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I was in the tech library researching a particularly pesky problem we’d been having in the plant when the call came over the 1MC yesterday morning.
“Medical emergency, medical emergency. Medical emergency in compartment 2-225-0-L, Reactor Electrical Division Berthing.”
All of us who were down there looked at each other- it was unusual for the call to be made to a specific berthing like that, and it was even more unusual for it to be made to our berthing. As a whole, Nukes usually don’t get sick- we don’t have time for it, and if there’s something wrong, 9 times out of 10 we’ll just work through it until we feel better.
One of the guys offered the suggestion that perhaps a locker that was notorious for coming off its mounting brackets had fallen over on top of somebody, and we laughed about the thought of some poor schmuck trapped underneath a locker for a few minutes before we went back to work. The emergency was secured a few minutes later, and nobody really gave it any more thought.
It was maybe half an hour later that Brian Gunther walked in and told us the rumor that he’d heard.
“It’s Tom.”
We still weren’t too worried- about two weekends ago, before we got underway, Tom had been involved in a drinking accident. While doing a Flaming Dr. Pepper shot, something had gone horribly awry and he’d missed his mouth with the shot, pouring burning Bacardi 151 down the side of his face. Kinda funny, really, and he’d been laid up the last couple of weeks on painkillers while his face and neck healed from the 2nd degree burns he’d sustained. We assumed he’d just hit his head on something, or maybe re-opened one of the blisters, or something like that. After all, when I’d been on watch a couple of hours before that I saw his rack light on when I went to wake up the oncoming watch team at 5:30 in the morning. He could take care of himself, and in the almost 4 years I’d known him, he’d shown an amazing resilience to bounce back from any wounds he’d sustained.
It was another half hour or so before I heard the rest of the story. I’d popped my head up from the library to run back aft and grab my iPod to find the passageway from the block of Reactor offices all the way back to my berthing was secured. I passed Scott, who looked like he’d been crying.
“Did you hear about what happened?”
I looked at him confused. “No….what’s going on?”
He looked at his feet and a shiver ran through his body.
“They went to go wake up Tom during Spirit of ’76, and he wasn’t moving. They couldn’t find a pulse, and Justin said he was cold to the touch, and his face was blue.”
He looked me in the eye.
“It looks like he’s dead.”
I couldn’t believe it. Not again. Not now. Not Tom, of all people. The night before, we’d been in the office planning to take his boat out on Mission Bay for the day before the Rascal Flatts concert. There was no way….
I looked around at other people passing in the passageway, all my friends and coworkers, and knew from the looks on their faces that something was in fact wrong. Ryan was waving all the Electricians down to the classroom, and I joined the rest of my friends near the back of the room. Jeff was pacing back and forth at the front of the room, his eyes red. Matt and Scott were sitting on either side of me, both obviously finished crying. Corey was slumped in the corner of the back of the room, looking at the wall and not saying anything. When the entire division was gathered, the Chaplain came in and confirmed that Tom Bates had been found dead in his rack at around 8 in the morning. I punched the desk and broke down, along with the rest of the room. The Chaplain continued speaking, then the Medical Officer after him, but I don’t remember anything they said. I don’t think anybody did. Chief Lau got up in front of the division next, and couldn’t say two words before he broke down as well, which launched everybody into another round of crying.
We all filed out of the room silently, people stopping here and there to grab onto each other for support, to offer hugs, or just a friendly hand on a shoulder. Corey and Jeff were the worst off- I don’t think they put together two words without breaking down, and most of the rest of us weren’t doing much better. Immediately, all events scheduled for the day were cancelled, the watchbill changes were made, and people began wandering around the hangar bay singly or in groups, almost too numb to notice anything else going on around the ship. The Captain came over the 1MC about 10 minutes later to put the word out to the rest of the crew, and the somber mood blanketed the rest of the ship.
Nobody in the department talked much for the rest of the day, and people were nice enough to make way for us- slight nods of the head in the passage way, a friendly hand on a shoulder here and there- the entire crew was in shock, and nobody could really believe it had happened, again, in the same department.
Of course, the rumors began spreading almost immediately, but I won't go into those here- the investigation is still going on, and I'm not really allowed to talk about any of the details as of yet. More about that later, after the results come back in a few weeks.
