Professional Notes

Is Parity Possible in Female Billets?

By Lieutenant Michael R. Schaefer, U. S. Navy

In early 1970, there were fewer than 6,000 enlisted women serving on active duty in the U. S. Navy. Today, are more than 26,000, and by 1985, there will be more than 45,000. This influx will pose significant assignment and distribution problems unless women are channeled into the critical rating and, then, are fully assignable.

Male Personnel are generally considered to be fully assignable because they can be assigned to any of the Navy’s six types of sea/shore categories. Female personnel, however, are assignment restricted in that they cannot assigned to most sea duty (type duty 2), toured sea duty (type duty 4), and to some neutral duty (type duty 5). Female personnel who do not meet certain overseas screening requirements are restricted further from overseas duty (types duty 3 & 6). This means that female personnel not screenable for overseas duty are assigned to duty ashore in the United States (type duty 1). Male personnel not screenable for overseas duty are generally assigned to one of the 160,000 sea requirements on ships home Ported in the United States.

How big a problem is disqualification for overseas duty? Of the male enlisted personnel, 25% do not screen for overseas assignments. Similar information on female enlisted personnel, however, is not available except for non-designated seamen/firemen/airmen. The records reflect that 37% of the female seamen/firemen/airmen made available for assignment from 1 January 1979 through 30 June 1979 did not screen for overseas assignment. This problem has been somewhat lessened by a reduction in the overseas screening requirements; for example, personnel who have experimented with marijuana are no longer automatically disqualified from overseas duty.

Large numbers of non-screenable female personnel in certain rates/ ratings have caused the assignment ashore of female personnel to be in excess of all authorized billets. In the seaman rate, there are twice as many women ashore as required. Consequently, the Navy is in effect paying two or more people to do one job.

Figure 1 represents the Navy Fleet Manning and Skill Balance Report as of 31 December 1979.

Figure 2 reflects the proposed fiscal year 1985 female inventory by rating group.

Only minor changes are noted between the current and proposed rating group distribution of enlisted women. However, there is an alarming increase in the number of women channeled into the administrative/clerical group. Can the Navy claim to be striving to achieve male/female parity while planning for an increase of 8,000 more women in the administrative/clerical group? Equally interesting is how this increase will affect the sea-shore rotation of male personnel in the same occupational group without a corresponding increase in administrative/ clerical billets.

Figure 1 Manning and Skill Balance Report

Top 10 Deficit Ratings		Top 10 Excess Ratings
OS	(Operations Specialist)	AD	(Aviation Machinist’s Mate)
YN	(Yeoman)	BT	(Boilerman Technician) +
HM	(Hospital Corpsman)	EN	(Engineman) +
BM	(Boatswain’s Mate)	HT	(Hull Maintenance Technician) +
MS	(Mess Management Specialist)	AMS	(Aviation Structural Mechanic) (Structures)
AT	(Aviation Electronics Technician)	AMH	(Aviation Structural Mechanic) (Hydraulics)
RM	(Radioman)	GMG	(Gunner’s Mate) (Guns)
ET	(Electronics Technician)	SK	(Storekeeper)
MM	(Machinist’s Mate)	ABF	(Aviation Boatswain’s Mate) (Fuel)
AQ	(Aviation Fire Control Technician)

+ Currently in excess because of the large numbers being driven into the E-1 through E-3 pay grades in an attempt to eventually solve critical shortages in pay grades E-4 through E-9.

Figure 2 Female Billet Inventory

Rating Group	FY-79 % of Inventory	FY-85 % of Inventory
Deck	1.76%	3.21%
Ordnance	.35%	1.43%
Construction	.29%	.79%
Admin/Clerical	34.88% +	36.17%++
Aviation	15.33%	16.15%
Engineering/Hull	1.36%	6.59%
Electronics/Precision
Instrument	1.31%	3.45%
Medical	16.51%	13.83%
SN/FN/AN	27.74%	17.40%

+ (8,413 billets)

++ (16,245 billets)

The Navy is currently embarked on a program of assigning female personnel to sea duty on ships. In 1978, Title 10, U. S. Code, Section 6015, was amended to permit permanent assignment of women to noncombatant ships and to aircraft which are not engaged in combat missions. The revised law also authorized temporary additional duty (TAD) assignments, for up to 180 days, to any ship, provided a combat mission is not foreseen during the period of temporary duty. The Chief of Naval Personnel in a recent policy statement said, “continuing assessment by participating commanding officers indicates the program to be highly successful.” Cynics might well say that any program given the priority the “Women in Navy Ships” (WINS) has will work.

The future of the WINS program is in jeopardy, however, unless we make fleet readiness our number one goal and, then, adjust our recruiting goals to reflect our requirements. It makes little sense to continue to recruit for numbers when such recruiting only perpetuates greater surpluses in rating groups already in excess. “The right few” would be more appropriate than large numbers of unskilled personnel. To have an effective Navy, recruiters must direct their efforts toward recruiting people to serve in areas in which there are shortages.

A change in the law to permit unrestricted assignment of women would provide assistance in solving the critical fleet readiness problem. But it appears that the American public may not yet be ready for assignment of women to combatant roles. In the meantime, one solution is within the grasp of Navy policymakers. They can, without any change in the law, designate all billets on any number of noncombatant ships as “women only.” This action would free the men currently serving in these billets for other sea duty. Ultimately, there would be an improvement in fleet readiness, a reduction of sea tour lengths for all ratings, and viable officer and enlisted sea-shore rotational patterns.

Lieutenant Schaefer is currently the Director, Assignment Department, Enlisted Personnel Management Center, New Orleans, LA. He has served in the USS Brinkley Bass (DD-887), USS Goldsborough (DDG-20), DesRon Eleven Staff, USS Yosemite (AD-19), and USS Saratoga (CV-60). His tours ashore have included U. S. Navy Recruiting Command, New Orleans, and Naval Intelligence Headquarters, Washington, D.C.

Is the Draft Our Only Choice?

By Lieutenant (junior grade) Michael R. Shumaker, U. S. Navy

One of President Carter’s major proposals to meet the challenge of foreign aggression is the renewal of draft registration to reduce mobilization time. Congress passed draft registration legislation on 12 April 1980, but, in view of growing sentiment against the draft, we must examine alternatives. What worked once may no longer be viable, especially in light of the slumping economy.

While foreign intrigues dominate the headlines, a subtle illness attacks the economy: youth joblessness. As pernicious as the inflation which exacerbates it, youth unemployment hovers at 15.9%, more than twice the national average.1 These figures are sure to accelerate as the number of older Americans seeking work swells. Inability to secure a return on their labor to apply toward college or vocational training compels them to forego further schooling. Masses of unemployed youth become unemployed adults dependent on various social programs that worsen inflation and deplete scarce resources needed for social and defense projects.

The federal government sees the solution to the problems of youth unemployment and military preparedness as unrelated, and responds simultaneously with youth projects and draft registration. Closer analysis shows separate answers may not be the best approach.

Prolonged combat requires sufficient active forces to meet the initial challenge and short lead time before replacements arrive. Sadly, the all-volunteer military is not attracting sufficient numbers to meet the first goal.

