"General Quarters ... General Quarters"

"General Quarters… General Quarters…. All Hands man your Battle stations”…

General Quarters, or GQ in short form parlance, was the call for all hands to man battle stations. Ship’s drills devoted to full-dress firefighting, lifeboat, abandon ship, man overboard procedures and various combats system scenarios. Back in those days our national security interests were mainly aimed at stopping the Russkies, Killing Communism, Retaliat’n towards the Reds … and we drilled and drilled and drilled!

The artwork  posted with this yarn kick started memories of jump through your ass while hula-hooping in between General Quarter two-a-days … sometimes three-a-days when you didn’t pass Reftra, or yesterday’s equivalent to today’s TSTA & FEP.  I remember running up and down, up-and-down, up-and-down  those ladder ways like a pair of whore’s drawers! You had to wonder if that damned 1MC ever caused epilepsy. Ever wonder why a sailor can eat like he’s got five rectums?  Well if you look at that Dad’gum picture … there’s your answer …

When we failed the first time, it must had been a real embarrassment for the Skipper. From there the shit was flowing … and you know the direction shit flows when things go wrong.  We were the redheaded stepchildren of the fleet.  I remember someone in the Exchange Parking Lot said…

“The Baglady doesn’t have all her oars in the water.”

 I had to think about that one for a minute, then it hit me. Yeah, we were kind of a mix up between “McHale’s Navy” and that “Down Periscope” gang from the movies. We built our own trap door and it was rusted shut with wearisome anxiety!

"This GQ is so screwed up the wind doesn't blow - it sucks!"

"I'm not screwing this goat; I'm just holding the tail."

My Chief once told me that the most exercise I got was running my mouth so not to push my luck with him…

But when you screw up a Reftra, FTG is all over the place like ticks on a summer cow!  I remember dodging and weaving my way towards my GQ station when I could here a couple of shipmates in the passageway all in unison to the tune of the Mickey Mouse Song! …

“F-U-C ... K-E-D ... A-G-A-I-N ... FUCKED AGAIN… FUCKED AGAIN ... I bent right over and they shoved it in again...HEY! HEY! HEY… ♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸ ¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪”

… And that’s when you knew the fun was going to start. An FTG fella would come into your space and ask …

“Okay shipmate, show me all that Hocus Pocus that makes all these computerized logarithmic whizbangs work!”

… or something of the sort. It always felt so cozy in combat when everyone was wearing flash gear!!!

The ship was held prisoner by those crazy FTG guys in the dark blue coveralls, and they were the epitome of God while onboard. They had cold hardened hearts forged from anvils and that ain’t no bullshit. One of them fellas asked me what good a condom was for. Of course I answered with the obligatory “To keep my willy clean in foreign ports” and he said …

“Rubbers have many obvious uses. But for training purposes it’s to poke your wristwatch in for waterproofing in case you have to swim back to the ship in one of them foreign ports, so I suggest you carry at least two!”

That ain’t no shit either…

Trying to get through Reftra a second time felt like trying to stuff ten pounds of shit into a five pound bag, and you thought you were going to fail again if any of it touched the deck.  But somehow through the grace of God, we did it. Or maybe it was just planned that way… who really knows.

A few things I learned from all those General Quarter drills we stood back in the day on an old rust bucket…

“No matter what it is… if it smells fishy, throw it back!”

… or …

“This gear is older than my grandmother’s kick start vibrator!”

… and …

“Damn it… listen to what I’m think’n, not what I’m say’n!”

… Now I know on the surface none of that nonsense had anything to do with Reftra, but trust me, them are things I heard from FTG back in the day … get the picture?!?

( Artwork credit to USS Berkeley )