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We were aboard ship for ten weeks between Charleston, SC and Newport News, VA, launching subrocs and chasing them the rest of the day. We retrieved them only to launch them again and again. Ours was a WWII ship, flimsily built in a hurry in the 1940's to meet the needs of the war effort, and we were outmanned and outgunned by the rest of our fleet. In an effort to impress the admiral and to keep up with newer ships and more modern technology, our officers over-drove the ship against the warning of the boiler rooms. "She can’t take it captain, she’ll break in two!" But the captain said, "Push it, give me all she's got!" And she burst a pipe of 600-degree steam. All that could be done was seal the compartment and hope the ship didn’t break in two. The ship's hull bulged outward with the pressure, we learned later, but it did not burst. World War III had not begun, much to my relief. If my summer aboard ship had turned out therwise I’d have likely followed in my father's steps and been a sailor. He had served in WWII and Korea, and I was born whilst he was at sea. I had wanted to be a naval officer since I was a kid. If I had served aboard an aircraft carrier, as some of my fellow midshipmen had, I might have gone on to fly jets. That I would have loved, as I learned later in life when I acquired my first motorcycle. I love to go fast. Ah, the thrill of speed.
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