#Wire Mesh Decking

[edeckonline]

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#Wire Mesh Decking

[alamaterialhandling]

ALA Logistics can design and create foldable wire containers and Collapsible wire containers, and give you the much-needed floor space in the warehouse. Read more…. 

#Wire Mesh Decking

[uk-racking]

We buy used warehouse racking

We buy used warehouse racking

We are always in the market for the next parcel of quality used warehouse racking for us to buy, so if you have surplus industrial racking, or you are clearing a warehouse, please get in touch with us now. Leading manufacturers such as Dexion, Link 51, Apex and PSS are always of interest but we will consider other pallet racking systems if the quality and quantity is right. We can arrange to…

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#apex #bradford #Cambridge #Column Guards #dexion #Industrial racking #Link 51 #Manchester #Pallet Racking #Pallet support bars #pss #Racking Systems #Swindon #warehouse racking #Wire Mesh Decking

[choasset]

Calgary Rooftop Deck Without a cover, a small, minimalistic rooftop deck image

#wire mesh fence #architectural fence #deck #omega fence

[traitorcas]

Deck Calgary Without a cover, a small, minimalistic rooftop deck image

#omega fence #wire mesh fence #architectural fence #deck

[wire-mesh-deck-fence-factory]

#storage #wire #materialhandling #racking #racks #wiremesh #storageequipment #rack #warehousestorage #wiredecking #deck #warehouse #storagesolution #palletrackingsolution #metal #storagesystems #decking #metalshelvesbrackets #wiredeck #mesh

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I thought this was just another rustic log cabin, and almost scrolled by it. But, I decided to look inside and I couldn't believe it. You gotta see this. It's in Naubinway, Michigan, 3bds, 3ba, $625K.

Look at this living room. A bear climbing up a tree, a tree trunk suspended from the ceiling, and all sorts of things going on. The 2nd floor has a large open loft.

Such big stones on the fireplace and another bear up there.

Wow, that's a double-sided fireplace and look at how big it is. I like the blue stairs and their industrial vibe.

The fireplace must've been a real project to put together.

Look at the handles on the kitchen cabinets. Branches are everywhere.

That must be a pantry. Look at the twisting wood on the right.

I wonder if this furniture is custom made.

Under the stairs is a hot tub.

There's a little bar in the corner by the hot tub.

The bed has tree posts. Interesting. I would decorate them.

A deer & a moose etched into the shower glass. It must be a steam shower b/c there are benches in there.

The bath vanity.

Comfy looking family room.

It's nice up here in the loft.

There's a large deck, and I've never seen one made of wire mesh.

A stream on the property.

The house is 3.80 acres of land, 800ft. of which are Black River frontage.

#log cabin #rustic cabin #unusual homes #unique homes #houses #house tours #home tour

[swampstew]

Meet the Master Strategist ~ Wire

Wire invented the word aloof. This is a fact. He also invented the word slay. Besides being a silent giant, Wire also has the second biggest brain in the Kid Pirate crew, right behind Killer. Wire handles strategizing full stop. Schemes, plots, developments, trysts, pranks, rehabilitation, etc. Knows the ins and outs of everything somehow but won't spill on how he knows. Wire tells Killer what to do and Killer tells Kid what to do when it comes to pulling off anything, be it dinner bill dashing or infiltrating highly guarded castles. Don't let his unenthusiastic face fool you - if you're in the crew, you're his nakama, you can trust him with your life.

Meet your Vice-Captain 🡢  ☠️ Meet your Captain -> ☠️

Wire may have also coined the phrase 'ride or die' but that's still unverified. Anyways, he's loyal as they come. Most of the crew came from the same island so it may seem intimidating to join the fray, and they all do have high walls, once they get over themselves, you'll find crew more like family.

