Peace Through Strength, Part 3

The next morning after breakfast with the crew, we took some more touring below decks. The day before, we had already seen the areas devoted to the crew's personal well-being: the chapel, outfitted with elements for people of all religions; the surround sound movie theater; and the Internet café, where a line was constantly forming as the sailors waited to check their snail-slow NMCI accounts. On the second day, we were treated to a tour of the foc'sle, where the anchors are stored. The Reagan's foc'sle has the reputation of being the cleanest in the fleet - another point of pride for the crew. At different times of the day, we also saw the engine shop where aircraft engines are brought back to life and the inner workings of the catapult room. We were also led outdoors to the stern, where we noticed that the ocean was high and that the ship was moving along at a very good clip. It impressed me that something that big could move so fast - though every time it did make a maneuver and every time a plane landed, you could feel it no matter where you were on board. We took a walk through the Reagan Room, a museum-like setting that honored the life of the ship's namesake. We even went down to waste management, where our hosts made it a point to highlight the recycling and impressive "green" efforts underway daily throughout the ship.

Our last big stop was at the cavernous hangar deck, where a Hornet pilot showed us the cockpit of his plane and freely answered our questions. My key takeaway from that experience was this: an ejection seat is like a ballistic missile, so don't mess with it. Also, since it is true that pilots lose an inch or so of height during the ejection process and can still break a few bones before it's all said and done, it really is a last resort. They wouldn't let us sit in the cockpit for that reason, but as you can imagine, I was actually a bit relieved. Overall, the efficiency and space management of the flight deck continued down into the hangar, where planes undergoing maintenance were carefully stowed to maximize the utility of the space.

We had one last farewell and exchange of thanks with the Captain and Admiral before we headed down to a Hawkeye pilot ready room to talk with them about some of their flight preparations. They were kind enough to give us a general idea of where the heck we were in the ocean (about 100 miles from San Diego, they said), and they walked us through the pilot's scoreboard, which kept track of each Hawkeye pilot's landing statistics (they all looked green or yellow, which was passable). While we sat in the room, I watched our return flight C-2 land on Channel 25 and knew that our whirlwind tour was coming to a close.

Sure enough, we soon strapped our horsecollars and cranials back on and were given a few final instructions about boarding the COD. Even through everything I'd experienced, I was still a bit nervous about this part. We said goodbye to our tour guides, boarded the plane and strapped back in. The rest happened so quickly that it is nearly a blur. There was the anticipation of not knowing exactly when we would take off. There was the signaling of the flight crew and their "let's go, go, go!" yell, with their wrists circling in exaggerated motions. And then I was flying out of my seat, pressed completely against the harness, my knees nearly hitting the seat in front of me. In three seconds, it was all done and we were airborne. Those of us who could turn around and see the rest of our tour group gave each other thumbs up, and we all laughed. I joined in, partly because of the huge thrill of participating in a catapult launch, but also because I still couldn't believe how lucky I was to be a part of this experience, and how fortunate we all are to live in a country that can provide such vessels and willing volunteers to operate them as a means to defend us and our freedom.

If you ever get the opportunity to do something like this, do it, no matter your opinion of wars or politics. It is worth it.