The Naval Service is austere. The proposition--conducting battle on the ocean, a notoriously unpredictable and dangerous natural feature of this earth we inhabit--is difficult. The danger, though it rarely includes face-to-face combat, is both omnipresent and great. If a naval vessel manages to conduct its mission without running afoul of storms and shoals, its crew may yet suffer the effects of an industrial disaster leaving them stranded in open water, possibly on a burning or irradiated deck. In addition, of course, there is the threatening enemy, which may deliver ordnance on the surprisingly fragile and vulnerable ships themselves. All of which may lead to an ignominious death by sharks, starvation, or exposure.
It used to be a lot more dangerous, actually. Before satellite tracking of storms, vessels might easily and suddenly stumble into a hurricane or typhoon. Before the development of the steel-hulled and engine-driven ship, vessels burned more easily and were at the mercy of winds for navigation, including while actually engaged. Before the advent of large guns (reaching out tens of miles), ships often had to engage within 'boarding distance' of each other, requiring crews to find their way across the narrow gap between them and the enemy, taking the dual risk of being shot or carved up as they defenselessly swarmed across a gangplank or crushed between the hulls if the ships collided. Before neatly packaged cruise missiles and air-delivered naval ordnance, vessels had to fire many hundreds of high-explosive shells at each other, each taking a toll both on the firing platform and the target. Don't forget that the crews had to keep their respective vessels afloat despite the often appalling damage wrought by naval warfare, for after combat there is still the danger of storms and industrial failures--not to mention the chance of an enemy coming upon a crippled ship to finish her off.
There is certainly still danger. Missions may require penetrating storms or operating in shallow waters (like the Persian Gulf). Aviation operations are complicated and unforgiving, and the unwary sailor may be run over or sucked into a jet intake on a crowded carrier deck, cut in half by a split arresting cable, or blown off deck by jet exhaust just as the complacent pilot may lack the incredible required precision to put his or her aircraft on exactly the right spot on the pitching carrier deck on every landing to ensure a safe arrestment. Neatly packaged cruise missiles launch with a rocket booster, threatening their launch platform with rocket exhaust, while the radars required to guide them over long distances are powerful enough kill small birds (and presumably humans) who are too close to their emitters.
None of this danger takes into account the additional strain exerted by a life on the ocean. In order to be survivable, naval warships are not built for comfort or recreation. They are honeycombs of steel, built to sustain damage and yet function, with living and working spaces worked in around the armor, weaponry, and engines (and aviation paraphernalia, if the ship happens to be a carrier). The manpower requirements of operating the myriad systems for a complete twenty-four hour schedule require that as many sailors as possible live in the cramped quarters. The younger sailors won't even have their own bunk, often--they'll share it with a comrade on another shift. The ship must be kept free of rust, which means chipping paint, and tidy to allow for maximum efficiency in combat. There must be constant drills which pull crewmembers out of bed during their few hours of rest to prepare for possible disaster - firefighting, man-overboard recovery, and impending combat. Because it is a vastly complicated piece of machinery, often utilized to its design envelope or strained by the vagaries of the sea, things constantly need maintenance and repair. Because any crew-member may be killed or lost, the crew must conduct training so as many sailors as possible can perform a given job. All of which, of course, must be taken care of whenever free time comes up between the more important task of conducting the mission--whether that mission is a simple sea lane patrol or active combat operations.
The sailors who run these risks and suffer this difficult lifestyle are by necessity a disciplined and professional bunch. They bear the thankless burden of protecting the world's oceans, ostensibly for our own merchant shipping as the movement of goods is necessary to our economy. They do so in trying conditions and much danger, ready if required to protect our assets (and people) by force or to quickly take the fight to our enemy, restricting their movement of materiél and threatening their coastal cities. It's a valid threat our Navy poses to potential enemies, considering that most of the earth's surface is water and most of the population of the earth lives close enough to a coast to be within naval striking distance. It has probably never been calculated how much real deterrent a capable navy provides. It certainly isn't often considered in general society or the halls of power, where the vast movement of goods that brings cars and electronics and clothes to local stores is taken for granted and where the Navy, chiefly operating far from the eyes of the media and the world at large, seems to be considered little more than an expensive and probably unnecessary military toy. These sailors perform their tasks and exercise their values--honor, courage, and commitment--in the strained and difficult confines of small ships, alone upon the great and wild seas. They are often remembered only by their loved ones, who hope and pray for their safety without the comfort of constant telephone contact, a more recent luxury afforded to ground forces. They compete for our funding and resources with more visible brethren, whose service is evident in airplanes flying over our cities and soldiers living in our neighborhoods. And they often fail to get the money they need.
Due to military cutbacks the Navy has had to decrease the amount of ships it builds and maintains. In a response to the shrinking demand, the naval shipyards have cut production ability. Now the USS Enterprise will not complete its required overhaul on schedule, which will in turn require two ships to extend their deployment two more months. Instead of six months at sea, those crews will serve eight. It is perhaps not particularly significant, for there have been longer and more difficult deployments in the history of the service. The sailors in question will no doubt follow their esteemed forefathers and continue to serve with dedication, perfection, and without asking for pity. Their families will no doubt swallow their sadness and frustration and continue living a little longer without their loved ones close. Such is the reward and virtue of those Americans who decide to give their youth and maturity to a difficult service. But it seems a pity that we as a nation value our security and their sacrifice so little that we can spare so little of our vast resources on their vital mission, which requires them to spend even more of their own selves executing that mission anyway. For the mission must be accomplished. There is no compromise on that, either in the ethos of the service or the unforgiving evaluation of the nation.
Elsewhere are the details of how a modern military is essential to a nation's health and survival, and how it must be built upon foundation of public support and industrial capability. Yet we blindly continue to withdraw our public support, focusing generally on what we want instead of what we need, and we continuously shrink our industrial capability because we aren't willing to accept the expenditure. And the burden of our national defense and sustenance grows heavier, and falls upon fewer shoulders. Meanwhile, right now, the high and stern task of the Navy has become a bit more difficult. It is sad for those sailors and their families, and we should be mindful that the debt of gratitude we owe them is growing.
