs, and tags in order to allow entrance to any vehicle. Joe always allowed himself extra time for this process.

  As he approached the entrance, always so clean, primped with lovely hedges and shrubbery inside the median (most likely for the eyes of the visiting dignitaries and press people) and marked clearly and concisely where you were and where you were heading, he was thankful that the line was relatively short today. Waiting for his turn at the Inquisition, he recalled the few times when he had pulled guard duty at the front gates. He remembered all the days and nights when bad weather forced you to have to wear certain uniform gear, not by choice, but by stated order. The rain gear was especially bothersome when you were handling a pen and clipboard, as well as all the paperwork that you had to complete in the pouring rain at times. He did not relish the job of these poor guys.

  Gaining entrance to the base, he wound his way along the well-maintained lanes, past the many large buildings, until he approached the docks. He was always amazed that wherever you seemed to go on a U.S. military base, anywhere in the world, you could immediately tell that it was a military base by the shapes of the buildings, the massive amounts of signage, and the certain way that things were posted outside the facilities. The multitude of flagpoles notwithstanding, you just knew when you were on United States government property.

  After parking his car and marveling at how beautiful the sunny skies were, he thought about how nice it would be to call out sick today and stay home with Toni and Liam. That thought quickly departed from his mind as he entertained the way that telephone call would play out. "Uh, hello, (cough, cough), uh, yeah, I’m sick today and won't be able to come in to work. What? Sick call? At the base? But if I drive all the way there, I might as well just work!" Which is, of course, exactly what they want you to say.

  The USS Leyte Gulf was one of twenty-seven Ticonderoga class Cruisers and was commissioned on September 26, 1987. This one-billion-dollar vessel, with a total length of 567 feet, was one of the most advanced light warships of modern times, equipped with a multitude of weapons systems that, in and of themselves, could take out an entire enemy battalion without so much as a broken sweat. Boasting an armament load of incredible firepower, this Angel of Floating Death could travel at speeds in excess of 30 knots, thanks to its four General Electric LM 2500 gas turbine engines and twin quintuple-bladed propellers, while carrying a sizeable crew of over 300 Enlisted, 27 Chief Petty officers and 33 Officers. The Leyte Gulf featured the Mk46 Vertical Launching System (VLS) for Standard missiles, Tomahawk, Mk46 torpedoes, Harpoon missile launchers, two Mk45 5-inch/54 caliber lightweight guns, two Phalanx Close-In Weapon System (CIWS), two remote-controlled Mk38 Mod 2 25 mm machine gun systems, as well as two SH-60 Sea Hawk aircraft. All told, this vessel was created for one purpose: to be the bodyguard for any battle group formation.

  Joe approached the entrance to the Gulf's pier and held his ID at the ready for the guard posted there. As he watched the usual flurry of morning activity, the guard checked his ID and waved him by, giving him a typical "have a good one" greeting. Continuing on, along the enormous and wide pier toward the Gulf, he was still impressed by the sheer size of the vessel. He could only dream of what an enemy combatant would think while facing a monstrosity such of this. The walk to the gangway was interrupted by nods and obligatory "hellos" as he greeted all the fellow sailors and contract workers in yellow hard hats. Joe strode toward the gangway and was immediately accosted by his own nickname being bellowed across the waters between the pier and the cruiser.

  "Pigz!" the deep voice shouted from above him. "Get your ass up here!"

  Joe Pignataro didn't need to look up to know whose voice it was.

  "On my way, Chief
!" Joe answered with a subtle smirk as he hoofed it to the platform leading up to the quarterdeck above him. Scaling the gangway up to its apex, he halted at the top to salute both the ensign (flag) at the fantail of the ship and the Officer On Deck (OOD) waiting there at the entrance. After receipt of a return salute, he dropped his own and handed over his military ID for cursory inspection.

  "Permission to come aboard," Joe stated in a very familiar way as he scanned the ship's exterior for his loud supervisor. This traditional courtesy dated back to the very early maritime history of the U.S. Navy, borrowed from the Brits, and probably from somewhere else before that. Typically, these traditions seemed silly and arbitrary to the casual civilian spectator, but to the sailor, they were embedded in your core. They mattered as much as eating and sleeping.

  "Come aboard," was the portly officer's reply as he handed Joe's ID back to him. As Joe stepped on deck, he peered down the rail and spotted Chief Burkowski (known to his shipmates as "Chief B.") who was unlucky at cards and unluckier at getting laid. Putting aside the fact that he was short and bald, he was also afflicted with the world's worst sense of humor. Joe jogged up to the Chief and stopped suddenly as he extended a hand to the enlisted officer.

  "Why isn't the system up and running?" he asked without shaking Joe's hand, referring to the Tomahawk equipment.

  Pulling his hand back again, he answered, "I give up, Chief. Why isn't it?"

  The supervisor's face hardened.

  "Don't be a smart-ass!" he snapped. "When you come aboard, you need to have the computers online and ready."

  Joe took a deep breath to steady himself.

  "Listen, Chief," he started as he searched carefully for the right words that wouldn't light the supervisor's fuse. "The simple act of me stepping on deck doesn't magically make the equipment operative." Before the Chief could begin his counter-argument, Joe continued. "Look, you saw me coming aboard…" he observed as he thumbed back over his shoulder toward the gangway, "you called me over, and…" Pausing for dramatic flair, he finally finished. "Here I am!"