“Statistics made public by the Defense Department show that the services missed their goal by 15% in the April-June quarter. It was the third consecutive quarter in which all four services—Army, Navy, Marine Corps, and Air Force—fell short of the mark.”2

Registration cannot make up the deficit because “it will not alleviate peacetime problems of recruiting and retaining trained men and women for the volunteer services.”3

Since the Department of Defense promises not to institute a peacetime draft, the defense budget will be taxed to support another mission, complete with its civilian workers, for which the nation gains no more preparedness. Not only will the United States incur the burden of new civil servants but also the ill will of the young, which the military can afford even less.

As the nation faces economic hardships, teenagers confront a seemingly endless quest for jobs. Lack of work leads America’s youth to crime, drugs, and lost productivity, all yielding an incalculable loss to the nation and to the self-esteem of the young. Federal youth job schemes will cost $2 billion by 1981.4 These funds might alleviate some of the hardship but the minimum wage rise will surely worsen it, as a high minimum wage deprives youths of jobs. Another federal youth program, college aid, permits students to attend college and repay the loan once they begin working. This concept represents a significant burden on both taxpayer and student.

The solution to military manpower deficits and youth unemployment lies in a single coherent approach. The answers are mutually supportive and compatible.

► phase I: Military Indoctrination/Orientation

The Program would rely on voluntary participation by those aged 17 to 26 Volunteers would devote the entire two to three months of summer break to basic training in one of the four services. Each service would have a maximum number of trainees permitted. Pay would be no higher than the minimum wage of $2.90 per hour for a 50-hour week. (This should not be construed to mean training would be restricted to 50 hours per week.) Participation would be open to members of both sexes based on current Department of Defense quotas. Status of volunteers, like reservists, would be active duty only during training. Special short-term enlistments could be employed to cover the summer if required. Student loans would be eliminated except for those in most desperate need: personal income less than the current poverty level.

► Phase II: Follow-up

In subsequent summers, those so choosing could serve in active status supplementing units experiencing personnel shortages. Refresher/advanced training could later be available for volunteers to undergo training in first aid, nuclear, biological, and chemical (NBC) defense, firefighting, and search and rescue (SAR).

The concept of summer training is not novel. The three service academies, ROTC, and the various reserves have used it successfully for decades. Many businesses recruit university students for summer jobs to entice them into joining the company upon graduation.

The cost is commensurate with the benefit. A large pool of trained personnel would be produced that could reinforce active units in the event of war quicker than the system which relies on a lengthy process of registration, draft, and boot camp. These youths would be in the most militarily preferable age group as opposed to the older members of the guard and reserves. Those opting for subsequent summers of duty would help flesh out undermanned forces. Providing relief to the overburdened active units would free regulars for such important but often neglected activities as additional training and leave. Faced with the prospect of recruiting some of these students to active status, the service would work to lure them by pressuring Congress for more money to improve living and working conditions and pay for full-time active duty personnel. Such steps would also benefit those already in the service and might help retention.

American youth would enjoy self-pride from being employed in a worthwhile task, acquire a feeling of patriotic participation in the nation’s defense, earn the immediate reward of a fair wage they could apply toward further education in the fall, and learn marketable skills. The nation would profit from a stronger economy and a more viable military that could deter Communist aggression.

Since the Industrial Revolution, the Western World has learned that commercial and defense matters are capable of mutual support: military power protects a nation’s commerce and standard of living which, in turn, provide the income to finance a strong military. A potent active duty Army, Navy, and Air Force, supplemented by vigorous involvement of citizen soldiers on a regular basis, are the best guarantees of our nation’s economic strength and readiness to repel aggression. The energy crisis should serve to remind us that we must maximize not only our natural resources but those inherent in the nation’s youth.

A 1978 graduate of the Naval Academy, Lieutenant Shumaker served as a ship superintendent on the USS Tautog (SSN-639) at Mare Island Naval Shipyard, CA. He underwent a year of nuclear propulsion training before attending Surface Warfare Officer Basic School at Newport, RI. He is presently qualifying as a propulsion plant watch officer with the precommissioning unit of the USS Carl Vinson (CVN-70) in Newport News, VA.

The Right Aircraft at the Wrong Time?

By E. E. “Ted” Mouton

Over the past several years, complaints have been heard from certain elements of the U. S. Navy to the effect that the S-3A Viking is inferior to other platforms in the primary role it was designed for—antisubmarine warfare (ASW)—and that the support posture for the aircraft is inadequate or lacking in quality. At the same time, other elements indicate that while the S-3A, as an ASW vehicle, is superb, it is extremely difficult to maintain, and the occasions when it demonstrates its superiority are few and far between.

In fact, the S-3A has proven itself supremely capable in ASW, surface surveillance, and even early warning by passive electronic surveillance means. The Canadian Department of National Defense selected the P-3 aircraft with advanced S-3A ASW avionics as the baseline for its new maritime patrol aircraft, the CP-140 Aurora. What, then, are the causes of the belief of those who decry the performance of the S-3A and claim it is unreliable and too often goes “down” immediately after a “cat” shot, even if ready at takeoff time?

Let us review reliability up front, where it belongs. Certainly, the complex and sophisticated S-3A has a few reliability basket cases, just as all aircraft have. One would think that such fundamental and simple items as the windshield, nose wheel steering servo, trim actuator, and flap motor would be as reliable as their simplicity in purpose dictates. But for various reasons, they did not turn out that way.

Some of the S-3A’s high-technology electronic boxes, such as a communications suite switching network, an autopilot computer, and a speedbrake and trim control unit, have had their problems, too. In all of these areas, a better reliability design could have been done initially. Fixes are under way, but the rate of implementation of most of these reliability improvement changes has been extremely slow. The resulting multiple configurations in the field create additional maintenance problems.

It is interesting and significant, however, that in its more than six years of squadron use, the S-3A has generated only about 360 engineering change proposals (ECPs) which either have been or will be approved. As a comparison, two other frontline carrier aircraft of similar vintage have over 800 and 1,000 ECPs respectively, and these totals do not include engine ECPs where the magnitude of difference is even more significant. Either the S-3A is relatively reliable, or the Navy has not extended itself to the same degree in correcting S-3A problems as it has the other aircraft.

What, then, is the truth? The S-3A has a wider range of electronic equipment than any other Navy aircraft except for the P-3C It has the same general order of non-electronic equipment as any other carrier-based aircraft. It has approximately half again as many electronic boxes (weapons replaceable assemblies [WRAs]) as its nearest carrier-based competitor. In the acoustic data processor (11 WRAs) alone, the electronic component parts count is so high that the mean-time-between-failures it is experiencing today proves that each individual part can be failing only once in 600 years!

Too, the demands of performance against the projected threat at the time of contract award, coupled with the demand to keep the aircraft size small enough to fit on the Essex (27 Charlie)-class carrier and automated for a crew of three or four, made high sophistication in densely packed electronic boxes a must. Assuming that the S-3A was state of the art at the time of design (and it was), it had the reliability one could expect, given the goals, not guarantees, set by the Navy and for the amount of money the Navy was willing to spend for the new aircraft.

It is claimed that the S-3A has approximately three component failures per sortie, as compared to about half that for another current aircraft. Part of that “three” probably exists on takeoff, resulting from various inabilities to find and correct previously known and existing problems left over from another flight or cannibalized from another aircraft. (The reasons for this phenomenon will be explored later.) If we assume that some portion of the failures are carry-overs, and we consider the equipment range and complexity factor of the S-3A, the number is not too surprising.

