China’s Marine Corps Is on the Rise
(See M. Hanson, pp. 30–35, April 2020)
China’s development of an amphibious capability should be a concern to all U.S. Marines. Their marines could present a credible threat to the Navy–Marine Corps team conducting expeditionary advanced base operations on the island chains off the Chinese coast. Future Marine Corps force design efforts should take this into consideration, with possible renewed emphasis on cannon artillery and armor.
In addition, opposing Chinese marines will require unified action by the U.S. Army, Air Force, Navy, Marines, allies, and partners in a way that is not currently emphasized. Fundamentally, we need not only naval (Navy and Marine Corps) concepts, but also joint concepts, for opposing China. This is the exact sort of article needed for us to challenge assumptions and design the right force for the future.
—LTCOL Nathaniel Lauterbach, USMC
As one of the many currently sheltering in place from the approaching COVID-19 storm, the arrival of the April Proceedings was a very welcome diversion from the grim news of the day. Regarding the very informative article on China’s Marine Corps, though, either the Chinese make one heck of a 30-mm cannon, or the vehicle pictured on page 33 is actually a ZTD-05, the assault-gun variant of the Type 05 amphibious vehicle family, which carries a 105-mm gun.
—Ben Parker
Advancing America’s Away Game
(See F. Kacher, pp. 12–13, March 2020)
Congratulations to Rear Admiral Kacher for his spot-on commentary, which focused, laser-like, on how to successfully engage our friends and allies overseas. Of special note, not once did he describe the Navy’s mission as “presence,” the too-stale yet ubiquitous description our Navy has used for far too long. He has it correct: Forward engagement should be the mission slogan—now.
—VADM Doug Crowder, USN (Ret.)
Unleash the Privateers!
(See M. Cancian and B. Schwartz, pp. 52–57, April 2020)
U.S. Privateering Is Legal
(See B. Schwartz, pp. 56–57, April 2020)
These articles will no doubt gather some attention, but they omit key practical considerations about the reality of any attempt to resurrect a practice that was effectively abolished.
The Treaty of Paris, which ended the Crimean War, included an associated agreement, the 16 April 1856 Paris Declaration Respecting Maritime Law that abolished the practice of issuing letters of marque to privateers during war. It is customary international law, validated by state practice that records no examples of letters of marque being employed since 1856.
For the sake of argument, assuming the author’s contention is correct and a loophole exists for the United States to resume issuing letters of marque, the fact remains that the rest of the world would not respect this deviation from customary international law. Without international recognition of the revived practice, any privateer captured would have the same legal status as a pirate. Any nation can prosecute pirates, and penalties—if recent U.S. prosecutions of Somali pirates are any indication—can include long prison sentences. Mariners who engage in privateering, like pirates, would have no prisoner-of-war status.
Even in its day, privateering was successful because of the judicially authorized “bonus” received by a successful privateer capture. The privateer who captured a ship was required to sail it to a friendly port, where a proceeding was brought by the privateer in an admiralty court under prize law. If the admiralty court determined the ship captured was a lawful prize, the ship and its cargo were sold at a judicial auction, and the proceeds were awarded to the successful privateer. If the prize decision by the admiralty court was favorable with respect to a ship with a high-value cargo, it was equivalent to winning the lottery, and served to motivate privateers and their backers to risk all to capture a lucrative prize. Of course, if the verdict was unfavorable, the privateer received nothing.
The only admiralty court that might recognize a hypothetical letter of marque issued by the U.S. government today would be a U.S. federal court. Sailing to any other port would result in the loss of the prize ship and the prosecution and imprisonment of the privateer crew as pirates. A further difficulty would be that targets could easily register their ships under neutral flags of convenience to defeat the claims. Moreover, legal costs for captured ships would assuredly be provided by hull and war-risk underwriters. These proceedings can drag on for years, all the while the hapless privateers would receive no compensation.
The voyage to the United States for a prize proceeding would be risky. Masters of targeted ships might get off an SOS before the privateer’s attack could be completed. With the captured status announcements broadcast, the privateers would face a long, unescorted trip during which enemy forces might make every attempt to recapture the ship seized. Taking an unarmed merchant ship from privateers would be a much easier task than defending a captured ship from attack by an enemy warship intent on recapture.
Another unintended consequence is that the small 200 or so U.S.-flag merchant ships—already vulnerable in the modern contested seas environment—would themselves be targeted by would-be privateers allied with the enemy. This reality will tax an already overextended U.S. Navy.
Privateering may appear romantic, but it is likely to be an illusion in the face of practical realities.