The memorial service here onboard was Thursday morning before we pulled in- RE was up in the front, and I was pleased at the turnout from the rest of the ship's crew. Ted, Jeff, Branden, and Nate all spoke, and it was obvious that they were having a hard time holding it together. There was hardly a dry eye in the division, and Tom’s many friends in other departments joined in as we stood in the hangar bay and talked and traded stories until right before we started shooting the mooring lines across.
It had already been agreed upon that Chris, Jason, Beau, and Scott would be hosting the wake at their house- aside from that whole little tiff over Corrine a few months back, it’d be the most fitting place to have people over; since we’ve moved out here to California, it’s been where all the most memorable parties have taken place. The wake was nice- most of us old hands who are still here made it out there, and we spent the majority of the night drinking Jaegerbombs and Miller Light (Tom’s drinks of choice), and trading stories, and more than a few tears. After all, he was the guy who always instigated anything we got ourselves into- he was the one who took me out for my 21st birthday (from what I can remember of that night, that is), the guy who used to make it his personal mission to see how many of his friends he could hook up with girls in the space of one night. No matter where we were, Tom was usually in the middle of it all, encouraging everybody else to keep up with him and keep the party going (or just start it earlier).
I’ve got to get off this ship- this is the second friend of mine to die onboard this ship within six months- I don’t know of any other carrier in the fleet with that kind of record for not even having gone on a deployment. And that’s not even counting the close calls that are only whispered about among those of us who’ve been here long enough to know what really goes on. It seems like our lucky streak is running out, and talking to my friends who’ve left in the last few months, as well as those who’ve been here with me the longest, we all have this feeling that something’s going to happen soon. To be honest, I’m a bit afraid to go on the deployment early next year- we’ve got a mostly green crew, and when they say that the West Coast fleet is more laid back than the East Coast, apparently what they mean is “more corners are cut”. Some of those margins are getting too close in some departments. Add in record low morale overall, and it’s not a pretty picture. I’m still trying my hardest to get out of here, but they’re not letting any more Nukes go- too many experienced people have already left, and the watchbill is being stretched thin as it is- we’re running out of bodies, what with everybody who’s been getting kicked out, flat out leaving, getting disqualified, etc.
Hopefully I’m just imagining things, though. Here we are, back out to sea again, back to doing what we do. Let’s hope our luck changes, and let’s hope that the rule of 3 doesn’t hold true.
“Medical emergency, medical emergency. Medical emergency in compartment 2-225-0-L, Reactor Electrical Division Berthing.”
All of us who were down there looked at each other- it was unusual for the call to be made to a specific berthing like that, and it was even more unusual for it to be made to our berthing. As a whole, Nukes usually don’t get sick- we don’t have time for it, and if there’s something wrong, 9 times out of 10 we’ll just work through it until we feel better.
One of the guys offered the suggestion that perhaps a locker that was notorious for coming off its mounting brackets had fallen over on top of somebody, and we laughed about the thought of some poor schmuck trapped underneath a locker for a few minutes before we went back to work. The emergency was secured a few minutes later, and nobody really gave it any more thought.
It was maybe half an hour later that Brian Gunther walked in and told us the rumor that he’d heard.
“It’s Tom.”
We still weren’t too worried- about two weekends ago, before we got underway, Tom had been involved in a drinking accident. While doing a Flaming Dr. Pepper shot, something had gone horribly awry and he’d missed his mouth with the shot, pouring burning Bacardi 151 down the side of his face. Kinda funny, really, and he’d been laid up the last couple of weeks on painkillers while his face and neck healed from the 2nd degree burns he’d sustained. We assumed he’d just hit his head on something, or maybe re-opened one of the blisters, or something like that. After all, when I’d been on watch a couple of hours before that I saw his rack light on when I went to wake up the oncoming watch team at 5:30 in the morning. He could take care of himself, and in the almost 4 years I’d known him, he’d shown an amazing resilience to bounce back from any wounds he’d sustained.
It was another half hour or so before I heard the rest of the story. I’d popped my head up from the library to run back aft and grab my iPod to find the passageway from the block of Reactor offices all the way back to my berthing was secured. I passed Scott, who looked like he’d been crying.
“Did you hear about what happened?”
I looked at him confused. “No….what’s going on?”
He looked at his feet and a shiver ran through his body.
“They went to go wake up Tom during Spirit of ’76, and he wasn’t moving. They couldn’t find a pulse, and Justin said he was cold to the touch, and his face was blue.”
He looked me in the eye.