What is the solution with regard to reliability? Recognize that even given equal inherent reliability from a component quality (high reliability or screened parts) and design stand-points, with all other factors equal, the end item with the higher parts count will fail more frequently. Once this is recognized, then we should decide to continue to live with the situation and stop the criticism or get on with the process of incrementally improving reliability across the board, where we are not meeting goals that we now wish to achieve.

Analysis has indicated, moreover, that there may not be a large number of reliability improvements left that will significantly improve readiness or full mission capability. This is not to imply that design concept changes to overcome support problems would not be of benefit to the S-3A’s readiness posture. What is just as important as cleaning up the residual reliability problems, which may be revealed by the new readiness reporting system, is installing the fixes with the parts kits now gathering dust in storage.

Now, let us explore some problem areas that stymie most of the Viking community and frustrate and inhibit the community’s performance in the role it knows and can do so well.

The VS(X) was conceived in the mid- to late-1960s as a quantum leap ahead of its predecessor, the S-2G. It was designed to operate from the decks of the Essex-class CVS—i.e., it had to be capable of getting airborne at maximum gross weights in light winds off the hydraulic and earlier steam catapults and getting back aboard with zero wind across the deck. It was designed to be operated by a crew of four, yet prosecute the same breadth of ASW missions with the same size sonbuoy fields and monitoring capabilities and same type of suite of ASW sensors as the P-3C with a crew of 11.

It was designed for extended sortie lengths, on the order of six hours, and the squadron aircraft and personnel allowance was sized for around-the-clock operations of indefinite length. This is what it takes to trap the submarine: incessant and unrelenting pressure. It is a cat-and-mouse game with all the breaks going to a highly intelligent, invisible, quick, and quiet mouse. You have to wear it out.

Extended sortie lengths benefit the player in two ways. It allows the airborne crew to build a chessboard strategy and watch developments for hours at a time. It also allows extended maintenance periods, uninterrupted by requirements for aircraft movements.

The S-3A was designed with many maintenance requirements in mind, including a requirement for a 30-minute turnaround between flights. This dictated several features. First, off-on switches for electronics were avoided. As a result, when power is applied, the equipment is turned on, wherever possible. Second, heavy dependence was placed on built-in-test (BIT) circuitry, using BIT indicators on the WRA. Additionally, the original concept chosen by the Navy and Lockheed was to troubleshoot avionics wherever it interfaced with the central on-board computer by use of preflight automated testing which relied on the computer and a system readiness test (SRT) to provide total and subsystem go/no-go indications, augmented by diagnostic software that identified the malperforming WRA within most multi-WRA subsystems.

The SRT is comprehensive and time-consuming, starting off in development with estimates of 15-20 minutes to completion but evolving to something on the order of 45 minutes as understanding of the emerging hardware demanded extensions of the program to handle more and more possible failure modes. In order to perform the SRT to determine equipment readiness before takeoff and without turning up the aircraft engines, both external electrical power and cooling air to dissipate the heat of the electronics boxes are needed. As a matter of fact, cold air must be introduced into the aircraft whenever operating the electronic equipment if the cabin temperature is about 80° Fahrenheit or higher. This temperature is exceeded within 10 to 15 minutes of plugging a power source into the aircraft.

None of these requirements was of concern to either the Navy or to Lockheed because of the anticipated four-to-five hours mission cycle, and the dedicated benign environment of significant chunks of CVS real estate and all the amenities such as electrical power and cold air were to be had for the asking—as long as needed up to the next deck respot!

Finally, in the on-board operational software, an in-flight performance monitoring subprogram was built which constantly monitors conditions of all the avionic equipment linked to the central computer and logs every reported failure on the digital magnetic tape unit for immediate after-landing extraction in the carrier tactical support center, which facilitates quick post-flight maintenance analysis and replacement of known offenders between flights.

Contrast this CVS ASW game environment with the CV and her mixed bag of fuel-gulping jet fighters and attack aircraft. Here, shuffling of aircraft and deck respotting are almost constant; a single cycle of launch and recovery of aircraft must take place about every 75 minutes. Maintenance is interrupted frequently as electrical power is pulled from aircraft while they are moved or other aircraft move past them.

On practically every CV deployment, the new CV air operations officer (usually strike aircraft oriented) must be weaned away from his desire to single cycle the S-3A, as he would most other aircraft. He simply does not recognize that such operations hand the game to the mouse by a free substitution habit, because he does not know the game-winning strategy. Often, he must also be weaned away from the S-3A flight purpose of “go away about 75 miles and come back in 75 minutes,” which gets rid of an aircraft he does not understand.

Now, add the fact that CV flight operations are often conducted for less than 24 continuous hours. Frequently, the gap in flight quarters can be as long as 12 hours or more. Guess when the highly intelligent, invisible, and quiet mouse decides to snorkel or run with masts up or even sail exposed?

Further compound the situation by recognizing that the most highly visible and, therefore, most easily perceived as the most potentially damaging enemy platform to the battle group is the bomber with or without stand-off capability. This dictates priority for deck-edge electrical power and air conditioning to the fighter and its constant companion, the E-2. An unescorted “Backfire” or “Bear” overflight is a hand-wringing occasion.

Contrast that to the number of times Soviet submarines, or for that matter U. S. subs, joyously surge to the surface to let the battle group know they are around. A discreet green flare simulating torpedo attack on occasion, perhaps, but nothing ostentatious. It simply is not good form. So, highly invisible is not a threat.

Maybe this criticism of the flight schedulers, the air operations officers, the air group commanders, and the flag staffers is too harsh. But the occasions when any non-ASW-trained aviator asks the ASW expert what automatic line integration or second convergence zone is or how to use the S-3A are as rare as the ASW expert who asks the fighter pilot how it feels to fly at Mach 1.5. Neither wants to admit he does not know. The result, too often, is that the S-3A is casually dismissed or sent out on a basic training mission rather than on a double or triple cycle surface surveillance or antisubmarine warfare patrol.

This is an oversimplification of a very complex, frustrating environment. The raison d’etre of the CV is to project power—striking power, in the final analysis for most scenarios—and so any encumbrance to that attack posture is not welcomed with open arms, of course. But one becomes a second-class citizen if one not only does not visibly join up and contribute to that attack power or defend the right of way for it, but also appears to fly around in very large circles, staring at strange TV screens, and listening to shrimp snap. Never mind that that large circle, vacant stare, and profound attention to shrimp symphonies may just precede a cat-quick pounce on the mouse that was preparing to eat a large hole in the airfield.

So a portion of the problems of the S-3A rests in the manner of its treatment on board the CV. Relegated to low priority for electrical power and air conditioning, its maintenance cycle using on-board computer assistance is almost impossible to achieve. Frequent flight deck movement further interrupts many maintenance tasks which require in-aircraft troubleshooting or electrical power and cold air. The results of no sustained electrics’ power and air conditioning are twofold: (1) large-scale “shotgun” box swapping and cannibalization (frequently to no avail) and (2) an extravagantly wasteful expenditure of man-hours when the wrong boxes are swapped, or boxes are burned out when electric power application without cooling air has overheated and overstressed much of the aircraft avionics.

Let us review the status of logistic support of the S-3A and provide some insights into some problems still requiring solutions.

The VS(X) was procured under the “total package” procurement policy. This meant that the prime contractor agreed in advance that he would deliver a quantity of aircraft within succeeding production lots at specified ceiling prices. The first two production lots had no inflation relief provisions, while the third and fourth had relief tied to economic indicators.