Does he know sign language? He'll shrug and then give you a vague answer with an even vaguer gesture. You'll see him make signing motions from time to time, clearly holding conversation, communicating from a distance, or maybe giving direction during tougher than normal settings. It's not until one day Heat pulls you aside and let's you in on the secret. Yes Wire can sign, and he did it purely so he didn't have to expend his energy talking to people he didn't find interesting. Not a lot of people know how to sign back so they leave him alone, just the way he wants it to be.

If he finds time to relax, Wire enjoys simple pastimes to get through the days. He plays guitar and has been known to sing sometimes, he loves board and card games, is a vicious dart shark, and he loves napping. He's one of very few Kid Pirates that takes naps but he makes the absolute most of them. He wears a sleep mask too. It reads: Fuck Off (in really nice handsewn embroidery.)

Wire is the chillest between Kid (the unbridled anger), Killer (the stoic well of anxiety), and Heat (much nicer than he should reasonably be). If crew concerns don't meet a certain threshold criteria, most internal problems get handed to himself and Heat. The thresholds being: big bastard Kid needs to kill, and any situation not cited in Killer's emergency management guidebook.

Circling back to slay - it's a double entendre. Wire has the third highest body count on the crew (for murders), he's also a fashion icon. Have you seen his fit? Mesh netting on those tits and legs, WITH whore shorts? He knows what he's fucking doing. He helps all his little queer pirate kids pick out their outfit aesthetics, he's a proud gay dad.

Wire is only possessive of two things. One of them is his beloved trident. Kid made it for him years ago and it's still his weapon of choice. He cleans and oils it daily, sharpens the points and keeps on top of maintenance for it. Kid made him other weapons over the years: spiked brass knuckles (hurts Wire's back to bend down and utilize them properly); spiked boots (better application but Kid is not a cobbler and those promptly fell apart mid-fight leaving Wire barefoot in battle); a spiked flail (hit Kid's head by accident one time and Wire never saw the flail again). No weapon is more suited for his height and style of fighting than his trident. Wire suspects Kid made it to match his favorite pointed headdress.

If you try to get in the way of his Captain's dreams OR you try to sling pot on the deck, you're dead meat. There's only one weed dealer on the Victoria Punk and that's Wire.

Welcome to the crew and stay in your lane.

#one piece wire #reader/you as in you are being recruited to the crew #welcome to the crew #swampstew.daydreams #swampstew #wire one piece #eustass captain kid #one piece fanfiction #fanfic #swampstew stories #kid pirates #kid pirate headcanons #wire #one piece #eustass kid #massacre soldier killer

[saints-who-never-existed]

Rereading The Terror

Chapter Forty-Five: Blanky

The end is nigh for poor Blanky and I for one am heartbroken!

He's on his third leg now. The first was finely crafted but snapped off around the time that Pilkington and Le Vesconte (Blanky calls him Harry) died. That day he rode in a boat with Mr Honey the carpenter who fashioned him a new one, rather impressively, while on the move.

When he's up and hobbling along once more he does all he can to show solidarity with the men. They're doing things just as Blanky describes to Fitzjames in the show - carrying half a load a day's march then doubling back for the other half. And even though Blanky himself can't carry much or haul at all, he still tries to do those things anyway and makes a point of marching in both directions alongside the other men.

The only thing that's really keeping him going is the thought of being able to take to the water in the boats and put his ice master's knowledge to good use once more. It's come up a few times now, this notion that many of the men who survive longest and show the fewest signs of illness are those who have the most to live for and Blanky's definitely in that group, I think. There's even more immediacy to his situation though: "Still, it was not only his usefulness that was being decided by the ice, but his survival... once the ice master was at sea again, he would survive... If he could last until they took to the boats, Thomas Blanky would live."

Then, of course, there is Tuunbaq, still stalking them on their journey south and coming for Blanky first, so he believes. And, to be fair, that's an astute assessment of things - his leg is in a sorry state indeed and he leaves a trail of blood for it to follow wherever he goes, after all.