—CAPT Doug Burnett, USN (Ret.), Chief Counsel, U.S. Maritime Administration
Although it is true that the Declaration of Paris of 1856 prohibiting privateering was “a bad deal for the United States,” the underlying legal reason for the U.S. refusal to sign the agreement is that the executive branch has no power to do so. Article I, Section 8, of the U.S. Constitution assigns to Congress the power to commission privateers: “The Congress shall have power . . . to Declare War, grant Letters of Marque and Reprisal, and Make Rules concerning Captures on Land and Water.” Privateering remains legal until the Constitution is amended to repeal that power. It does not, however, mandate the granting of any letters.
There is no maritime equivalent to the defunct Soldier of Fortune magazine. If there were, that might be a good place to advertise for someone seeking to become the next John Paul Jones or Jean Lafitte.
—CDR Earl Higgins, USN (Ret.)
Colonel Cancian and Mr. Schwartz raise an intriguing thought, one that deserves at least some thinking through at the strategic level, as a contingency. Modern privateering would be an extension of what the land warfare community has been doing for several decades: outsourcing some ancillary functions to contractors to allow the modern, smaller, highly specialized military to focus on complex combat functions. However, 21st-century realities complicate its reimplementation: in particular, the dispersed nature of trade across many noncombatant flags, more efficient means to damage economies, and unintended consequences to the United States.
A more efficient way of suppressing Chinese trade would be through the global financial system. The United States has been using this technique to influence affairs for a long time, and it has a deep arsenal of proven techniques at its disposal to cripple an enemy’s economy.
Dependent upon foreign-flag vessels for international trade, the United States would be disproportionately affected by a war that might otherwise be relegated to the back pages of the world news section. We would reap what we sowed—and be poorer for it.
—Bryan Haas
Reimagine The ARG/MEU Team
(See A. Roscoe, pp. 18–22, April 2020)
One of Lieutenant Commander Roscoe’s key recommendations is to place a detachment of MH-60Rs on board LPDs during their deployments. While obviously a bold—and definitely “outside the box thinking”—concept for the author and today’s Navy, it was nearly tried almost 55 years ago.
In August 1965, while I was serving as the combat cargo officer on the USS Raleigh (LPD-1), Captain Buddy Yates, later of CV-67 fame, called the officers and crew together in the well deck to inform us that the Raleigh had been selected to participate in Operation Bar Frost 65, a NATO exercise taking place in Norway in September.
In addition to “shooting” the USS Plymouth Rock (LSD-29) out of the water for this exercise, Yates was to attempt a great coup—obtaining permission to take two Navy antisubmarine warfare (ASW) helicopters to Norway. He was convinced that the Raleigh was just as capable as any other combatant with a flight deck to conduct ASW operations while under way. It would have given us an airborne reconnaissance capability in the exercise area and an opportunity for antisubmarine practice crossing the Atlantic each way. It also would have provided two aircraft for parachute jumps for our embarked Marine Force Reconnaissance Team.
Three days before we sailed, the ASW helicopters were a go. Commander, Naval Air Force, Atlantic Fleet, posed no objections and actually thought it would be good training for the ASW helicopter crews.
But old parochialisms rose up to ring our ship’s bell in a big way. We soon found that someone on the Atlantic Fleet staff strongly opposed any decision that would allow an ASW helicopter detachment to deploy on board any ship without being in the company of a carrier or destroyer and convinced the powers that be that this was not a good idea. This rationale was easy to grasp for those looking for a way to thwart this potential amphibious incursion into a surface warfare domain that didn’t concern them, especially since it would take away ASW assets from surface combatants at a time when Cold War tensions remained high.
So that was the end of our helicopters and the opportunity to prove that the Raleigh could be a multimission ship if given the chance. It further solidified the backward thinking of those who felt that amphibious ships were not supposed to step out of their primary roles as troop, vehicle, and cargo carriers to conduct other roles or missions, whether capable or not. When they tried, like the stepchildren they were considered at that time, they were quickly put back in their place. This type of thinking prevailed long after I left the Raleigh.
Maybe the author will have stronger support on this try to marry ASW and amphibious assets, without the naysayers rising up again to scuttle what is a worthwhile and tactically sound concept.
—LTCOL Dave Henderson, USMC (Ret.)
Get Your Own Jacket
(See M. Frattasio, p. 15, April 2020)
The author is correct to take pride in the flight jacket he earned many years ago, and I salute his service to our nation. But his implied characterization of surface warriors as “wannabes” is demeaning and unworthy of the prestige he claims for himself.