As the early 1970s saw inflation escalate well above the forecasts, dollars which were initially targeted for aircraft support elements were diverted to help fund required aircraft procurement. The inevitable result followed. Spares procurement was slashed below normal target amounts. Today, spares support is still significantly below normal levels, standing at about 70% of the established goals. The process of maintenance publication verification (verifying step-by-step written testing/troubleshooting/repair procedures, etc.) was suspended with several hundred manuals not developed. There is also a problem with quality of manuals. Uncorrected publications often tend to create or perpetuate maintenance problems.

Even if the Publications had a zero error rate on the first rough draft, there is still another problem. S-3A publications are on microfilm and are read in the squadron with a large viewer/printer. The concept is to search the microfilm and read the instructions, printing them out if too long or complex to memorize. There are about three of these machines per squadron, and the average reproduced (printed) page copy is very tough to read when the machine does work.

As a consequence, people are loath to stand in line to read, and simply try to do maintenance by guesswork. Moreover, this approach precludes the young, talented maintenance type taking the book home to study.

The process of developing a Navy in-house, S-3A depot level repair capability was hurt in two ways. Normal repair publications preparation was eliminated in favor of simplified engineering data packages which are still largely in a developmental stage. Second, the process of developing repair capability on complex devices uses a “pilot” training program so that skilled technicians are instructed in the repair procedure for selected highly complex devices. This program was cancelled in its infancy.

One area of S-3A support which has developed well is the test software used in automated test equipment for WRAs. Initially, everything was assumed to work like a charm except for the malfunctioning unit under test. As it turned out, this was the exception. As a result, a large work backlog built up while the fleet technician tried to find the one malfunction or poor connection in the test set-up. A major revision was undertaken on the most frequently used and complex programs which paid good dividends in improving repair throughput.

Contrasted to that improvement, the reliability of the SRA tester is well below what one would hope for, and support for the tester has never been adequate. The result is a backlog of aircraft parts awaiting testing and repair. This situation generates a shortage of available-for-issue parts which then ricochets into aircraft availability or full mission capability degradation.

Shortages of skilled personnel are very apparent in the S-3A world. Personnel shortages, coupled with the difficulty in digging maintenance information out of a microfilm system, create a perfect environment for “shotgun” maintenance and some level of useless cannibalization of parts from other aircraft when shortages of spares exist. A crutch exists in the dedicated contractor field service representative who quite frequently acts as skilled technician, instructor, and chaplain.

The situation is not hopeless, however. Recognition is being given to the need to complete the job of support that was truncated so long ago. There is movement to make the S-3A totally independent in ground operations for both electrical power and air conditioning. There is acknowledgement that another look must be taken at reliability to ensure that proper allocations of resources to this aircraft are made.

But some difficult questions remain. Will the S-3A be accorded the respect for external power and air it requires until that distant day it is independent, or will it continue to suffer from being viewed as a low-priority system? Will the S-3A be supported by the CV’s ASW module with proper pre-flight support and timely post-flight data reduction services, or will it continue to suffer from poor computer loads and lack of maintenance assistance from the available inflight performance monitoring?

Finally, will it be allowed to attain the maturity it needs to demonstrate consistently its capability, or will the S-3A—for all the reasons set here— continue to be the right aircraft but at the wrong time?

Captain Mouton served in amphibious craft and minesweepers prior to flight training, and his aviation career included duty in VA-135, VF-131, VF-64, VS-26, VAW-11. He was CO of VS-38 and Commander Carrier Air Group 57 on board USS Hornet (CVS-12). He retired from the Navy in 1969 and joined Lockheed as an engineer in S-3A operational computer software development. He served as Deputy S-3A Avionics Engineering Division Manager before accepting his current post as Director, S-3A Support.

Soviet Mine Warfare: Intent and Capability

By Captain Mathew J. Whelan, U. S. Navy

It is a coincidence that just six months after the appearance of several articles on mine warfare in the Morskoy Sbornik (Soviet Naval Digest), the Naval Institute published “Mine Warfare: Promise Deferred” as its 1980 Prize Essay and the U. S. Government has been discussing the possibility of conducting mine warfare against Iran. The common thread running through these events—the continuing need for preparedness in mine warfare—serves as a stimulus to review the Soviet mine threat facing the United States and its allies.

The Soviets have a long tradition in the development and use of the mine weapon, both offensively and defensively. Although there is some claim to the Tsarist Navy using a type of mine weapon in the late 1700s, it was only in the 1840s that Emanuel Nobel, father of the famed Alfred, established the first mine factory in Russia. This was followed by the launch of the first minelayer in 1853 and the defensive use of the mine in the Gulf of Finland and the Black Sea during the Crimean War (1854-55). In 1875, the Russians established their first school of mine warfare. During the Russo-Turkish War of 1877-78 and the Russo-Japanese War of 1904-05, the Russians used mines defensively. During the Russo-Japanese conflict, the Japanese lost more warships to Russian mines than to naval gunfire or torpedoes.

Prior to World War I, the Russians launched the world’s first minesweepers (the Zapal class) and commissioned the world’s first submarine minelayer (the “Crab”) in 1915. Their emphasis on minelaying during this war was defensive. They used mines in the defense of St. Petersburg in the Baltic and laid minefields in the Bosphorus to protect both their ports and their sea lines of communication (SLOCs) in the Black Sea. It was in the Bosphorus that the “Crab” laid a defensive barrier as part of a blockade effort. Russia also conducted offensive mining operations in the Central and Western Baltic in an attempt to interdict German SLOCs.

Although minesweepers were included in the extensive Soviet shipbuilding programs of the 1930s, actual mine weaponry and sweep developments lagged in the interim between the World Wars. Unfortunately for the Soviets, the outbreak of World War II found the majority of their program incomplete, and of those planned, only 38 minesweepers were in commission. The major impact of this lapse in progress was that the Soviet Navy was not prepared to cope with the magnetic mine nor were there adequate numbers of minesweepers available to counteract the initial German mining effort.

During the war it appears that the missions of Soviet mine warfare forces were as follows. Defensively, mine barriers were laid to seal off the seaward approaches and access routes to their ports and to stabilize the coastal flanks of their ground forces. Further, defensive mining was used to protect their SLOCs, for antisubmarine warfare (specifically, at the entrance to the Gulf of Finland), and to protect and support the deployment of their own naval forces. Offensively, mine warfare was used to interdict German SLOCs.

An analysis of several articles on mine warfare in Morskoy Sbornik reveals several lessons learned by the Soviets from both their own and German mine warfare experiences during World War II. The Soviets believe that the Germans were tardy in their use of aircraft for mass minelaying. They comment that aggressive offensive aerial minelaying would have completely disrupted Soviet SLOCs in the Baltic. The Soviets also recognize the fact that their lack of available minesweepers and mine countermeasures equipment initially resulted in a total paralysis of their fleet operations. Further, as a result of insufficient stocks of mines on hand at the out-break of the war, they were forced to change their war plans in the midst of the crisis. In addition, they note their failure to lay mines against shallow draft ships and minesweepers, thus facilitating German mine countermeasures, and the fact that they laid few, combined antiship/antisubmarine mine fields. On the other hand, Soviet mine warfare did interrupt German SLOCs and forced the Germans to expend significant manpower and equipment resources for mine countermeasures. Finally, the Soviets believe that their offshore mining brought effective pressure to bear on the seaward flanks of the German Army.

There are two consequential lessons learned for today’s operational readiness posture which have not escaped attention in the press. The Germans commenced mine warfare on the eve of hostilities, and Soviet mining efforts began on the opening day of the war.

