By Alexandra Pecci For The Eagle-Tribune, North Andover, MA
Confession: I don't usually listen to the flight attendant's pre-flight safety announcements before I fly commercial.
But preparing to board a Navy MH-53 helicopter is a little bit different. I'm definitely listening now.
The flight crew's instructions are terse and to the point.
"As far as going down in the water," Kirk Harbolt, one of the crew, warns us. "Don't get out."
Got it.
The helicopter's rotor blades are powerful and booming, even through my headphones. Keeping my head down against the wind from the blades, I climb up a metal ramp into the back of the huge chopper, and it's like walking into the belly of a robot. Everywhere I look is gunmetal grey, with piping and wires snaking across the walls and ceiling. A patch sewn onto one of the crew member's sleeves reads, "If size didn't matter we'd all fly 60s," a nod to this hulking MH-53.
I adjust my helmet, goggles, headphones, and life vest and strap myself into a canvas-covered seat against the wall of the chopper. We take off vertically, leaving Boston below, and head out to sea. The back of the helicopter is open, and its wind ripples the ocean as we fly over it. Harbolt leans out one of the open windows. The wind whips my hair and notebook, and suddenly I realize that the nervous stomach that's plagued me for hours is gone.
I'm one of about 20 media personnel and other visitors who were invited to fly out on the helicopter early Thursday morning to board the amphibious assault ship USS Wasp and ride in as it entered Boston Harbor for the city's Navy Week. The Navy's Distinguished Visitors Program aims to increase public awareness of its mission and teach people about what these men and women really do day in and day out.
We land on the Wasp's sprawling flight deck, and it's hard to believe that this ship, which is nearly the length of three football fields, weighs more than 40,000 tons, and houses about 1,500 people, is smaller than an aircraft carrier. We're ferried almost immediately to the mess deck, where we eat lunch with enlisted sailors.
"Try the pizza casserole," the food service officer, John Harrison, tells me. So I do, and it's actually pretty good, combining pasta, tomato sauce, and cheese with slices of pepperoni and sausage. In case any of the sailors are concerned about it, the mess deck also lists the fat and calorie content of everything it serves. (In one cup of pizza casserole? 279 calories and 13 grams of fat).
We spend the rest of the afternoon meeting sailors and learning about the mission of the Wasp and the people on board. Back on the flight deck, I learn that one of the Wasp's missions these days is to serve as a test platform for the F-35B joint strike fighter, which is the "aircraft of the future," according to Stew Wennersten, the Wasp's operations officer.
Up and down steep, ladder-like stairs we go all day long, moving through endless, narrow passageways that leave me disoriented. All the way at the top, we're in Vulture's Row, where we tower high above the flight deck and can see the Wasp's navigational system. Six ladders down into the bowels of the Wasp, and we're in the well deck, an area that can be flooded with seawater so amphibious crafts can be launched from the ship.
Although the Wasp's primary mission is to move Marines and supplies from ship to shore, I was surprised to find out that the ship and others of its class (LHD) also have a huge role to play in humanitarian relief efforts around the world.
Wasp has onboard a 600-bed hospital, with five operating rooms, a 15-bed intensive care unit, triage area, X-ray capabilities, dentistry area, blood bank, nurses, doctors and surgeons. Because of its "ship-to-shore" capabilities, Wasp-class ships can transport victims of disasters or humanitarian conflicts and provide medical care and supplies, whether it's following events like the Haitian earthquake, Southeast Asian tsunami, or the Somali civil war. Plus, everything in the hospital is on wheels so medical teams can move equipment and patients while still providing care, even if the ship sustains battle damage.
"Just because they're shooting at us doesn't mean we're going to stop," says the ship's senior medical officer, Dr. JC Dapena. "Trust me, I've been there."
We emerge back onto the flight deck in time to witness manning the rails, a naval tradition of lining the deck with sailors to show respect as a ship enters port.
The bustling flight deck grows hushed as slowly and precisely, sailors and embarked marines line up around the circumference of the huge ship, facing the sea. The Wasp moves slowly though the Boston Harbor Islands and toward the city as the sun sets ahead of us. The sailors stay quiet even as they're greeted by cheers from throngs of people crowding the pier and lawn at Castle Island. As the sun dips below the Boston skyline, we watch Harborfest fireworks burst above the water, illuminating the sky and casting the helicopters and sailors on the flight deck in striking silhouette.
I step off the ship and turn around, and the sight of the Wasp towering above the jetty takes my breath away. I didn't realize just how huge it was until I was off of it. The Navy promised us the experience of a lifetime. And they certainly delivered.
No comments:
Post a Comment