Surface warriors are motivated not by envy, but rather by our own pride in what we do. Few outsiders appreciate the level of training and skill our work demands or just how unforgiving the environment is in which we perform its complex and dangerous operations. The many thousands of our brothers and sisters who have lost their lives at sea throughout our history give silent testimony to those hazards and, through their sacrifices, bequeath a legacy of valor far richer than any which could ever be “stolen” from others.
Our men and women serving at sea today are some of the hardest working and most dedicated professionals anywhere, and their contributions to the larger Navy team are essential for mission success. Their qualifications as surface warriors are significant achievements for which acknowledgment by a SWO jacket is very appropriate. More practical than the SWO sweater that was once briefly a part of our uniform, the jacket will be durable and wear well for years. I believe it will also inspire members of our rising generation to even higher levels of professionalism as they strive to earn theirs.
Twenty-five years ago, we proudly continued wearing our black shoes even after brown shoes were made optional for us. We didn’t need to mimic aviator dress then to feel “cool,” and we certainly don’t need to today. I doubt anyone will confuse the SWO jacket with a flight jacket, and no SWO would want anyone to. This initiative in no way diminishes the honor rightfully accorded to those who have earned their flight jackets. It comes at the expense, it seems, of only a few fragile egos.
—CAPT Andy King, USN (Ret.)
Lest We Forget
(See A. Clift, p. 94, April 2020)
It was fascinating to see three senior lieutenants (in the photo accompanying the article) without a single ribbon. In my own four Cold War years between Korea and Vietnam, what the Brits call “gongs” also were not in fashion.
Now a mid-level officer without three or four rows may have “missed movement.”
—T. R. Murphy, Ex-LT, USN
The Captain Crozier I Know
The removal of Captain Brett Crozier as commanding officer of the USS Theodore Roosevelt (CVN-71) has caused a lot of anger and emotion toward both the highest level leaders in the Navy and Captain Crozier himself. I don’t know the facts surrounding the COVID-19 response; I won’t attempt to dissect what happened or question decisions in the matter. I only know that I was lucky enough to serve under Captain Crozier when he was captain of the USS Blue Ridge (LCC-19) in Yokosuka, Japan. It’s important people know he is not a man to ever panic or make decisions in haste.
I arrived at the Blue Ridge in 2017, my first time in Japan and my first ship in the Navy. The Blue Ridge is the oldest commissioned ship in the Navy (except only the Constitution in Boston). When I arrived, the ship was in drydock. She looked as old as she was and had been in a maintenance period for almost two years—a sore spot for the Navy. The ship’s mission is to host the Seventh Fleet staff of 200 officers and enlisted sailors. Captain Crozier was under immense pressure to get the ship to sea.
We had many young sailors who had never been to sea, including me. Most had been wondering if drydock was all the Navy had to offer. From the moment I checked in, Captain Crozier took time to get to know me. He wanted to know where I was from and how my family was, and we always talked about sports, mostly baseball. Despite the pressures he faced, he never yelled or cursed, even under the most stressful situations. I don’t think I ever heard him even raise his voice. He always told us if we take care of the sailors, they will do what we have trained them to do—succeed.
I qualified as a command duty officer (CDO) on the Blue Ridge, which made me the captain’s direct representative in port when he was not on board. It’s a lot of responsibility, and I took it seriously. Captain Crozier got me through several CDO emergencies.
My first was a fire one Saturday morning. I called the captain, but it went to voicemail. I went to damage control central, the main room on the ship for casualty response. The sailors were getting ready to go put out the fire. I was trying to project calm, when Captain Crozier walked in. He said, “I saw the fire trucks outside from the gym.” I briefed him quickly on our plan. He said, “Ok, Big Mike. The sailors will do what we have trained them to do. Stay calm and execute. They need to know you are in control and will be okay.” To my relief, the sailors put the fire out quickly.
Captain Crozier could not have been calmer or trusted me more. He let me direct the response, as he took a step back and oversaw things. I learned right there that in the most stressful situations, a leader must remain calm, keep composure, and fall back on training to succeed.
The next emergency situation on my duty day was a bomb threat. I was shocked. Fire or flood? Sure, that happens, but a bomb?
I met Captain Crozier again. He said, “Big Mike, your duty days are never quiet, that is for sure.” I briefed him quickly, and I think he could tell I was a bit flustered. But he was cool and composed. He told me as always, “Revert to our training. The sailors have trained for this. Go execute our response.” And that is what we did. Captain Crozier got me through another challenge with composure and a still sense of confidence.