With respect to Soviet mine operations during the war, almost any type of ship available was pressed into service as a minelayer. In addition to aircraft, the Soviets used destroyers, escort patrol boats, torpedo boats, net layers, motors launches, and even inflatable rubber boats. For minesweeping, trawlers, drifter boats, and motor boats were used in addition to the few available minesweepers.

As part of the war reparations package the Soviet Union received some 50 mine warfare ships, a few of which, mostly ex-German, remained in service until the mid-1950s. These ships were eventually replaced by the “T-43”-class ocean minesweeper which incorporated many German design features. A product of the immediate Postwar construction program, the lead ship of this class was laid down in 1947 and commissioned in 1952. Class construction resulted in approximately 150 of these ships being built with more than 50 of them eventually transferred to foreign navies and approximately 90 remaining in the active inventory until 1975. Today, about one-half of these ships are in the reserve; some have been converted to radar pickets; and the remainder are probably being gradually replaced. The “T-43” class was just the beginning of the continuous Soviet program to upgrade its mine warfare capabilities.

Mine armament was modernized with the emphasis placed on bottom and moored mines using contact as well as acoustic- and electrical-firing mechanisms. Since the war, mines have come to be regarded as a more effective offensive weapon, and sub-marines and aircraft are emerging as the primary delivery vehicles. Beginning in the mid-1950s, Soviet all-navy competitions have included minelaying, and mine warfare has been included in several naval exercises. In Admiral Gorshkov’s Navy Day speeches (e.g., 1975 and 1977), ocean minesweepers received special recognition for their achievements during the year. And, in 1975, an award for “military minesweeping” was established, probably as a result of Soviet minesweeping in the southern approaches to the Suez Canal.

In 1957, the prototype of the “T-58”-class ocean sweeper was laid down, and construction of this steel-hulled, 900-ton displacement ship continued until 1964. Although approximately one-half of the class was completed as Valdai-class submarine rescue ships, 16 ships joined the fleet. Construction ceased when the decision was apparently reached that there was no operational requirement for such a large sweeper. None of the follow-on classes of ocean sweepers have approached the “T-58” in size.

As construction of the “T-58 class began, the “Sasha”-class coastal minesweeper program also commenced. This class was probably designed as a follow-on to the 1944 “T-301” class. The “Sasha” class of some 20 steel-hulled ships began phasing out almost immediately in favor of the wooden-hulled “Vanya” class, laid down in 1961. It is believed that construction of the “Vanyas” was completed in the 1970s, with a total delivery of 70 ships. In addition to sweep gear, the “Vanyas”—like the “T-43s” and “T-58s”—are equipped with mine rails for minelaying. Also, in the late 1950s, construction of the shallow-draft “TR-40” and “K-8” classes of inshore minesweepers began. According to Sigfried Breyer, the “TR-40” class was probably designed for both minelaying and minesweeping as well as patrol duties. If this is the case, the “TR-40” would exemplify Soviet World War II experience wherein small combatants performed a myriad of duties including patrol, inshore ASW, minelaying/minesweeping, and general auxiliary functions. The “K-8” is probably wooden hulled. Although it is estimated that 70 ships of the class were produced, they are seldom seen.

Minesweeper construction continued through the 1960s and 1970s. Various ship types were laid down, the greater part reflecting follow-on developments. As is customary with Soviet naval construction, the current state of the art is translated into backfits of the present inventory. As developments occur, not necessarily “breakthroughs,” new classes of ships are introduced. In 1963, the “Yurka”-class ocean minesweeper appeared. This ship, displacing about 460 tons, probably represented all Soviet postwar experience in mine warfare. This class of over 40 ships continued in construction until the late 1960s when it was judged to be too small for ocean duties. In 1970, its successor appeared, the “Natya” class, displacing about 750 tons fully loaded. This class continues under construction at the rate of three to four per year and numbers about 30 ships.

The youngest of the ocean minesweepers is the “Andryusha” class which entered service in 1975. Although designated as such, the three ships of this class are not configured with the conventional equipment expected of a minesweeper. Instead, two large “chutes,” resembling oversized cable ducts, originate at a common point just forward of the superstructure and extend aft on either side of the ship to the stern. The propulsion plant exhausts through the side of the hull, indicating that the stack may vent turbine generators. The chute and generator arrangement, in addition to the probability that the “Andryusha” has a fiberglass, reinforced hull, may be the key to the mission of this “special minesweeper” (MSS). The electricity developed by the suspected generators could be used in conjunction with the chutes to develop a magnetic field or some other kind of countermeasures capability against magnetic mines. Although the “Andryusha” is slightly smaller than other ocean minesweepers (e.g., 360-ton displacement compared with 460 tons for the “Yurka”), it is slightly larger than the coastal minesweepers (e.g., the 330-ton “Sonya”), thus suggesting a probable deep water role.

The only other class of ships with an ocean-minesweeping capability was laid down in 1963 and resulted in only three ships being constructed. This is the “Alesha” class, designed primarily for boom laying and possibly other harbor defense measures, but, in addition, has the capability to lay and sweep mines.

In 1972, the “Zhenya”-class of coastal minesweeper made its appearance. This class had an abbreviated production cycle resulting in only four ships, and since it is the first hull to have fiberglass reinforcing, it may be considered as a trial class. In 1973, the “Sonya” class, also with fiberglass-reinforced construction, appeared. The “Sonya” is slightly larger than the “Zhenya” and has an extra gunmount for antiair warfare, but in other characteristics, appears similar to the “Zenhya.” Construction of the “Sonya” continues to date at the rate of three to four deliveries per year. There are approximately 30 hulls of the “Sonya” class in commission.

Inshore minesweepers have not been forgotten. In 1971, the successor to the “K-8” appeared in the “Ilyusha” class, displacing about 70 tons loaded. Ten ships were delivered before construction was halted in favor of the “Olya” class of about the same size. However, the “Olya” is probably unmanned and radio controlled. The prototype of the “Olya” appeared in 1978, and it is estimated that ten deliveries have been made to the fleet. It is thought that at least one of the “Vanyas” was modified to act as the control ship for the “Olya.” The “Yevgenya”-class prototype appeared the following year, slightly larger, equipped with antiair weaponry, and also provided with the capability to lay mines. Thirty of these craft have been produced with three of the hulls transferred to Iraq. The “Yevgenya” has a fiberglass-reinforced hull as do the “Zhenya” and “Sonya.”

In summary, the entire postwar period has seen the Soviets developing their surface mine warfare capability with new class construction including some trial classes and hull innovations. In addition to purely mine warfare capabilities, Soviet minesweepers, except the “Ilyusha” and the “Andryusha,” are all equipped with some type of antiair weapons and, in some cases, ASW capabilities—e.g., “T-43,” “T-58,” and the new “Natya.”

With respect to minelaying, Soviet writers consider the submarine to be the best minelaying platform because of her covert capability, in particular, “for concealed mining of ports, narrows, and other areas patrolled by the enemy.”* Admiral Gorshkov points out in his analysis of World War I that the extension of a mine threat via the submarine “to areas which have been considered previously safe in this regard” was an invaluable tool against surface ships. On the other hand, “submarines should not be adapted for minelaying,” noted one author, “but that mines should be made suitable for use from ordinary submarines via the torpedo tubes.” Soviet thinking along these lines in the mid-1970s was that, “Modern attack submarines [can] take on up to 30 or more mines along with their torpedoes,” but “nuclear missile submarines just can not be used for this purpose.” Apparently, to determine submarine minelaying capacity, the Soviets consider that, “usually two mines can be taken on in submarines in place of one torpedo.” Also to be noted is the fact that ASW submarines are equipped with ASW torpedoes, rocket torpedoes, and mines (Soviet Military Encyclopedia, Vol. 6, 1978).

