Man Overboard!

The sight of a man going overboard was a bit shocking. The words ringing out, “Man Overboard” brought chills to my spine. I am by no stretch a seaman, but the peril of a man in the drink…is a universally understood distress call. For me, it was sobering.

The bus brought us directly from our demise with the Shore Patrol (see First Blood at Subic Bay). Arriving unscathed, I was perused by a senior medic for service. Smelling my two beers, he dismissed me from engaging in the forthcoming triage of cuts and bruises. Resigned to ascend the gang plank, I watched the events from the main deck. More buses delivered the troops like clockwork. Most should have felt their pain, which would surely catch up with them by morning. It was glorious pandemonium! You would have thought we had won the skirmish.

The momentum of the day carried some troops beyond the call of reason. One of our men jumped over the rail. Two or three more were inspired by the first brave soul. From my perspective, it was quite the drop from deck to sea. With their comrades in trouble, more began to dive in to save their friends. An army officer burst through to the rail. With quick assessment, he sounded the alarm, “Man overboard!” Then he abruptly added, “Not another damned troop better jump this deck…I will personally have you court-martialed!” The tenor of the deck immediately changed.

A small boat scooped up the guys in the drink. Amazingly, no one was hurt (to my knowledge) going over the rails. It brought a chuckle to see them pulled harmlessly to safety. Soon the busses ceased arrival, signaling the end of the festivities. A very careful count of all manifest personnel was taken and retaken that night. The ship finally slipped from the dock. Our next stop…Vietnam.

Breakfast was pretty routine that next morning. We quickly returned to our shipboard routines. I climbed the ladders to the main deck at mid-morning. There leaned a familiar figure on the rail. Hesitantly, I braved to disturb the silence of our Battalion Surgeon, Dr. Andrew Lovy. “Good morning Sir.” His smile provided the non-verbal permission to proceed. After some brief small talk, I just happened to mention, “Sir, the guys bought some extra time ashore last night.”

Dr. Lovy never hesitated to seize a teachable moment. He turned to me full faced to say, “Let me set the record straight Thompson.” Then he added,”I want you to spread this word.” The Battalion Surgeon continued, “The base command and the officers of this unit knew exactly what you would pull. Contingency plans were already in place. Everything went exactly as planned. However, the troop resistance was grossly overestimated. At this very minute, the ship is turning in circles. Otherwise, we would arrive four hours early. We must arrive at our first port exactly on time.”

Perfect information is rare for the lower ranking enlisted man. In that short conversation, he burst my bubble. Dutifully, I relayed Dr. Lovy’s information with the troops I knew. I never saw anyone from the 503rd again; we moved throughout the ship, in our own separate circles.

This post is dedicated to those brave souls who jumped into the brink. I trust some comrades will add more input to this notorious event. We were very young soldiers once…all volunteers on that Currahee  Trail.