The Machine's Spirit
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I'll try and keep this as coherent as possible, but putting my thoughts on paper/post is only slightly better than speaking when it comes to conveying them, simply because I have the ability to review the word format of the thought before conveying it. This is not so much a story as it is multiple events that tie into an overarching theme on something that shaped my perception in my naval service. u/BikerJedi's post about taking pride in your equipment engaged a part of my brain. Whichever part that deals with spiritual and philosophical thoughts, like how some inanimate objects develop more personality and character than supposedly intelligent lifeforms with the same basic DNA template as us. They take on a life of their own, and as such we regard them as living beings, chiefly among these for me is ships.
Origin:
There are many ideas offered up as to why ships are most often referred to with feminine pronouns, too many to list, so I shall share the one I subscribe to: ships are mothers.
The sea is rough, dangerous, and extremely deadly, and what keeps you from an untimely demise is that thin layer of steel that cradles you like a mother's arms. A rack parallel to the keel is even like a cradle, with the rolls of the ship rocking you back and forth, best sleep I've ever had. She cannot keep you from the irresistible call of that troublesome mistress they call the sea, but she can be there for you when that deep blue harlot casts you into the inevitable trouble she brews up, and like a good mother she will see you safely home when your most recent bout of enchantment wears off.
With how much she beats you up it sounds strange (or makes absolute sense), my old ship gave me many bumps and took much blood. It's not easy being tall on a ship, and I quit counting how many times I hit my head on low hanging objects when I reached 50 after only four weeks onboard, apparently even short people experience this, too. I would find nicks and cuts that went unnoticed for hours as they didn't draw much blood or cause any pain, I am hardly an outlier in this regard. You could say this is the ship out to get you, but this is not abuse. This is discipline, a mother correcting the carelessness of her children, lest it lead them to greater harm.
A mother's work to protect her children is tiring, and if she is to keep them in good health, she must also be in good health. In this regard a ship has it worse than most mothers as she cannot afford to spoil her children, they must do their chores... MAINTENANCE. She cannot do these tasks herself, and if they are not accomplished then she will fail in her highest charge of caring for her children. But if her children are diligent in completing their chores, she will do everything she can for them, including a mother's magic.
Spirituality:
If you haven't figured it out by the title, I am a fan of the Warhammer 40k universe. Despite saying I don't have a couple thousand to throw at table top minis, I have spent nearly as much on the novels, and recommend them for anyone who likes grimdark science-fantasy writing. In particular, I have great interest in the sub-faction of technophiles know as the Adeptus Mechanicus, who regard technology and machinery in a very religious manner. What I have seen makes this one of the more grounded concepts within the universe. The machine spirit is real, it weeps and cries when it is neglected, and it purrs when coddled and cared for. Should a coddled and cared for machine be woke from slumber for duty, SHE ROARS, boldly, proudly, in affirmation of the call. Should she be beseeched by her fleshy symbiotes in time of need, SHE ROARS, with defiance and contempt for what existence has threatened her and her tiny caretakers.
I cannot remember what failed that night on our first deployment, but it left us adrift for not even an hour before we were making headway as if nothing happened. I cannot recall what work the engineers had to do before we resumed our course with propulsion restored, but the general consensus among them was less than what is usually required for failures of that category. This was not exclusive to our propulsion, but also rare enough that such occurrences didn't garner much attention after the in question system was thoroughly inspected. More frequently though were annual/semi-annual checks that left us wondering how it didn't stop working before then. One in particular I remember was when we retired one of our reverse osmosis pumps for desalination. I'm not too familiar with them, but apparently it's a big deal when one cranks out a million gallons of fresh water before it finds eternal rest in Davy Jone's locker (this part is a bit fuzzy, but I'm almost certain the engis gave her a burial at sea.) I was not the person who performed these more serious maintenance actions, my maintenance was more menial. Deck drains, fan units, life lines, and other simple things, that also occasionally left me wondering "how is this still working?" The more serious ones belonged to my friends in the other departments, who my random conversations with often had a block devoted to how our tin can away from home, despite all the issues we found, functioned like Tod Howard's umpteenth re-release of Skyrim, she just worked. I'm sure she even protected me in my greatest near death experience (been debating posting it for a while, guess this is confirmation.)
