Navy Sends 1918-Era Sailors Aboard USS Abraham Lincoln to Investigate “Intolerable” Living Conditions

By Untactic Al

WASHINGTON: Following widespread reports of declining morale and difficult living conditions aboard the aircraft carrier USS Abraham Lincoln, the Department of the Navy has reportedly taken the unusual step of assembling a panel of sailors from 1918 to determine just how bad things have gotten.

The Lincoln and its approximately 5,000 sailors and Marines recently completed more than 250 consecutive days at sea during a grueling nine-month deployment, much of it supporting combat operations in the Middle East. Sailors and family members have described exhaustion, disrupted mail, shortages of some food and water supplies, long working hours, limited communication with home and almost no opportunities to get off the ship.

The Navy has disputed some characterizations of conditions aboard the carrier, while acknowledging that the crew has been pushed hard.

As of late August, the Lincoln has finally departed the Middle East and is headed toward a brief port visit in Thailand before continuing toward home.

Nevertheless, the controversy prompted Navy officials to seek an outside perspective.

Unfortunately, due to budget constraints, the Navy apparently interpreted “outside” as “outside the current century.”

Through a highly classified program whose existence was accidentally disclosed when a GS-12 attached the wrong spreadsheet to a group email, four enlisted sailors from the United States Navy of 1918 were transported aboard USS Abraham Lincoln to evaluate current shipboard conditions.

Their preliminary findings have not been encouraging.

“Where Do the Men Sleep?”

The investigation reportedly encountered problems almost immediately when Chief Boatswain’s Mate Walter H. McGillicuddy, temporarily assigned from a battleship in 1918, asked to inspect the enlisted sleeping accommodations.

“This is berthing,” a Lincoln sailor explained.

McGillicuddy stared at the rows of racks.

“You sleep in those?”

“Yes.”

“Each man gets one?”

“Yes.”

“With a mattress?”

“Yes.”

“And a pillow?”

“Yes.”

“Where are the hammocks?”

“We don’t use hammocks anymore.”

The chief initially assumed this was some sort of officers’ accommodation.

He was then informed that the Navy had actually experimented with replacing hammocks with bunks aboard USS California and USS Oklahoma during the 1920s. At the time, one Navy fleet surgeon described bunks as possibly the most radical improvement in shipboard living conditions the Navy had ever attempted.

McGillicuddy remained suspicious.

“So you’re telling me the enlisted men get permanent hotel beds?”

“Racks.”

“Inside?”

“Yes.”

“Every night?”

“Yes, Chief.”

The interview was briefly suspended while McGillicuddy walked away muttering something about the collapse of Western civilization.

The Air-Conditioning Incident

Things deteriorated further when the historical evaluation team learned that USS Abraham Lincoln has air conditioning.

After approximately 15 minutes of explaining the concept, investigators finally convinced the 1918 sailors that the system does not involve blocks of ice.

“So the ship makes cold air?” one asked.

“Basically.”

“In the Arabian Sea?”

“Yes.”

“In August?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re complaining?”

“Well, sometimes it doesn’t work very well in certain spaces.”

The four sailors requested another private conference.

According to sources familiar with the meeting, their initial recommendation was that everyone aboard the carrier be flogged.

Navy legal advisers subsequently explained that flogging was abolished in the U.S. Navy in 1850.

The historical sailors expressed surprise that the service had apparently been allowed to continue operating for another 176 years.

The Galley Inspection

Investigators next toured one of the carrier’s galleys.

This was considered particularly important because modern Lincoln sailors have complained about declining food quality and limited selections during the extended deployment.

The historical sailors examined several trays.

“What’s that?”

“Chicken.”

“Fresh chicken?”

“Frozen.”

“You have a freezer?”

“Yes.”

“On the ship?”

“Yes.”

They were then shown refrigerated storage.

One sailor reportedly removed his hat.

“You mean the meat stays cold until you cook it?”