“It looks like he’s dead.”
I couldn’t believe it. Not again. Not now. Not Tom, of all people. The night before, we’d been in the office planning to take his boat out on Mission Bay for the day before the Rascal Flatts concert. There was no way….
I looked around at other people passing in the passageway, all my friends and coworkers, and knew from the looks on their faces that something was in fact wrong. Ryan was waving all the Electricians down to the classroom, and I joined the rest of my friends near the back of the room. Jeff was pacing back and forth at the front of the room, his eyes red. Matt and Scott were sitting on either side of me, both obviously finished crying. Corey was slumped in the corner of the back of the room, looking at the wall and not saying anything. When the entire division was gathered, the Chaplain came in and confirmed that Tom Bates had been found dead in his rack at around 8 in the morning. I punched the desk and broke down, along with the rest of the room. The Chaplain continued speaking, then the Medical Officer after him, but I don’t remember anything they said. I don’t think anybody did. Chief Lau got up in front of the division next, and couldn’t say two words before he broke down as well, which launched everybody into another round of crying.
We all filed out of the room silently, people stopping here and there to grab onto each other for support, to offer hugs, or just a friendly hand on a shoulder. Corey and Jeff were the worst off- I don’t think they put together two words without breaking down, and most of the rest of us weren’t doing much better. Immediately, all events scheduled for the day were cancelled, the watchbill changes were made, and people began wandering around the hangar bay singly or in groups, almost too numb to notice anything else going on around the ship. The Captain came over the 1MC about 10 minutes later to put the word out to the rest of the crew, and the somber mood blanketed the rest of the ship.
Nobody in the department talked much for the rest of the day, and people were nice enough to make way for us- slight nods of the head in the passage way, a friendly hand on a shoulder here and there- the entire crew was in shock, and nobody could really believe it had happened, again, in the same department.
Of course, the rumors began spreading almost immediately, but I won't go into those here- the investigation is still going on, and I'm not really allowed to talk about any of the details as of yet. More about that later, after the results come back in a few weeks.
The memorial service here onboard was Thursday morning before we pulled in- RE was up in the front, and I was pleased at the turnout from the rest of the ship's crew. Ted, Jeff, Branden, and Nate all spoke, and it was obvious that they were having a hard time holding it together. There was hardly a dry eye in the division, and Tom’s many friends in other departments joined in as we stood in the hangar bay and talked and traded stories until right before we started shooting the mooring lines across.
It had already been agreed upon that Chris, Jason, Beau, and Scott would be hosting the wake at their house- aside from that whole little tiff over Corrine a few months back, it’d be the most fitting place to have people over; since we’ve moved out here to California, it’s been where all the most memorable parties have taken place. The wake was nice- most of us old hands who are still here made it out there, and we spent the majority of the night drinking Jaegerbombs and Miller Light (Tom’s drinks of choice), and trading stories, and more than a few tears. After all, he was the guy who always instigated anything we got ourselves into- he was the one who took me out for my 21st birthday (from what I can remember of that night, that is), the guy who used to make it his personal mission to see how many of his friends he could hook up with girls in the space of one night. No matter where we were, Tom was usually in the middle of it all, encouraging everybody else to keep up with him and keep the party going (or just start it earlier).
I’ve got to get off this ship- this is the second friend of mine to die onboard this ship within six months- I don’t know of any other carrier in the fleet with that kind of record for not even having gone on a deployment. And that’s not even counting the close calls that are only whispered about among those of us who’ve been here long enough to know what really goes on. It seems like our lucky streak is running out, and talking to my friends who’ve left in the last few months, as well as those who’ve been here with me the longest, we all have this feeling that something’s going to happen soon. To be honest, I’m a bit afraid to go on the deployment early next year- we’ve got a mostly green crew, and when they say that the West Coast fleet is more laid back than the East Coast, apparently what they mean is “more corners are cut”. Some of those margins are getting too close in some departments. Add in record low morale overall, and it’s not a pretty picture. I’m still trying my hardest to get out of here, but they’re not letting any more Nukes go- too many experienced people have already left, and the watchbill is being stretched thin as it is- we’re running out of bodies, what with everybody who’s been getting kicked out, flat out leaving, getting disqualified, etc.
Hopefully I’m just imagining things, though. Here we are, back out to sea again, back to doing what we do. Let’s hope our luck changes, and let’s hope that the rule of 3 doesn’t hold true.
