Quarterdeck Lessons

By David Reed

When you’re young, in your very early twenties, and in the United States Navy, you learn to deal with a lot of boredom when standing a watch on the quarterdeck. This is where sailors leave from, and come onto, the ship when

it’s tied up to a dock. There are always three people on watch on the quarterdeck- the Officer of the Deck (OOD), usually a Chief Petty Officer or Junior Officer. What the OOD says, goes. He has the final word on who can and cannot cross his Quarterdeck. Next is the Petty Officer of the Watch. Usually, an E4 or E5 Petty Officer, he gets to carry this very heavy .45 Semiautomatic pistol all the time in a holster. It’s fully loaded, per regulations. Finally, there is the Messenger, a junior ordinary seaman. The Messenger usually runs and gets coffee for the OOD and the Petty Officer.

So, we’re in a foreign port, tied to the dock. I am on the 8 PM to Midnight watch on the Quarterdeck as the Petty Officer of the Watch. Lots of guys (two thirds of the crew, actually) have gone ashore for some evening fun down by the beach bars. It’s been pretty quiet so far. It’ll get busy later when they all come back drunk. We drink a lot of coffee, do a lot of standing about in our dress white uniforms. Around nine o’clock a young fireman, some young junior apprentice, comes up, starts babbling on and on about some nonsense. We all just stand there, staring, listening, not moving. I mean, what can you say? Finally, he walks away. We exchange glances and go back to drinking our coffee.

 Around ten o’clock, a car pulled up quickly on the dark pier below. It’s some local guy it turns out, who really doesn’t like the US Navy being here, and he is so full of alcohol he’s ready to tell us what for. He staggers out of his car, yelling obscenities in his own language at the Messenger who had gone down to the trash dumpster on the dock for a minute. All three of us are like, “what the hell…?” Then he starts coming up the gangway, a big guy, full of piss and vinegar, screaming at us. By pure reflex I find my hand on the gun handle, getting a good grip. Holy crap.

 The man starts yelling at the OOD in the local language, who yells back and holds up his hand for him to stop, but the man keeps coming, angry, yelling. I’m thinking to myself in a blur, what am I going to do? Do I draw on this guy? No, don’t draw unless you’re going to fire, I think; that’s what someone said before. My hand grips the gun handle tighter; it unconsciously eases out an inch. Suddenly he’s near the top, still screaming at us. I’m looking at the Chief, then back at the man, my eyes rapidly moving left and right. My hand wants to pull the gun out now! I fight the urge; still, it rises another inch. I unconsciously take a stance, slightly sideways, feet apart, just like we do at the range. I’m thinking to myself, Stop. Please stop. Stop yelling, stop threatening! I feel the steel gun trigger on my index finger; The voice in my head is yelling silently, “Pull it out! Cock the slide back! Point it at him! Don’t wait!” With every bit of my being, I resist, but I can sense that is about to change at any moment. Get ready, get ready, get ready…

 The angry man pauses near the top, one step from the top rung, still yelling, screaming, making threatening gestures with his fists and his whole body as he does. He’s very, very emotional! I’m very, very scared shitless! I’m so scared I’m in fully automatic mode now, finger firmly on the trigger, keeping the gun barely in its holster. I’m thinking, “I’m gonna have to shoot him, I’m gonna have to shoot him…” I know now what my next move is.

He looks at me, back to the Chief, yells a few more things, then starts to back-up, down the steps. Even as he begins to back up, I’m still in hair-trigger mode. Finally, I start to breathe again.

 The angry man gets back in his car and speeds off. We all stand there, me with a firm hold on that gun handle still. The Messenger comes running back on board. I broke the moment by saying something like, “Damn! I almost shot that guy!” The Chief smiled at me, chuckled. He says to us finally, “It happens sometimes in ports like these. You don’t shoot him unless he steps on board. Then you can shoot him.”

 “Well Chief, I damn near did.”

  He let’s out a deep sigh, then we watch the taillights disappearing. Hand still trembling, I very, very carefully remove my fingers one at a time from the weapon, and put the flap back over it. We go back to leaning on the railing. I lean back against the table, stare out into the darkness, heart pounding in my chest. We all just stand there for a minute, nobody saying anything. Then just like that, everything was normal again. Calm, quiet discussion about what happened. More coffee, please, Mike. I consider the fact that this man didn’t have a weapon in his hand; was unarmed as far as I knew. I could have just knocked him down to the deck and held him until the Master-At-Arms showed up. But when there is a gun strapped to your hip, and a man is screaming at you from eight feet away, that’s not what you’re thinking. You’re thinking this gun is going to protect you. Stress has a way of making you take the easy way out. Yet, I will forever remember that, for one terrifying moment, I held this man’s life in my trembling gun hand. For just a very few moments, a complete stranger stood on the brink of violent death, with my finger on the trigger of his eternity.

 It was these thoughts that ran through my mind every time I stood another watch on that Quarterdeck. Life and death decisions. His life; his death. We stare into the abyss, not knowing what’s coming in the next minute, blissfully unaware. Tonight, though, I have learned an important lesson: There are things that will come out of the abyss at you, terrifying you, forcing you to make hard decisions fast, decisions that can cost someone their very life. When you’re twenty-something, life is all about lessons.