Blanky does what he can to hide the extent of it, sweltering in his greatcoat long after the other men are hauling in their shirt sleeves in the comparative heat of summer. "I'm cold-blooded, boys" He'd said with a laugh. "My wooden leg brings the chill of the ground up into me. I don't want you to see me shiver." :(((

Blanky reflects on a few other events as he hobbles painfully along. He recalls that two other men have died of the same tin-based poisoning that killed Fitzjames (though Richard Aylmore remains unaffected). And he notes that, even with the temperature rising, the men are plagued by frostbite still as well as snowblindness and headaches from refusal to wear their mesh goggles. One man notes that "wearing the God-damned wire goggles was as difficult as trying to see through a pair of lady's black silk drawers but much less fun." which is very amusing to me.

Blanky is especially aware of these medical issues as he's begun to help Goodsir where he can. Interestingly, Goodsir trusts Blanky not only to fetch things from the locked medicine chest but seemingly trusts him not to blab about the final secret vial of laudanum he's got in there, despite lying to the men that it's all gone.

Blanky also notes, heartbreakingly, how their minds and very identities as sailors are deteriorating away along with their bodies: "Sailors who had tied off complicated rigging and shroud knots in the roaring darkness fifty feet out on a pitching spar two hundred feet above the deck on a stormy night off the Strait of Magellan during a hurricane blow could no longer tie their shoes in the daylight."

When his third leg finally snaps, Blanky sits down on a rock and accepts his fate. It's gut-wrenching just like the show but also funny as Blanky finds opportunity to be sassy to both Tozer ("He had always enjoyed irritating the stupid sergeant by using his first name.") and Crozier.

He doesn't have quite the same close relationship with Crozier as in the show, though there's clearly still respect and some love there. They argue the matter a little but Crozier respects his decision, offering him a water bottle and promising to get word of Blanky's fate back to his family (although, as with Irving and his supposed Bristol-based upbringing, Blanky's family and home in Kent (?!!) are details that Simmons apparently pulls right, infuriatingly, from his arse)

It is after midnight when Tuunbaq finally appears. Blanky greets it like an old friend ("Welcome back," said Thomas Blanky to the shadowy silhouette on the ice.") before meeting his fate grinning fiercely all the while. "You're late," said Blanky. He could not help it that his teeth were chattering. "I've been expecting you for a long time." Unlike with the front he put up for the men beforehand, Blanky knows it doesn't matter anymore if Tuunbaq sees him shivering... :(((

#The Terror #The Terror AMC #Observations #Random Observations #Meta #Rereading the Terror #Terror Spoilers #Thomas Blanky #Tuunbaq

[redeyesandchilifries]

[Okay well this sucks.

But Joey is keeping up with Valon better than he expected to. Valon is a much more experienced rider in general, is used to riding that specific bike, and it's better designed for this kind of racing than the one Joey just happened to be able to "borrow." Around tight corners, dipping into alleys, riding up and down stairs, jumping across a waterway... Joey would make wider turns, slip a little further than he meant to, but he never lost sight of Valon for more than a second or two.

He also hasn't the faintest ever loving clue where the hell he is. But that doesn't seem to matter. Valon could very well be leading him into a trap, but... Joey's not so sure. He just has a gut feeling, just knowing it's going to be a lot more straight forward and not at all underhanded like that.

And he's right.

Valon leads the way into an empty lot. Secluded and isolated. It really would have been so easy to set this up to be some sort of ambush, but no; this is where they'll Duel.

Joey plays a little more defensively at first, hesitant and trying to ease into a feel for this stranger's fighting style. Valon goes all out, head on, facing straight into the fight. Were it anyone else, it would be dumb, but Valon's constructed his deck to suit this style. An all out offensive, the only defense being different ways to destroy the other monster in the process. He hides nothing, holds nothing back.

So Joey responds in kind.