“That’s generally the idea.”

The historical panel was informed that fresh produce sometimes runs short during lengthy periods at sea and that menus can become repetitive.

This apparently failed to generate the anticipated sympathy.

A Navy historian accompanying the group explained that shipboard food within living memory of the visiting sailors had included heavily salted and preserved meats, while earlier generations of American sailors routinely dealt with provisions that spoiled during long voyages. Before shipboard refrigeration, meat and fish preserved in brine could deteriorate badly enough to be thrown overboard.

The panel was then informed that USS Abraham Lincoln carries ice cream.

Another private conference was requested.

Communications With Home

The panel subsequently investigated complaints regarding difficulty communicating with family members.

A young sailor explained that internet connectivity can be inconsistent, particularly during operational periods.

“What is internet?”

This required another briefing.

After several failed explanations involving satellites, radio signals and computers, the Navy finally demonstrated a video call.

McGillicuddy stared at the screen.

“That’s your wife?”

“Yes.”

“And she can see you?”

“Yes.”

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

“Where is she?”

“California.”

“And where are we?”

“Western Pacific.”

The chief stared at the sailor.

Then at the phone.

Then at the sailor.

“And the complaint is what, exactly?”

“Sometimes the connection freezes.”

“How long?”

“Maybe five or 10 seconds.”

The chief then explained that in 1918 a sailor might receive a letter informing him about something that happened at home several months earlier, assuming the letter successfully caught up with his ship.

“But sometimes my video gets really pixelated.”

The interview was again suspended.

Laundry Presents Additional Concerns

The panel’s visit to the ship’s laundry created another diplomatic incident.

The historical sailors were shown industrial washing and drying equipment used to process the enormous quantity of clothing generated by thousands of people aboard a carrier.

“You put your clothes in there?”

“Yes.”

“And the machine washes them?”

“Yes.”

“Then what?”

“They go in the dryer.”

“What does that do?”

“Dries them.”

The panel became visibly agitated.

Historical Navy records indicate sailors once routinely scrubbed their own hammocks, seabags and clothing and hung wet gear from lines around the ship to dry. Hammocks themselves remained part of a sailor’s required equipment well into the 20th century, and permanent racks did not become widespread until the 1930s.

One 1918 sailor eventually located the ship’s suggestion box and submitted a handwritten recommendation:

“Sink this vessel immediately. The crew is being spoiled beyond recovery.”

Medical Care Proves Equally Shocking

The investigation briefly swung in favor of the modern crew when McGillicuddy asked to inspect sick bay.

“You have a surgeon aboard?”

“We have physicians.”

“More than one?”

“Yes.”

“Dentists?”

“Yes.”

“Pharmacy?”

“Yes.”

“Operating rooms?”

“Yes.”

“X-rays?”

“Yes.”

“Laboratory?”

“Yes.”

“Mental health professionals?”

“Yes.”

There was a long silence.

“What happens if you get pneumonia?”

“Depends on the cause. Antibiotics if it’s bacterial.”

“What are antibiotics?”

The Navy physician reportedly replied, “Chief, we don’t have enough time.”

The panel then asked what happens when a sailor develops a severe tooth infection.

The answer produced another lengthy silence.

McGillicuddy finally turned to the other members of the panel.

“Gentlemen, I withdraw my recommendation that we sink the ship.”

But There Was One Area of Agreement

Despite their increasingly hostile reaction to virtually every modern convenience aboard USS Abraham Lincoln, the historical sailors did eventually identify one complaint they understood.

“How long have you been at sea?” McGillicuddy asked.

“More than 250 days straight.”

The chief stopped smiling.

“No liberty?”

“Not a normal port call for months.”

“No beer?”

“No.”

“No women?”

“No, Chief.”

“Same people every day?”

“Every day.”

“Same officers?”

“Every single day.”

The chief nodded slowly.

“Gentlemen, we may have been too harsh.”

