50 Years Ago Today –Mullinnix Crosses the Arctic Circle, Becoming Blue Noses

Excerpt from “The Last Gun Ship - History of USS Mullinnix DD-944” - A Historical Novel By Frank A. Wood

Fire Control Technicians Howard McGee and Brian Smythe sat on the mess decks, trying their best to finish chow.

“This sucks!”

“What?”

“Steaming, steaming, steaming and doing what? Where’s the rest of fuckin’ NATO”? asked Smythe. “I hate waiting!”

“I’ve spent more time in the chow line than you’ve been in the navy, Smythe.”

“You wouldn’t think looking at a cup of coffee for two minutes was a long time. But you just try it sometime, it’s an eternity.”

“Things are looking up. Tomorrow we earned our Blue Nose.” Said McGee.

Indeed. On 20 September, Mullinnix crossed the Arctic Circle, enshrining the crew into the ‘Northern Domain of the Polar Bear’.

Mullinnix steamed into a purpling sky. The crew could hear the blowers speed up, the vibration increase in pitch and intensity, seeing the wake spread out as she dug her tail in. The sea was running in long rolling swells, sparkling with light on the crests and dark grey with the depth of the ocean in the dips. You could hear the Atlantic’s low grumble, as if it were getting mad.

Midwatch, 21 September, the US fleet met up with ships from the NATO fleet in the Norwegian Sea – HMS Ark Royal R-09, HMS Hermes R-12, HMS Camperdown D-32, HMS Defender D-114, HMS Darling D-05, HMS Delight D-119, HMS Dainty D-108, HMS Camperdown D-32, HMS Nootica DDE-215, and HMCS Haida DDE-213 (British Tribal Class destroyers built for Canada).

Civil twilight was listed as 5:45 AM, a naval term referring to the first glimpse of a defined horizon. Smythe took a drink. The coffee was like battery acid – or was that his stomach? He’d been called to the aft director to aid in the search for unidentified radar contacts. Mullinnix, along with USS Willis DE-1027 and HMS Iroquois DDE-217 were on patrol. McGee had ask him to train the two new FTSN in the operation of the director itself and the Rangefinder. He’d be stuck here all fucking day.

The rhythmic six foot swells forced Mullinnix to roll with the ocean. At 1758 the IMC barked, “Darken ship! Show no white lights topsides!” Smythe couldn’t remember a longer or worst day than this. He’d sent the two FTSNs to chow about 30 minutes ago just so he could have a few minutes of piece and quite.

“Hey deuce bag, you still in there,” yelled McGee has he climbed the ladder to the top of the director.

Recognizing McGee’s voice, “Ram it up your ass – sidewise!”

“Yea? And I hope your next shit is square! Hey, I heard the skivvywaver announce over the bitch box that the breadburners have creamed foreskins on toast and SOS ready on the mess decks. You interested?”

Ignoring the menu update, “This is the last shit detail you dump on me for a long time brother. Those two are stone cold fucking stupid! The skinny one, what’s his fuckin’ name? He’s ten hairs away from a fucking baboon! My fun meter is fucking pegged!”

“Tell me how you really feel, why don’t you?” asked McGee.

“Not worth a shit, but thanks for asking.”

“Well, maybe I can cheer you up.”

A fireman apprentice had learned of “it” from a cook rumored to be in the know, who’d gotten it from a steward completely on the up-and-up, who’d heard it firsthand from one of the boot-Ensigns, who’d been invited to a strategy session held by the XO.

“Rumor has it we are getting liberty in Antwerp, Belgium. Can you believe that shit?”
“You wouldn’t lie to me would you McGee? I’m in dire need of some good news for a change.”

“Nope. Word has it, we have a few more days at sea. Then onto Antwerp!”

“Maybe things are looking up a bit. I woke up with a boner the size of a 3” shell this morning.”

To be continued...
Cheers,
Woody