They lay it all down; why they're fighting, what they believe in, why they believe it. Who they're fighting for, what matters to them, what drives them. Valon fights to win; victory is everything, the only thing. Joey remembers when he used to be like that. Before he befriended Yugi, and learned what it meant to fight for something. For someone. They use cards to pare away the excess, cards that conform to their bodies so they can fight even more personally. And it's... fun.

It's so much fun.

Their styles, their backgrounds, their abilities, they're different but they mesh so well. A competition that pushes one another to go further and further and be surprised about it, both at themselves and one another. When was the last time he had a fight with someone he could laugh with? Could fight while laughing?

But it hurts, too. Can't have one without the other. And with the Seal of Orichalcos, each hit to the Life Points also does real damage to their bodies. It sure didn't feel great to take a hit from a copied canon Hermos made; he almost didn't get back up. But still, it's exhilarating.

And then, Mai arrives. She can't stop them, angry as she is at Valon fighting Joey on her behalf. Only now, it isn't so much on her behalf anymore. The battle is too exciting, so uncertain, and getting so down to the wire. He genuinely doesn't know who is going to win now, and sees something in Joey and how he Duels that he and Mai lack. He understands now, he says, why she finds Joey so compelling. Joey has such a simple and direct passion for it.

They each strike again, playing their cards to their strengths. It's an explosive clash that strips them both of their armor, leaving them bruised and gasping. Their fight is rapidly coming to an end. They can't wait to see who will win. Mai watches on, sobered with the knowledge that one of them is about to lose their soul.

Rearmored, they strike again. Valon with his ace set of armor cards, Joey with Hermos boosting him once again. This strike is even more powerful than the last, Mai having to shield herself from the energy; yet still they each push harder and harder. Unfortunately for Valon, Joey is able to activate an ability. He sacrifices Red Eyes from his hand and is able to destroy all of Valon's armor monsters, and subtract their total attack from his life points. Ironic that the Seal is what dooms him; if it weren't in place, that little trick would have done zero damage. But his armor, boosted by the Orichalcos, now has 500 attack points each; more than enough to wipe him down to nothing.

It was a good fight. It's a bitter victory. Before the Seal closes, Valon says his goodbyes to Mai. He thanks Joey for the fight. He has no regrets. "And... Take care of her for me."

It hurts, to see him fall. It hurts, to see Mai run to him, cradle his empty shell of a body.

But neither of that holds a candle to how she clamps down, cuts off the sorrow, and blames Valon for doing this to himself. For being foolish. Blames Joey and accuses him of wanting to hurt Valon, wanting to kill him. He snaps back at her, but he can see she's not listening. She isn't going to. She's lying to herself about what she's really feeling, and the Orichalcos Stone is feeding into it.

There's only one thing she's going to listen to. One way she'll see his heart and have to bare hers. Just like Valon.

"Duel me, Mai."]

#ooc #action post #plot #((Okay maybe I should have broken this up into another two parts but sljdksdfj it's 2:30 am fuck it!!!!!)) #((Fuck it he's dead now y'all know how the fight with Mai goes he loses 😂)) #((And wins)) #((He gets through to her BY losing he's kinda fucked for it but hey he did his best)) #((idk if I'll write up that last part or not I didn't realize how late it got writing this one))

[alamaterialhandling]

A metal stillage is frequently made with steel sides that are either solid, mesh, or a mix of the two. Read more…

#Wire Mesh Deck

[dorkofclanlavellan]

Luck is a Funny Thing - 2. Bated Breath

Notes: N/A

Pairing: Haymitch Abernathy x OC (later installments)

Warnings: Mentions of death/killing

Chantilly stood near the chariot for District 8, battling down her nerves and maintaining an unreadable expression as she casually observed the other tributes. Tanner, her district partner, stood few feet away. She had Woof and Cecelia as her mentors Tanner had the others. The victors of the 34th and 44th Games, neither as old as Woof, both still in great shape.

Chantilly wasn't sure if Tanner was relieved to not have Woof as his mentor or disappointed because the youngest of his mentors was nearly 40. Whereas Cecelia was only a few years older than Chantilly.

