Reporter's Notebook

Cast off all lines

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ABOARD THE FREEDOM – It was bitterly cold on the lake when the Freedom nosed away from the wall at Veterans Park that had served as its temporary berth in Milwaukee. A small crowd of civilians and retired Navy types, clearly visible by their dark blue command ball caps, was on hand to wave goodbye. Police boats, Coast Guard law enforcement boats, and a single fireboat lay in the shallow anchorage beyond where the Freedom had been tied up. Two wooden, green-hulled Great Lakes tugs were on hand in case the ship needed a push.

I stood on the port side of the forecastle to watch the sailors of the sea and anchor detail, their pants tucked into their socks, cast off the lines. But when that diabolical wind had stolen all the feeling from my nose and fingers, I climbed up to the bridge. Unlike the hectic bridge of most surface warships as they’re being taken out of port, the Freedom’s pilothouse was as serene as a library. The officer of the deck had her hand on the throttle and joystick, making miniscule corrections to nose the ship out. Unlike the setup on most surface warships, the officer of the deck doesn’t issue standard commands to a helmsman, i.e. “right full rudder.” The Freedom has no rudder. Instead, the OOD herself was piloting the ship, and controlling everything from the bridge, rather than calling electronic instructions down to the engine room. A sailor at a console directly behind the OOD’s station has full control over the powerplant.

The one center of activity aboard the Freedom’s bridge was the skipper, a friendly, light-haired man, Cmdr. Don Gabrielson. We hadn’t seen him since we’d been aboard, and I didn’t want to get in the way of his conning the ship out to sea (or, rather, lake) but he saw the civilians on his bridge and walked over. He set the edge of his palm above his knee.

“We have about this much water under us right now,” he said.

We shook hands and he excused himself to command his warship. The Freedom eased backwards and away from the pier, then yawed leftward in place. Finally, running on just its diesel engines, the ship started forward. The lone fireboat in the harbor began broadcasting red, white and blue plumes of water out into the lake, leading us towards the harbor breakwater. The bridge radio crackled and a man with a broad Wisconsin accent hailed the ship.

“USS Freedom, this is Milwaukee fireboat. We wish your crew Godspeed and good luck in defending our country. We hope you always think of Milwaukee as your home port.”

Gabrielson walked over to the bridge radio and keyed the mike.

“Roger, captain,” he said, “you’re looking real good out there.”

Blog note: This post was authored just before noon central time Monday, but delayed by computer issues.