Rupertus (DD 851) - Naval Cruise Book

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i 41 Fulhright exploring a new space See this picture. Believe this picture. You may never see the action live an 7 S WN ,,,f 5 1- 4 1 . i' ik, I Y gi!! V! You're both wrong it was Boats Bacle VVho, Ferndock ? No, it must have been chief-Mooreland an l ' 1 '1 WM ,f '

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WA DIVISION Bong! Bong! Bong! Yes it's that unmistakable sound known so intimately by all navy men .... the general alarm. Suddenly the peaceful serenity of a beautiful Sunday morning explodes into a turmoil of feet, faces and mashed fingers. The ship will soon be prepared to engage the enemy. At all points the men are still and quiet. All ears are strained, listening for the word .... but the word never comes. Meanwhile in underwater battery plot, the nerve center for ASW operations, fifteen deeply furrowed brows are concentrated in amazement at a blip on the sonar scope. They are amazed mostly because the gear is operating well enough to pick up a contact. The difficult process of classification is put into the competent hands of Hinsberger and one other good sonarman, which amounts to the combined efforts of Gustafson, Becker, Kiley, Prey, Jenkison and Herzog. Peterson as usual lies in a state of suspended animation while Waltz shakes him and Mr. Mac screams. Richie', Herr just stands there smiling, hoping someone will yell shoot. All the while Chief Nesbitt is calmly sitting back and wondering what,s for chow. By now the contact has been evaluated as a 'fpossible submarine and the word is out. Bobbling Barney Prey, sonar's ace phone talker, spastically relays the message to the ASW stations. At the torpedo deck there is a flurry of excitement as Fulbright, H.N., TM3, U.S.N. CViet Nam Veteranl takes command. Charge the tubes, fire! Train all tubes and we'll flank 'emg rig for a storm shot, fire! . . . no wait 1 In the background Boeck mumbles, Fulbright', you ----- . The word is received in the Asroc missle control station without a hint of emotion. You might think these men are fearless. We, of course, know the real story.. . theyire asleep. Baumann soon rejoins the living, barks a few well rehearsed orders, then glides back to his berth, graceful as a hippo in heat. Stewart maintains a fetal position in the corner, and Chief Moreland carefully observes the operation through his TRUE, magazine. Outside the missle control station we see a brave young lad of questionable intelligence. He is no less than D. G. Spinosi, 'fThe Wopn. Risking death, The Wop stands by with his book of matches in case the missle firing circuit should fail. R. L. Holter, alias Dinghy',, provides The Wop with moral support in the form of a .45 automatic pointed at his back. Camp- bell, of course, is drunk. Meanwhile the DASH crew is observing the honored ritual of the Helo God. Clemmer the Buddahf' uncomfortably sits at the alter, wondering if this will really get him any liberty. Davis stands closely feeding the incense burner while keeping a rythem on the drum. Mr. Bade, Mr. Saul, Giasi, Pentz, Warner and LaVallee under the direction of Mr. Hartmen stand on their heads to pay homage. I. D. Wright, now drives a nail smartly into the kneecap of the idol and the spell is broken, DesRosier does not participate for he has his rights. LTJG Helt sits alone, his features tortured and his shoulders heavy with the burden of command. The long awaited decision is about to be heard. He slowly turns to face us and with the same cool, deliberate voice we know so well, says, Standby to abandon ship.

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44 'E' at 4 5- F IW W ,, 4 M U M., !,, .L ff wvfwwy. 4m f, M Clemmer and Lavalle demonstrate the highly technical, delicate, precision Work required prior to a dash bath 4 1 X . ki li i lewd a, - to F , f , MI. vi' 5 'Z l ,, 0 4 , ,Z Z V E fy V L, .M 4 i a if , t 1 -fjmt 'is vp il L9 . it .N I know it went clown Gizisielni praying .v , l I it YA , , K X Q Ya ff