As the parade began and they waited their turns to be presented to the Capitol audience, Cecelia took mental notes of all the other costumes.

The District 1 tributes were draped in the most luxurious silks with the finest jewelry made of pure gold and decked in precious jewels that matched each tribute's eyes. Diamonds are woven into the tributes' hair and they're dusted in a golden sheen and with jewels in their lashes and nails.

The District 2 tributes were dressed in white marble tiles that formed into a Peacemaker uniform, helmet and visors included. The chariot was obsidian with gold waves and the horses were dappled.

The District 3 tributes were in deep green jumpsuits with gold and copper wires running in intricate patterns that both tributes pointed out did not reflect actual circuit boards. Both wore hair pieces that looked like microchips and had deep green eye shadow with gold flecks.

The District 4 tributes were in flowy outfits of light blue and white, and the horses and chariot were also designed similarly. The resulting effect made them appear as if they were sea spirits riding a cresting wave.

The District 5 tributes were dressed as lamps, complete with lightbulb headpieces. There was a strip of shiny material that made the lightbulb look lit.

The District 6 tributes were in tan-colored canvas pants, brown leather jackets, knee-high boots, scarves, and a leather headpiece that included goggles.

The District 7 tributes were once again dressed as trees. Only this time they looked like Magnolia trees blooming in spring and their chariot looked like a rolling hill.

The District 9 tributes were dressed in amber gold pieces that made them look like grain swaying in the breeze.

The District 10 tributes are both in dark leather dusters and hats with cowboy boots, gingham shirts, and cow-pattern pants for Raymundo with Miranda in a matching skirt. Raymundo's shirt is unbuttoned and his bolo tie is hanging loosely around his neck.

The District 11 tributes are dressed in colors and outfits that evoke different produce. Logan is dressed to actually look like a Loganberry bush. Thistle on the other hand looks like a grape vine with thistles painted on either arm.

The District 12 tributes as usual like coal miners but with decisive cuts in the outfits to show skin and leaving a lot of their bodies exposed.

As for District 8, the tributes were dressed in white mesh tops, black lace pants for Chantilly, and brown leather pants for Tanner. Tanner was wearing a red satin headpiece and Chantilly had a matching bow in her hair. Chantilly's lips, nails, and eyeshadow were deep red, and her eyes were sharply lined in black. Tanner was dusted in red and brown shimmer. They both had white lace gloves. Chantilly was draped in a red organza cape and Tanner had a brown felt long coat. Their chariot and horses were also draped in various textiles.

Chantilly mostly stared straight ahead, occasionally looking around to find one audience member and stare them straight in the eyes with an unreadable expression.

Each time the person would freeze, their eyes would widen and after a mere second, they'd look away from her. Each time Chantilly found it very amusing.

During training, Chantilly kept to herself. Sticking to survival skills, testing out athletic beams, and most importantly, observing the other tributes. She was keeping track of everyone's strengths, and weaknesses. Everything really.

Each day, she spoke only to Woof and Cecilia, going over her strategy. She wasn't charismatic and lovable like some of the other tributes but apparently, her icy cold stare scared people enough to want to support her. It was something she'd heard all her life, that her stare seemed to pierce right through you and weed out all your secrets and weaknesses. She wouldn't credit her eyes so much as her near-constant state of observation.

And she was going to use this to her advantage.

Then it was time for the private sessions. After her name was called, Chantilly stoically made her way to the center of the room and introduced herself. Her hands clasped loosely in front of her and her expression never changed.

"Selenite Herzog. Flexible, fast and amazing with distance weapons. But she's also arrogant, not particularly strong and like most Careers she has no survival skills." Chantilly spoke quickly, rattling off the facts of her opponent. A Gamemaker tried to interrupt her, probably to ask what she thought she was doing, but she didn't give him the chance. "I would use her arrogance against her and lure Selenite into a trap. I can guarantee she demonstrated her skills with a crossbow for you and was impressive enough to land a high score like 8 or 9."