Siegfried Breyer and Norman Polmar attribute the following mine capacities to selected Soviet attack submarines: “Echo I” = 36, “Bravo” = 36, “Victor” = 64, “Foxtrot” = 44, “November” = 64, and “Zulu” = 44 (Guide to the Soviet Navy, Naval Institute Press, 1977). In addition to these, as well as other attack boats, one can postulate a possible minelaying role for some of the “Yankee”-class submarines that are having missile tubes dismantled to meet SALT requirements. The hull space made available would certainly accommodate sufficient mines to pose a threat to shipping either transiting a choke point or making a harbor channel.

Next to submarines, Soviet writers consider the aircraft to be the most effective minelaying vehicle for mass minelaying. Although Soviet naval aircraft appear to be configured for specific missions, almost all the aircraft in the inventory can be equipped for minelaying, either by adding external stores or by replacing conventional bomb racks. Many Soviet reports make specific reference to the use of aircraft for minelaying through World War II. In addition, in the Soviet Military Encyclopedia’s description of ASW operations, aircraft are to be used in concert with other forces to lay mine ASW barriers. It is also noted that ASW aircraft are equipped with various weapons such as “homing torpedoes, depth charges, missiles, and mines for destroying submarines.” (Soviet Military Encyclopedia, Vol. 6, 1978).

Finally, surface ships are “the basic force for defensive minelaying.” It is not entirely clear from Admiral Gorshkov’s remarks in Sea Power of the State (Naval Institute Press, 1978) that, “Surface ships . . . have the main role in mine warfare,” whether he is discussing minelaying or minesweeping or both. Although on earlier ships—i.e., those laid down in or prior to 1960—mine rails were common equipment (e.g., “Kashins,” “Kotlin,” “Skorys,” “Petyas,” and “Rigas”), now, only the “Krivak” (1968) and “Grisha” (1969) classes of today’s vintage combatants possess minelaying rails. On the other hand, the continuing developments apparent in his ongoing construction programs would indicate that he was referring primarily to minesweeping.

Based on analysis of their writings, it appears that the Soviets contemplate the use of mine warfare on both a strategic and tactical basis. Strategically, in consonance with Admiral Gorshkov’s “battle against the shore” philosophy, one can expect the mining of ports, harbors, and in blockade operations. In addition, the mining of choke points and straits as well as use in a SLOC interdiction campaign can be postulated. Another strategic use, which is not mentioned in the literature but which can be assumed from not only Admiral Gorshkov’s interest but also the Soviets’ past use of the mine as an ASW weapon, is the use of mines in an anti-SSBN role. Mining in this regard could be expected against SSBN bases, access routes, and holding and launch areas.

Tactically, Soviet authors state or imply that mine warfare would be used for base defense, anti-amphibious landing operations, ASW barriers, SLOC interdiction efforts, “supporting the combat stability of ground forces from seaward,” supporting of their own landing operations, antiship operations, and protection of their own SLOCs. In short, it is stated that mines would be used “when carrying out the majority of missions assigned to a navy.”

Little is available in open source literature on the specifics of Soviet mine weapons. One would suspect, however, that they have applied the same brute force technique to mine development as they have in other areas of naval expansion. Based on the availability of captured German equipment in the immediate postwar years, the Soviets probably made improvements on their own designs and eventually stockpiled an assortment of acoustic-, electric-, and magnetic-firing devices. In addition to bottom and moored mines, Soviet interests, as suggested by their discussions of foreign mine developments, would indicate development of anchored, self-propelled, “electrical homing mine-torpedoes” and wire-controlled mines. Wire-controlled mines offer a particular advantage, according to Soviet thinking, in that, “remote control makes mines safe for own forces.” With respect to increasing mine destruct capabilities, one Soviet author states the case for using nuclear-armed mines. Such mines would “naturally” be used only against “large tonnage ships” and delivered by submarines. Employment of mines, or actual mine laying can be expected to take the traditional forms of barriers, clusters, or mine fields.

Soviet sweep capabilities—also low keyed in the press—must be estimated from photography. Based on the hardware visible in photos, one can postulate a streamed-wire approach, probably with cutting devices, for use against moored mines; the use of a cable or other streamed device(s) with a means to induce a magnetic signature against magnetic mines; and the use of some type of acoustic noisemaker against acoustic mines. For mine hunting, an analyst must pay attention to Soviet sonar developments since the war as well as the attention given to the development of a streamed television apparatus. Finally, based on the use of the Mi-8 “Hip” helicopter operations in the Suez experience, the use of helicopters in a mine countermeasures role cannot be ignored. A last measure which receives occasional mention in the press is the use of diver-demolition teams for mine clearance.

Reputedly, the Soviets have continued to stockpile their mine resources, and it is estimated that they possess from 200,000 to 300,000 mines. With respect to future mine warfare ship construction, it has been pointed out that, “Ships of the minelaying and minesweeping forces have not undergone any substantial changes.” On the other hand, Admiral Gorshkov hinted in Sea Power of the State that an air cushion vehicle (ACV) may be introduced for these purposes. Other authors point out two advantages of ACVs over water displacement minesweepers: one is the ACVs’ immunity to underwater explosions, and two, “they [ACVs] are scarcely vulnerable to moored and bottom influence mines.” These facts, coupled with the Soviet Navy’s already extensive (over 350 ships) minesweeping force, traditional uses of mine warfare, and current Soviet thinking as evident in their press, should alert the United States and its allies to the fact that, “The experience of the world wars shows with all persuasiveness that without taking into account the mine weapons of the enemy, the successful conduct of war at sea is impossible.”

Captain Whelan is Commanding Officer, U. S. Naval Security Group, Winter Harbor, Maine, and author of “The Soviet Anti-SLOC Mission” (February 1979) and “The Growing Soviet Amphibious Warfare Capability” (August 1979).

Images from an Arabian Sea Diary

Lieutenant T. J. McKearney, U. S. Navy

The U. S. Navy’s operations in the Arabian Sea are long days of boredom and frenzy whose tempo is unique during peacetime. For over six months the ships of the Arabian Sea battle groups have stayed on station without benefit of shore bases or advance support staging. When the U. S. Navy increased its presence in the Arabian Sea last November, it brought with it its own resources to sustain itself. Most valuable of these resources have been the men who have manned the bridges, cockpits, flight decks, and operating stations of the ships and planes on Kermit and Gonzo stations. For them, the hectic days and long nights have left lasting impressions and a sense of pride in their ability to turn a distant and foreign sea into an American lake.

The day starts early here: Radio got the carrier’s flight plan about 0230, and the long cycle of launches and recoveries will begin at 0615. The four-to-eight TAO has his hands full: Does the carrier want a plane guard for the first launch? (No, it’ll be light enough.) We need the AICs up here by 0545. (Call the galley and provide the AICs with head-of-the-line privileges.) When’s the first SPAR flight? (0800.) The OPS boss wanders into CIC at 0600, having already been swamped with more message traffic since midnight than is received in a week in San Diego. Accordingly, he is not amused by the original but scarcely complimentary caricature of himself that has appeared on the face of an idle radar repeater.

