The Luck of the Draw by Captain C. Kenneth Ruiz USN (Ret.)

Author:Captain C. Kenneth Ruiz, USN (Ret.)
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Zenith Press
Published: 2010-02-19T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

ACTION OFF JALUIT

Through all this action, George Grider endeared himself to Pollack’s officers and men. Our new XO had quickly dispelled any question marks lingering since his arrival into Pollack’s band of brothers. In fact, as the patrol wore on it became clear that we had a real gem in Grider. He was easygoing and quick with a joke or a witty reply. His very personality helped defuse some of the natural tension that arose among men trapped in close confinement for weeks on end. He had just the right touch needed to keep things light when needed, while at the same time coaxing the best performance out of everyone under his command. I marveled at Grider’s rare natural gift of leadership. It elevated everyone’s performance even under the worst circumstances.

Grider expected all of us to know our job, and he left us alone when he was convinced that we knew what we were doing. He never micromanaged and was always the consummate professional. To the junior officers, such as me and later Giff Wilcox (who joined us for Pollack’s eighth patrol), he was a model officer after whom we sought to pattern our own behavior. Giff once told me, “George Grider taught me how to be a naval officer.”

Before long, I realized that Grider had become the ship’s heart and soul.

After a day of patrolling submerged and getting some much-needed rest, we surfaced to start our nightly search for new targets. By now we had been on patrol for almost a month, and the crew again resembled a band of cutthroat pirates. Most of the men were stripped to the waist, lean, grimy, and wreaking of sweat and engine grease.

After weeks of living in such grim conditions, I eagerly awaited the evenings when I could get up on the bridge and away from the worst aspects of submarine life. I loved those first minutes topside after a long day submerged near the equator. When the conning tower hatch was thrown open, all the foul air in Pollack would suddenly rush outward, flowing through the conning tower hatch in a noxious whirlwind that unsettled even the stoutest stomach. But for those standing on deck, the ocean breeze would make them feel fresh and clean.

My fondest memories of submarine duty are those tropic nights on the bridge, reveling in the warm salt air and a slow, easy swell under the Southern Cross. The sky seemed much closer here than on shore, and the Southern Cross has always been my favorite constellation. It was a lonely but powerful feeling being out there hunting thousands of miles from the nearest friendly base.

Knowing that the only men outside the hull of our submarine were those few on the bridge was an odd sensation. The small open bridge with its watch team of four or five men seemed somehow detached from the rest of the closed-up submarine. The safety and offensive capability of the entire submarine depended on the officer of the deck and his watch team.

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