When we finally got to sea, our five-day trial post drydock did not start out well at all. In the middle of the second night, the engines died and we lost power. Air conditioning failed, and many systems were overheating. We were on a hot ship, with no power or lights, dead in the water. People advised the captain to get the ship towed back into port, which would have been an obvious failure and made the crew a running joke on the waterfront.
Captain Crozier refused. He calmly and clearly told the engineers to get to work and get power and the engines restored. The crew worked all night. The engineering sailors got power restored: We were moving again. The air conditioning and ventilation came back. My shipmates had brought us back to life. The Blue Ridge completed her sea trials and was certified to go to sea for deployment with Seventh Fleet on board. We pulled back into port a success.
I tell these stories to make sure the world knows Captain Crozier’s number one priority was always the well-being of his sailors. He doesn’t make rash decisions and is very aware of the meaning of his words and actions. I have no doubt he wrote his letter about COVID-19 because he thought the situation was dire and he needed more to protect his sailors.
I wish things had turned out differently. I was certain one day he would be an admiral and rise to the highest ranks of the Navy. Now, unfortunately, that probably won’t happen. But part of me thinks Captain Crozier is okay with that, maybe more than many of us who served under him. As I saw the viral video of him walking off the brow one last time, I knew he thought what he did was right—and the sailors cheering him on thought the same. I know the Navy’s senior political and military leaders must ensure the chain of command is respected. I understand their decision, as well. I am sure they did not decide to relieve Captain Crozier lightly.
In the end, I guess I just want the world to know Captain Crozier is one of the good guys, a man of integrity and honor. If I was going to war and could pick only one leader to follow, I would want Captain Crozier to be that leader. Like so many others who served with him, I knew my well-being and the well-being of the rest of my shipmates was his top priority.
—LCDR Michael Baucum, U.S. Navy
Naming the Future Doris Miller (CVN-81)
(See L. Moyer, p. 88, April 2020 and
R. Alley, p. 8, March 2020)
Naming an aircraft carrier for Doris Miller is another politically motivated travesty in the naming of ships. There is no doubt he was a genuine hero and deserved to have the frigate USS Miller (FF-1091) named for him, an escort ship type whose names almost all honored naval heroes. But naming a carrier for him only adds to the general confusion we see in naming carriers in the past few decades. We seem to have no guiding theme except politics.
Once, we were comfortably apolitical, naming carriers for revolutionary battles, revolutionary founding fathers, and early Navy ships, as well as three with an aviation theme: the Langley, the very first; the Wright (CVL-49); and the Kitty Hawk (CVA-63). Following World War II, some ships were named for post-Revolution battles: San Jacinto, Belleau Wood, Antietam, and eight battles from World War II itself.
There were very few exceptions during the war. CVL-22 was named Independence out of the blue, but a revolutionary term at least, and a one-off, the Shangri-La (CV-38), was a name famously connected to Doolittle’s Raid, so related to the battle theme. Then the death of President Franklin Roosevelt gave his name to CVB-42. These were the only exceptions among 47 fleet and light carriers. The death of James Forrestal christened CVA-59 and kicked off the post-Midway supercarrier era with a politician.
We got back on track for 60 through 66, but then named CVA-67 John F. Kennedy, another president who died in office. But what about Warren Harding, William McKinley, James Garfield, Zachary Taylor, or William Henry Harrison? They all died in office, too.
Confusion has reigned in the nuclear-powered carrier era. The USS Nimitz (CVN-68) should have been a destroyer. Then Dwight Eisenhower, a president who did not die in office; a congressman, Carl Vinson, albeit perhaps the most important non-president for the success of the Navy in World War II, and probably the only congressman deserving of having a carrier named for him. Then a worthy naval-oriented president, Theodore Roosevelt; Abraham Lincoln, a president who died in office again; George Washington, a revolutionary founding father; then a senator, John Stennis, an avowed lifelong racist; then Harry S. Truman, who tried to scuttle the Navy. Ronald Reagan at least favored a big Navy, and George H. W. Bush was a Navy man—but the ship was named for him while he was still living, another bad precedent.
Now, the newest carrier, the Gerald R. Ford (CVN-78), is named for another Navy-veteran president, and the second of its class retrieves the name John F. Kennedy from CV-67, but it was the only attack carrier that did not fight in Vietnam, I am totally not on board with that decision. The third of the class perpetuates the name Enterprise, a decision I am on board with. And now Doris Miller.
Can’t we just go back to our traditions and name carriers for revolutionary battles or early naval ships? For example, the Ranger, Constellation, and Hancock all did numerous tours in Vietnam and are names not in use.
Whatever we decide, we should develop conventions that stay away from politics and political correctness.
—LCDR Tom Phillips, USN (Ret.)