Sometime around 0800, the OOD is convinced that everything that could happen on his hour-old watch has done so at least twice. First division has managed to get the SPAR streamed just in time for three A-7s and a pair of A-6s to pounce on the small sled with smoke bombs and cannon fire as it skids a few thousand feet astern in our wake. CIC now has control of half a dozen aircraft from this launch for SSSC and air intercept. In this dimly lit forest of NTDS consoles, status boards, and radio speakers, the TAO and senior air controller are devoting their prayers and efforts toward guiding these fresh aircraft into their proper piece of sky while getting the first launch’s planes back home to recovery. Adding more excitement is the controller trying to keep the attack aircraft flying in low across our stern from occupying the same airspace as the helo on patrol trying to snap a few pictures of the Soviet AGI which has become a regular member of the battle group. On the bridge, an MC speaker from CIC informs the OOD that the bombing runs have been completed by the attack aircraft and the A-6s will honor us with a close fly-by en route to their next mission. These low passes have become a sort of professional salute; the pilots of the air wing have developed an apparent pride in demonstrating their airmanship by offering all hands topside a close look at a fastmoving jet. This morning, the two A-6s pass a couple hundred feet down the port side at bridge level in quick succession and then abruptly climb at a steep angle to over 10,000 feet. First division, whose daily work has made it the most frequent observer of these impromptu air shows, has become the most astute judge of the performance. This particular pass earns the highest accolade from the boat-swain’s mate of the watch: “He was so close I could’ ve read his name on his helmet as he went by.” This regular barnstorming is more than an attempt to entertain both the performers and observers: the low, high-speed runs are used by the missile and gun system technicians to provide an operational check on computers and radars that leaves little doubt about the equipment’s readiness to engage a target with a less playful intent.

1000: The chief engineer seeks the light of day on the bridge, petitioning the CO with a request to run a “flex” test on 1A boiler. The signal over TG tactical increasing speed to follow the CV into the wind is his answer: not now; maybe tonight on the mid-watch. By the way, he is reminded to get the steering test completed in anticipation of refueling after flight ops.

A mid-morning glance at the ship yields a contrasting and varied picture: In CIC the operations specialists are immersed in a world of logs and records, surrounded by loudspeakers providing information from other stations within the ship and from over a dozen other units inside a 50-mile radius. This dark world functions smoothly despite the appearance of confusion that prevails. Those on watch here share the responsibility for guarding 50,000 square miles of well-travelled but potentially hostile open sea and airspace. Far below, in the fire and engine rooms, the “snipes” carry on their endless chores of maintenance and repair, painfully aware that a major casualty here can-not be easily dealt with. The long days and months under way are hard on the ship’s machinery and on the men who keep that machinery running. Routine maintenance must be accomplished in short periods of time snatched from a demanding operating schedule. The press of time is not the only factor affecting our ability to keep our “gear” in operation: the nearest technical and industrial support is more than 2,000 miles away in Diego Garcia, and repairs which would normally be left to a tender or repair activity must be handled by our crew’s ingenuity. The urge to check and pamper equipment is not reserved to the boiler technicians and machinist’s mates; the gunner’s mates are poring over the missile launcher aft, ensuring that the temperamental hydraulic monster is correctly responding to orders from the fire control system. Like their counterparts in the engineering spaces, the weapons technicians understand the importance of their own resourcefulness in keeping the launching system tuned up. This morning’s commands to the launcher are simulations in response to an internally generated false target. Should the next commands direct the launcher towards a real target, its performance must be as flawless as this test.

Weps wants to shoot the guns about 1230. (We told them that last night.) Can’t make it then—would be right in the middle of a recovery cycle. The problem is negotiated via secure voice radio. We’ll shoot at 1300; man the magazines at 1230 and get the drums loaded and the firehoses broken out. The first round goes off at 1301. The two gun mounts alternate in a simple attempt to sharpen reflexes: one mount puts a single burst in the air off the beam, and the other mount races to bracket this first burst with a series of ten rounds. Nothing seems to capture everyone’s interest like the firing of a 5-in./54. By 1330, the gun shoot is over; the guns’ track record has improved considerably since we started regular firings. (Next week let’s try to get the frigate to join in—the more the merrier.) By 1430, the operations officer is prowling around CIC again. The cruiser on PIRAZ has had to drop the program for a reload, and we’ve had to pick up NCS. Helo detail at 1500? I know the logistics helo is supposed to be here at 1530, but call the carrier and make sure. (CV confirms 1530.) 1545, where’s the helo? He’s still plane guarding for recovery. Is he coming to us first? No, he has to drop some part off on the frigate first; won’t be here until 1645. Weps stomps off the bridge, angry; half of first division is wasting time at flight quarters. 1547, secure the helo detail. 1550, reman the helo detail—log helo overhead.

For all the frustration waiting for it brings, the daily logistics helo has become a vital interface with the rest of the battle group and the world beyond the Arabian Sea. This one has brought a few spare parts essential to the repair of one missile fire control computer and several new crew members who have been jostled from ship to ship since leaving stateside several weeks ago. In exchange, three former shipmates have been taken by today’s helo on the first leg of a journey that will return them to an outside world whose memory has distilled into a series of recurring impressions. The helicopter has come to represent a wide variety of additional necessities as well: it is a commuter service for officers and technicians who travel to other ships of the force for briefings and to render repair assistance. It regularly carries crew members to the CV for medical and dental treatment. Spare parts, food, ammunition, personnel, movies all move from place to place via the SH-3s, SH-2S, and CH-46s of the battle group. Of all of its cargoes, however, the helicopter has come to stand for the most important of basic commodities—mail. Men can be expected to survive the trial of months at sea without real eggs and ice cream; but mail, more than anything else, keeps people going.

For the members of the wardroom, dinner is usually the social highlight of the day. Over the dinner table the latest letter from home takes on the most profound importance for its news content while the tales of a two-month old port call (slightly embellished) are listened to with the attention given a classic epic poem. The day’s triumphs and failures are similarly reviewed in the customary good humor that comes with hindsight. Tonight’s meal becomes an interrupted and abridged affair because of the impending refueling. The chief engineer eats quickly and sets out with the leading boiler technician to make the final fuel tank adjustments and transfers prior to refueling. The operations officer gets half through his meal before a call from C1C sends him scrambling up the ladder to the bridge as the carrier completes flight operations and heads for a rendezvous with the approaching oiler. The rest of the meal is hurried with little time left for the usual socializing. After a quick dessert and a few questions about the new men who arrived today, the CO heads for the bridge, leaving the executive officer to preside over the remainder of the meal and ensure that the festivities are concluded in ample time to allow the junior officers to supervise the final manning of fueling detail stations.

It seems like we’ve spent half our lives in waiting station behind oilers, and all of that after dark. A few thousand yards ahead, the carrier silently settles into her position on the port side of the tanker, dwarfing the vital link with a logistics system that has been stretched thousands of miles beyond its normal length. Our turn to move into station will come only after the CV has established herself in station and has gotten her fuel rigs in place. The silent group on the port bridge wing has developed a patient response to the familiar tableau bathed in red. The CO, XO, OOD, and operations officer are preoccupied with silently urging the carrier into position to hasten our turn on the oiler’s starboard side. Less patient is the anxious rig crew on the fueling station just forward of the bridge. A red flashing light bursts out of the dark mass of the carrier’s island. The voice of the signalman above confirms everyone’s hope: we’re on. “Sigs, to the oiler: ‘My ROMEO closed up to port.’ “ Instinctively the phone talker, who seems to have done this countless times before, notifies all stations that the approach has commenced.