The dumbfounded look on the Gamemakers' faces confirmed Chantilly's observations. After half a beat, Chantilly continued with her observations of all the other tributes of the games. Stating their names, strengths, weaknesses, what strategies she could use to kill them, making educated guesses as to what skills they demonstrated in their own private sessions and what score they probably landed or would land in the case of the later tributes.

She spoke quick enough to avoid running out of time but not so quick that the Gamemakers couldn't understand her. It was probably the most attention the Gamemakers paid to any tribute from District 8 in decades.

After she finished with Corbin from District 12, she merely took a breath and continued, "And finally, Chantilly Burnett. Remarkably observant, a skilled tactician with an aptitude for mind games. She's not made a single ally and probably won't have sponsors until they see her skills at work in the arena. But she's made an impression and as such you'll give her a good score."

With that said Chantilly merely stood there, moving her expressions just as stoic as ever. Staring down the Gamemakers. Finally, one shuddered and turned away. "Thank you, Miss Burnett. You're dismissed."

Chantilly turned on her heel and casually strolled to the elevator. She kept up the affect until she was back on her own floor where everyone was waiting with bated breath.

'Guess, we'll find out later if I impressed the Gamemakers or pissed them off.' She thought to herself with a smirk.

#the hunger games #thg series #the hunger games fanfiction #haymitch abernathy #haymitch abernathy x oc #long fic #thg fanfiction

[askingtanjiroanything]

actual main: sixtymillionoverdueideas Fun times: "Hey... Could I get a little help here please?"

There was an exasperated individual decked in odd, but still somehow pragmatic clothing that seemed to have systemic openings at the shoulders to reveal mesh-wire (??) in tans and lightish grays half-standing out of the bush. Their arms (!!) were clearly broken, both of them, and there was a suspicious large smear of blood (a trail...) leading back into the bush. If Tanjirou stared further he could maybe make out the very tips of someone's pair of feet from the bush as well.

//sorry, liked/wanted to play-test our gekkeiju hikōkai here with yours! if you want context we can give more as well...

(oh okey lol,)

"Help with what-?"

*Tanjiro just looks at the person,*

[awfulwordmonger]

O3-123-4L Living on the USS Kitty Hawk

That was my address: three levels above the main deck, also known as the Hangar Deck, the O3 level put me directly below the Flight Deck, where all the noisy stuff happened. 123 “frames” aft of the bow of the ship - roughly amidships. 4L was a “living” space, a six-man bunk room for JOs on the port side of the ship, relative to the midline. Our space was also called the “Bowling Alley” due to its narrowness, roughly 8-10 feet wide and its length, around 20-30 feet. It was divided length-wise into three smaller rooms running fore an aft along the ship.

The “front room” opened in from a ladder well coming up from three stories below, and contained four “lockers” which, since we were Junior Officers, had a portion for clothing on hangers and two or three drawers on the bottom for or other stuff. The remainder of the space was filled by “desks” - aluminum planks attached to the wall on either side and a couple of ancient (non-rolling) metal government chairs. Fluorescent lights were placed above the desks and on the overhead (ceiling).

:readmore:

The second room held two more lockers and two stacks of three bunks. The bunks each had a thin mattress on top of a wire mesh suspended from springs along the frame. They were slightly wider than a body, but not as wide as a standard single bed. The ship was about twenty years old at this time. Having been home to many, many people by then, the springs were pretty tired and when weight was applied were more like a hammock than any other sort of bed. The first time I tried to sleep on board the ship, I woke up feeling like I had been in a cocoon all night. When your body sinks completely below the level of the bed frame, there’s no rolling over. Just getting out of bed was a formidable task! At least I was in the middle of the three-stack. That meant my feet were pretty close to the floor when I swung out from between the almost floor level bottom bunk and the head-height upper bunk. Each bunk also had its own small reading light, supplemented by large fluorescent lights on the ceiling. This was the sleeping room, though, and the overhead lights were almost never on. One never knew when someone might be catching up from a late night. For our first two month stint motoring in circles in the Indian Ocean, I was the night watch officer in the CVIC (the ship’s intelligence center) so I came to appreciate the consideration from my roommates!