The panel subsequently acknowledged an important fact apparently unchanged by a century of technological progress:

Being stuck aboard a ship for nine months still sucks.

A modern aircraft carrier may have nuclear propulsion, air conditioning, refrigeration, satellite communications, advanced medical facilities, hot food, fresh water production and enough electrical generating capacity to power a small city.

It is nevertheless a steel box containing several thousand people who increasingly know exactly how everyone else chews.

Technology apparently has limits.

Navy Expands Investigation

Encouraged by this breakthrough, Navy officials reportedly expanded the Historical Sailor Morale Assessment Program.

A sailor from the Great White Fleet arrived next.

He was impressed by the aircraft but became visibly angry upon discovering that Lincoln sailors do not have to shovel coal into boilers.

A Civil War sailor lasted approximately six minutes before asking why nobody aboard carried a cutlass.

The final evaluator was an enlisted sailor from USS Constitution.

His orientation briefing ended prematurely when he discovered that USS Abraham Lincoln carries approximately 5,000 people but the United States Navy abolished the daily spirit ration more than 160 years ago.

“So let me understand this,” he reportedly told investigators. “You put five thousand sailors inside a ship for nine months and give them no rum?”

“That is correct.”

“And now you’re investigating why morale is low?”

“Yes.”

The sailor stared silently at the evaluation team.

“You people have learned absolutely nothing.”

His finding was immediately classified.

The Final Report

After completing their inspection, the Historical Sailor Morale Assessment Panel submitted a 317-page report to the Pentagon.

Navy officials then condensed it into a 94-slide PowerPoint presentation because no important military conclusion is considered valid until somebody puts it on a slide.

The panel’s findings were surprisingly balanced.

Compared with the ships of their own era, the sailors concluded that USS Abraham Lincoln offers living conditions so extraordinarily comfortable that a sailor from 1918 might reasonably assume he had accidentally boarded an ocean liner.

The crew sleeps in permanent racks rather than hammocks. Food can be frozen and refrigerated. Fresh water can be produced at sea. Medical care that would have seemed miraculous a century ago is routinely available. Clothing can be mechanically washed and dried. Spaces are ventilated and air-conditioned. Families thousands of miles away can sometimes be seen and heard instantaneously through a device small enough to fit in a pocket.

The ship itself can operate for decades without refueling its reactors.

Its aircraft can strike targets hundreds of miles away.

Its sailors can receive messages from the other side of the planet in seconds.

Yet after more than 250 consecutive days at sea, apparently no technology yet devised by mankind can prevent a sailor from eventually saying:

“For the love of God, can we please pull into a port?”

The panel therefore issued two final recommendations.

First, modern sailors should occasionally be reminded that their predecessors would have committed several felonies for air conditioning, refrigeration, antibiotics, washing machines and the ability to video chat with their wives from the middle of the ocean.

Second, after nine months at sea, send the poor bastards home.

Before returning to 1918, each member of the historical panel was presented with a commemorative challenge coin recognizing his contribution to the Historical Sailor Morale Assessment Program.

McGillicuddy examined his coin carefully.

“What can I buy with this?”

“Nothing.”

“Can I exchange it for beer?”

“No.”

“Does it increase my pay?”

“No.”

“Does it get me liberty?”

“No.”

“Then what’s it for?”

A modern chief explained that he was supposed to carry it around for the rest of his life and occasionally show it to other sailors.

McGillicuddy slipped the coin into his pocket and smiled.

“Finally,” he said. “Something about your Navy makes sense.”

Then he asked about tattoos of naked women and all hell broke loose.

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*This article is a production of Article 107 News. Article 107 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice covers “false official statements.” Make of that what you will.

Before joining the Article 107 News Team, Untactic Al endured a controversial, checkered 36-year career in the United States Air Force. He now clutches his DD-214 blankie, a reminder that his rise through the ranks says more about the incompetence of his leadership than his own merit.

As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.