Things go smoothly during the approach, a reflection of our frequent participation in this ritual. The arching glow of the shot lines from the oiler signal the start of competition as the forward and after rig crews race to be the first to start receiving fuel. Amid cheers and catcalls, messengers, inhauls, and span wires pass between ships until finally the fueling probes begin their long slide down the tensioned span wires to our fueling connections. Among spectators and participants this final stretch of the race between the rig crews attracts roughly the same attention as the World Series or Super Bowl. The slam of the forward probe into its receiver is met with a chorus of mass approval. In his role of chief umpire, the captain proclaims the forward station the winner of this particular contest. The results of the competition are the subject of a brief conversation between the CO and the oiler’s skipper on the bridge-to-bridge sound-powered phone line. After both captains have completed their exchange of pleasantries, our supply officer and his counterpart on the oiler commandeer the phone circuit for their customary business dealings, conducted in a language foreign to the layman. The rest of the refueling is as routine as the start. Topping off is completed in 26 minutes, and we begin a long half-circle to starboard, coming astern of the oiler and carrier as the frigate surges forward for her turn alongside. By the time we are settled into lifeguard station, the fueling detail has secured. In a little over an hour, we have taken aboard more fuel than the average American car would use in 100 years.

By 2130, we’ve returned to our screening station, an imaginary box of water that follows the carrier around this now-familiar stretch of ocean. Some five miles away the red glow of the carrier’s Christmas tree floodlights marks the last task of the day, readying the flight deck for the operations that will start again tomorrow morning at dawn. The night is moonless, with only a haze so slight it is more felt than seen; the fluorescent glow from the sea as our bow slices the water almost illuminates the bridge wing. Day’s end brings a brief chance for rest and reflection, a short opportunity to go over the day’s events with a critical eye. Tomorrow will be similar in its planning, unique in its outcome, another day shaped by exercises, drills, scheduled commitments, and unscheduled crises. These last moments of the day are a time for old memories of home and families separated by half a world of ocean and new memories of this day that will eventually be carried back to those homes and families.

AGI	Intelligence Collecting Ship
AIC	Air Intercept Controller
CIC	Combat Information Center
CO	Commanding Officer
CV	Aircraft Carrier
MC	Master Communications
NCS	Net Control Station
NTDS	Navy Tactical Data System
OOD	Officer of the Deck
OPS	Operations Officer
PIRAZ	Positive Identification Radar Advisory Zone
SPAR	Small Target Sled
SSSC	Surface, Subsurface Surveillance, and Coordination
TAO	Tactical Action Officer
TG	Task Group
XO	Executive Officer
WEPS	Weapons Officer

Lieutenant McKearney served as a department head on board a destroyer recently assigned to the Arabian Sea contingency and battle force.

Near-Term Prepositioned Ship Force

BY Rear Admiral F. C. Collins, Jr., U. S. Navy

Several months ago when General E. C. Meyer, Chief of staff of the Army, was questioned concerning the Army’s readiness to respond to worldwide contingencies, he stated that the Army was ready but did not believe there was enough sealift capacity to move unit equipment (UE) in a timely fashion.

This announcement and the subsequent publicity it received focused attention on this long-neglected warfare area. With a steadily shrinking war fleet, emasculated by age, inflation, and the leapfrogging cost of advanced technology, scarce SCN (ship-building and Conversion, Navy) funds have been understandably husbanded for strategic war fighting and amphibious power projection forces. Sea-lift ships would come from the units administered by the Maritime Administration (MarAd) in the 163-ship National Defense Reserve fleet, within which is a 23-ship, 10-day ready component known as the Ready Reserve Force.

The explosive change of government in Iran, coupled with the 4 November taking of U. S. hostages in Tehran and the late 1979 Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, suddenly elicited a renewed interest in having a consistent U. S. Navy presence in the Indian Ocean. Carrier battle groups were expeditiously sailed to the Indian Ocean where their presence has been a continuing tribute to the flexibility, resiliency, and “can do” spirit of the Navy.

But what about power projection—as represented by land forces? Was there a creditable U. S. capability in that area of the world? Since our withdrawal from Iran and the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, Indian Ocean littoral nations have been understandably skeptical about opening their facilities to U. S. forces. Diego Garcia, a horseshoe spit of coral 2,600 miles from the Arabian Sea, was the only real estate on which we had tenancy. Rapidly being pushed to the limits with our expansion of air, communications, petroleum-oil-lubricants, and ammunition storage facilities, it did not readily lend itself as a prepositioned material configured to unit sets (POMCUS) site. Thus, the Near-Term Prepositioned Ship (NTPS) force concept was born.

The Secretary of Defense’s direction was concise: “Create a force of ships which will support the unit equipment (UE) for a modified Marine Amphibious Brigade (MAB), fuel, water, Air Force ammo for several tactical squadrons plus Army ammo—plus supply support for 15 days.”

JCS planners scoped out a seven-ship force which consists of three roll-on/ roll-off (RO/RO) vessels (two “Maine” class [ss Illinois and SS Lipscomb Lykes, which were renamed USNS Mercury (T-AKR-10) and USNS Jupiter (T-AKR-11) respectively] and the USNS Meteor [T-AKR-9]), two C-4 breakbulk dry cargo ships (SS American Courier and SS American Champion), and two “handy sized” tankers.* With the exception of the Meteor, all ships would be Military Sealift Command (MSC) charters. All but the three RO/ROs would be contractor manned.

The concept calls for stationing the seven-ship task force at or near Diego Garcia where it will be available to sail on short notice to support U. S. foreign policy in the Indian Ocean. Troops would be airlifted to an airfield proximate to the UE port of discharge where the two elements would “marry” and move out to the objective area.

The two tankers would support the force with aviation and vehicle fuel and fresh water.

The planning concept envisions this force as offloading administratively at a “benign” Persian Gulf or Indian Ocean littoral port which precludes necessity for inclusion of assault lighterage or liquid offshore offload equipment as part of the package.

The NTPS force is in essence a floating POMCUS, but has employment flexibility which is absent with its dry-land counterpart. It can be moved to the area of tension, and no feeling of ownership accrues to an ally upon whose soil it might reside. The NTPS force is sine qua non in the rapid response equation of the Indian Ocean. Administratively subordinate to MSC, it will be husbanded by a newly created Military Sealift Command Office, Indian Ocean, embarked with a small staff in one of the RO/ROs. Operationally, it will report to CTF-73. Merchant crews will be rotated periodically via airlift, and maintenance on UE and ships alike will be performed as near to its area of operations as adequate facilities are available.

NTPS force is the precurser to two other sealift enhancement programs which promise valid capability to support port the newly created Rapid Deployment/Joint Task Force. They are the Maritime Prepositioned Ships and the Rapid Surge Force. These programs will enhance our capability in both the areas of prepositioned and rapid response surge sealift.

Editor’s Note: Admiral Collins will describe the Maritime Prepositioned Ships and Rapid Surge Force in a follow-on professional note in a future issue.

Rear Admiral Collins is Director, Logistics Plans Division, Office of the Chief of Naval Operations and Naval Advisor to the Assistant Secretary for Maritime Affairs, Maritime Administration.