The third room, past the bunk room, was a tiny space with two sinks, one on either side, with mirrors above them. The middle of the room was dominated by a vertical ventilation tube about two feet in diameter running, I was told, straight down to one of Kitty Hawk’s four engine rooms.

The noise? Imagine having an Auxiliary Power Unit from a 747 running just outside your bedroom, 24/7. That was the ventilator shaft, running Dow to (I believe) one of the ship’s boiler rooms. Add to that, our “air conditioner” in the bunk room - a unit that was supposed to provide cooler air, but probably hadn’t been maintained since the ship was built. It sounded a little like an idling chainsaw. Then, maybe less than three feet above the room, was the flight deck: inches (feet?) of armor plate covered in thick non-skid coating. Being a runway that handled up to a couple hundred departures and arrivals every day, there’s a lot of noise generated! Aircraft taxiing, launching at maximum power, landing (also at max power) with a tail hook dragging along until it snags a two-inch steel cable at more than a hundred miles per hour, a “bolter” (missed landing, when the aircraft has to go around for another try at the cables), disengaging the cable after landing… All of the above are amazingly noisy, believe it or not. At the time I described the noise as anything from a freight train running over your head with a flat wheel (the sound of a tail hook banging across multiple “pad eyes” which allow a plane to be chained to the deck in any location) to a truckload of bowling balls falling on the ceiling of your bedroom (the sound of a huge cable going slack and falling to the deck, plus a metal hook slamming down, sometimes repeatedly, as the now-stopped plane tries to get free of the cable) and the sound of the jets still at max power after stopping, until the pilot’s scrambled brain realizes it’s not still flying. Now… you’ve worked all night and finally crawled into your “rack” at about 10 AM. You fall asleep, only to be interrupted within the next one hour and forty-five minutes by the start of another flight of aircraft getting ready for the “cyclic ops” to repeat and repeat and repeat all day long - first the departures, a lull and then the arrivals of all those who departed earlier. Each event typically includes 10-20 aircraft. And I learned to sleep through the whole thing, about 6 feet below the center of the runway. I lived with that for a little over two months, during our first at-sea period in the Indian Ocean.

Another interesting feature of living in a space that was clearly an afterthought: we were outside the range of all of the ships PA system, aka the "1MC". Any important announcements, like say "General Quarters" (Battle stations), had to be relayed by telephone, which rarely worked, or by a person making the trip to our door as fast as humanly possible! Because we worked odd hours, and might be asleep when the drills (and they were almost always drills), it was always a very near thing for someone to haul ass from our squadron ready room, up 4 decks to the O3 level, across the ship and about 30-40 yards aft, wake everyone up and then get back to where they were supposed to be before all the watertight hatches, etc. were slammed shut at the end of four minutes! Once General Quarters was set, one could only open a watertight hatch with the permission of Damage Control Central. Not a pretty thing, once it was logged, the squadron CO was notified, etc. I was lucky - my Battle Station was in the ship's CVIC (Intelligence Center), also on the O3 level and about 20 yards from my bunkroom! My five roommates weren't so lucky, having to traverse the ship as fast as they could to the ready room.

The rules for getting around the ship during the four minutes when setting GQ was in progress:

Up and forward on the starboard side

Down and aft on the port side

If a watertight hatch or door is already closed, call DC Central to get permission to open it, and prepare to get your ass chewed.

Hope to God that you don't have to visit the head during GQ, as the nearest head might be on the wrong side of a watertight door!

AWM

#u.s. navy #aircraft carrier #aviation #naval aviation

[dladto]

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