If I were to forego Christian faith in favor of another religion, I would offer my praises to the Omnissiah, recite the canticles of operation, perform the rituals of maintenance and anxiously await the day I cast off the weakness of my flesh, and embrace the strength and certainty of steel.
Change of Command:
Three great forces are at work onboard a ship: the needs of the navy, the needs of the crew, and the needs of the ship. They compete with each other, but when they are balanced, great and wonderous things can be achieved.
My first skipper on board the ship did not ignore the needs of the navy, but neither did he ignore the needs of the crew. Floating outside homeport is annoying, especially when the navy wants to move your return to port to the right. If he could argue these extensions as unnecessary, he would. I guess he had the pull, the pull only some one who was a senior chief before joining the wardroom could have. Maybe he just had enough ass chewings that another one didn't matter next to the fact that if a ship was needed to answer the call, his would be ready. Ultimately it comes down to if he needed something from the crew, we would give it to him, because when we needed something from him, he gave it to us. He was leadership manifest in physical form, and he gave us momentum that carried us through two deployments in two years, even though he turned over a month into the second one.
The next skipper not so much. Two deployments in two years takes its toll on a ship, and only so much can be done outside of the yards. Assuming there is a ship to replace yours, as there must always be a ready ship, a captain whose ship is in the yards has little they can do to boast accomplishment on their next fitrep. Maybe it was because she was younger and didn't have the pull, or maybe she was only focused on her career. Whatever the cause, the needs of the crew fell wayside, along with the needs of the ship.
We should have gone to the yards after the second cruise, but it was put off in favor of another one down to South America the same year. My time onboard ended after that but I had doubts she would see the yards, as that cruise was two days short of the minimum to consider it a deployment. Pretty sure three in two years would mandate she go to the yards, but I'm not that versed in navy regulations.
The Shaft:
The thing bestowed upon nearly every servicemember who asks a boon of their chain of command, so I find in hindsight great irony that the ship responded to the navy's demands in similar fashion.
Quaterdeck watch, the front desk of the ship, we were still feeling the effects of being told that after we shift homeports, we would be going out again, instead of going into the yards. It sat wrong with me, the ship had performed admirably throughout both deployments, but she had developed some slack. She kept carrying on dutifully, but the signs were there, she needed reprieve, and it was denied. A glint caught my eye in the water below, a rainbow sheen. The calls were made and the source determined. For the unfamiliar, Arleigh Burkes do not have a reverse gear, they have controllable reverse pitch (CRP) screws(propellers? idk), you don't change the direction the shaft spins, you just change the angle of the blades. the hydraulic system that controls this is in the shaft, and ours was leaking fluid. It was patched, but it was made very clear: this is a quick fix, it will come undone, for a permanent fix, we needed to go to the yards. It was decided we could wait until after South America to go into the yards. I was fixated on the ominous fluid rising to the surface from beneath...
The machine spirit was weeping.
More problems followed, some due to wear and tear, others due to neglected maintenance. Some were people slipping under the strain, and that could be sympathized. Others amounted to nothing more than entitled whining, and to hearing such excuses offered up as legitimate reasons to forsake our mechanical mother disgusted me. Whatever the case, there was a disturbance in the force, the greater forces were out of balance. Needs of the navy had grown to outweigh the needs of the crew, it neglected them, and they in turn neglected the needs of the ship.
We cruised to South America, had some fun in Chile, and made our way back. Until we had to make an emergency stop in Peru, as our shaft developed another issue and gave out. What went wrong I can't remember, just that our change in motion seemed unnatural, then the announcement was made...
The machine spirit was crying.
Our return to homeport gave me about a month to checkout, and I pushed everything but that out of my mind. I was ready to leave. I was glad to be away from that poor leadership, but sad to think of how the atmosphere onboard changed. By all measurable standards, she was and is still a very functional ship, but within her passage ways I could feel her sadness and fatigue, when only a year before she hummed with anticipation of duty. Looking back it upsets me that a chain of command out of touch with its sailors made me want to distance myself from an existence I was initially happy to be apart of, a harmonious union of man and machine.
EDIT: Saw some spelling errors I couldn't let slide, but more importantly:
Thank you for the awards and upvotes, with the trouble I sometimes have finding words to accurately convey my thoughts, it's reassuring to see that I can convey comprehensible messages.
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